water sluicing stones over the sloping ground. First the rain beat down, then it flared up with wrath, before detonating in a surging deluge over the hapless earth.
“There hasn’t been rain like this for at least a generation,” he declared.
Digging back in his past, he remembered a similar flood from his childhood. He recalled how it stopped all means of transport, blocking up the alleys and completely drowning rooms—and those in them—beneath porous roofs. He then went back to his desk, intent upon his work with the hotel records and expenditures, but he also issued orders to tighten the surveillance of the rooms and of the roof. He called for the head bellhop and asked him, “What news of room number twelve?”
“The singing and laughing show no sign of stopping,” the man said, twisting his lips. “They’re crazy in there!”
Blind Sayyid the undertaker loomed at the lobby’s door.
“Get back to your place!” shrieked the manager.
The man held up his hand in entreaty, and the manager yelled at him once more, “Not another word!”
The thunder clapped like bombs as the massive rain pounded the pavements with incandescent intensity.The manager mused that the old hotel wasn’t built with reinforced concrete—and the night warned of yet more travails.
Another bellhop told him, “There are complaints in room number twelve about the leaky roof and the water pouring in.”
“You mean they’ve stopped laughing and singing?” the manager demanded, exasperated. “Then let them all leave the room now!”
“But they can’t!” protested the bellhop.
The manager dismissed him once again and called the head bellhop, asking him about what his assistant had said. “The rooms are all leaking, so I’ve mobilized all the men to plug the holes in the roof with sandbags.”
“And what about room number twelve?”
“They’re all jammed in there too tightly. Their stomachs have inflated so much, they can’t open the door. They can’t even move!”
Cosmic ire was smiting the night outside, while inside a frenzied air of activity filled the hotel as the bellhops scurried about with sandbags to halt the invading rain.
Then a most peculiar thing happened: the people who’d been waiting in the lobby rushed voluntarily to aid in the effort. The manager watched all this with delight— made greater by the fact that Blind Sayyid the Corpse Washer did not take part.
After a while the head bellhop reported on the work’s progress. “They’re putting all they’ve got into it,” he said with pride. “But as for our friends in room number twelve, their condition is very bad—and getting worse and worse all the time.”
What the man said struck the manager like a shock— and amid the violent, pent-up tension of the entire day, he snapped. His anger taking hold of his flesh, his blood, and his nerves at once, he finally surrendered his last shred of sanity.
“Listen.” he said. “Remember exactly what I’m about to tell you….”
The bellhop stared at his face in terror as the manager shouted with stark resolve, “Ignore room number twelve and everyone in it!”
“Sir, the men are screaming and the women are crying!”
Bellowing like a beast, the manager railed, “Concentrate on the roof over the guest rooms—but as for room number twelve,
leave it alone—and everyone inside it!”
The bellhop tarried for merely a second, and the manager foamed with an even more animal-like fervor, “Carry out my instructions to the letter—without dragging your feet!”
He moved to face the window and watched the storm crashing in the heart of the darkness, waxing more and more perilous with each passing moment. Yet he felt his great burden lighten, as his confidence returned with his clarity of mind.
The Garden Passage
A fter long hesitation, I decided to go.
The curtain dropped at nightfall. Engulfed by the waves of gloom that swept Virgo Star Alley, I knew my path by the backlight of
“There hasn’t been rain like this for at least a generation,” he declared.
Digging back in his past, he remembered a similar flood from his childhood. He recalled how it stopped all means of transport, blocking up the alleys and completely drowning rooms—and those in them—beneath porous roofs. He then went back to his desk, intent upon his work with the hotel records and expenditures, but he also issued orders to tighten the surveillance of the rooms and of the roof. He called for the head bellhop and asked him, “What news of room number twelve?”
“The singing and laughing show no sign of stopping,” the man said, twisting his lips. “They’re crazy in there!”
Blind Sayyid the undertaker loomed at the lobby’s door.
“Get back to your place!” shrieked the manager.
The man held up his hand in entreaty, and the manager yelled at him once more, “Not another word!”
The thunder clapped like bombs as the massive rain pounded the pavements with incandescent intensity.The manager mused that the old hotel wasn’t built with reinforced concrete—and the night warned of yet more travails.
Another bellhop told him, “There are complaints in room number twelve about the leaky roof and the water pouring in.”
“You mean they’ve stopped laughing and singing?” the manager demanded, exasperated. “Then let them all leave the room now!”
“But they can’t!” protested the bellhop.
The manager dismissed him once again and called the head bellhop, asking him about what his assistant had said. “The rooms are all leaking, so I’ve mobilized all the men to plug the holes in the roof with sandbags.”
“And what about room number twelve?”
“They’re all jammed in there too tightly. Their stomachs have inflated so much, they can’t open the door. They can’t even move!”
Cosmic ire was smiting the night outside, while inside a frenzied air of activity filled the hotel as the bellhops scurried about with sandbags to halt the invading rain.
Then a most peculiar thing happened: the people who’d been waiting in the lobby rushed voluntarily to aid in the effort. The manager watched all this with delight— made greater by the fact that Blind Sayyid the Corpse Washer did not take part.
After a while the head bellhop reported on the work’s progress. “They’re putting all they’ve got into it,” he said with pride. “But as for our friends in room number twelve, their condition is very bad—and getting worse and worse all the time.”
What the man said struck the manager like a shock— and amid the violent, pent-up tension of the entire day, he snapped. His anger taking hold of his flesh, his blood, and his nerves at once, he finally surrendered his last shred of sanity.
“Listen.” he said. “Remember exactly what I’m about to tell you….”
The bellhop stared at his face in terror as the manager shouted with stark resolve, “Ignore room number twelve and everyone in it!”
“Sir, the men are screaming and the women are crying!”
Bellowing like a beast, the manager railed, “Concentrate on the roof over the guest rooms—but as for room number twelve,
leave it alone—and everyone inside it!”
The bellhop tarried for merely a second, and the manager foamed with an even more animal-like fervor, “Carry out my instructions to the letter—without dragging your feet!”
He moved to face the window and watched the storm crashing in the heart of the darkness, waxing more and more perilous with each passing moment. Yet he felt his great burden lighten, as his confidence returned with his clarity of mind.
The Garden Passage
A fter long hesitation, I decided to go.
The curtain dropped at nightfall. Engulfed by the waves of gloom that swept Virgo Star Alley, I knew my path by the backlight of
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