'Oh, Keff feels very bad,' said Gallen.
'I meant, how's Siggy?' I said. 'I couldn't care less about Keff.'
'Keff's very sorry, really,' she said. 'He keeps asking about you.'
'How's Siggy?' I asked. 'How's he look?'
'Well, I haven't seen him,' she said. But the way her shoulders shook when she said 'seen,' I believed she'd taken a peek.
'All puffy?' I said, a bit nastily. 'Like two of me?' And I pinched up a fair-sized welt on my bare witch-hazeled stomach.
'Keff wouldn't let anyone see him,' said Gallen.
'Frotting Keff!' I said. 'What's he taken an interest for? Does he enjoy it that much?'
'He's been very nice, Graff,' she said.
'And seeing a bit of you too,' I said. 'No doubt.'
So she told me about the aftermath. How the armored beekeeper had finally been the one to extricate poor Siggy from under the flatbed. They'd all taken him for the doctor to poke - and see if he'd deflate - and then the mayor had pronounced over the body. Afterwards Keff had asked for him, and said he'd build the box.
'Where's he going to be sent?' said Gallen. 'Keff says to ask you that.'
'To Kaprun,' I said, 'if Keff can tear himself away from the body.'
'It wasn't Keff's fault, Graff,' she said. And added how she thought that Siggy must have been crazy. So I told her about the mad notebook, and the ultimate, unreasonable scheme; and all the conclusions leapt to, concerning O. Schrutt and the Famous Asiatic Black Bear. I said I agreed with her, that poor Siggy had perhaps gone off his rail somewhere. Then I sat up in bed and pulled her down to sit beside me.
Since we were closer and I'd got her talking about it, I asked her what the doctor said he'd died of. 'Cause of death,' I said stiffly. 'Precisely what?'
; 'A heart attack,' said Gallen, 'which could have been the shock.'
'Or too many bees,' I said, thinking that too much bee gunk went inside him and sent a sort of thrombus to clog his heart. Then I got dizzy, sitting upright; I began to itch all over.
'Witch hazel, Graff?' said Gallen.
But feeling the need for at least an immediate sort of plan I said - as quickly and officiously as possible, 'Tell Keff there's to be no fanfare, and no flowers or anything. And the coffin should be sealed. Just the name, no engraving. And put him on the train, to Kaprun - to a man named Ernst Watzek-Trummer. Who'll pay for it, I'm sure. Then you bring me a telegram form. I'll send off something to precede the body.'
'Keff wonders if you want anything to read,' said Gallen. As if I hadn't read enough.
She spread the witch-hazeled washcloth over my eyes, which made it easier for me to answer her back - not being able to see her bent over me. 'Just some sex book or other,' I said. 'I'm sure Keff knows where to find that sort of thing, if he's not too busy - fiddling so much with Siggy and you.'
When I took the washcloth off my face, and caught an unscented breath, Gallen had left me alone in the room. With my doubts of her. And with my horror thoughts of Keff's possible necrophilia.
What Keff Was Doing
KEFF BOUGHT A book and sent it to me with Gallen, though it was an honorable, scholarly sort of sex book - the wholesome teamwork of a pair of Danes - called The ABZ of Love.
'It's got drawings in it,' said Gallen, not looking at me. Probably afraid I'd turn into one of the sketches before her eyes.
'Read it cover to cover already, have you?' I asked.
'I have not,' she said distinctly, and left me with Keff's odd gift.
Actually, it's a very sane, clean book, concerned with potting the old taboos, and encouraging us to have good, healthy fun. But I just randomly flipped it open, and was given a misleading picture of the book at first reading - because of this queer anecdote.
During the last century a lady woke up one night, feeling she was being pushed. Somebody went in and out and hands touched her every now and again. As she was not expecting anybody and had fallen asleep alone, she was so terrified she fainted. Much later she came to her senses and by the light of the dawning day saw that her butler (who, incidentally, was a genuine sleepwalker) had laid dinner for fourteen people on her bed. But of course this sort of thing is rather unusual, especially nowadays when so few people have servants.