Бесплатный фрагмент - The Hen’s Book

“Be like children”

God

CHAPTER I — Trust

Sandra sat at the breakfast table across from her husband Doran attentively watching him eat his morning meal. For some reason she always liked watching how he ate his breakfast and had many fond memories of him eating. She often recalled her Doran: eating in Toronto, the city where he had studied dead languages; then Doran eating in Edmonton, the city where he had translated antique treatises for a publishing house and again her beloved Doran, eating in Green Rock, Sandra’s home town where they had moved to start a new life which was to not have been connected with anything to do with languages.

“Would you describe that farmer to me?” asked Sandra. It was a habit of hers to always ask her husband questions while he was having breakfast.

Doran looked up from the morning meal he was devouring and took two sips of his tea, “You mean the one named Mr. Swatrick?”

“Yes, the one who appears to be in need of another worker,” nodded Sandra.

“I would say he is a good man and a real hard-worker,” these were the first paint strokes of the picture of the farmer who had promised Doran a job. The potential employer as described by the potential employee was an individual who was short, paunchy and grey-haired.

“Last night I had a strange vivid dream,” said Sandra in quite voice, “there was this old man who looked like your Mr. Swatrick and you were busy loading hay onto a truck.”

“That’s really interesting. So what now, have you started having visions?”

It seemed to her that the mystical coincidence of her dream and the farmer had not impressed Doran in any way.

“You know, I have never had dreams like that before and your description has completely given me the creeps. By the way as far as I remember, you forgot to mention that he wears a silver chain and has a tattoo. Yes, a tattoo on his right leg, a dragon, if I am not mistaken.”

Doran got up from the table and started pacing back and forth in surprise. His wife had really had some sort of prophetic dream. Of course, working on a farm had never been Doran`s ardent desire and it was never talked about, but right now it was better than being unemployed. “I am going to meet with him on Monday,” he said at last, “and you know, it seems to me that I already know what the answer will be.”

Sandra then also got up from the table and went quietly over to the window. The morning sun shone through, highlighting her voluptuous figure and at the same time brightened her face. Dressed, as she was, in a white flowing robe she looked like a phantom, a ghost or a woman made of light.

She broke her reverie and said, “Sometimes I really think that it may not have been such a great idea to change our lives in such a radical way!”

“I don’t ever want to return to what was my previous life, Sandra. I am completely and totally done with it. Fortune has truly smiled down on us and your dream was a sign,” Doran raised his hand and softly touched Sandra`s shoulder and for a few minutes they silently stood, side by side, looking out through the window.

“I’m completely happy, if that is the way it will be but right now we need to pay the rent for the house and unfortunately our money is about to run out. By the way I forgot to tell you, yesterday my mother asked you to go and visit her. She said she wants to talk to you and I was thinking if she gives you money you could clear up all of our outstanding bills. They’re all over there lying on the bureau.”

Sandra’s words regarding finances just served to strengthen and sharpen the deep sense of guilt that had been quietly tormenting Doran`s heart and soul. Even though he was still a young man he endlessly reproached himself for all of the troubles that his restless nature had made for his beloved wife. Sometimes one might think that it seemed that Doran was covered with a layer of some sort of special invisible potion whose main attribute was attracting problems of different scale. Two months ago when the married coupled had left Edmonton they were dreaming of opening and running a cozy little café. Unfortunately however, the money that the young couple had had was not enough to allow them to take their first steps in running a small business and the banks did not want to deal with people who had no stable work or income. As it was Doran was unemployed and their only income was the money which Sandra earned working part time as a nurse in the local hospital.

After having finished breakfast, Doran got ready and went off to see Ms. Brakson, Sandra’s mother. The fresh air and beams of light from the morning sun were the best cure he had for the blues he was sinking deeper and deeper into. It was the beginning of June and nature was full of life and everything seemed bright and pulsing with pure energy which for some reason seemed to fill Doran with strength, giving his hopes and dreams renewed power.

One step after the other the young man moved further and further away from their house. He strolled past the bank which had not given them credit to start a business, then past the Little Hog Bar, which was famous for its strong yet cheap drinks. After that he strolled past the town church and the old water tower which soon were also far behind him. At last he reached the little white one-story house of his mother-in-law.

Opening the door Ms. Brakson said: “Welcome! Come in, come in! Thank you for having taken the time to come.” There was an official tone in her greeting which was portentous of the gravity of the forthcoming conversation. Feeling a gnawing dread Doran entered the entry hall of the home.

“I can’t watch how you loiter around the town anymore,” the woman came right to the point. “When my daughter got married it was to a prospective well-educated young man and now what do we have? You don’t even have enough money to live on let alone support a family.” The woman sighed in displeasure, “Okay. To be honest, I didn’t invite you here just to moralize over your situation. I actually have a job prospect for you at one of the larger Canadian companies. They currently are in need of a translator from Latin into English and would be very glad to employ such a young specialist as you. So? What do you think?”

Doran kept silent as he had no idea what to say. One the one hand he had no desire whatsoever to work as a translator, especially in a big city, and on the other he was rather afraid of this woman. Her harmonious combination of good manners and imposing appearance gave her all the air of aristocracy and generosity, so any contradiction to what she said or wanted seemed to Doran to be akin to sedition and even an offense against the truth.

“Actually ma’am I found a job,” he said in a low uncertain voice, “and if I have employment the bank will give me the credit required to open our café.”

“So! You managed to find a job!?” Doran`s words came as a surprise to her.

“Yes, I of course I did. All of this is just our first step. We need a little time to finally realize our dream.”

“So… Well, I must say, then that is quite another matter.” She seemed to sigh with relief, “So when is your first working day?”

“On Monday I’ll sign a contract and then I’ll probably start working on Tuesday or Wednesday.” Doran felt his face flush with shame as fear made him lie.

He realized now that his life was in the hands of Mr. Swatrick and if the farmer refused to hire him he would find himself in a horrible situation. Not only would he be without a job but Sandra`s mother would then consider him to be a liar and a dishonest man. The reason, why Doran had decided to lie to his mother-in-law, was the dream which Sandra had had that night.

Ms. Brakson smiled. “If that is so, then perhaps you had better get a little training for yourself. With that said: my roof is leaking and I thought about you and am sure you can handle it. I already bought everything that is needed so you can start right away.”

Doran got right to work and by midday the roof had been completely repaired. Doran had replaced two of the roofing tiles that had cracked and installed a new drainpipe to replace one that had rusted through. As Sandra had correctly supposed, Ms. Brakson really did give him some money.

Doran left feeling slightly better and when he was walking up to their home he saw a playing card lying on the ground near the porch. It was a six of diamonds. He looked around, trying to find more cards but there were no others to be seen. It was strange but for some reason it seemed to him that someone had left the card there on purpose. Doran looked carefully at the card and came to the conclusion that it was a sign sent to him from heaven. All that remained was to learn exactly what it meant.

Once inside he started searching through all of their books and was lucky to find a corresponding reference book about cards and symbolism and read the following: “The six of diamonds is a symbol of fortune and happiness. This card means that all of your dreams will come completely true.” This information inspired him. This meant that good changes were really coming and there was nothing to fear and he would surely get the job.

Right at about the same time Sandra finished working in the garden and came into the living room were Doran was reading. She looked tired and a bit sad: “I thought you’d return earlier.”

“I actually went and paid all our bills and bought some food from the restaurant.” answered Doran and kissed his wife. “I helped your mother and repaired her roof.”

“Did you talk about anything?”

“She said that she wished I would find a job and the sooner the better.”

An awkward silence hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity. Doran then took a lottery-ticket out of his breast pocket as if it would somehow raise Sandra’s spirits. “The drawing will be on Monday and just maybe…. Anyway. It’s just for fun.”

Sandra smiled. She knew Doran was a naive dreamer who could put all the stakes on something even if the probability of winning was almost non-existent.

***

Sunday morning was not particularly remarkable for its originality or in any other aspect either. Doran was having breakfast as usual awhile Sandra was watching how little pieces of fried bacon kept disappearing into her husband`s mouth.

“So. What’s written on the lottery ticket?” she asked.

The question was so sudden that Doran almost choked, “It’s called Lucky Way. It’s actually quite famous all over the country.”

“In big white capital letters right? And the numbers on the ticket are of a greenish color.”

“Yeah! That’s right! Did you have another prophetic dream?!”

“Probably. It’s my second time! According to the dream you’ll win seven thousand dollars. I saw you getting the money in their office!”

“It’s a miracle!” Doran was ready to hug the entire world. They were silent for about half a minute and then they both burst out laughing hysterically. They were both filled with happiness from the knowledge that tomorrow their lives would change completely and finally they would have the lives filled with stability and harmony that they both wanted.

Sandra’s words determined Doran’s plan of action for Sunday. He called his friend Charley and arranged to meet him in the Little Hog Bar.

As do all responsible, punctual people Charley arrived exactly on time and the clinking of two jugs of beer as they toasted broke the silence inside the bar.

“My dear fellow,” Doran’s almost whispered in his most appealing voice, “I need your help.”

Charley looked around, except for the barman there was nobody else in the bar. “Go ahead, don’t be shy. Nobody will hear you.”

“The thing is that I would like give my wife a present which is not cheap. However if…”

“I supposed that you needed money,” interrupted Charley.

“Just three hundred dollars,” Doran continued. “No more.”

“How are you going to pay me back? You don’t have a job.”

“Charley, you are behind the times,” Doran said confidently, “tomorrow I’ll sign a contract with Mr. Swatrick, a local farmer and you can have no doubt he’ll pay me well.”

Slight distrust flashed in Charley’s eyes, “Did he promise to give you a job? Do you have a one hundred percent guarantee? I’ve only known you for a few months. Why should I believe you?”

“I have never lied to anyone Charley.”

“Ok, let it be, you win,” Charley took out his wallet and three cherished bills appeared on the counter. “They’re yours. Friends must help each other.”

Doran took the money. Three hundred dollars was nothing in comparison with the sum he would get tomorrow.

After leaving the bar Daren went to the women’s clothes shop and was immediately attracted to a black silk evening dress which beautified a plastic dummy. Expensive masterpieces from the textile industry were the dream of all of the women in Green Rock and every evening hundreds of men had to hear hints about this or that luxury item in the central shop.

Sandra will love it, she has been dreaming about a new outfit for a long time, Doran thought.

He paid the money for the dress and left the shop. On his way home he thought about all of the opportunities that seven thousand dollars would give him.

As he was walking the weather started changing for the worse. Doran looked at the clouds overhead and noticed that they had the form of letters. It seemed that the sky was showing him its solidarity.

“Luck,” Doran read the words written in the clouds. It was certainly a sign, a good sign.

Contrary to Doran’s expectations, Sandra was not very pleased with the present.

“Where did you get the money?” she asked when Doran showed her the dress.

“Our friend Charley lent me a few coins,” explained Doran jokingly. “You know him. He works as a postman. I’ll pay him back from my first salary.”

“You have to stand on your own two feet,” Sandra said, now regretting that she had shared her dreams with her husband. She should have taken into account his adventurous character. However, it couldn’t be helped now and Sandra had to take the present. After a few minutes Sandra stood in all her beauty: a tall imposing red-haired lady spinning in front of the mirror. The black evening dress fit her like a glove.

***

The long-awaited Monday had finally come and as had been stipulated, Doran went to the office of Mr. Swatrick. He was in a good mood and was whistling a famous melody when he reached the farm.

“I regret to inform you young fellow, but I can’t give you a job,” the farmer’s words were like a completely unexpected punch in the gut.

“Why?” asked the young man incredulously, turning several shades paler. “It is… You said… What about…” Daren couldn’t find the words. Despair came over him, hitting him like a ton of bricks.

“I changed my mind, boy. I’m not going to buy calves so an extra worker is not required anymore. Maybe next year, but I am not sure.”

“I agree to do any work at all,” Doran remembered the first dream Sandra had had. “Hay, yeah hay, hay,” he repeated three times. “I can load hay!”

“Loading hay?” the farmer considered this for a few seconds. “No, sorry. Can’t. George is a good worker and he handles all of his obligations. However… However,” it seemed that an invisible power was trying to influence the old man. “If I am not mistaken, my friend Jacob asked me if I had any extra help. His farm is located in a few miles from here. You’ll have to take a car to get there, but not right now. Jacob will be absent until Wednesday,” the farmer patted Doran on the shoulder. “If you don’t mind I have to go to the trade fair.”

The young man didn’t remember how he left the office. He understood absolutely nothing: the prophetic dream on which Doran had completely counted on had now become a source of new problems. He was thinking about words which he had to keep, money which he had to return, and there was absolutely no guarantee that Jacob would employ him.

“The ticket!” Doran remembered. “It is my salvation! I must find out if my ticket won.”

In the shop where he had bought the lottery ticket there was a pleasant coolness. He wiped his forehead. “Please, help me!” he whispered as he went up to the ticket window.

The cashier checked the number on Doran ‘s ticket.

“Yes, you won,” stated the clerk. “Congratulations!”

The cashier’s words flung Doran to the seventh heaven. The saints had heard his request and helped him.

“Your winning sum is eight dollars,” continued the clerk. “You can get the money right now. However, if I were you I would buy four new tickets. Fortune likes you. You are the first person who has won any money in our town.”

Doran took the meager sum of money and left the shop. Everything that was happening was like some sort of mockery. Doran was so unhappy that he didn’t hear the car horn as an old blue van overtook Daren and stopped. It was Charley and he offered him to get in.

“I am delivering the mail,” stated Charley. “I could give a lift, if you don’t mind, of course.”

Doran got into the van. “Thank you Charley. You know where Sandra’s house is.”

“You look so gloomy today,” continued the postman. “What happened?”

“My lottery ticket brought me only eight dollars.”

“Eight dollars? That’s better than seven and worse than nine.”

Doran felt that Charley wanted to ask him if he had got the job.

“I’ll start working on Wednesday!” the unemployed linguist decided to surrender himself to the hands of fate and Jacob was his last hope.

“That’s great for you, friend,” said the postman. In a minute the van reached their point of destination and Charley dropped Doran off by the porch. “If you need help, just let me know!”

At home Doran found Sandra and her mother having tea.

“Join us, darling,” Ms. Brakson said, “I bought a very delicious cake to celebrate the signing of your contract.” It was hard to tell if she was joking or not.

He accepted the invitation although he had no appetite whatsoever.

“Has Mr. Swatrick employed you, Doran?” asked Sandra. “You returned too early.”

“Yes, he has,” answered Doran and looked at Ms. Brakson. “Wednesday is my first working day.”

“Sounds good,” Ms. Brakson raised her cup of tea as if it was a wineglass. “I don’t know Mr. Swatrick in person, but I am sure that you will find harmony in working with him.”

Ms. Brakson spent about three hours in the young people’s house. She inspected everything — the dust on the shelves, the foodstuffs in the refrigerator and even the flowers and plants on the windowsills. When she had finally gone Doran told Sandra the truth.

“I don’t know why these dreams came to me,” said Sandra when Doran finished his confession.

“I’m irresponsible aren’t?” he said.

“Darling, if you once put your trust in precognition, you should not stop. The door you need will open sooner or later.”

“It is too difficult, Sandra… It’s too difficult to trust in anyone or anything when you’re depressed.”

Doran didn’t leave the house until Wednesday. His home had become his fortress, protecting him from uncomfortable meetings and questions. Sandra did all her best to console her husband whom she could clearly see was in a bad way.

On Wednesday Doran visited Jacob’s farm. As had been expected, the answer was a big resounding NO! “Not now, sorry,” said the farmer after having heard the young man out. “It is too late. I’ve already hired a guy.”

This time the rejection were not so painful for Doran. In spite of the fact that all the ways to start a new life were blocked, he still hoped to find a way out of the impasse. Doran didn’t know what to do and decided he had to become reconciled with the situation. The idea to return to his previous life or to accept the offer of a big company didn’t seem to him to be so terrible now.

I must learn to accept the will of the creator, come what may! thought Doran.

***

Sandra’s supposition that the required door would open sooner or later appeared to be true. In Doran`s case the door was an open postbox. A letter which was likely to have been delivered by Charley was in the mail and was written by Professor Walter Crott who knew and appreciated the young linguist. Sandra was not at home at the time and Doran tore the letter open as soon as he saw it. He read it quickly with the letter containing the following words:

Dear Doran.

How are you? I hope life is treating you well and that everything is good for you. It was very difficult for me to find your new address. You change cities like people change gloves, but never mind that, let me get to the point. As you have probably understood already this letter was sent from Calcutta. Yes, I am in India right now. Two months ago a very strange codified massage was found here and the Indian government hired Dr. Murtri and me to decode it and try to figure out what it means.

I am writing to you because we need a good assistant. In our opinion you are a rather talented researcher who can essentially help me. This project is a great challenge for us! If we join our energies, it will be easier to do the work at hand.

I have recently talked to local officials and they agreed to invite one more person. Only Dr. Murtri, you and I will have access to the message. We should truly appreciate this level of trust. Thus, the earlier you come, the better it will be for all of us.

I am looking forward to your arrival.

Dr. Walter Crott

Doran was excited: the sudden job offer, another country, an interesting project… Fortune was certainly smiling on him. Besides, it was a good opportunity to get acquainted with Dr. Murtri, who never leaves his native country. This expert in the area of language decoding was famous not only for his brilliant academic achievements, but also for his marvelous absent-mindedness. Mixing up his own house with the butcher’s was a commonplace thing for him.

When Sandra came home, Doran showed her the letter.

“What is your decision?” she asked after reading the letter.

“I don’t know!” he dropped his head. He was confused.

“Things are not going right in our life in Green Rock,” Sandra started to lay out the facts, “you don`t want to work as a translator or a teaching instructor anymore so naturally I think that this project is a good chance for you.”

Doran nodded. He realized that he needed to use precognition to lead him to the next stage of his life.

“I want you to go with me,” her husband’s words sounded like plea. “We are a family and must always be together.”

“I can’t endure the heat, Doran. I know I won`t feel well there. Don’t worry I’ll be waiting for you here and besides you need to focus on the work you have to do.”

“So, where were you just now?” he changed the topic. It was obvious that he didn’t like the idea of going to India alone.

“I was at the hospital,” answered Sandra and sighed.

“At the hospital?”

“Yeah. Mrs. Leordo suddenly felt very bad and the doctors concluded that she had had a stroke.” Sandra had known Mrs. Leordo since childhood as she was a close friend of her mother.

“Should I visit her too?” asked Doran.

“That would not be a very good idea. She’d rather be alone for a while.”

Sandra intentionally made no mention to Doran about the reason behind the stroke. As it turned out it was because of a conversation that had been had between Sandra’s mother and Mrs. Leordo. Sandra’s mother had told her friend about Doran`s new job which he had obtained on Mr. Swatrick’s farm. The problem was that the day before Mrs. Leordo had also visited Mr. Swatrick and from their conversation she had learned about the young man whom the farmer had refused to hire. Mrs. Leordo was a very impressionable woman and the discrepancy between the words of these respectable people caused her great emotional stress.

Having finished with the topic of Mrs. Leordo`s health, the young couple returned to the subject of India.

“If you want,” offered Sandra, “I can talk to my mother. She would probably give you money for the tickets.”

The next day Doran went to the travel agency (Ms. Brakson had in fact given him the money for the tickets) and while waiting for his turn he heard two older women talking about an incident which had occurred.

“She is much better today,” said one woman. “Poor Betty! That guy cheated her best friend Clara and Betty took it to heart and had a stroke. A stroke have you! This is very serious business!”

“Yes, I heard,” the other woman kept the conversation going. “They say he is her own son-in-law.”

“I would give him a true thrashing!” the first woman continued. “It’s horrible how he could cheat people.”

“Can you imagine? Even though he is well-educated,” the second woman added.

Of course, Doran understood that these two women were talking about him and would have given anything to simply vanish into thin air or break down into rudimentary molecules. Right then the ticket to India seemed to him to be the only way to save himself.

When his turn came Doran gave the money and his passport to the clerk.

“Mis-ter Do-ran Tra-per-ton,” the clerk said slowly as he made the ticket. “Fly-ing to In-di-a.”

“Doran Traperton?” asked the first woman to the second. “It would seem that he’s the one who drove Betty to a stroke. Would you just take a look at him! And now he’s going to India. Can you imagine that?!”

“At least now we know him in person!” stated the second woman. “What a small world it is!”

Each second spent in the ticket office became an eternity of torture for Doran and he wanted to leave it as soon as possible.

When Doran went outside it was raining and he let the rain fall on his hands and his face as if it could wash away all of the problems which had suddenly come out of nowhere. As he was walking home Doran tried to avoid looking in people’s eyes. It seemed to him that all of the passers-by in Green Rock knew about his misfortune and the problems he had caused for other people.

“I would give him a true thrashing!”, “They say he is her own son-in-law.” the words he had heard in the office kept echoing in his head, becoming louder and louder. At one moment they became so unbearably loud that Doran started running. He ran faster and faster and near the bank he lost his balance and fell into a puddle.

“Omnia transit,” thought Doran sitting in the muddy water. “Omnia transit,” he repeated this Latin phrase every time he found himself under duress.

Sandra was shocked when her husband came home, the wet panting man looked like a prison escapee.

“What happened darling?” she asked. “Were you being chased?”

“No, everything is fine, but I can’t stay in this town any more. It’s killing me.”

Sandra looked at her husband attentively. She realized that he had got himself into a mess again: “Have you bought the tickets, Doran? When are you leaving?”

“I am leaving the day after tomorrow. We have very little time.”

Sandra didn’t want her husband to go alone. He was like a child who always required looking after. Her heart was filled with alarm: another country, another culture, another continent. What would become of him?

“Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.” Doran guessed what his wife was thinking about. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

One might say that the scene was very strange: a young man and woman standing and hugging each other in the middle of the living room. Doran was tall and drops of rain were falling on Sandra’s hair from his soaked head. They were both wet now and served as an example of how even staying at home one might get caught in the rain.

Doran wanted to spend the last two days with his wife. However Sandra worked on Fridays and she would be returning home only in the evening.

“My mother said she wished you a pleasant flight and that you do a good job in India.” Sandra said. “Of course, she is upset with you, but don’t take it to heart, she has a forgiving nature.”

It was timely information, remorse is not a good fellow traveler and he felt that he must ask Ms. Brakson for her forgiveness or at least say goodbye to her. Sandra’s words pushed aside all such obstacles and Doran was relieved, he could now just go. He started getting ready for the trip and Sandra helped him to gather his things for the long journey and pack his suitcase.

Saturday morning finally came and it was cold and foggy and the head lights of the taxi cut through the morning fog as it pulled up to take him away. Doran kissed his wife one last time and got into the waiting car. Sandra then stood and watched sadly as the vehicle disappeared into the early morning light.

Chapter II — Essence

Dr. Crott met Doran at the airport in Calcutta. The plane had landed on time and at 09:47 a.m. the teacher and his disciple were shaking hands and hugging one another in greeting.

“I was really glad when I received your telegram Doran,” said the professor. “I hope that your flight was a pleasant one. Tomorrow we’ll go to city hall, you’ll sign the contract and we can start our work. The message is also there.”

Dr. Crott was a very energetic and efficient man. Whether he was working on an academic project or pulling weeds in his garden, the professor always impressed everyone with his enthusiasm and zeal.

“Thank you for your trust, Dr. Crott. I shall be very happy if my assistance is useful. By the way, what is the message like?”

“Not right now. A crowded airport is not really such a good place for such conversations. Be patient.”

Doran and Dr. Crott picked their way through the crowds towards the exit. The professor stopped a taxi and opened the back door for Doran: “During our work you can stay in my apartment which I am renting in the north of the city. Today you are free to do whatever you wish, but I would strongly advise you to get your fill of sleep. You are going to need it”

Dr. Crott’s flat was located in a building which had been built in the eighteenth century.

“Do you feel the spirit of history?” asked the professor when he saw Doran’s surprise.

“It is amazing! I suppose that this building is not even the oldest in the city. Could you show me around Calcutta, Dr. Crott?” in spite of his tiredness and jet-lag, Doran wanted to become acquainted with the ancient culture of the city.

Professor nodded and continued: “In this flat there is everything one might need in a hot country, a fan, a shower and spacious rooms. One of them is yours.”

Doran thanked the professor and entered the room which had just been given to him. The room was rather dark so he turned on the light switch but nothing happened.

“We have only one problem,” added Dr. Crott, “in this room the chandelier is out of order but you can use a table lamp.”

In thirty minutes Doran was dressed in white trousers and a T-shirt. The professor considered this to be a sign of his readiness to go for a walk and see the magic world of the Indian megalopolis: “Come on son. I think we should start our excursion with a good lunch. What do you say?”

Doran agreed. Dr. Crott didn’t like cooking, and so the two Canadians left the apartment to have lunch in a small restaurant near the building.

“I want you to try the potato cutlets and some local round cakes,” said Dr. Crott, opening the menu. “They are very delicious. It is my everyday meal here in India.”

Soon a heap of round cakes, two helpings of potato cutlets and pitcher of cold apple juice appeared on the table.

“Who found this message Dr. Crott?” Doran decided that it was the right moment to talk about the matter at hand and the reason he had flown to the other side of the planet.

“Some poor peasant found it at the bus station. The manuscript was left on a bench as if it was an ordinary newspaper or magazine. We don’t know if it was forgotten by someone or planted there. It was only one page and was shown to Dr. Murtri who immediately called me.”

“What if it is just a fragment of some larger message?” the young man said.