The Stranger - Max Frei [204]
I paid the money, but had no idea what to do next. Melifaro’s explanations had evaporated from my memory. What the heck was I thinking, coming here with an arrestee in custody! I felt slightly panicky. I realized that in my other hand I was grasping a tiny, smooth ceramic tag with the number 19 stamped on it. How and when I had managed to come by it was a mystery.
I stared thoughtfully at a huge glass receptacle that was sitting on the floor by the entrance. It was full of tags of the same kind. I had probably taken it from there. What now? I wondered in horror. I started to tremble. I no longer remembered that I had come here to meet an unknown woman, to meet my own destiny. I had only one goal: not committing another blunder. I had already screwed up enough for one night!
“What are you waiting for, sir?” the affable host asked in surprise. “Your number is 19. Go meet your destiny, my friend.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me why I came here. People are so absent-minded; and I’m a person, after all.”
I finally remembered what I was supposed to do. I slowly entered the rooms where the Waiters, lonely women both beautiful and plain, were biding their time. An absurd thought flickered through my brain: I was no doubt the first cop who had ever sought a lover with an arrestee in his fist!
One, two, three . . . I couldn’t even make out any faces. They all swam together in a blurry mass, and I walked through it with a foolish grin on my face. Six, seven . . . too bad, I have another number, sweetheart. Ten, eleven . . . May I get past, please? Eighteen, nineteen . . . You’re the one I’m looking for, my lady.
“Are you doing this on purpose? Are you casting spells again?” asked a familiar voice. “You shouldn’t be doing this, Max. Well, anyway, that’s that. You can’t fool fate, can you?”
I finally managed to focus my eyes. The pale splotch of a face slowly acquired a sweet, familiar outline. Lady Melamori looked at me guardedly. It seemed she couldn’t decide what to do—whether to throw herself at me in a warm embrace, or run for her life.
“That’s it!” I said. “This really is the limit!”
Then I sat down on the floor and began to laugh. I couldn’t have cared less about propriety and all the rest. My good sense simply refused to take part in this implausible adventure.
My little tantrum seemed to convince Melamori better than any rational argument could that there was no plot against her, and never had been. Ever.
“Let’s get out of here, Sir Max!” she begged, sitting on her haunches next to me. She carefully stroked my poor, crazy head, and whispered, “You’re scaring the visitors. Let’s go. You can laugh all you want when we’re outside. Come on, get up.”
I leaned obediently on the strong, small hand. Sinning Magicians, this delicate lady lifted me up without any effort at all!
Outside, the fresh breeze seemed to put everything in its proper place, and I no longer felt like laughing.
“Strange things have been happening lately, Melamori,” I said. Then I was silent. What else was there to say?
“Max,” she cried. “I’m so ashamed. When I was in your bedroom—well, now I understand that I did something very foolish, but I was so frightened! I completely lost my head!”
“I can imagine,” I said. “You fall asleep in your own house, and you wake up the devil knows where.”
“What’s ‘the devil’?” Melamori asked.
It wasn’t the first time I had had to explain my way out of such idiomatic scrapes. Now I didn’t even try.
“It doesn’t matter. But you know, I really don’t know what I did. I still have no idea how it happened.”
“I believe you,” Melamori said, nodding. “Now I realize you didn’t know your own powers, but . . . it’s too late.”
“Why?”
“Because it has already happened. Only we’re going to your place, not mine. I live too close. Let this last walk be a long one.”
“The last walk? Are you out of your mind, Melamori? Do you think I’ll bite your head off