The Genie

But let me assure you, everything you are about to read is true!

It all started when I received a gift from an old college room mate. He told me it was a family heirloom, however, his family didn't need it, so he was giving it to me.

A family gives away heirlooms because they don't need them?

He told me that he couldn't explain it but that I would know soon enough just why it was no longer of use to his own family, but would be of immense value to me if I used it wisely.

It was, in fact, a very ancient looking brass lamp.

We happened to be sitting together in a restaurant at the time, in a secluded corner booth. He had gone out of his way to look me up, and asked me out to lunch in this very expensive restaurant. Obviously, he had come up in the world in the many years since I had known him. However, he was reluctant to tell me exactly how he happened to become so successful. Now, I know. It's the very same way I happened to come by this immense fortune. It's only a bit awkward in that I'm unable to explain it to all my friends except by means of this story, which no one believes -- well enough of that for now.

We only engaged in small talk about mutual acquaintances, and suddenly, he brought the lamp out of his briefcase, with the explanation I just described.

"But why give it to me?" I said. "I mean, this could fetch a very good price in an antique shop, or in someone's collection."

"Things like this, you don't sell. You'll find out soon enough why."

"But how?"

Now, he paused, and began to grin, rather sheepishly, and said, "Some day, when you have the whole day free, just take it and rub it real good."

He laughed, sort of nervously. I also laughed, thinking, this has got to be a joke.

He said, "Really."

"Of course," I said, beginning to feel as awkward as he was feeling. I tried to jog my memory for any private jokes we could have had that could explain this gesture.

"You will do it, won't you? I mean, some time, when you've got time, rub it real good." Now he looked serious. I was beginning to really wonder about him.

"What will happen?"

"You'll find out. You won't believe me if I told you, but just do it."

"Look, really," I said, "This is such a valuable artefact, and we haven't seen each other in such a long time. I can't take this from you, really."

"No, please." He put his hand on mine as I held the lamp and looked at me with impassioned eyes.

"Well, okay," I said.

Finally walking away from the restaurant, I felt disturbed. He obviously seemed well off, and otherwise quite stable. Was he suddenly cracking up under some immense pressure or other?

I got home, and found a nice place to set the lamp, and, to tell you the truth, forgot about it.

I do some writing in my spare time, and have a few pieces that I'm sending around to various publishers and literary agents -- so far with limited success. My normal job at that time was as a clerk at a brokerage firm. Those two things kept me quite occupied, so that I quite forgot about my lunch with my old room mate.

However, at times, I allowed my literary interests to run away with me, and when doing work on a real involving piece, it's hard to get my mind off of that when I should be concentrating on my other work. That's sort of what led to my losing my job all of a sudden -- well, that and some other financial setbacks that affected the whole firm, which if I were more alert, I could have helped to prevent. Quite a few of us were made redundant, and I was largely held to blame.

This was quite an upset for me. I was now without a job, and with bad prospects of getting another one of this sort, with the references they were likely to give.

I gave myself over to my writing. In fact, I buried myself in it.

One day, I was shaken to my senses by the arrival of yet another rejection letter, along with the bills for the rent, water, phone, and a statement from the bank showing an ever dwindling account balance.

I just wasn't in the mood to write that day. In fact, I had the whole day ahead of me with nothing to do.

I resorted to pacing back and forth across the room. I was in one of those moods where, being alone in the house, one acts or speaks on impulse -- whether its to shout, or pick something up, such as a toy gun that my young nephew forget on his last visit, and shoot some of the dishes in the china cabinet, and then blow the imaginary smoke from the barrel.

My eyes lit on the lamp, and remembered the instruction that sometime, when I have the whole day free, to rub it well.

Not believing anything would really happen, I demonstratively grabbed the lamp and began rubbing it vigorously.

I was just in the process of saying, "A good day to you Mr. Genie," when there, right in front of me stood a real genie.

"And a good day to you too, Mr. Baruch," he answered back. "I am at your service for this day only. Ask for what you wish, and I will accommodate you -- within reason of course."

The only way I can describe him is to say that he looked like the cross between a story-book genie, and an angelic being, and a tooth fairy. Apart from that, there's no way to even remotely describe him.

Needless to say, I was in a state of shock. My throat was dry, and I reeled backwards until I collapsed on the settee.

"What is it you wish me to do for you?" asked the genie.

"-- I need a drink --" was all I could manage.

Instantly there was a glass of water in his hand which he gently brought to my lips.

That water was the most refreshing water I have ever tasted. Its effect was to bring me into a more stable frame of mind.

Finally, as though the genie were a visitor who had dropped in for a chat, I indicated for the genie to sit in the armchair. He did so.

"So, what brings you to my humble abode?" I asked.

"You rubbed the lamp, just as your most excellent room mate asked you to do, so I am here at your bequest."

"So, are you my servant for always?"

"Oh! By no means! Only for today. Ask me anything within reason, and I will see about accomplishing it."

"Within reason?"

"Well," he said, "For instance, we don't want the local economy to go spinning into hyper-inflation, now, do we!"

"Oh!" I said, not expecting such technical expertise from a genie. "So if I asked for a Swiss bank account containing about ten billion US dollars, would that be going beyond the reasonable limit?"

The genie thought awhile.

"My sources tell me," he said finally, "that there is such a bank account that once belonged to a close relative to the Czar, who died without leaving any heir, or anyone to transact his business matters. Is it your wish to obtain the said account?"

"By all means, yes!"

"Right then," he said. "Some papers relating to the said account with your name on them have just been dropped on the desk of the one who will handle this matter. You will be notified tomorrow, when my service has terminated."

"When your service is -- terminated?"

"As I said, I'm only at your service for one day -- twenty four hours."

"That's right," I said, remembering he had said that already.

I began considering the position in which I found myself. I had a genie for the day. I had just wished for, and been granted (so he said) a bank account containing ten billion US dollars. That is quite a sum, capable of buying anything that can be bought with money. What more could I wish for?

Then I said, "Why don't we solve the world hunger problem?"

"That," said the genie, "Is beyond what I'm authorised to do. World hunger, national turmoil and things like that must be solved without help from the likes of me. They require resources that have already been entrusted to mankind. I'm only authorised to grant selfish desires."

That sounded so noble, and yet, I was taken by surprise by the word "selfish."

As if to answer my thoughts, he said, "Oh, before the day's out, you may be in a less selfish frame of mind, and with your ten billion dollar bank account, you'll be in a good position to start getting that job done yourself."

However, the prospect of using my bank account to solve such problems wasn't quite as exciting as that of using the genie's special powers.

Finally, I said, "I haven't had anything to eat yet. How about a meal fit for a king?"

"Which king?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well, yes. The British monarchy eats one way, the king of Thailand eats a different diet, various African kings..."

"Okay, okay," I interrupted. "I'll go British."

"Fine. How about the exact same menu that the queen is scheduled to have for brunch today?"

"Okay!"

I won't go into detail about what I had, but it was some of the finest food I ever tasted, and yet in such small portions that I had to ask for seconds. That was granted of course. I realised afterwards that it's quite possible that members of royalty often watch their weight. It's just that I didn't feel like doing that just then.

Leaning back in my chair, I tried to think of what else I could wish for that my ten billion dollars wouldn't buy.

"I'd like to see the Orion nebula from up close. Could you arrange that?" I said finally.

"Yes. I could confine you in a bubble of artificial atmosphere, and I can take you."

The next thing I knew, I was suspended in something like a transparent sphere, and we were moving at breath-taking speed through the universe.

I can only say here that it was better than a planetarium show, or even a film show with special computerised effects. The nebula looked even more awesome in real life than in any of the photographs I've ever seen. We even came close to being right inside it.

After that, I asked to see a black hole, which the genie consented to do from a safe distance so as not to be sucked in. Then, we went to view a quasar. That was even more awesome. I can therefore tell you many things about quasars, black holes and nebulae that astronomers don't even know. I've even left some astronomers quite amazed at some of the things I knew that they had only just begun to discover. However, they still won't believe I met a real genie.

All this, of course, took quite a long time. By then, I was hungry again.

"How about taking me to the finest cafe on the French Riviera?"

So he did.

We sat and I enjoyed some delicacies. I tried to ask the genie more about himself. I began to notice that through all these wanderings, he had such an impersonal attitude.

"You must enjoy going to all these places," I said.

"It's a job."

"I mean, all that universe up there!"

"Oh, it's marvellous, but I see it everyday."

There didn't seem to be much that would impress him.

"Why don't you help yourself to a sandwich?" I offered.

"To tell you the truth," he began, "For me to attempt to enjoy myself with any of these things would be the same as you trying to gain the same enjoyment from day-dreaming about something you wished for."

"Then how do you enjoy yourself?"

"Where I live, things aren't like this."

"But don't you live inside the lamp?"

"Oh! Goodness no! I only appear when someone rubs the lamp as you did, and then, only once in their lifetime! No, I spend most of my days in our world."

I had been trying to think of some more wishes on which to spend the rest of the allotted time with the genie. Then, I had an idea.

"Now, that will be a difficult one," he said, now rubbing his eyebrows. "It's so different there that I don't think you'll cope."

"Try me," I said defiantly.

"I can take you only as far as my sitting room."

"Okay, let's go."

Immediately, we were at a place which I can only describe in sketchy detail. It wasn't really like a room, yet there was furniture -- a few pieces anyway. The remarkable thing was, everything was alive! Even the furniture! Everything greeted the genie as we entered.

The genie greeted each piece and then introduced me to the easy chair, to the coffee table, and to what looked like a huge video monitor, and to some other objects, including some books and magazines on the coffee table. They all greeted me heartily, as though I were a guest in their house.

I noted that the genie, himself, began to change his composure ever so slightly from one of detachment to one of intimacy -- at least to the objects in the room.

The genie invited me to sit down, and the chair confirmed the invitation.

At first it had looked something like an overstuffed armchair. However, when I sat in it, it conformed to the exact shape I needed at that moment, and then began massaging me! For several days, I had been having back pains, but the chair began rubbing me in the exact spot I was hurting. For as long as I was there, sitting in that chair, I was always in the position I needed to be in, not because I changed position, but the chair itself moved me around to the position I needed. At times, it even threw me up a foot in the air, so that I would land in a way that would soothe whatever part of me hit the chair first.

I turned to the genie, and said, "I wish for one of these chairs."

"I'm sorry. I cannot give away my friends."

Then, he handed me a tray full of some of the most delicious pastries I have ever seen.

"Oh, I couldn't. I just ate," I protested.

"But you mustn't offend these dear cakes," said the genie.

"Yes," said one of the cakes. "You must eat at least one of us!"

I was shocked! Eat something that talks to me?

"You must understand," said the genie, "these cakes live to be eaten. Their crowning moment is when they are chewed up and go gliding down a person's throat."

"But -- these are living things! They'll die!"

"Ah yes, you being from the world underneath, where life has been shortened from its original span of years, are therefore concerned with extending life for as long as you can hold on to it. These cakes, however, live and long for the moment for which they were made, and that is to give enjoyment to people like us."

"They don't want to live a long life?"

"On the contrary. The saddest food I've ever met was a steak and kidney pie that had lived over a week, and therefore grown stale and lost its ability to bring joy to the eater by its freshness. It was a miserable thing! It even made me weep. It's hope revived somewhat, however, when I went to feed it to the dog. At least the dog could still enjoy it so that made the poor dear pie happy once again."

I was still hesitant. This was foreign to anything I had ever conceived of.

The chair and the coffee table joined in to induce me to eat. "Oh! Do have at least one piece! You'll make them ever so happy!"

The back of the chair pushed me forward towards the tray. The coffee table stretched and moved the tray closer to my reach.

Feeling quite on the spot, I finally reached for a piece; whereupon a cheer rose up from the entire tray and a squeal of utter delight came from the piece I picked.

The noises emitting from the chocolate eclair I picked up certainly didn't help things as far as I was concerned. I finally took the first bite fully expecting a cry of pain. Instead, came a cry of joy. I could even hear the piece I had bitten off laughing and shouting inside my mouth as I chewed. Every chew produced more cries of delight. until finally its laughter faded down my throat.

I had to admit that it was certainly a delicious eclair. By time I had finished that, the revulsion had been replaced by a sort of curious enjoyment. Next, I picked up a cream-puff. More squeals of delight, but this time, slightly different. Each cake not only had its own flavour, but also a personality of its own.

I ate several pieces. It was becoming rather fun -- like feeding animals at the zoo, but in reverse.

Being somewhat satisfied, my attention turned to some of the other things. The genie was still there, but standing around with that sort of detached air about him -- except that he interacted with the furniture and the cakes, and had a more jovial spirit about him as though he were among his own.

The books and magazines intrigued me. I picked up a book -- a sort of special interest tome one finds on coffee tables -- and it opened all by itself. It was about mushrooms of all sorts, except they were obviously not mushrooms you would find on the earth. The book told me so. There were no words in the book, but the book spoke to me, and the illustrations were all moving pictures.

I have never been interested in mushrooms, and would never have even bothered to look at any book on the subject on the earth, but this was a totally new experience.

The pages turned by themselves at the exact moment I would have turned them myself, and the voice of the book would say things like, "Here we have a field mushroom. They usually keep to themselves, but they're really quite pleasant once you get to know them. They go good in a salad, as they get along quite well with the lettuce. In fact, given the right ingredients, such as cheese and an oil and vinegar dressing, this mushroom readily merges its personality with the rest to make one very pleasant dish, and is generally quite talkative and erudite on many subjects. On the next page, we see a tree mushroom. As you can see, they become emotionally attached to the tree on which they grow, and only consent to be picked if you promise to serve them up with fruit of some sort. The tree, of course, enjoys the company of the mushroom..."

I could actually hear the tree and the mushrooms in the illustration conversing with one another.

At one point, I forgot myself and asked a question which the book readily answered. Later, I asked a question which was a little bit out of the range of that volume, and a magazine on the coffee table suddenly opened up. The book said, "The Weekly Journal of Botanical Science should answer that question for you." At that, I became engrossed in what that had to say.

After a while, my attention drifted to the thing that looked like a video monitor. Noticing my attention, the thing spoke:

"Anything you care to see?"

"What do you show?" I asked.

"Just anything you like!"

"Well -- I've always wanted to see the third episode of Back to the Future."

"Oh! Come now! Of course I could show you that, but then, you can see that anytime you please! After all, you're coming into ten billion dollars, are you not? Why, you could buy yourself a whole cinema!"

I was taken aback that the video monitor knew all about my situation.

"Then what can you show me that I couldn't see myself?"

"Do you want fantasy, or real life?" asked the video monitor.

"Fantasy," I answered, not really knowing or caring what it showed me -- so long as I was in for an interesting experience.

I was unprepared for what immediately came on the screen. It was, in fact, some of the fantasies I actually entertained.

The first scene was inside of a publishing house, in a particular room that I always conceived was the room where manuscripts are reviewed and either rejected or accepted. At the desk was a teenage girl chewing gum and casually leafing through a pile of manuscripts and synopsis. She'd pick up one, and glance at the title and author, and usually say something like, "This guy's a bore," or "Him again!" or simply heave a sigh, throwing the manuscript into the reject pile.

As she was doing that with yet another manuscript, a superior walked slowly to her desk. Just as the girl dropped the manuscript onto the reject pile, the superior grabbed it, saying, "Come now! You're hardly reading these at all!"

The superior looked at the manuscript. It happened to be one of mine. He read the first paragraph.

"Now this guy can write!" he told the girl. "How many of these has he sent you?"

"Only about ten," said the girl.

"And you've never once sent anything by this obviously excellent writer to my desk?" He then proceeded to give her a sound brow beating, and then fired her. That left me with a feeling of gratification.

Walking into the other room with my manuscript, the superior said to his colleagues, "I've just uncovered a gold-mine! Here, look at this!"

The rest of that scene was that of all the office personnel looking over one another's shoulders reading my manuscript with comments like, "This guy can write!" and "Why haven't we heard of this guy before?"

The scene changed, and I saw two old school friends walking into a book shop. There, facing them on a book rack was a book with my name on the cover.

"Hey! Look at that!" said one of the two, as the cover of the book caught his eye.

"That isn't the same Baruch we knew, is it?" said the other.

One of them picked the book up and looked at the back cover. There, on the back was my picture in a dignified pose flashing a toothy smile.

"I can't believe it!" he said.

"And I didn't think the guy would amount to anything!" said the other.

The first one had opened randomly to a section I was particularly proud of having composed.

"I never though he had it in him!" he was saying.

"Some people are late bloomers, I guess," said the other.

Walking to the cashier, each with a copy of my book, one of them was saying, "Whatever -- he's obviously out-bloomed the rest of us!"

The scene changed again, and there was an old school teacher telling how he had greatly underestimated me. Other scenes showed me appearing on talk-shows along side well known rock-and-role stars and actors, who were gawking in my presence. In yet others, well know politicians were talking about me, and how they should call me in for consultation on issues I had addressed in my book.

Needless to say, I was immensely enjoying the show. The very things I had visualised were happening right here before my eyes. My sense of justice was being gratified. It was as though things I felt were true all along were being confirmed, including that maxim, "Truth is stranger than fiction." The phrase, "Too good to be true," was obviously an antiquated proverb fit only for the literary dustbins.

Just for further verification, I asked the video, "This is all in the future, right?"

"Oh! Dear me! You did say you wanted fantasy, didn't you?"

That was my first hint that not all was as I thought it was.

"Well -- I guess I did."

"Would you like me to switch to 'real world' mode?"

"I guess," I said hesitantly.

"Before I can go into any other 'real world' images, it's necessary to go back through the fantasies we've pictured, and replace them with their corresponding realistic images," said the video. "We'll begin with the last one we viewed."

Immediately, I saw a repeat of the last image, which was one the scenes with the politicians and heads of state. However, instead of praising me and deciding they must call me for consultation, they were saying things like, "It's that Baruch again. He thinks he knows our job better than we do," and, "If I could round up all of these crack pots, like this Baruch guy, and force them to take my job for one day, then they'd see for themselves whether this is an easy job or not."

When it came to the talk shows, instead of me stealing the show with my sage wisdom, the other guests, which included rock-and-roll stars and actors were grilling me on what they considered quaint or politically incorrect ideas. Since public debate is not my strong point -- I have many a time lost an argument with my boss by my inability to properly defend myself on the spot, only to realise later what I really ought to have said -- I was being made to look like a total fool on the TV screen.

On the other hand, since the fantasies had followed a progressive sequence, each new "real" image I now saw brought a sense of relief that at least the previous humiliation couldn't possibly happen. For instance, being humiliated on national television, at least meant that the politicians would certainly not give me even a second thought. The next few scenes rendered any appearance on television also out of the question.

The two old class mates walking into the book shop, this time took a look at my book, and said:

"That's Baruch's book?"

"Looks like it."

"I always thought writing was his strong point."

"Yeah, but I never cared for the subjects he chose."

"Doesn't look like he did much better on this one either."

They both walked off without buying a copy.

Then came the scene that even put the stops on that one. This time, it was a couple of level headed editors sitting in an office reviewing several manuscripts.

"It seems like everyone's trying to write about the same old thing."

"Yeah. Plenty of talent. In fact, too much talent. I just wish that either more of these would launch out in something more out of the ordinary, or else we would have the guts to go ahead on one of the really way out ones."

"You mean like this one?" picking up my manuscript.

"Yeah -- well -- good writer and all that, but..."

"I know. Just a little bit out of touch some how."

Again, my manuscript ended up in the reject pile.

By this time I was in a rather melancholy mood. Now, up came a new scene.

This time, I saw my entrance with the genie into the sitting room where I was presently. Everything happened just as I remembered it, except, instead of looking out from inside of my head, I was looking at me from the outside. Other than that, there was no change from what I clearly remembered happening, apart from the feeling one usually gets when looking at a video of one's self -- a sort of embarrassment.

After a while, something began to disturb me about the scene. What I was watching suddenly reminded me of a young child as though on his birthday, or being generously treated by grandparents, absorbed only in his own enjoyment. My host, the genie was standing up to one side as I sat in his chair, taking him for granted as a child would his parents or teacher. The pastries with their personalities clamoured for my interaction while I acted like a child feeding animals at the zoo. Finally, there was me, indulging in the video showing of my fantasies, with the look of one easily giving in to flattery. All through this scene, I did my best to convince myself that this impression wasn't really accurate -- that it was just the impression one always gets when looking at videos of oneself.

However, I could make no such rationalisation about the scenes that followed.

Some of the scenes where from the period before I lost my job. Fellow employees were saying, "He's got good ideas, but I think he doesn't even know how to relate to people," and, "I think he's been a bit out of touch lately -- living in a dream world."

Suddenly, things started to make sense -- though not the sense I wanted it to make. A common pattern was becoming apparent in all the "real world" scenes I'd been shown. Now, I felt sick.

Just then, the video monitor said, "That's probably enough for now, wouldn't you say?"

He was right.

The chair said, "Sit back and relax a bit."

I realised I had been sitting on the edge for the past few minutes, and my back was getting tired. I sat back, and immediately my back began to feel better. However, the rest of me didn't.

After a few moments, it suddenly occurred to me to say, "Thank you -- er -- chair."

"Oh! Don't mention it. You know I thoroughly enjoy doing this."

"Yeah, but -- well, I appreciate it just the same."

"Thank you. I'm glad you told me that." I could sense a note of genuine appreciation in the chair's voice. I started feeling better.

I noticed the genie still standing off to one side with his hands behind his back, looking off in a different direction.

"Genie," I said, "You've been standing up all this time. You should sit down."

"Well, yes, come to think of it..."

I began to stand up.

"No! No, no!" said the genie. "There's room for two of us there. Isn't there, chair."

"Why of course there is!"

The chair suddenly began to widen to become something like a settee, and the genie took a seat opposite me.

"You know, Genie," I began again, "I really appreciate you bringing me here to your own home. I mean, I'm sure this isn't the usual thing for a genie to do, and --"

The genie looked at me in a way he hadn't looked at me all day. He no longer had that detached look about him. Just the way he looked at me in response to my words was doing something for me deep inside.

"Oh! Don't mention it. Why -- here, there's still more of these cakes left!"

He handed me the tray, and again the pastries began to squeal with delight at the prospect of being eaten.

I picked one, but this time, I held it for just a second or two, noticing the joy radiating from the apple tart.

"You look delicious!" I said.

"Oh! I hope I am! I hope I am!"

I put it in my mouth, and began to enjoy the fact that I was giving the apple tart its ultimate fulfilment in life.

The genie helped himself to a few, and I had a few more. Now, we were talking about things that probably weren't very important, but we enjoyed talking. I was eating the pastries, but not as a child in a zoo, but the pastries and myself were mutually enjoying one anther. All this seemed to be refilling that same part of me that had been drained completely empty from watching the scenes on the video monitor -- only now it was something more solid.

Suddenly, I thought about the time. I looked at my watch.

"Oh dear! Isn't our twenty four hours up?"

"Oh! Don't worry about time now!" said the genie. "We're just beginning to enjoy this!"

"But you said I could be with you only one day!"

"That is, I'm only legally required to serve you for twenty four hours. If you and I both want to do something beyond that, that's up to us, isn't it!"

I laughed with delight.

"I know," he said. "Why don't we go pick some mushrooms!"

I told him I thought that was a lovely idea.

I cannot begin to describe the beauty of the countryside we encountered. It far surpassed any landscape I had ever seen on the earth. We picked several kinds of mushrooms, including field mushrooms, which the genie proposed making into a salad when we got back; and some tree mushrooms, whom we promised we would serve up with fruit, which we did. We enjoyed one another thoroughly; had wonderful conversations with the salad on a number of erudite topics, as we ate it; listened to the tree mushrooms' fond memories of their trees (they also compared notes with the fruit); and we topped that off with the remaining pastries. The video monitor then showed us some other types of shows which I won't even try to describe here. All in all, the genie, the chair, the coffee table and books, the video monitor, our food and myself all had a wonderful time.

Then, I was getting tired. After all, I had been up for well over twenty four hours -- although the chair had helped to offset quite a lot of the fatigue. The genie took me home by the scenic route, and showed me other parts of the universe that not even astronomers know about.

Finally, we ended up in my kitchen. It was late at night.

"You know, I'd offer you a cup of tea if I thought you'd enjoy it," I said.

"Actually, I would," said the genie.

"But -- I thought you..."

"Come! Back there on the French Riviera, there wasn't much to enjoy. Here, I'll heat the water and you get the cups."

I got the cups, and also the biscuit tin.

"I'm afraid these biscuits don't talk, but.."

"Oh! Never mind," he interrupted. "You and me can do enough talking for all of us. That's what eating is for, really, isn't it!"

Suddenly, I was beginning to see that there indeed wasn't so much to be enjoyed at the French Riviera cafe, or in the queen's brunch. In fact, there wasn't much to be enjoyed in anything I had been so concerned about in the last -- I don't know how long.

We had our tea and biscuits, and the genie finally departed. I went to bed and slept soundly.

The next morning, I was awakened by a phone call.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Baruch?"

"Yes?"

"This is the Banque of Commerce and Fidelity in Zurich. I've been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday. It seems that the late Count Zorrokoff ..."

"Oh -- that. Listen, could you call me much later? I'm really tired right now."