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I
always keep, tight under my belt, a small African steel knife. I bought
it from an old shopkeeper in Algiers. I remember, as if it were today, the old merchant. He looked like an old Goya painting. He stood near long swords and worn out uniforms. He said in a hoarse voice the following words: "This knife that you want to buy is the object of many strange legends. Everybody knows that the persons who owned it at some point killed somebody close to them. Don Basilio murdered Dona Julia, his beautiful wife, with it, because she was unfaithful. Count Antonio killed his wretched brother with it one night. A jealous black man killed his young lover and an Italian sailor killed a Greek boatswain. The knife was passed from hand to hand, and then became mine. I have seen many things, but this knife makes me shiver. Come closer and look at it. There is an anchor and a crest on it. It is light. Why do you want it? It is not even a quarter. I advise you to buy some other thing." - How much? - Only seven francs. - If you want it, take it. I always keep, tight under my belt, a small African steel knife. I bought it on a whim. And because I hate no one in this world I am afraid I might some day turn it against myself. |
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