“Damn! Stop brushing me off with those what-do-you-thinks! I don’t! I don’t think! Would it kill you to actually say something when you open your mouth, for a change?”
Smoker cringes, scared by his sudden outburst and also by Sphinx’s face, which is suddenly level with his own.
“Smoker,” Sphinx says. “Do you like crawling on the floor?”
Smoker shakes his head in desperation.
“Somehow that’s what I thought too,” Sphinx says, straightening up and bumping the wheelchair away with his knee. “In which case, please behave yourself and don’t raise your voice at me. I can understand that it’s fascinating stuff: probing the limits of Sphinx’s patience. I am often fascinated with this myself. But not today. I’m not in the mood. So let’s get one thing straight . . .”
He resumes the stride without finishing the sentence, and what the thing is that should get straight remains a mystery.
Smoker wheels after him, even though he’s not sure he should. It seems that Sphinx is already regretting the company. On the other hand, he hasn’t told Smoker to stay back either. Upon reflection, Smoker decides that he should go forward, as if nothing has happened. He loses sight of Sphinx near the stairway, but when he drives down the ramp to the first-floor landing he discovers him standing there, waiting.
“No offense, Smoker. When I ask you what you think, it always has only one purpose: I would really like to make you think. Let’s go back to the beginning. Was I serious when I told you that it’s better to listen to Tabaqui than not to listen to him?”
“Come on. That was not really a question.”
Sphinx peers into the trash can full of cigarette butts.
“Do you like this smell, Smoker? The one emanating from this vessel? I doubt it. Even taking your nick into consideration that would be a . . . perversion.”
“Why do you ask, then?”
Sphinx kicks the can and sniffs at the air.
“How about the soot of the streets? Answer me this one, and I’ll answer yours. Did you think I was taking you into the Outsides? That I regularly take strolls there at night, when I’m in a bad mood, and that this time I decided to take you with me? Dressed like this?”
Smoker takes out a pack of cigarettes.
“I was just wondering what it was that you called the soot of the streets. Was that so wrong?”
“But you didn’t ask it that way. You asked if we were going outside.”
“Why are you picking at my words? You understood perfectly well what I meant.”
Sphinx kicks the can again.
“Smoker. This is really bad. When your questions are more stupid than you are. And when they are much more stupid, it’s even worse. Like the contents of this trash can. You don’t like its smell. And I don’t like the smell of dead words. You wouldn’t try to turn this over and shake out the butts and the spit on my head? But you’re willing to bury me in rotted empty words without a second thought. Without a first thought, in fact.”
Smoker, pale and frightened, teases a cigarette in his fingers. “All right, I’m getting on your nerves. You could just say so. I won’t be asking any more questions, then.”
“Ask about things you don’t know.”
“Right. Mother Ann, for example. And get answers that I can’t understand. Very enlightening.”
“Tabaqui tried to tell you. It’s not his fault that you were determined not to believe a single word.”
“Because it was perfect nonsense. Why is it that
Sphinx sighs.
“Only for someone who doesn’t know how to listen. Learn to listen, Smoker, and you’ll see how much easier your life becomes. Jackal can teach you a thing or two about that. Pay attention to what he says. To the way he frames his questions. He takes only what he needs. And as for running his mouth . . . Yes, he does that. And yes, he likes to embellish the truth. But in that avalanche of words there is always the answer, somewhere in the middle. Which means it’s not empty words anymore. Yes, listening to Tabaqui takes a knack. But it’s definitely not impossible. Others seem to manage.”
Smoker looks at Sphinx indignantly.
“Sphinx, don’t make Tabaqui this great guru figure. Please! Just admit that he’s of a privileged class. That he can get away with things others can’t.”
Sphinx nods.
“He is of a privileged class. And he can get away with things others can’t. Happy now? I didn’t think so. What is it you actually want?”
Smoker doesn’t answer. Sphinx leaves the landing and starts down the first-floor corridor. Smoker follows him a few feet behind. He’s so hurt he can’t speak. He drives along and thinks about how hard the black sheep have it. How no one likes them.
