The Stranger - Max Frei [32]
“Wake me up when this handyman Lonli-Lokli shows up, okay?” I asked, turning away from the excessively moist nose.
Chuff gave a conciliatory snuffle. Max sleeping. Tomorrow guests. Need to get up. Wake him. The logical deductions of this understanding dog drifted through my brain. And then I wasn’t there.
Strangely enough, I woke up without any help an hour before I needed to. I felt amazingly well. It was probably the aftereffects of that bracing Elixir of Kaxar. Wonderful stuff!
Chuff wasn’t around. He was probably wandering about in the hall, eager not to miss the arrival of Sir Lonli-Lokli so that he could carry out his instructions. For another ten minutes I just lolled around, stretched, and lazily indulged in the morning thoughts that afford real pleasure only when you’ve have a good night’s sleep. Then I got up, washed with enjoyment, and even made myself shave—a man’s daily forced labor; only the bearded are truly happy and free. I confess that the bathroom mirror awakened no unpleasant associations in me. It wasn’t that I was so thick-skinned; I just knew that it was an ordinary mirror. And I had come to know a bit more about things in my midst after my metamorphosis into a vampire the day before. Hm, yet another glorious page in my biography. I’ll definitely have something to talk about with girls—if only there were any girls. As for bedtime stories, there’s no shortage of those.
I went into the living room. Kimpa materialized by the table, a tray in his hands. Then Chuff appeared, surmising correctly that a good half of the breakfast would be coming his way. I gathered the dog in my arms, settled him on my lap, took my first cup of kamra, opened yesterday’s paper, and fished a cigarette from my domestic supply out of my pocket. I hadn’t had any luck trying to switch to the local pipe tobacco, the taste of which threatened to cast a pall over my existence. In this sense I am very conservative. It seems that it’s far easier for me to change my profession, my place of domicile, and even my perception of reality, than to get used to a new kind of tobacco.
“It’s good you didn’t remain a vampire, Max!” Juffin said by way of greeting. “Or I wouldn’t know what to feed you! I’d say to Kimpa in the morning: ‘Please, dear fellow, kamra and some toast for me, and a ladle of blood for Sir Max!’ I’d have to exterminate the neighbors one by one, use the privileges of office, cover up the tracks. I wouldn’t want to drive away such a clever and useful chap over such paltry nonsense. I just praised you, did you notice?”
“You’re just rubbing salt into the wounds!” I smiled, automatically examining the palm that had been hurt yesterday, which I had completely forgotten about. It wasn’t hard to forget, since the hand was almost completely healed already. The very faint, thread-like scar, which could pass for an extension of my lifeline, looked like it had been there for a few years already.
Juffin noticed my surprise.
“It’s just Black Magic of the Second Degree. That salve isn’t half bad! Kimpa rubbed it on your hand yesterday while you were making up your mind whether to return to consciousness. Why are you so surprised?”
“Oh, because of everything.”
“That’s your right. Oh, look! We’re all here.”
Sir Lonli-Lokli, whose absence had grieved his colleagues more than me, seemed to have been created with the specific purpose of shaking me down to the soles of my shoes. Me, and no one else, mind you! The indigenous people of Echo will never be able to appreciate the fellow’s merits until