Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 27

           OncedearlittleJean-Baptistehadfinallyreturnedchezsoi,lyingonhissimple,cozysofainhispurplesalon-hisbootsfinallypulledoff,sotospeak-heclappedhishandsandcalledhisservants,whowereinvisible,intangible,inaudible,andaboveallinodorous,andthustotallyimaginaryservants,andorderedthemtogototheprivateroomsandgetthisorthatvolumefromthegreatlibraryofodorsandtothecellarstofetchsomethingforhimtodrink.Theimaginaryservantshurriedoff,andGrenouille’sstomachcrampedintormentedexpectation.Hesuddenlyfeltlikeadrunkardwhoisafraidthattheshotofbrandyhehasorderedatthebarwill,forsomereasonorother,bedeniedhim.Whatifthecellarorthelibraryweresuddenlyempty,ifthewineinthecaskshadgonesour?Whyweretheykeepinghimwaiting?Whydidtheynotcome?Heneededthestuffnow,heneededitdesperately,hewasaddicted,hewoulddieonthespotifhedidnotgetit.Calmyourself,Jean-Baptiste!Calmyourself,myfriend!They’recoming,they’recoming,they’rebringingwhatyoucrave.Theservantsarewingingtheirwayherewithit.Theyarecarryingthebookofodorsonaninvisibletray,andintheirwhite-gloved,invisiblehandstheyarecarryingthosepreciousbottles,theysetthemdown,eversocarefully,theybow,andtheydisappear.Andthen,leftalone,atlast-onceagain!-leftalone,Jean-Baptistereachesfortheodorshecraves,opensthefirstbottle,poursaglassfulltotherim,putsittohislips,anddrinks.Drinkstheglassofcoolscentdowninonedraft,anditisluscious.

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