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- XX. Insomnia
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XX
INSOMNIA
Norstrom with his usual kind
thoughtfulness had invited me to dinner the
evening of the fatal day. It was a gloomy dinner,
I was still smarting under the humiliation of my
defeat, and Norstrom sat scratching his head in
silent meditation how he was to raise the three
thousand francs due to his landlord the next day.
Norstrom refused point-blank to accept my
explanation of my disaster—bad luck and the
most unexpected interference of the unforeseen
with my carefully prepared plans. Norstrom’s
diagnosis of my case was Don Quixottish
foolhardiness and immeasurable conceit. I said that
unless I received that very day some sign from
Fortuna, my beloved goddess, that she felt sorry
for having forsaken me and would take me back
in her favour, I would accept his diagnosis. As
I spoke the words, my eyes were miraculously
transferred from the bottle of Médoc between us
to Norstrom’s gigantic hands.
“Have you ever gone in for massage?” I
asked abruptly.
For all answer Norstrom opened his broad,
honest hands and showed me with great pride a
pair of thumb balls of the size of an orange.
There was no doubt of his speaking the truth
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Project Runeberg, Sun Dec 10 16:55:41 2023
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