regard for human feelings, Herr Blum. Of course thatâs nothing new, as you must know yourself. You Germans have thought a good deal about it too, but you always see the problem in an abstract light, too metaphysically. Power is something concrete, like the whiskey in this glass and its effects.â
What nonsense, thought Blum â I could be with a woman somewhere, or trying to flog those porn magazines, and instead I sit here listening to what this jerk has to say about power, which is nothing very new. But what was new? His own story, his dreams and failures were nothing new either. Perhaps he might yet find out whether the old fellow was simply feeding him sugar lumps like a monkey for no good reason, or whether there was any point to all this talk.
âSo right now Iâd say information is big business. And anything that alters the structure of the little grey cells, of course. Chemicals, Mr Blum. Yessir, chemicals are really big business. Combine information with chemicals and the worldâs your oyster.â
âI donât see much chance for me to get a foot in the door,â replied Blum. âI mean, itâs rather too late in the day to start in that line . . .â
Hackensack looked hard at Blum, and said, before raising the cigar to his delicate lips, âItâs never too late. You just need the right attitude, my dear fellow, then youâll always fall on your feet. Take me â Iâve come a cropper many a time, from the Korean War to Berlin and south-east Asia, and Iâve always fallen on my feet. You have to in my line of business.â
âI thought you were a company adviser.â
âAn adviser, man, letâs just say an adviser.â
Blum wasnât about to insist on knowing the difference, nor did he want to spend any more time with this sweating colossus, who was beginning to strike him as bogus. He was getting on Blumâs nerves. Information, chemicals, south-east Asia â all very well, but what would Hackensack say if Blum told him about Inspector Cassar? Heâd better get moving. He was just wondering how to shake Hackensack off when he saw a woman tourist who had come into the Pegasus alone, and was now standing at the bar looking rather helpless. She was tall and thin and short-sighted, and wore a flowered dress and a knitted jacket. She was no beauty queen but she might save the day. He waved to the barkeeper, and showed his remarkably good teeth when he smiled at her.
âI think you must be from Germany too,â he said, turning away from Hackensack.
5
A male cockroach grabbed a female of the species with its forelegs and mounted her. When they had slid over to the title of the âDonât Go Breaking My Heartâ track, Blum put a coin in the slot of the jukebox, pressed the button and watched the cockroaches mating. The jukebox was full of cockroaches dead and alive. Rock freaks, thought Blum. Dancing on the machineâs hot electric belly, rocking and screwing themselves to death. Have fun, you two. The cockroach let go of the female. She slid over âSailingâ and âLa Barcaâ and lay motionless on âPlease Donât Goâ. Her lover had killed her. With scorpions itâs the female, with cockroaches the male. Thatâs life, girlie. Blum picked up his beer and looked out at the street again where, to the roar of the music, young girls on the make were lying in wait for tourists who were just wondering whether to allow themselves a half-bottle of wine at lunch, or buy their wives the T-shirt saying âI lost my heart in Maltaâ.
Finally Larry turned up. Larry was an Australian who had lost a lung in Vietnam. Since then he had been drawing a monthly pension from the Australian government and drinking it away in the cheaper seaports of southern Europe. The number of cheaper seaports was reduced by one every year. He was a thin fellow with a leathery face and a beard sprinkled
What nonsense, thought Blum â I could be with a woman somewhere, or trying to flog those porn magazines, and instead I sit here listening to what this jerk has to say about power, which is nothing very new. But what was new? His own story, his dreams and failures were nothing new either. Perhaps he might yet find out whether the old fellow was simply feeding him sugar lumps like a monkey for no good reason, or whether there was any point to all this talk.
âSo right now Iâd say information is big business. And anything that alters the structure of the little grey cells, of course. Chemicals, Mr Blum. Yessir, chemicals are really big business. Combine information with chemicals and the worldâs your oyster.â
âI donât see much chance for me to get a foot in the door,â replied Blum. âI mean, itâs rather too late in the day to start in that line . . .â
Hackensack looked hard at Blum, and said, before raising the cigar to his delicate lips, âItâs never too late. You just need the right attitude, my dear fellow, then youâll always fall on your feet. Take me â Iâve come a cropper many a time, from the Korean War to Berlin and south-east Asia, and Iâve always fallen on my feet. You have to in my line of business.â
âI thought you were a company adviser.â
âAn adviser, man, letâs just say an adviser.â
Blum wasnât about to insist on knowing the difference, nor did he want to spend any more time with this sweating colossus, who was beginning to strike him as bogus. He was getting on Blumâs nerves. Information, chemicals, south-east Asia â all very well, but what would Hackensack say if Blum told him about Inspector Cassar? Heâd better get moving. He was just wondering how to shake Hackensack off when he saw a woman tourist who had come into the Pegasus alone, and was now standing at the bar looking rather helpless. She was tall and thin and short-sighted, and wore a flowered dress and a knitted jacket. She was no beauty queen but she might save the day. He waved to the barkeeper, and showed his remarkably good teeth when he smiled at her.
âI think you must be from Germany too,â he said, turning away from Hackensack.
5
A male cockroach grabbed a female of the species with its forelegs and mounted her. When they had slid over to the title of the âDonât Go Breaking My Heartâ track, Blum put a coin in the slot of the jukebox, pressed the button and watched the cockroaches mating. The jukebox was full of cockroaches dead and alive. Rock freaks, thought Blum. Dancing on the machineâs hot electric belly, rocking and screwing themselves to death. Have fun, you two. The cockroach let go of the female. She slid over âSailingâ and âLa Barcaâ and lay motionless on âPlease Donât Goâ. Her lover had killed her. With scorpions itâs the female, with cockroaches the male. Thatâs life, girlie. Blum picked up his beer and looked out at the street again where, to the roar of the music, young girls on the make were lying in wait for tourists who were just wondering whether to allow themselves a half-bottle of wine at lunch, or buy their wives the T-shirt saying âI lost my heart in Maltaâ.
Finally Larry turned up. Larry was an Australian who had lost a lung in Vietnam. Since then he had been drawing a monthly pension from the Australian government and drinking it away in the cheaper seaports of southern Europe. The number of cheaper seaports was reduced by one every year. He was a thin fellow with a leathery face and a beard sprinkled