The Stranger - Max Frei [106]
Once the Seeker gets a token he goes into the living room, where the Waiters are to be found, and starts counting each person in turn—one, two, three, etc.—until he reaches the number that appears on the token. That Waiter is, so to speak, waiting for him or her.
I hasten to add that there is no one there to supervise the activities, so there is nothing to prevent cheating. But Melifaro himself said he couldn’t understand how such an idea could even enter anyone’s head. He couldn’t imagine anything more outrageous. Upon witnessing his reaction I concluded that no one in the Quarter of Trysts engages in such fraud. Here it is taken for granted that Lady Fortune is quick to take offense, and it’s best not to play pranks on her.
The newly fledged lovers then leave the Quarter of Trysts, set out for home or a hotel, and try to extract as much pleasure as possible from this arrangement of fate. In the morning, they must part forever. That’s a mandatory condition.
As far as I understand it, no one is there to enforce this unwritten contract down to the last point and to punish violations. Nonetheless, the rule is considered sacrosanct, and my suggestion that it would be easy to cheat fate met with a grimace of disgust, as though I had undertaken to expound on the charms of necrozoophilia and had warmly urged Melifaro to accompany me to the nearest pet cemetery. “Please, no more jokes of that kind,” he advised me grimly. “Especially around people you don’t know. And not around people you do know, either.”
So I never was able to understand the real reason for my friend’s offended sensibilities. I dismissed his prejudices and soon came up with my own high-minded explanation: the mutual agreement of the lovers, that separation for all time was inevitable, was not the worst means of lending an aura of romance to “intimate relations with a chance partner.” (I think this is how such phenomena are described in cold officialese.)
After recalling the above information, I realized sadly that it was still too early for me to make my way over to the Quarter of Trysts. My knees would shake, my tongue would twist into knots, my armpits would become small inverted lakes—and afterward in bed I would hardly show my most flattering side. The manner of acquaintance was too abrupt and unconventional. And what if “my fate” delivered me into the arms of an ancient, toothless giantess with elephantine legs? How, I asked myself, would I survive till morning? No. Better to place my bets on a more conservative approach to courtship, since it isn’t prohibited by local tradition.
After reaching this decision, I looked around in search of a way to kill time. The only possible conversation partner, our buriwok Kurush, was dozing, head tucked away under one wing. I reached for a book that Sir Juffin Hully had left lying on his armchair. The title was The Philosophy of Time; the author, one Sir Sobox Xes. Sinning Magicians! What people won’t read.
All in all, I had a rather distressing night. Thumb-twiddling boredom, fruitless deliberations about the Quarter of Trysts, and philosophical literature can plunge one into a funk much faster than the magical shenanigans of our incomparable Master of Pursuit.
The morning brought with it some favorable changes. Sir Kofa Yox amused me with a few risque jokes. Juffin decided to stay home until lunchtime, but he sent me a good-morning call. At the same time he asked me to wait for Melifaro, so that the Secret Investigative wouldn’t be without someone in charge. I didn’t object, since I was-n’t planning to leave anyway until I saw Melamori. She most likely felt guilty, and I’d be a fool not to use such a chain of coincidences to my advantage.
The lady finally made an appearance. She slunk around the Hall of Common Labor, unsure of whether to approach me. The door to the office was open a crack, so I