The Final Circle of Paradise

"That's quite a voice you have," I said confidentially. "Just like my friend the barman's at Mirza-Charles."

"When did you arrive?" said he.

"Well, let's see." I looked at my watch, "About an hour and a half ago."

"Before you there was another one," he said, looking sideways. "He was a rat-fink. He gave me striped swimming trunks, and when I went in the water, they melted away."

"Ouch!" I said. "That is really a monster of some sort and not a human – he should have been drowned in Splotchy."

"Didn't have time – I was going to, but he went away."

"Was it that same Hugger with Martha and the boys?"

"No – where did you get that idea? Hugger came later."

"Also a rat-fink?"

He didn't answer. I leaned back against the wall and contemplated the street. A car jerkily backed out of the opposite driveway, back and forthed, and roared off.

Immediately it was followed by another just such a car. There was the pungent smell of gasoline. Then cars followed one after another, until my eyes blurred. Several helis appeared in the sky. They were the so-called silent helis, but they flew relatively low, and while they flew, it was difficult to talk.

In any case, the boy was apparently not going to talk. But he wasn't going to leave, either. He was doing something with his splotcher in the bushes and was glancing at me now and then. I was hoping he wasn't going to splotch me again. The helis kept going and going, and the cars kept swishing and swishing, as though all the fifteen thousand cars were speeding by on Second Waterway, and all the five hundred helis were hung over Number 78. The whole thing lasted about ten minutes, and the boy seemed to cease paying attention to me while I sat and wondered what questions I should ask of Rimeyer. Then everything returned to its previous state, the smell of exhaust was gone, the sky was cleared.

"Where are they all going – all at once?" I asked.

"Don't you know?"

"How would I know?"

"I don't know either, but somehow you knew about Hugger."

"About Hugger," I said. "I know about Hugger quite accidentally. And about you I know nothing at all… how you live and what you do. For instance, what are you doing now?"

"The safeguard is broken."

"Well then, give it to me, I'll fix it. Why are you afraid of me? Do I look like a rat-fink?"

"They all drove off to work," he said.

"You sure go to work late. It's practically dinnertime already. Do you know the Hotel Olympic?"

"Of course I know."

"Would you walk me there?"

He hesitated.

"No."

"Why not?" I asked.

"School is about to end – I must be going home."

"Aha! So that's the way of it," said I. "You are playing hookey, or ditching it, as we used to say. What grade are you in?"

"Third."

"I used to be in third grade, too," I said.

He came a bit out of the bushes.

"And then?"

"Then I was in the fourth." I got up. "Well, okay. Talk you won't, go for a walk you won't, and your pants are wet, so I am going back in. You won't even tell me your name."

He looked at me in silence and breathed heavily through his mouth. I went back to my quarters. The cream-colored hall was irreparably disfigured, it seemed to me. The huge black clot was not drying. Somebody is going to get it today, I thought. A ball of string was underfoot. I picked it up. The end of the string was tied to the landlady's half-doorknob. So, I thought, this too is clear. I untied the string and put the ball in my pocket.

In the study, I got a clean sheet of paper from the desk and composed a telegram to Matia. "Arrived safely, 78 Second Waterway. Kisses. Ivan." I telephoned it to the local PT T and again dialed Rimeyer's number. Again there was no answer. I put on my jacket, looked in the mirror, counted my money, and was about to set out when I saw that the door to the living room was open and an eye was visible through the crack. Naturally, I gave no sign. I carefully completed the inspection of my clothing, returned to the bathroom, and vacuumed myself for a while, whistling away merrily. When I returned to the study, the mouse-eared head sticking through the half-open door immediately vanished. Only the silvery tube of the splotcher continued to protrude. Sitting down in the chair, I opened and closed all the twelve drawers, including the secret one, and only then looked at the door. The boy stood framed in it.

"My name is Len," he announced.

"Greetings, Len," I said absent-mindedly. "I am called Ivan. Come on in – although I was going out to have dinner.

"You haven't had dinner yet?"

"No."

"That's good. Go ask your mother's permission and we'll be off "

"It's too early," he said.

"What's too early? To have dinner?"

"No, to go. School doesn't end for another twenty minutes." He was silent again. "Besides, there's that fat fink with the braid."

"He's a bad one?' I asked.

"Yeah," said Len. "Are you really leaving now?"

"Yes, I am," I said, and took the ball of string from my pocket. "Here, take it. And what if Mother comes out first?"

He shrugged.

"If you are really leaving," he said, "would it be all right if I stayed in your place?"