liquid it contained and in the two glasses was darker than I
would have expected of scotch whiskey but I ascribed the
color to age and perhaps unusually good quality. My eyes
were on the girl and it didn’t occur to me until later that
the glasses had already been filled.
The girl was pretty. I could see that now. Her eyes
were dark and shaped like two burnt almonds. Her lips
were full and heavily rouged. Her face was lightly
powdered giving the skin an alabaster glow. The contrast
was remarkable. The blouse she wore was cut as low in the
front as I had observed it in the rear. She didn’t smile, nor
did she look in my direction. The dark eyes remained on
Wertenberg. Her eyelids lowered and her head nodded
gently as if to indicate that this or some other task had
been completed. Then she turned and left the room. I was
alone once more with the old gentleman.
The tips of his crooked fingers disengaged and
extended themselves in the direction of the tray, indicating
that I should take one of the tumblers. I lifted a glass and
waited for him to do the same. He didn’t.
“Your health, doctor” I said as his fingertips
reconnected. I took a small sip of the liquid. The taste was
almost magical, by far the best I scotch I had ever tasted
and I consider myself reasonably discerning with respect
to the spirit. Everything inside me tingled with warmth
and well-being. I was momentarily giddy and almost
giggled. The whiskey was incredibly smooth with the
earthy taste and redolence of Orkney peat.
Dr. Wertenberg lifted the second glass and raised it
to eye level. The crook of his fingers fit around the glass as
if they had been created for that purpose. His skin was
nearly translucent. I could almost see the liquid through
9