Man from the South ee-3 Read online

  'Old Glosspan?' the doctor said. 'Is she dead?'

  'Certainly she's dead,' the boy answered. 'If you come home with me now I'll dig her up and you can see for yourself.'

  'How deep did you bury her?' the doctor asked.

  'Two or three metres down, I think.'

  'And how long ago?'

  'Oh, about eight hours.'

  'Then she's dead,' the doctor announced. 'Here's the certificate.'

  Lexington now left for the city of New York to find Mr Samuel Zuckermann. He travelled on foot, and he slept under bushes, and he lived on berries and wild plants, and it took him sixteen days to reach the city.

  'What a place this is!' he cried, as he stood staring around him. 'There are no chickens or cows anywhere and none of the women looks like Aunt Glosspan at all.'

  Lexington had never seen anyone like Mr Zuckermann before, either.

  He was a small man with a large nose, and when he smiled, bits of gold flashed at you from lots of different places inside his mouth. In his office, he shook Lexington warmly by the hand and congratulated him on his aunt's death.

  'I suppose you know that your dearly loved aunt was a woman of great wealth?' he said.

  'Do you mean the cows and the chickens?'

  'I mean five hundred thousand dollars,' Mr Zuckermann said.

  'How much?'

  'Five hundred thousand dollars, my boy. And she's left it all to you.' Mr Zuckermann leaned back in his chair. 'Of course, I shall have to take 50 per cent for my services,' he said, 'but that still leaves you with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.'

  'I am rich!' Lexington cried. 'This is wonderful! How soon can I have my money?'

  'Well,' said Mr Zuckermann, 'luckily for you, I know the people at the city tax office and I'm confident that I'll be able to persuade them to forget about any taxes that your aunt owed.'

  'How kind you are,' said Lexington.

  'I shall have to give some people a small tip, of course.'

  'Whatever you say, Mr Zuckermann.'

  'I think a hundred thousand would be enough.'

  'But how much does that leave for me?' the youth asked.

  'One hundred and fifty thousand. But then you've got the funeral expenses to pay out of that.'

  'Funeral expenses?'

  'You've got to pay the funeral company. Surely you know that?'

  'But I buried her myself, Mr Zuckermann, in the field behind the house. I never used a funeral company.'

  'Listen,' Mr Zuckermann said patiently. 'You may not know it but there is a law in this State which says that no one can receive any money from a will until the funeral company has been paid.'

  'You mean that's a law?'

  'Certainly it's a law, and a very good law, too. Funerals are one of our country's great traditions. They must be protected at all costs.' Mr Zuckermann himself, together with a group of doctors, controlled a large funeral company in the city. The celebration of death was therefore a deeply religious affair in Mr Zuckermann's opinion. 'You had no right to go out and bury your aunt like that,' he said. 'None at all.'

  'I'm very sorry, Mr Zuckermann.'

  'It's completely un-American.'

  'I'll do whatever you say, Mr Zuckermann. All I want to know is how much I'm going to get in the end, when everything's paid.'

  There was a pause.

  'Shall we say fifteen thousand?' he suggested, flashing a big gold smile. 'That's a nice figure.'

  'Can I take it with me this afternoon?'

  'I don't see why not.'

  So Mr Zuckermann called his chief clerk and told him to give Lexington fifteen thousand dollars. The youth, who was delighted to be getting anything at all, accepted the money gratefully and put it in his bag. Then he shook Mr Zuckermann warmly by the hand, thanked him for all his help, and went out of the office.

  'The whole world is in front of me!' Lexington cried as he went into the street. 'I now have fifteen thousand dollars to help me until my book is ready. After that, of course, I shall have a lot more.' He stood in the street, wondering which way to go. He turned left and began walking slowly down the street, staring at the sights of the city. 'I must have something to eat. I'm so hungry!' he said. The boy had eaten nothing except berries and wild plants for the past two weeks, and now his stomach wanted solid food.

  He crossed the street and entered a small restaurant. The place was hot inside, and dark and silent. There was a strong smell of cooking-fat. Lexington seated himself at a corner table and hung his bag on the back of the chair. This, he told himself, is going to be most interesting. In all my seventeen years I have tasted only the cooking of two people, Aunt Glosspan and myself. But now I am going to try the food of a new cook and perhaps, if I am lucky, I might get a few ideas for my book.

  A waiter came out of the shadows at the back and stood beside the table. 'Do you want the roast pork and potatoes?' he asked. 'That's all we've got left.'

  'Roast what and potatoes?'

  The waiter took a dirty handkerchief from his trouser pocket and shook it open. Then he blew his nose loudly. 'Do you want it or don't you?' he said, wiping his nose.

  'I don't know what it is,' Lexington answered, 'but I'd love to try it. I'm writing a cookbook and ...'

  'One pork and potatoes!' the waiter shouted, and somewhere in the back of the restaurant, far away in the darkness, a voice answered him.

  The waiter disappeared and soon returned carrying a plate on which there lay a thick grey-white piece of something hot. Lexington leaned forward anxiously to smell it.

  'But this is absolutely heavenly!' he cried. 'What a smell! It's wonderful!'

  The waiter stepped back a little, watching the youth.

  'I have never in all my life smelled anything as wonderful as this!' Lexington cried, seizing his knife and fork. 'What is it made of?' But the waiter was moving backwards towards the kitchen. Lexington cut off a small piece of the meat and put it into his mouth, beginning to eat it slowly, his eyes half closed.

  'This is wonderful!' he cried. 'It's a fine new flavour! Oh, Glosspan, I wish you were here with me now so that you could taste this dish! Waiter! Come here at once! I want you!'

  The waiter was now watching him from the other end of the room.

  'If you will come and talk to me, I will give you a present,' Lexington said, waving a hundred-dollar note. 'Please come over here and talk to me.'

  The waiter came cautiously back to the table, seized the money and put it quickly into his pocket.

  'What can I do for you, my friend?'

  'Listen,' Lexington said. 'If you will tell me what this dish is made of, and exactly how it is prepared, I will give you another hundred.'

  'I've already told you,' the man said. 'It's pork.'

  'And what exactly is pork?'

  'Have you never had roast pork before?' the waiter asked, staring.

  'Just tell me what it is.'

  'It's pig,' the waiter said. 'You just put it in the oven.'

  'Pig!'

  'All pork is pig; didn't you know that?'

  'You mean this is pig's meat?'

  'Of course.'

  'But ... but ... that's impossible,' the youth said. 'Aunt Glosspan said that meat of any kind was disgusting and horrible, but this is without doubt the most wonderful thing I have ever tasted. How do you explain that?'

  'Perhaps your aunt didn't know how to cook it,' the waiter said.

  'Is that possible?'

  'It certainly is. Especially with pork. Pork has to be very well cooked or you can't eat it.'

  'That's it!' Lexington cried. 'That's exactly what must have happened. She cooked it wrong!' He handed the man another hundred-dollar note. 'Lead me to the kitchen,' he said. 'Introduce me to the man who prepared this meat.'

  Lexington was at once taken to the kitchen, and there he met the cook, who was an old man with large, unpleasant red patches on his skin.

  'This will cost you another hundred,' the waiter said.

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