Legends

Smiling nervously, the woman led Martin into a large oval room lit by several naked neon fixtures suspended from the ceiling. The three windows in the office were covered with planking, reminding Martin of the time Dante Pippen had followed Djamillah into the mercantile office above the bar in Beirut—the windows there had been boarded over, too. He looked around, taking in the room. Large cartons with “This Side Up” stenciled on them were stacked against one wall. A young woman in a loose fitting sweater and faded blue jeans sat at a desk, typing with two fingers on a vintage table-model Underwood. At the edge of the desk, a scroll of facsimile paper spilled from a fax machine into a carton on the floor. A loose-leaf book lay open on a low glass table filled with coffee stains and overflowing ashtrays. The woman motioned Martin to a seat on the automobile banquette against the wall and settled onto a low three-legged stool facing him, her crossed ankles visible through the thick glass of the table. “I assume Mr. Rabbani explained how we operate here. In order to keep our prices as low as possible, we do business out of this defunct station to reduce the overhead and we only sell our generic medicines in bulk. Is there anything in particular you are looking for, Mr. Odum? Our best sellers are the Tylenol generic, acetaminophen, the Valium generic, diazepam, the Sudafed generic, pseudoephedrine, the Kenacort generic, triamcinolone. Please feel free to thumb through the loose-leaf catalogue. The labels of our generic medicines are pasted onto the pages. I am not aware of any particular epidemic threatening the Ivory Coast aside from the HIV virus—we unfortunately do not yet have access to generic drugs for AIDS, but hope governments will put pressure on the drug conglomerates …” She gazed at her visitor, a sudden question visible in her eyes. “You didn’t mention your medical credentials, Mr. Odum. Are you a trained doctor or a public health specialist?”

Another commuter train roared by behind the station. When it had passed, Martin said, “Neither.”

Zuzana Slánská’s fingers came up to touch the small Star of David attached to the chain around her neck. “I am not sure I comprehend you.”

Martin leaned forward. “I have a confession to make. I am not here to buy generic medicines.” He looked directly into her rheumy eyes. “I have come to find out more about Samat’s project concerning the exchange of the bones of the Lithuanian saint for the Jewish Torah scrolls.”

“Oh!” The woman glanced at the secretary typing up order forms across the room. “It’s a long story,” she said softly, “and I shall badly need a brandy and several cigarettes to get me through it.”

Zuzana Slánská leaned toward Martin so that he could light her cigarette with a match from the book advertising Prague crystal. “I have never smoked a Beedie before,” she noted, sinking back, savoring the taste of the Indian cigarette. She pulled it from her mouth and carefully examined it. “Is there marijuana mixed with the tobacco?” she asked.

Martin shook his head. “You’re smelling the eucalyptus leaves.”

She took another drag on the Beedie. “I am wary of the experts who argue so passionately that smoking is dangerous for your health,” she remarked, the words emerging from her mouth along with the smoke. As she turned away to glance at the two fat men sucking on thick cigars at a nearby table, it struck Martin that she had the profile of a woman who must have been a stunner in her youth. “There are a great many things dangerous for your health,” she added, turning back. “Don’t you agree?”

Concentrating on his own cigarette, Martin said, “For instance?”

“For instance, living under high tension wires. For instance, eating fast food with artificial flavoring. For instance, being right when your government is wrong.” She favored the old waiter with a worn smile as he carefully set out two snifters half-filled with three-star Jerez brandy, along with a shallow Dresden bowl brimming with peanuts. “I am speaking from bitter experience,” she added, “but you surely will have grasped that from the tone of my voice.”