To
establish the firm, I must deposit it in the bank this afternoon."
Marc casts a haunted, ensnared glance at Eli's general direction.
But Eli strikes relentless:
"Marc, she'll be out of the room any minute now. If we keep arguing
over these stinking five thousand dollars, you will lose her forever.
Either you're in or you're out. The time to decide is here and now."
"I'm in, I'm in" - stammers Marc, defeated. He noisily dodders to the
adjacent room. Eli winks at me expectantly. Marc returns with a bulky
wad of cash and a stained, much folded, piece of rubricated paper.
"Sign this, both you" - he growls and, mournfully, to himself: "fifty
thousand francs."
"A mere five thousand dollars" - Eli corrects him - "and the money
doubles each half a year or so. Welcome, partner!"
Marc reciprocates with a feeble handshake and crumbles onto a kitchen
stool. The flickering neon light weighs on his luxuriant eyelids,
skirting the shady folds under his sockets. Eli bows and whispers
hoarsely in our sponsor's hirsute ear: "Go to her, Marc. She is waiting
for you. She is a woman."
Marc gestures half-heartedly but doesn't budge. Eli shrugs
disparagingly and signals me to follow him.
Back in the street, he gleefully observes:
"She'll never stay with him.
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