The Final Circle of Paradise

Here it was especially cool and cozy. I have always wanted just such a bedroom, but somehow never had the time to get around to setting one up. The bed was big and low. On the night table stood an elegant phonor and a tiny remote-control box for the TV. The screen stood at the foot of the bed, while at the head the widow had hung a very natural-looking picture of field flowers in a crystal vase. The picture was painted with luminous paints and the dewdrops glistened in the darkened room.

I punched the TV control at random and stretched out on the bed. It was soft yet somehow firm. The TV roared loudly. An inebriated-looking man launched himself out of the screen, crashed through some sort of railing, and fell from a great height into a colossal fuming vat. There was a loud splash and the phonor exuded a smell. The man disappeared in the bubbling liquid and then reappeared, holding in his teeth something reminiscent of a well-boiled boot. The unseen audience broke out in a storm of horse laughs. Fade out… soft lyrical music.

A white horse pulling a phaeton appeared out of green woods and advanced toward me. A pretty girl in a bathing suit sat in the carriage. I turned off the TV, got up, and went to look at the bathroom.

There was a piny smell and flickering of germicidal lamps.

I undressed, threw the underwear into the hopper, and climbed into the shower. Taking my time, I dressed in front of the mirror, combed my hair, and shaved. The shelves were loaded with rows of vials, hygienic devices, antiseptics, and tubes with pastes and greases. At the edge of one shelf there was a pile of flat colorful boxes with the logo " Devon." I switched off the razor and took one of the boxes. A germicidal lamp flickered in the mirror, just as it did that day in Vienna, when I stood just like this studiously regarding just such a little box, because I did not want to go out to the bedroom, where Raffy Reisman loudly argued about something with the doctor; while the green oily liquid still oscillated in the bath, over which hung the steamy vapor and a screeching radio receiver, attached to a porcelain hook for towels, howled, hooted, and snorted until Raffy turned it off in irritation.

That was in Vienna, and just as here, it was very strange to see in a bathroom a box of Devon – a popular repellent which did an excellent job of chasing mosquitoes, chiggers, gnats, and other bloodsucking insects which were long forgotten in Vienna and here in a seaside resort town. Only in Vienna there had been an overlay of fear.

The box which I held in my hand was almost empty, with only one tablet remaining. The rest of the boxes were still scaled. I finished shaving and returned to the bedroom. I felt like calling Rimeyer again, but abruptly the house came to life. The pleated drapes flew open with a soft whine, the windowpanes slid away in their frames, and the bedroom was flooded with warm air, laden with the scent of apples. Someone was talking somewhere, light footsteps sounded overhead, and a severe-sounding female voice said, "Vousi – at least eat some cake, do you hear?"

Thereupon I imparted a certain air of disorder to my clothes (in accordance with the current style), smoothed my temples, and went into the hall, taking one of Ahmad's cards from the living room.

The widow turned out to be a youthful plump woman, somewhat languid, with a pleasant fresh face.

"How nice!" she said, seeing me. "You are up already? Hello, my name is Vaina Tuur, but you can call me Vaina."

"My pleasure," I said, shuddering fashionably. "My name is Ivan."

"How nice," said Aunt Vaina. "What an original soft-sounding name! Have you had breakfast, Ivan?"

"With your permission, I intended to have breakfast in town," I said, and proffered her the card.

"Ah," said Aunt Vaina, looking through the card at the light. "That nice Ahmad, if you only knew what a nice responsible fellow he is. But I see you did not have breakfast.

Lunch you can have in town, but now I will treat you to some of my croutons. The major general always said that nowhere else in the world could you have such wonderful croutons."

"With pleasure," said I, shuddering for the second time.

The door behind Aunt Vaina was flung open and a very pretty young girl in a short blue skirt and an open white blouse flew in on clicking high heels. In her hand she held a piece of cake, which she munched while humming a currently popular song. Seeing me, she stopped, flung her pocketbook on its long strap over her shoulder with a show of abandon, and swallowed, bending down her head.

"Vousi!" said Aunt Vaina, compressing her lips. "Vousi, this is Ivan."

"Not bad!" said Vousi. "Greetings."

"Vousi," reproached Aunt Vaina.

"You came with your wife?" said Vousi, extending her hand.

"No," said I. Her fingers were soft and cool. "I am alone."

"In that case, I'll show you all there is to see," she said. "Till tonight. I must run now, but we'll go out this evening."

"Vousi!" reproached Aunt Vaina.