The Snowman by Jörg Fauser Page B

a glass of tea. It was even hot.
    â€œThank you, Mr Haq. Didn’t you have a bathroom at the Cumberland, then?”
    â€œIn theory, Mr Blum, purely in theory. The bathroom was being renovated.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œDo you like your curry medium or hot, Mr Blum?”
    â€œI’ve already eaten, thank you.”
    â€œHot, then.”
    The Pakistani added more ingredients to the pan. The aroma was like that of the Pegasus Bar on Thursdays, only considerably stronger. Mr Haq had his suit on again, but with a sports shirt under it and slippers on his feet. He had made himself comfortable.
    â€œIt won’t taste as good as my wife’s, Mr Blum, but I hope it will be edible.”
    â€œYou’re married?”
    â€œI’m not a young man any more, Mr Blum.” He discreetly spared Blum the same question. “You really must visit me in Lahore some time. Lahore, as of course you know, is the most important city in Central Asia. You can eat at my home and get your drinks in the Punjab Club. It’s the most fashionable club in all Pakistan, they say. Do you play billiards? Yes, of course you do. The best billiards of all are played in the Punjab Club.”
    The easterner had an inexhaustible talent for elaborate conversation. It was some time before he allowed Blum to come to the point. Blum kept it short, and confined himself to hints.
    â€œBut what could I do for you in this matter, Mr Blum? As I told you in the café, my opportunities here are very limited.”
    Blum reminded him of the loss of his porn magazines. “You’ll understand that I’ve been rather nervous since then . . .”
    The Pakistani forced a polite smile.
    â€œAnd you think my humble self could keep a robber at bay?”
    â€œNo, this is something quite different, Mr Haq. We’re dealing with absolutely straight people. But it would just be better if I turned up with company to complete this transaction.”
    â€œI see. There must be a considerable sum involved?”
    â€œThe amount isn’t so important. It’s more a matter of – of honour.”
    â€œAh. A contingency not unknown to me. But tell me one thing, Mr Blum – don’t you have friends in this city?”
    â€œIt’s not my home town.”
    â€œRemarkable. I’d have thought a man like you had friends everywhere. I mean, this is your own country.”
    â€œYou’re forgetting how long I’ve been away.”
    â€œOnly a year, Mr Blum. A year – and you have no friends left! No family either? Everyone has family . . .”
    Blum felt the conversation slipping out of his grasp.
    â€œOf course I’d reimburse you for your trouble.”
    â€œOh, please, Mr Blum! We’re friends in a way, we speak the same language. Now let’s eat.”
    He fetched plates from the wall cupboard. They were heavy stoneware, chipped all round the edges. Mr Haq served the curry.
    â€œSay if it’s too hot for you.”
    â€œIt’s excellent. My compliments.”
    â€œOh, that’s nothing, Mr Blum. Of course I could have taken you to a restaurant, but I’m afraid we wouldn’t have got a really good curry. Now in Lahore . . .”
    After they had eaten, Mr Haq returned to the subject.
    â€œYou see, I’d like to oblige you, Mr Blum, particularly in an affair of honour, but on the other hand I wouldn’t like to break the laws of the country where I am a guest . . .”
    â€œMr Haq, if you’re at all afraid of breaking laws . . . you’d be risking far less than in your beloved Saudi Arabia.”
    Saudi Arabia was the cue Mr Haq had been waiting for. Once again Blum had to listen to him describing the ease of making money there. Money practically grew on the trees, he said, or rather, as no trees grew there it spurted up from the sand . . .
    â€œI thought,” said Blum, “you had a nice little earner of some kind over