The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
or ‘fool.’ But you also say it when you witness an act of pure and unadulterated
good luck. Sinking a billiard shot with your eyes closed, for instance.
Winning a lottery.” He grimaced as he touched the towel to his nose. “What
you did just now. Your aim. Durak.”
“How do you know? Maybe I do this all the time,” I said, checking to
make sure I was pointing the right end of the gun at him.
He laughed feebly, more a series of croaks than anything else. “Yes? This
is why your hands are still shaking? This is why you look more afraid still
than I do?”
I raised the gun and pointed it right at his head. “You think I’m afraid?”
“To use that?” He paused, as though he was really thinking. “No. To tell
you the truth, no, I don’t. Not at the moment. But I know you are no fighter.
No killer either.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I am. A killer, that is. A very good one, too. Successful.” He spit
a yellow-and-red gobbet into my towel. “What you did was a direct result of
my overconfidence.”
“You came here to kill me?”
“Well, yes. May I have another towel, please?”
“No. You came here to kill me?”
“Please,” he whined, almost ingratiatingly. “This towel is soaked through.
And a touch of brandy, if you have it.”
“No brandy. And use your coat if you want to clean up. You were coming
to kill me?”
“Yes, and if you give me some brandy, I promise I will leave here without
killing you. And I will never come back. I promise.”
“You’ll leave here without killing me whether I give you brandy or not. I
have the gun.”
“You do, and I will. You’re right. Bravo. I can clearly see you are getting
used to this business of violence. But if you didn’t shoot me, I would
probably come back, just out of pure spite for your manners. Who would
refuse a bloody old man a drink?”
He was almost smiling now, and he held up his hands in mock defeat.
“My business depends on trust, just like yours,” he said. “If you talk to a
335