famous philosophic wager? Hume, was it?’
Finkler looked at him steadily. Don’t presume, the look seemed to say. Don’t presume on my apparent grieflessness. Just because I haven’t gone the Libor route of turning my life into a shrine doesn’t mean I’m callous. You don’t know what I feel.
Or Treslove may just have invented it.
‘I suspect you’re thinking of Pascal,’ Finkler said, finally. ‘Only he said the opposite. He said you might as well wager on God because that way, even if He doesn’t exist, you’ve nothing to lose. Whereas if you wager against God and He does exist . . .’
‘You’re in the shit.’
‘I wish I’d said that.’
‘You will, Finkler.’
Finkler smiled at the room. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘so there you are coming out of Libor’s place ever so slightly the worse for wear when this muggerette, mistaking you for me, follows you several hundred yards to where it’s actually lighter – which makes no sense – and duffs you up. What exactly about the incident links her to me? Or me to you? We don’t exactly look alike, Julian. You’re half my size, you’ve got twice as much hair –’
‘Three times as much hair.’
‘I’m in a car, you’re on foot . . . what would have led her to make that mistake?’
‘Search me . . . Because she had never seen either of us before?’
‘And saw you and thought he looks as though he’s got a fat wallet, and what happened happened. I still don’t know why you think she was after me.’
‘Maybe she knew you’d won three thousand pounds playing poker. Or maybe she was a fan. Maybe a Pascal reader. You know what fans are like.’
‘And maybe she wasn’t.’ Finkler called for more hot water.
‘Look,’ Treslove said, shifting in his chair, as though not wanting the whole of Fortnum & Mason to hear, ‘it was what she said.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Or at least what I think she said.’
Finkler opened wide his arms Finklerishly. Infinite patience beginning to run out, the gesture denoted. Finkler reminded Treslove of God when he did that. God despairing of His people from a mountain top. Treslove was envious. It was what God gave the Finklers as the mark of His covenant with them – the ability to shrug like Him. Something on which, as a non-Finkler, Treslove had missed out.
‘What she said or what you think she said – spit it out, Julian.’
So he spat it out. ‘ You Jew . She said You Jew .’
‘You’ve made that up.’
‘Why would I make it up?’
‘Because you’re a bitter twisted man. I don’t know why you’d make it up. Because you were hearing your own thoughts. You’d just left me and Libor. You Jews , you were probably thinking. You fucking Jews . The sentence was in your mouth so you transferred it to hers.’
‘She didn’t say You fucking Jews . She said You Jew .’
‘ You Jew? ’
Now he heard it on someone else’s lips, Treslove couldn’t be sure he was sure. ‘I think.’
‘You think ? What could she have said that sounded like You Jew ?’
‘I’ve already been through that. You Jules , but then how would she know my name?’
‘It was on the credit cards she’d stolen from you – doh!’
‘Don’t doh me. You know I hate being dohed.’
Finkler patted his arm. ‘It was on the credit cards she’d stolen from you – no doh.’
‘My cards have my initials. J. J. Treslove. No reference to any Julian and certainly not to any Jules. Let’s call a spade a spade, Sam – she called me a Jew.’
‘And you think the only Jew in London she could have confused you for is me?’
‘We’d just been together.’
‘Coincidence. The woman is probably a serial anti-Semite. No doubt she calls everyone she robs a Jew. It’s a generic word among you Gentiles for anyone you don’t much care for. At school they called it Jewing (you probably called it Jewing yourself) – taking what’s not yours. It’s what you see when you see a Jew – a thief or a skinflint.
Finkler looked at him steadily. Don’t presume, the look seemed to say. Don’t presume on my apparent grieflessness. Just because I haven’t gone the Libor route of turning my life into a shrine doesn’t mean I’m callous. You don’t know what I feel.
Or Treslove may just have invented it.
‘I suspect you’re thinking of Pascal,’ Finkler said, finally. ‘Only he said the opposite. He said you might as well wager on God because that way, even if He doesn’t exist, you’ve nothing to lose. Whereas if you wager against God and He does exist . . .’
‘You’re in the shit.’
‘I wish I’d said that.’
‘You will, Finkler.’
Finkler smiled at the room. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘so there you are coming out of Libor’s place ever so slightly the worse for wear when this muggerette, mistaking you for me, follows you several hundred yards to where it’s actually lighter – which makes no sense – and duffs you up. What exactly about the incident links her to me? Or me to you? We don’t exactly look alike, Julian. You’re half my size, you’ve got twice as much hair –’
‘Three times as much hair.’
‘I’m in a car, you’re on foot . . . what would have led her to make that mistake?’
‘Search me . . . Because she had never seen either of us before?’
‘And saw you and thought he looks as though he’s got a fat wallet, and what happened happened. I still don’t know why you think she was after me.’
‘Maybe she knew you’d won three thousand pounds playing poker. Or maybe she was a fan. Maybe a Pascal reader. You know what fans are like.’
‘And maybe she wasn’t.’ Finkler called for more hot water.
‘Look,’ Treslove said, shifting in his chair, as though not wanting the whole of Fortnum & Mason to hear, ‘it was what she said.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Or at least what I think she said.’
Finkler opened wide his arms Finklerishly. Infinite patience beginning to run out, the gesture denoted. Finkler reminded Treslove of God when he did that. God despairing of His people from a mountain top. Treslove was envious. It was what God gave the Finklers as the mark of His covenant with them – the ability to shrug like Him. Something on which, as a non-Finkler, Treslove had missed out.
‘What she said or what you think she said – spit it out, Julian.’
So he spat it out. ‘ You Jew . She said You Jew .’
‘You’ve made that up.’
‘Why would I make it up?’
‘Because you’re a bitter twisted man. I don’t know why you’d make it up. Because you were hearing your own thoughts. You’d just left me and Libor. You Jews , you were probably thinking. You fucking Jews . The sentence was in your mouth so you transferred it to hers.’
‘She didn’t say You fucking Jews . She said You Jew .’
‘ You Jew? ’
Now he heard it on someone else’s lips, Treslove couldn’t be sure he was sure. ‘I think.’
‘You think ? What could she have said that sounded like You Jew ?’
‘I’ve already been through that. You Jules , but then how would she know my name?’
‘It was on the credit cards she’d stolen from you – doh!’
‘Don’t doh me. You know I hate being dohed.’
Finkler patted his arm. ‘It was on the credit cards she’d stolen from you – no doh.’
‘My cards have my initials. J. J. Treslove. No reference to any Julian and certainly not to any Jules. Let’s call a spade a spade, Sam – she called me a Jew.’
‘And you think the only Jew in London she could have confused you for is me?’
‘We’d just been together.’
‘Coincidence. The woman is probably a serial anti-Semite. No doubt she calls everyone she robs a Jew. It’s a generic word among you Gentiles for anyone you don’t much care for. At school they called it Jewing (you probably called it Jewing yourself) – taking what’s not yours. It’s what you see when you see a Jew – a thief or a skinflint.
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