The Suicide Shop / Магазинчик Самоубийств

24

'Ha ha! Oh, that's so funny, tee hee! Oh, my stomach's hurting. Ha ha ...! I can't breathe! Oooh ...!'
A small, scrawny man with a moustache and a hat, dressed all in grey, had walked sadly into the shop. Lucrèce had shown him a mask made by Vincent and Alan.
'Oooh! Oooh! Oh, but that's funny! Ha ha ha ...! Oh, that moronic face, oh ...!'
Mishima is sitting slumped on a chair, feeling oppressed. Forearms resting on his parted thighs, with his fingers interlaced between his knees, he raises his head with an effort to look at this morning customer, the first of the day. He watches him face-on, guffawing at the sight of the mask Lucrèce is showing him, with her back to her husband.
The laughing customer puts a hand to his mouth. 'Oh! But how could anyone have given birth to that?! Oh!'
'My boys made this mask last night. It's well put together, don't you think?'
'Oh! But what a stupid-looking face. And the eyes! Tee hee! And nose! Oh good grief, look at the nose ... I can't believe it!'
The customer bends double with laughter at the sight of the facial disguise, which Madame Tuvache is holding at chest height right in front of him. He's suffocating, coughing, belching.
'Oh no, I mean, really, living with a face like that! It's not the kind of mug to win you friends, is it? And what about women? Do you know a single woman who'd want anything to do with a guy like that? Oh! Not even a dog or a rat would want him!'
The customer laughs until he cries, attempting to get his breath back. 'Show me again. Oh, I can't take any more!'
'Then look away,' Madame Tuvache advises him.
'No, my decision is made. Ha ha ha! And how seedy-looking he is. He must be some kind of bloody idiot, that guy there! Even a goldfish would rather fly out of its bowl than stay looking at him! Aaaah!'
The customer laughs so much he wets himself:
'Oh, forgive me! I'm so embarrassed. I'd heard that you had grotesque masks but this one ... Aaah!'
'Would you like to see others?' suggests Lucrèce.
'Oh no, nothing could be worse than the one you've shown me. Ha ha! Oh, the idiot! I hope he dies, the damn fool! Nobody will miss the bloody idiot!'
Up to now, Mishima's gaze has been vague and demoralised. Now, he fixes his attention on the unusual customer who is killing himself with laughter at the mask.
'My heart! Aaaah ...! Oh, how stupid he looks! Ha ha ha!'
He turns red, becomes rigid, arms folded across his chest and his fingers outspread like the points of a star, then collapses onto the floor, yelling at the mask. 'Idiot!'
Mishima stands up and checks him over: 'Well, that makes two ... But what did they dream up this time?'
Lucrèce turns round and shows him a mask in impersonal white plastic, onto whose nose Alan and Vincent have stuck a mirror.