Read Online Cyclops (The Margellos World Republic of Letters) by Ranko Marinkovic - Free Book Online Page A

drank poison, slit their wrists, leaped from windows, dyed their hair, left their husbands—all for Freddie’s love. For his love?—oh, that would have been too much joy—for a promise over the phone: tonight, Madam, I play for you alone. And indeed he played
for her alone
, she believed he was playing
for her alone
and inside her she said “my darling.”
    Freddie, the ideal young lover. The physique, the head, the shoulders, the arms, the legs, everything, everything about him was simply marvelous! The way he walked, sat down, crossed his legs, tapped his cigarette on his silver cigarette case, the way he lit it … he definitely oozes charm, they said, already melting in his imaginary embrace.
    Freddie’s acting style is certainly worthy of a better-class hairdresser. … Also, he has a coy lisp … he couldn’t even deliver the “imbecile and ass” line properly. … But Melkior was hunting for her gaze, seeking a wise
objective
state, wishing to rise above his suffering, to be pure, to be pure …
    She laughed at Ugo’s quips and her moist eyes immediately pasted his derisive words all over Melkior. Damn the Parampion, can’t he give it a rest?
    His rhetorical raptures cut short by Freddie’s taunt, Ugo sliced through his formal speech as if with a sword. He turned to face the actor’s table and clicked his heels military style, his expression solemn and stern:
    “I’m sure I needn’t slap you or toss a glove in your face. Accept my formal challenge: at seven o’clock tomorrow morning I shall be expecting you at the upper Maksimir Lake with witnesses at my side. Bring the sword from
Henry IV
, you episodic nobody. I shall bring a fork upon which I will impale you at five past seven, on the dot.”
    The bar echoed to an explosion of guffaws.
    The bartender at the bar burst into a titter and dropped a bottle of a costly beverage; he was in for two months’ work without pay.
    Melkior sought her: … she was laughing, her shoulders were shaking. Freddie seemed to give her a warning kick under the table, she went serious all of a sudden: why, it’s “us” they’re … oh my, well, it was funny all the same. She was embarrassed, caught out.
    After delivering his challenge to duel, Ugo spun on his heel and marched back to his table. They poured him a rewarding glass, which he drained and then burst out laughing himself. Somebody exclaimed in admiration, Now there’s an actor and no mistake!
    Perhaps it was the exclamation that revealed the extent of the insult to Freddie. He stood up, his face pale, and adjusted his tie. He was prepared to take Ugo on.
    She intervened. Suddenly afraid of something, she tugged at his sleeve, “No, Freddie, can’t you see he’s drunk.” He had in fact been counting on someone tugging his sleeve (he had a new suit on, white shirt, and tie); he bent down and kissed her hand. He gave his chair an unnecessary little jerk and sat down again. He even smiled like a better sort of gentleman who was not having anything to do with lowlifes.
    “There, there, everything’s all right again,” she purred, stroking his hand.
    “All the same, Fred, you should have knocked him a proper one across the snout,” said the hollow-eyed actress in her dark voice. “Clobber the brutes, that’s the only way.” She was very dissatisfied at the outcome of the incident.
    “Come off it!” countered
she.
“Do you want him to brawl with the gutter?”—and the “gutter” was loosed straight at Melkior.
    His ears felt hot, he knew they were crimson as well. He deemed himself innocent in the face of her insult. He got flustered and failed to answer the host of ritual questions put to him by Ugo. Justifying himself in his mind, explaining to
her
… no, this is nothing but the truth: Freddie is a shallow, talentless fop, his delivery’s off, he lisps and mumbles … spreads his words like butter … in a word: a fool.
    It was as if she were reading his mind: she bore down on him with all