"Haron Gorka." The librarian nodded.
"How on earth did you know?"
"That's easy. You're the sixth young woman who came here inquiring
about that man today. Six of you--five others in the morning, and now
you in the afternoon. I never did trust this Mr. Gorka...."
Matilda jumped as if she had been struck strategically from the rear.
"You know him? You know Haron Gorka?"
"Certainly. Of course I know him. He's our steadiest reader here at
the library. Not a week goes by that he doesn't take out three, four
books. Scholarly gentleman, but not without charm. If I were twenty
years younger--"
Matilda thought a little flattery might be effective. "Only ten," she
assured the librarian. "Ten years would be more than sufficient, I'm
sure."
"Are you? Well. Well, well." The librarian did something with the back
of her hair, but it looked the same as before. "Maybe you're right.
Maybe you're right at that." Then she sighed. "But I guess a miss is as
good as a mile."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean anyone would like to correspond with Haron Gorka. Or to know
him well. To be considered his friend. Haron Gorka...."
The librarian seemed about to soar off into the air someplace, and if
five women had been here first, Matilda was now definitely in a hurry.
"Um, where can I find Mr. Gorka?"
"I'm not supposed to do this, you know. We're not permitted to give the
addresses of any of our people. Against regulations, my dear."
"What about the other five women?"
"They convinced me that I ought to give them his address."
Matilda reached into her pocket-book and withdrew a five dollar bill.
"Was this the way?" she demanded. Matilda was not very good at this
sort of thing.
The librarian shook her head.
Matilda nodded shrewdly and added a twin brother to the bill in her
hand. "Then is this better?"
"That's worse. I wouldn't take your money--"
"Sorry. What then?"
"If I can't enjoy an association with Haron Gorka directly, I still
could get the vicarious pleasure of your contact with him. Report to me
faithfully and you'll get his address. That's what the other five will
do, and with half a dozen of you, I'll get an overall picture. Each one
of you will tell me about Haron Gorka, sparing no details. You each
have a distinct personality, of course, and it will color each picture
considerably. But with six of you reporting, I should receive my share
of vicarious enjoyment. Is it--ah--a deal?"
Matilda assured her that it was, and, breathlessly, she wrote down the
address. She thanked the librarian and then she went out to her car,
whistling to herself.
* * * * *
Haron Gorka lived in what could have been an agrarian estate, except
that the land no longer was being tilled. The house itself had fallen
to ruin. This surprised Matilda, but she did not let it keep her
spirits in check. Haron Gorka, the man, was what counted, and the
librarian's account of him certainly had been glowing enough. Perhaps
he was too busy with his cultural pursuits to pay any real attention to
his dwelling. That was it, of course: the conspicuous show of wealth or
personal industry meant nothing at all to Haron Gorka. Matilda liked
him all the more for it.
There were five cars parked in the long driveway, and now Matilda's
made the sixth. In spite of herself, she smiled. She had not been the
only one with the idea to visit Haron Gorka in person. With half a
dozen of them there, the laggards who resorted to posting letters would
be left far behind. Matilda congratulated herself for what she thought
had been her ingenuity, and which now turned out to be something which
she had in common with five other women. You live and learn, thought
Matilda. And then, quite annoyedly, she berated herself for not having
been the first. Perhaps the other five all were satisfactory; perhaps
she wouldn't be needed; perhaps she was too late....
* * * * *
As it turned out, she wasn't. Not only that, she was welcomed with open
arms. Not by Haron Gorka; that she really might have liked. Instead,
someone she could only regard as a menial met her, and when he asked
had she come in response to the advertisement, she nodded eagerly.
He told her that was fine and he ushered her straight into a room
which evidently was to be her living quarters. It contained a small
undersized bed, a table, and a chair, and, near a little slot in the
wall, there was a button.
"You want any food or drink," the servant told her, "and you just press
that button. The results will surprise you."
"What about Mr. Gorka?"
"When he wants you, he will send for you. Meanwhile, make yourself to
home, lady, and I will tell him you are here."
A little doubtful now, Matilda thanked him and watched him leave. He
closed the door softly behind his retreating feet, but Matilda's ears
had not missed the ominous click. She ran to the door and tried to open
it, but it would not budge. It was locked--from the outside.
It must be said to Matilda's favor that she sobbed only once. After
that she realized that what is done is done and here, past thirty,
she wasn't going to be girlishly timid about it. Besides, it was not
her fault if, in his unconcern, Haron Gorka had unwittingly hired a
neurotic servant.
For a time Matilda paced back and forth in her room, and of what was
going on outside she could hear nothing. In that case, she would
pretend that there was nothing outside the little room, and presently
she lay down on the bed to take a nap. This didn't last long, however:
she had a nightmare in which Haron Gorka appeared as a giant with two
heads, but, upon awaking with a start, she immediately ascribed that to
her overwrought nerves.
At that point she remembered what the servant had said about food and
she thought at once of the supreme justice she could do to a juicy
beefsteak. Well, maybe they didn't have a beefsteak. In that case, she
would take what they had, and, accordingly, she walked to the little
slot in the wall and pressed the button.
She heard the whir of machinery. A moment later there was a soft
sliding sound. Through the slot first came a delicious aroma, followed
almost instantly by a tray. On the tray were a bowl of turtle soup,
mashed potatoes, green peas, bread, a strange cocktail, root-beer, a
parfait--and a thick tenderloin sizzling in hot butter sauce.
Matilda gasped once and felt about to gasp again--but by then her
salivary glands were working overtime, and she ate her meal. The fact
that it was precisely what she would have wanted could, of course, be
attributed to coincidence, and the further fact that everything was
extremely palatable made her forget all about Haron Gorka's neurotic
servant.
When she finished her meal a pleasant lethargy possessed her, and in a
little while Matilda was asleep again. This time she did not dream at
all. It was a deep sleep and a restful one, and when she awoke it was
with the wonderful feeling that everything was all right.
* * * * *
The feeling did not last long. Standing over her was Haron Gorka's
servant, and he said, "Mr. Gorka will see you now."
"Now?"
"Now. That's what you're here for, isn't it?"
He had a point there, but Matilda hardly even had time to fix her hair.
She told the servant so.
"Miss," he replied, "I assure you it will not matter in the least to
Haron Gorka. You are here and he is ready to see you and that is all
that matters."
"You sure?" Matilda wanted to take no chances.
"Yes. Come."
She followed him out of the little room and across what should have
been a spacious dining area, except that everything seemed covered with
dust. Of the other women Matilda could see nothing, and she suddenly
realized that each of them probably had a cubicle of a room like her
own, and that each in her turn had already had her first visit with
Haron Gorka. Well, then, she must see to it that she impressed him
better than did all the rest, and, later, when she returned to tell the
old librarian of her adventures, she could perhaps draw her out and
compare notes.
She would not admit even to herself that she was disappointed with
Haron Gorka. It was not that he was homely and unimpressive; it was
just that he was so _ordinary_-looking. She almost would have preferred
the monster of her dreams.
* * * * *
He wore a white linen suit and he had mousy hair, drab eyes, an
almost-Roman nose, a petulant mouth with the slight arch of the egotist
at each corner.