The Suicide Shop / Магазинчик Самоубийств

12

'Often people ask us why we named our youngest "Alan". It's because of Alan Turing.'
'Who?' asks a surprised fat woman whose crestfallen features seem deeply shadowed.
'Don't you know Alan Turing?' asks Lucrèce. 'He was an Englishman whose homosexuality got him into trouble with the law and who's regarded as the inventor of the first computer. During the Second World War, his contribution to the final victory was of great importance, for he succeeded in deciphering the Enigma system: the electromagnetic coding machine that enabled the German high command to transmit messages to its submarines. Without Enigma the messages were indecipherable by the Allied secret services.'
'Oh, right, I didn't know ...'
'He's one of History's great forgotten figures.'
The hesitant customer gazes around the shop with eyes made weary by the doleful regret she feels for her faded dreams ...
'I'm telling you about this,' Lucrèce goes on, 'because I saw you just now looking up at the frieze of little pictures.'
Both women look up at the pictures, all the same size, which hang on the wall side by side, just beneath the ceiling.
'Why does each one depict an apple?' asks the customer.
'Because of Turing. The inventor committed suicide in an odd way. On the seventh of June 1954, he soaked an apple in a solution of cyanide and placed it on a small table. Next, he painted a picture of it, and then he ate the apple.'
'He never did!'
'It's said that this is the reason why the Apple Macintosh logo depicts an apple with a bite out of it. It's Alan Turing's apple.'
'Well, well ... at least I won't die an idiot.'
'And when our youngest child was born,' continues Lucrèce, getting back to business, 'we put together this suicide kit.'
'What is it?' The interested customer comes closer.
Madame Tuvache shows her the item. 'In this transparent plastic wallet, you can see that you have a little canvas mounted on a stretcher, two brushes - one large, one fine - a few tubes of paint and of course the apple. Careful, it's poisoned! This way, you can kill yourself just like Alan Turing did. The only thing we ask of you, if you don't have any objection, is that you leave us the painting. We really love hanging them up there. They act as souvenirs for us. And, besides, it's pretty, seeing all those apples in a line under the ceiling. They go well with the Delft tiles on the floor. We already have seventy-two of them. While people wait at the cash register, they can look at the exhibition.'
This is exactly what the fat customer is doing. 'They are painted in all kinds of styles ...'
'Yes, some apples are Cubist, others almost abstract. The blue apple, there, was painted by a man who was colour-blind.' 'I shall take the suicide kit,' sighs the fat lady, her heart beating out a funeral march. 'It will add to your collection.'
'You're very kind. Try and remember to sign and date it. The date today is -'
'What time is it?' asks the customer.
'A quarter to two.'
'I must go. I don't know if it's from seeing all the fruit in your frieze, but I'm feeling a little peckish now.'
As Madame Tuvache opens the door for her, she warns: 'Make sure you don't eat the apple until you've finished the painting! You're not supposed to paint the core. In any case, you wouldn't have time.'
*
Mishima is sitting on a stool at the back of the shop, stirring a basin containing a mixture of cement, sand and water. Alan comes down the stairs, whistling a merry tune. His father asks him: 'Ready to go back to school for the afternoon? Did you finish your lunch, and remember to watch the news on TV?'
'Yes, Father. The lady presenter on the one o'clock bulletin has changed her hairstyle. She looked very well groomed.'
His mother rolls her eyes heavenwards and cuts in: 'Is that all you remember? That's a real worry. Didn't she talk about regional wars, ecological disasters, famine ...?'
'Oh yes, we saw those pictures again of the Dutch dykes that exploded during the last tidal wave, and the beach that now extends as far as Prague. They showed the emaciated inhabitants of the German province crying out and rolling naked in the dunes. If you narrowed your eyes, the shining grains of sand mixed with the sweat on their skin looked like little stars. It was unreal but everything will be sorted out. They're going to remove the sand.'
Lucrèce is at her wits' end. 'Oh, you! With your optimism, you'd make a desert bloom! Go on, get off to school. I have more than enough to do without forever seeing you as happy as a lark.'
'See you soon, Mother!'
'Yes, soon, that's right. Unfortunately ...'
Mishima, who is next to the fresh produce section currently under construction, rolls up one sleeve of his jumper. He pours water onto his forearm, then sand, and turns his arm around under the light from the neon tubes, at the same time screwing up his eyes.
His wife looks at him. 'What on earth are you doing?'