...
"I'd really like some meat!" Ammon repeated with a sigh.
Somebody coughed emphatically, and another person began to breathe
noisily in the corner.
Ammon grew bored and went out into the foyer. A servant handed him his
coat.
"I'll send you a turkey," said Ammon, "eat to your heart's content."
"Oh, sir!" objected the emaciated old servant, sadly shaking his head.
"If only you were used to our regimen...."
Ammon went out without listening to him. "Now the day's been spoiled,"
he thought, as he walked along the shady side of the street. "That cucumber
has stuck in my throat." He wanted to return home and did so. Tonar was
sitting in the living room at the open piano; he had finished playing his
favourite bravura pieces but was still under the spell of their great
liveliness. Tonar liked everything that was definite, absolute, and clear:
for example, milk and money.
"Admit that the article is stupid!" said Ammon as he entered. "I'd like
to give that minister of yours my boot in the ... but the police inspector
is an efficient fellow."
"We," retorted Tonar without turning around, "we businessmen look at
things differently. Loafers like you, corrupted by travels and a romantic
outlook, admire anyone who plays at being a Harun al-Rashid. To be sure,
instead of harassing the speculators who finagle us on the stock market, it
is much easier to don a false beard, hang around various dens, and booze it
up with petty thieves."
"But if somebody's an interesting person," said Ammon, "then I
appreciate him for that alone. You have to appreciate truly interesting
people. I've known a lot of them. One, a hermaphrodite, was wed to a man and
then, after getting divorced, married a woman. A second, who was once a
priest, invented a machine that sang bass; he grew rich, killed a circus
snake with his teeth on a bet, kept a harem in Cairo, and now is a cheese
merchant...
