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r r
That's the play to look into."
Henry interrupted softly. "I scarcely think so, gentlemen. The
play in question is The Merchant oj Venice and the person asking
whether something was nominated in the bond was the Jew,
Shylock, intent on a cruel revenge. Surely the old man would not
enjoy this play."
Levy said, "That's right. Shylock was a dirty word to him--and
not so clean to me, either."
Rubin said, "What about the passage that goes: 'Hath not a Jew
eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections,
passions .. .'?"
"It wouldn't appeal to my grandfather," said Levy. "It pleads
the obvious and cries out for an equality my grandfather would
not, in his heart, be willing to grant, since I'm sure he felt superior
in that he was a member of God's uniquely chosen."
Gonzalo looked disappointed. "It seems we're not getting
anywhere."
Levy said, "No, I don't think we are. I went through the entire
book. I read all the speeches carefully; all the passages you
mentioned. None of them meant anything to me."
Avalon said, "Granted they don't, but you may be missing
something subtle-"
"Come on, Jeff, you're the one who said it couldn't be subtle.
My grandfather was thinking of something tailored for the mind of
myself and my wife. It was something we would get, and probably
get at once; and we didn't."
Drake said, "Maybe you're right. Maybe some in-joke is
involved."
"I've just said that."
"Then why don't you try it backward? Can you think of
something, some gag, some phrase? ... Is there some expression he
used every time?"
"Yes. When he disapproved of someone he would say, 'Eighteen
black years on him.' "
"What kind of an expression is that?" asked Trumbull.
"In Yiddish it's common enough," said Levy. "Another one was
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r r
'It will help him like a dead man cups.' "
"What does that mean?" asked Gonzalo. "It refers to cupping.
You place a lighted piece of paper in a small ro und glass cup and
then put the open edge against the skin. The paper goes out but
leaves a partial vacuum in the cup and circulation is sucked into
the superficial layers. Naturally, cupping can't improve the
circulation of a corpse."
"All right," said Drake, "is there anything about eighteen black
years, or about cupping dead men, that reminds you of something
in Shakespeare?"
There was a painful silence and finally Avalon said, "I can't
think of anything."
"And even if you did," said Levy, "what good would it do?
What would it mean? Listen, I've been at this for two months.
You're not going to solve it for me in two hours."
Drake turned to Henry again and said, "Why are you just
standing there, Henry? Can't you help us?"
"I'm sorry, Dr. Drake, but I now believe that the whole
question of Shakespeare is a false lead."
"No," said Levy. "You can't say that. The old man pointed to
The Collected Works without any question. His fingertip was within
an inch of it. It couldn't have been any other book."
Drake said suddenly, "Say, Levy, you're not diddling us, are
you? You're not telling us a pack of lies to make jackasses out of
us?"
"What?" said Levy in amazement.
"Nothing, nothing," said Avalon hastily. "He's just thinking of
another occasion. Shut up, Jim."
"Listen," said Levy. "I'm telling you exactly what happened.
He was pointing exactly at Shakespeare."
There was a short silence and then Henry sighed and said, "In
mystery stories-"
Rubin broke in with a "Hear! Hear!"
"In mystery stories," Henry repeated, "the dying hint is a
common device, but I have never been able to take it seriously. A
dying man, anxious to give last-minute information, is always
pictured as presenting the most complex hints. His dying brain,
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r r
with two minutes' grace, works out a pattern that would puzzle a
healthy brain with hours to think. In this particular case, we have
an old man dying of a paralyzing stroke who is supposed to have
quickly invented a clue that a group of intelligent men have failed
to work out; and with one of them having worked at it for two
months. I can only conclude there is no such clue."
"Then why should he have pointed to Shakespeare, Henry?"
asked Levy. "Was it all just the vague delusions of a dying man?"
"If your story is correct," said Henry, "then I think he was
indeed trying to do something. He cannot, however, have been
inventing a clue. He was doing the only thing his dying mind could
manage. He was pointing to the bonds."
"I beg your pardon," said Levy huffily. "I was there. He was
pointing to Shakespeare."
Henry shook his head. He said, "Mr. Levy, would you point to
Fifth Avenue?"
Levy thought a while, obviously orienting himself, and then
pointed.
"Are you pointing to Fifth Avenue?" asked Henry.
"Well, the restaurant's entrance is on Fifth Avenue, so I'm
pointing to it."
"It seems to me, sir," said Henry, "that you are pointing to a
picture of the Arch of Titus on the western wall of this room."
"Well, I am, but Fifth Avenue is beyond it."
"Exactly, sir. So I only know that you are pointing to Fifth
Avenue because you tell me so. You might be pointing to the
picture or to some point in the air before the picture, or to the
Hudson River, or to Chicago, or to the Planet Jupiter. If you point,
and nothing more, giving no hint, verbal or otherwise, as to what
you're pointing at, you are only indicating a direction and nothing
more."
Levy rubbed his chin. "You mean my grandfather was only
indicating a direction?"
"It must be so. He didn't say he was pointing to Shakespeare.
He merely pointed."
"All right, then, what was he pointing at? The-the-" He closed
his eyes and fingered his mustache gently, as he oriented the room
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r r
in his house. "The Verrazano Bridge?"
"Probably not, sir," said Henry. "He was pointing in the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]