The Final Circle of Paradise

My shirt had dried, and as the cafe emptied, I pulled it on and went over to sit at a table and to watch. Two meticulously dressed gentlemen in the corner were sipping their drinks through straws. They called attention to themselves immediately – both were in severe black suits and black ties, despite the very warm night. They weren't talking, and one of them constantly referred to his watch. After a while, I grew tired of observing them. Well, Doctor Opir, how do you like the shivers? Were you at the square? But of course you were not. Too bad. It would have been interesting to know what you thought of it. On the other hand, to the devil with you. What do I care what Doctor Opir thinks? What do I think about it myself? Well, high-grade barber's raw material, what do you think? It's important to get acclimatized quickly and not stuff the brain with induction, deduction, and technical procedures. The most important thing is to get acclimatized as rapidly as possible. To get to feel like one of them… There, they all went back to the square. Despite everything that happened, they still went back to the square again. As for me, I don't have the slightest desire to go back there. I would, with the greatest of pleasure at this point, go back to my room and check out my new bed. But when would I go to the Fishers? Intels, Devon, and Fishers. Intels – maybe they are the local version of the Golden Youth? Devon… Devon must be kept in mind, together with Oscar. But now the Fishers.

"The Fishers; that's a little bit vulgar," said one of the black suits, not whispering, but very quietly.

"It all depends on temperament," said the other. "As for me, personally I don't condemn Karagan in the slightest."

"You see, I don't condemn him either. It's a little shocking that he picked up his options. A gentleman would not have behaved that way."

"Forgive me, but Karagan is no gentleman. He is only a general manager. Hence the small-mindedness and the mercantilism and a certain what I might call commonness…"

"Let's not be so hard on him. The Fishers – that's something intriguing. And to be honest, I don't see any reason why we should not involve ourselves. The old Subway – that's quite respectable. Wild is much more elegant than Nivele, but we don't reject Nivele on that account."

"You really are seriously considering?"

"Right now, if you wish… It's five to two, by the way. Shall we go?"

They got up, said a friendly and polite goodbye to the bartender, and proceeded toward the exit. They looked elegant, calm, and condescendingly remote. This was astounding luck. I yawned loudly, and muttering, "Off to the square," followed them, pushing stools out of my way. The street was poorly illuminated, but I saw them immediately. They were in no hurry.

The one on the right was the shorter, and when they passed under the street lights, you could see his safe, sparse hair.

As near as I could tell, they were no longer conversing. They detoured the square, turned into a dark alley, avoided a drunk who tried to strike up a conversation, and suddenly, without one backward glance, turned abruptly into a garden in front of a large gloomy house. I heard a heavy door thud shut. It was a minute before two.

I pushed off the drunk, entered the garden, and sat down on a silver-painted bench under a lilac bush. The wooden bench was situated on a sandy path which ran through the garden. A blue lamp illuminated the entrance of the house, and I discerned two caryatids supporting the balcony over the door.

This didn't look like the entrance to the old subway, but as yet, I couldn't tell for sure, so I decided to wait.

I didn't have to wait long. There was a rustle of steps and a dark figure in a cloak appeared on the path. It was a woman. I did not grasp immediately why her proudly raised head with a high cylindrical coiffure, in which large stones glistened in the starlight, seemed familiar. I arose to meet her, and said, trying to sound both respectful and mocking, "You are late, madam, it's after two."

She was not in the least startled.

"You don't say!" she exclaimed. "Can it be my watch is so slow?"

It was the very same woman who had the altercation with the van driver, but of course she did not recognize me. Women with such disdainful-looking lower lips never remember chance meetings. I took her by the arm, and we mounted the wide stone steps. The door turned out to be as heavy as a reactor-well cover. There was no one in the entrance hall. The woman, without turning, flung the cloak on my arm and went ahead, and I paused for a second to look at myself in the huge mirror.

Good man, Master Gaoway, but it still behooved me to stay in the shadows. We entered the ballroom.

No, this was anything but a subway. The room was enormous and incredibly old-fashioned. The walls were lined with dark wood, and fifteen feet up, there was a gallery with a railing.