The Stranger - Max Frei [132]
“I’m nowhere near collapse. You forget I’m the ‘nocturnal backside. ’ My shift is just beginning. Off we go!”
“You know, Max, there is an aura of evil about you,” Melifaro remarked, getting into the amobiler. “Your nocturnal habits, your fast driving, your gloomy expression, the black looxi, you don’t eat soup, like normal people do . . . Not to mention your absurd habit of killing crown criminals. It’s too much for one person. It’s no wonder Melamori is afraid of you.”
“Afraid of me!”
“Of course, didn’t you know? When I saw how she looked at you, I thought, ‘That’s it, pal. You can go scratch your backside. You’ve got a serious competitor!’ Then I realized that my stakes hadn’t fallen so low. The lady fears you like a nightmare.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why should she be afraid of me? Melamori isn’t one of those prissy city girls who are ready to pee in their pants whenever I go out to the store for some useless crap.”
“That’s just it. She’s no priss. She understands people better than anyone. That’s her job. Ask her yourself. How should I know? Anyway, I think I’ll doze off while we’re driving.”
“Then we’ll be on the road for a very long time. Because the only road I’d be able to find without your advice leads directly to the Barren Lands.”
Of course I was lying shamelessly, since I didn’t even know that road.
“And I thought you knew everything, like Juffin.”
“Everything except addresses, birthdays, and other such nonsense.”
“Too bad. Besides those things, there’s usually nothing to know about people. Well, all right. I’ll be the navigator. You’re not going to tell me anything about what happened today, either, Max? Mystery of mysteries, but I’m dying of curiosity!”
“He was my illegitimate brother,” I answered in a malicious whisper. “And since we both claim the inheritance of our Papa—two old nags and a heap of their manure—I just took advantage of the privileges of office and finished off my rival.”
“Very funny. So it really is a terrible secret?”
“If it were up to me, it might not necessarily remain a secret. But terrible it certainly was. So terrible that it’s not even funny. Actually, if I hadn’t killed him, he would have died anyway. It was something like losing the Spark, only even more unpleasant.”
“How exciting!” Melifaro had an unending supply of good humor. “Fine. Never mind. You can keep your secret to yourself. By the way, there’s a left turn here. Wow, you’d make a great race car driver, mate!”
“What should I know about the customs you keep at home?” I asked, changing the subject. “When Juffin dragged me over to old Makluk’s to pay a visit, I nearly had a heart attack: bearers, palanquins, packs of servants everywhere, dressing for dinner. I shouldn’t expect anything like that, should I?”
“Take a good look at me, Max. How could I be the son of people who observe formalities? Mama believes that every guest has one sacred obligation: to remain full at all times. My father adheres to only one rule: no stupid rules, end of story. Do you know that it’s because of this I don’t have a name?”
“Really? I couldn’t understand why everyone always called you by your last name. I wanted to ask, but I thought maybe the problem was that you had some completely bizarre first name.”
“And you spared my vanity? You shouldn’t have. I don’t suffer from that, and I wish others didn’t, either. I just don’t have a name. When I was born my father had already left on his famous journey. Mama sent him a call every day asking what to name me, and every day he had a new idea. Each day she would ask again, just to make sure—always with the same result. When I turned three, my mother finally got tired of this shilly-shallying, and she asked the question point blank. Well, magnificent Sir Manga was very busy at the time, and his answer was: ‘Why does he need a first name at all with a last name like ours?’ My mama has her own notions of marital harmony. She said, ‘Well, may everything be as you wish, dear. You’ll be the