The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
went to scold him for it, he wouldn’t even invite me in. Can you imagine? Just
opened the door one tiny crack and barely poked his head out.”
“So you got to know him after that?”
“After that? After the way he spoke to me? You must be joking. I wouldn’t
have given that filthy son of a sailor a match in a snowstorm.”
I couldn’t help myself now; trying to stifle a laugh only made it come
out harder. Mrs. DeSouza straightened up to glare at me, but as she did, she
upset the balance of the giant blue puffball on top of her head, and it slipped
too far to one side, nearly toppling her. “I don’t use such language lightly,
young man. Nobody takes etiquette seriously anymore. He should have come
to me first.”
“Of course. I know. Well, if you don’t have anything else . . .”
“Have anything else? What do you mean by that?”
“For my story. Anything else about Jaan.”
“The only person who, as you say, ‘had anything’ from him was your little
musical friend. I never saw him open the door to anyone else but her. I can
imagine why,” she said, lowering her voice and leering salaciously.
“I’m sure nothing like that happened.”
“Oh, of course. An old man like that? Probably hasn’t raised a mast since
Harry Hopkins’s time. I’m merely saying that Miss Rowe’s charms are considerable.
As are her wiles. An old man living alone would have been flattered,
even if he would never even shake hands with anybody else.”
“Interesting. Thank you, Mrs. DeSouza. This interview really has
helped me.”
“Don’t patronize me. And I don’t want to see you sneaking in and out of
this house at all hours of the night, do you understand me?”
“Of course.”
With that, she slammed the door and I got into my car. The cat peered
skeptically at the porch from beneath the hedgerows.
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