Part 30 (1/2)
He opened the lid once more. Emil, safely goggled, did not scream. After a moment of silence, various members of the audience began to snicker.
”Ah, you think he's weak? You think he looks harmless?” said Golescu, affecting an amused sneer.
”Yet, consider his astonis.h.i.+ng powers of calculation! You, boy, there.” He lunged forward and caught the nearest youngster who was clutching a jar, and lifted him bodily to the stage. ”Yes, you! Do you know-don't tell me, now!-do you know exactly how many beans are in your jar?”
”Yes,” said the boy, blinking in the torchlight.
”Ah! Now tell me, good people, is this child one of your own?”
”That's my son!” cried the barber.
”Very good! Now, is there a policeman here?”
”I am,” said the Captain of Police, stepping forward and grinning at Golescu in a fairly unpleasant way.
”Wonderful! Now, dear child, will you be so kind as to whisper to the good constable-whisper, I say-the correct number of beans in this jar?”
Obediently, the barber's son stepped to the edge of the planking and whispered into the Police Captain's ear.
”Excellent! And now, brave policeman, will you be so good as to write down the number you have just been given?” said Golescu, sweating slightly.
”Delighted to,” said the Police Captain, and pulling out a notebook he jotted it down. He winked at the audience, in a particularly cold and reptilian kind of way.
”Exquisite!” said Golescu. ”And now, if you will permit-?” He took the jar of beans from the barber's son and held it up in the torchlight. Then he held it before Emil's face. ”Oh, last of the Myrmidions! Behold this jar! How many beans?'
”Five hundred and six,” said Emil, faint but clear in the breathless silence.
”How many?”
”Five hundred and six.”
”And, sir, what is the figure you have written down?” demanded Golescu, whirling about to face the Police Captain.
”Five hundred and six,” the Police Captain responded, narrowing his eyes.
”And so it is!” said Golescu, thrusting the jar back into the hands of the barber's son and more or less booting him off the stage. ”Let's have more proof! Who's got another jar?”
Now a half-dozen jars were held up, and children cried shrilly to be the next on stage. Grunting with effort, Golescu hoisted another boy to the platform.
”And you are?” he said.
”That's my son!” said the Police Captain.
”Good! How many beans? Tell your papa!” cried Golescu, and as the boy was whispering in his father's ear, ”Please write it down!”
He seized the jar from the boy and once more held it before Emil. ”Oh last of the Myrmidions, how many beans?”
”Three hundred seventeen,” said Emil.
”Are you certain? It's a much bigger jar!”
”Three hundred seventeen,” said Emil.
”And the number you just wrote down, dear sir?”
”Three hundred seventeen,” admitted the Police Captain.
”I hid an onion in the middle,” said his son proudly, and was promptly cuffed by the police captain when Golescu had dropped him back into the crowd.
Now grown men began to push through the crowd, waving jars of varied legumes as well as barley and millet. Emil guessed correctly on each try, even the jar of rice that contained a pair of wadded socks!
At last Golescu, beaming, held up his hands.
”So, you have seen one proof of my adventure with your own eves,” he cried. ”But this has been a mere parlor entertainment, gentle audience. Now, vou will be truly amazed! For we come to the true purpose of my visit here. Behold the Gifts of Osiris!”
He whisked a piece of sacking from the stacked boxes it had concealed. The necks of many medicine bottles winked in the torchlight.
”Yes! Compounded by me, according to the ancient secret formulas! Here, my friends, are remedies to cure human misery! A crown a bottle doesn't even cover the cost of its rare ingredients-I'm offering them to you practically as a charity!”
A flat silence fell at that, and then the Police Captain could be heard distinctly saying, ”I thought it would come to this.”
”A crown a bottle?” said somebody else, sounding outraged.
”You require persuasion,” said Golescu. ”Free persuasion. Very good! You, sir, step up here into the light . Yes, you, the one who doesn't want to part with his money.”
The man in question climbed up on the planks and stood there looking defiant, as Golescu addressed the audience.
”Human misery!” he shouted. ”What causes it, good people? Age. Inadequacy. Inability Loneliness.
All that does not kill you, but makes life not worth living! Isn't it so? Now you, good sir!” He turned to the man beside him. ”Remove your hat, if you please. I see you suffer from baldness!”
The man turned red and looked as though he'd like to punch Golescu, but the audience laughed.
”Don't be ashamed!” Golescu told him. ”How'd you like a full growth of luxurious hair, eh?”
”Well-”
”Behold,” said Golescu, drawing a bottle from the stack. ”The Potion of Ptolemy! See its amazing results.”
He uncorked the bottle and tilted it carefully, so as to spill only a few drops on the man's scalp.
Having done this, he grabbed the tail of his cloak and spread the potion around on the man's scalp.