It Takes a Thief

by Niels Hammer

  “Doctor Silverleaf is expecting you, Mister de Troyes!”

  Going into the consultation room he met a middle aged and mild-mannered man with dark tired eyes and black hair – now probably forced by the reduced circumstances of having fallen from common grace to eke out a living by plotting profit against risk.

  “Good day, Doctor Silverleaf!”

  “Good afternoon – Mister de Troyes.”

  The nearly imperceptible pause between the two phrases indicated that he was well aware of the obvious but also that he did not really care. His breath smelled of anise – Ricard.

  “I have the remedy you required ready for you. It’s lying over there in the window sill together with a syringe and two needles.”

  “Excellent, thanks!”

  He rose to take the plastic bag.

  “Would you mind if I discarded the packing here?”

  “No, not at all.”

  He put the needles – the syringe and the phials in his pocket and deposited the superfluous plastic wrappings in Doctor Silverleaf’s wastepaper basket.

  “I’m much obliged to you, doctor, for you see, we’ll be sailing from Folkstone to Boulogne-sur-Mer in less than three hours. We have a house there, and our new dog, a Labrador, is terribly afraid of the Sea, so we would like to make him sleep all the way, and we wondered if you could tell us what the ideal dosis might be? This is, in fact, a bit of an emergency, and we could simply not get hold of our regular veterinary in time, and as I happened to be in London your name was suggested to me so I took the opportunity, you know, as a Godsend.”

  The story – however illusory – was still a necessary pretence.

  “How long would the dog have to be at sea?”

  “About an hour and ten minutes, we have a fairly fast boat.”

  “And how much does it weigh?”

  “Forty-five kilogrammes.”

  “Then you should use six hundred milligrammes, that’s twelve millilitres intramuscularly.”

  “I had calculated with ten to fifteen milligrammes per kilogramme body weight.”

  “Yes, and if it seems to wake up you can give it another injection. There are four phials each with ten millilitres containing fifty milligrammes per millilitre, a syringe and two needles. That will be one hundred and seventy-five Pounds.”

  He counted the money carefully and placed them on a piece of green blotting paper beneath a bronze paper knife. His neat and meticulous habits would account for his ability to carry on from day to day – and his well-developed sense of smelling out potential risks would save him from serious mistakes – so he would all the time have been trying to re-evaluate the risk involved – but the explanation he now had was as good as any he could expect to get. Having ascertained that he had put the phials and the syringe into his pocket he rose to give Doctor Silverleaf his hand and meet his slightly worried and slightly diffuse gaze.

  “Good afternoon, Doctor Silverleaf. I can assure you that we will follow your advise very very carefully, so there is no reason, I repeat, no reason at all, to worry about conceivable or even inconceivable mistakes or complications.”

  “All right, thanks, and bood-gy.”

  Blushing a little the good doctor sat back in his turning chair. It was all such a pity – beyond his power – to alleviate – except momentarily as now with the cold comfort of base metal. So he hurried out to forget his own inadequacy and walked to the station – and then the underground of crowded crushing among sorrows unaware of themselves brought him to Liverpool Street where as usual he had to wait – though not more than twenty minutes – for the train that – when it eventually had stopped in front of him with a screech of torn metal – took its time before the empty rails ahead once more could urge it to move forward. From Norwich he came home at last – having driven slowly through criss-crossing pedestrians – along narrow winding roads bordered by human habitations and past obstacles designed unawares to delay the progress of the soul – after an ordeal of having changed means of transportation eight times and been burdened by sharing – however momentarily – three or four all too human fates.

  “I’m back!”

  Caitlin came running downstairs with her flying locks on fire.

  “Did you get it?”

  “Yes, and our conjecture was confirmed, about twelve milligrammes per kilogramme?”

  “We’ll estimate the weight when we see him.”

  He kissed her to make amends for the length of his absence.

  “But we’ll try the ketamine and the electric gun first on the Sheep.”

  “Yes, and I’ve just had a look at the weather. It will rain all Wednesday evening.”

  “The less risk, then, of heavy traffic and what’s much more important, there will be far less light, and we’ll prepare ourselves for a deluge.”

  “Dark clothes and gloves. The hats with mosquito nets will obscure our faces.”

  “Doctor Silverleaf appeared to be a rather dismal case, and his secretary or wife even worse, but he had everything ready, and the right information.”

  “That’s one of the worst aspects, the sad or weird individuals you sometimes have to deal with.”

  “Quite. But you’ll not be all that better off when dealing with the bourgeoisie or even with the faubourg Saint-Germain crowd. They can be just as depressing though in a different way.”

  “I was thinking about the sheer sordidness of such encounters. How does Fjodor cope with it?”

  “He has a reliable intermediary, whom he calls his peripheral agent, to rely on; but apart from the favour he has done me now, and when something exceptional requires a drastic solution, he has not much need of his talents, and I don’t think he has had anything to do with Doctor Silverleaf before; so it’s not a matter of serious concern which, for example, the search for the jewellery turned out to be. We were both very relieved when we found what we were looking for so quickly and could call off all further search. Apart from such rare occasions when trawling the miasma of the metropolis for odd bits and pieces of information Fjodor moves like a water strider upon the broad and steady river of civilised society and well-connected acquaintances; and apart, for example, from his business as an art dealer, he makes a substantial amount of money playing bridge with his twin-sister for they know each other inside out and if they don’t communicate by telepathy they communicate by something approaching telepathy. And his house, he loves every square inch of it, has been in his family since the end of la Grande Guerre. But that reminds me that I’ll have to call Suzy about the wristlet, and by the way there was a letter this morning. We’re having dinner with Jessie and Seymour, the doctor with whom I went fishing in Scotland and who helped me with the files in the hospital.”

  “Does he know everything about me?”

  Any degree of exposure violated her instincts so he had to allay her fears.

  “He knows you broke into my house and he knows you’ve been having cleft palate operations. That’s what he knows, and of course, also that I’m in love with you. But he’s a real doctor, a very great and a very old friend of mine, so he’s both professionally and ethically bound to keep his knowledge to himself and he has of course not told Jessie anything either; furthermore, he has a very acute sense of integrity. You’ll recognise it immediately. When I told him about what had happened he said I was lucky for it was like a fairy tale, as I’ve already told you. Our fairy tale, in fact, and he became a little sorry for himself as he feels bored and longs for adventures.”

  “You know how quickly rumours tend to spread.”

  “Yes, but I had to take both Fjodor and Seymour into my confidence, and Fjodor is in the same little boat of ingenuity as we are, not really on account of what he does, for he is cautiousness personified and an expert in hedging his bets, but rather by instinct, inclination and conviction; and you could not hope to meet anybody who would
understand you better. He is completely unprejudiced and a born gambler.”

  “And soon all traces in the sand will have been washed away by the waves – ”

  In the eye of her mind – an image she had seen so often – just like they would themselves one day – so pray that the journey to Ithaka would be long and full of adventures with starlight glittering on a slowly breathing swell and jungles that echoed with the belling of Śambars in the early morning mist.

  “For new events erase the traces of former events, so after a couple of months or so, I shall probably cease to worry about the past. And I phoned my mother earlier this afternoon and she could hardly believe what I said. She thought I would never marry, and she wept. I had to comfort her and she’ll come down to stay here for a week.”

  “Fjodor said just the same as Seymour, namely that we were living in a fairy tale of our own.”

  “But it’s real!”

  “Fairy tales are always real, and what he meant was that our lives had the characteristics of a real fairy tale, a plain reincarnation of a myth, that is, a distinct psychophysiological pattern and a subsequent psychodynamic development.”

  “I must reread some fairy tales then.”

  “Or I can read them aloud to you. Grimm, the Arabian Nights or the Ocean of Stories.”

  “I don’t know the last one, the Ocean of Stories?”

  “Kathāsaritsāgaraḥ, some of the stories are repeated in the Arabian Nights, but it’s Indian.”

  “All right, you can begin when we come back, but just when you had left a delivery van came with assorted groceries, frozen venison, vegetables, milk and various other things. Do you get that on a regular basis?”

  “I send them an email to escape the horror of a supermarket. Was there anything you liked?”

  “Oh yes, all of it, I think, for you’re a rather fastidious – ”

  “No, discriminating rather, and I am satisfied with the most simple – ”

  “I don’t know if I should believe you?”

  Her laughter promised him forgiveness.

  “You will. It’s your frugal upbringing.”

  “It wasn’t as frugal as all that. There were many treats as well, but myths are hard to kill.”

  “‘Myth’ is hardly le mot juste here, you mean illusions, false notions and prejudices – ”

  “I see, Herr Professor, that I now have to weigh every one of my words on a scale of platinum.”

  “Myths are naked truths, the dreams or the nightmares of the tribe, expressions of common unconscious urges and experiences, often in allegorical or poetic form. And are the words you utter not much more precious and important than pearls, emeralds and diamonds?”

  “Don’t take what I say so seriously, and not yourself either, nor all your oracular axiomata.”

  “Why don’t you instead consider how deplorable the misuse of the word ‘myth’ is and rejoice in the fact of a clarification that gives you a much better grasp on reality. What I pointed out was tautological or self-evident if given half a minute of serious consideration. Instead of focusing on the content of the issue you chose to regard it as an instant of Besserwissen and became offended enough to indulge in a vicious ad hominem – ”

  “I’m a woman of flesh and blood; you’re a stickler for trifles and pernickety ad nauseam – ”

  “I can place a light in front of you but as long as you keep your eyes firmly shut – ”

  “Now you’re not going to argue with me any more, but accept me as I am.”

  “We are not even having an argument as there’s no development in our exchange of views.”

  “You had better stop now before I lose my temper.”

  That was a new aspect. Her eyes were dark and hard as nails as if she wanted to transfix him to the wall behind with her perspective and her perspective only.

  “I wonder what you would do? If it would lead to a catharsis it would be worth while.”

  “You wouldn’t like it.”

  Both a threat and a promise of a fair display of fireworks.

  “But that’s at the present moment an undecidable proposition.”

  “For you, but not for me as I know what I would do.”

  “But not how I would react.”

  “Oh I know you by now.”

  The sparks from the touchstone – his space and delight.

  “Caitlin?”

  His sudden change of tone made her curious and calm.

  “You know, you can use the word ‘myth’ in any way you want. I don’t really mind.”

  “You have to take me as I am.”

  “I have already done that, ten times over.”

  “I’m not saying that my use of the word ‘myth’ is right, but I was just using a simple colloquial expression, and for a moment believing that I was talking to a human being.”

  “How could you be so inattentive as to make such a category mistake?”

  His smile dissolved her in laughter.

  “I was deceived by appearances, I think.”

  “We had better make dinner now so that we’ll be ready at nine o’ clock. It will take half an hour to drive up there, and then we shall have to find the Sheep.”

  “And besides, we must post out passports and birth certificates to the vicar and it will take twenty minutes to dig up the electric gun I have hidden in the wood; but with the infrared binoculars it should be fairly easy to locate the sheep.”

  “On a dark night they are indispensable. Let’s just fry these thin slices lightly and have Parsley, Basil and Tomatoes, en vinaigrette. If you’ll rinse them I’ll cut them.”

  He made an emulsion of olive oil and red vinegar – added sea salt and some freshly ground green pepper corns. The love apples could have had a deeper red with more lycopene and a stronger smell of dimethyl sulfide but the Parsley and the Basil were pure and fresh as they were his own. The meat sizzled in the hot butter while he swilled the wine around in his mouth to let the air pass slowly out through his nostrils.

  “Give me your plate!”

  They sat down to eat but there was still an unresolved and absurd discrepancy present in the air between them. He tried not to let it influence the taste and the fragrance of the food – but felt nevertheless that it did – like a hardly perceptible shimmer of blight on rose leaves or even like a gritty sensation between the teeth. When they had finished and sat waiting for the dusk to thicken he took hold of her hand to wash them both clean of grievances – and felt the beating of her heart – that made her live – for him.

  “Why did you become so cross?”

  “Because you always pretend to know best, and because quite often you’re right.”

  “Then I’ll take care to make some mistakes.”

  “No, that would be far worse, at least if you did it to please me, and very stupid as well.”

  “Why did we argue?”

  “We’re both stubborn, used to live more or less on our own, and to get our own way.”

  “So now we have to adjust to one another?”

  “Of course, I want you to adjust to me and you want me to adjust to you. It’s that simple.”

  “I’ll do everything you say.”

  “And I’ll do everything you say.”

  “I’ll do what you say and you’ll do what I say, instead of I’ll do what I say and you’ll do what you say.”

  “It gets too complicated and artificial. We’ll have to improvise as always. Come on!”

  They drove westwards through the gloomy darkness – guided along the narrow winding road by the light beams of the car. A fine sizzling drizzle and the black asphalt glistened like oil. Her shaded profile was sharp against the night outside the drip-dropped window. She was concentrating on the way along which she nudged the mechanical animal – pulling its strings – to safeguard th
eir lives – to reach their present and their distant destination.

  “We can park here. If you’ll take the metal tube, I’ll take the rest.”

  They changed clothes in unison – aligned with a common goal. The silence only deepened when a leaf shook off the burden of too many drops. He followed her into a cluster of young Birch Trees and in spite of the growing darkness she did not hesitate to get her bearings.

  “Sometimes there are people here walking or exercising, often with dogs, but not now when it’s dark and rainy. Nevertheless it’s best to be cautious. We must be getting hot here.”

  She probed the grass with the metal detector by sweeping the sensor slowly too and fro and he scanned the surroundings for warm-blooded animals. Grey images were ugly – the information they conveyed crucial. She crouched down to dig up a large rusty nail.

  “Give me the metal tube?”

  Placing it exactly where she had picked up the nail she began to press it down into the earth by twisting it from side to side – but at a depth of about two feet she pulled it up and knelt down to reach the bottom of the hole. An instant later she rose with a plastic bag in her hand and having cleaned it with a cloth she put it into her pocket and opened the tube to reveal a long cylinder of earth – mulch – leaves and grass.

  “Now I’ll just replace the earth here and add a bit more. While I quite often use the same place I change the exact location.”

  Readjusting the topsoil and the grass in the light of the red torch she scrutinised the ground around the hole before she gave him the metal tube and picked up the detector. The plain logic of the project and the pragmatic attitude of her approach befitted her meticulous planning and scrupulous consideration of potential risks – so it strengthened his confidence in her ability to carry out the operation on the house without mishaps. He had to believe in her but he felt justified in his belief. It had stopped raining and through a rift in the clouds the crescent Moon – Kālī – annihilating evil influence – swept a dull ray of reflected light across their path before hiding again in the turbulent vapours of the Earth. In shared silence they walked back to the car along the foot-printed track and drove off.