Best Short Stories, 2022: Best Modern World Stories. American Short Stories Short Stories and Literature Short Stories Collection by Prize Henry

Author:Prize, Henry [Prize, Henry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOUR

AT THE PHARMACY

IT WAS LATE IN the evening. The private mentor Egor Alexeyitch Svoykin, so as not to sit around, went directly from the specialists to the drug store. "Its like going from a cowshed into a prostitute's boudoir!" he thought as he climbed the flight of stairs, which was cleaned and covered with a costly sprinter. "You're reluctant to lay down the law!" As he entered, Svoykin was struck by the fragrance one finds in each drug store on the planet. Science and medication might change throughout the long term, yet the aroma of a drug store is pretty much as timeless as the particle. Our granddads smelled it, and our grandkids will smell it as well.

As it was so late, there were no clients. Behind a cleaned yellow counter covered with named containers stood a tall noble man, his head inclining sturdily back. He had a serious face and all around prepared side-bristles to all appearances, the drug specialist. From the little uncovered fix on his head to his long pink fingernails, everything was carefully treated, prepared, licked clean, as though he were remaining at the special raised area. His haughty eyes were peering down at a paper lying on the counter. He was perusing. A clerk sat to the side behind a wire grille, apathetically counting change.

On the most distant side of the counter two faint figures puttered about in the semidarkness, blending a large number of peculiar elixirs. Svoykin went up to the counter and gave the treated gendeman the solution. He took it without seeing it, kept perusing the paper article to the furthest limit of the sentence, and murmured, turning his head slighdy: "Calomeli grana couple, sacchari albi grana quinque, numero decern!" "Ja!" a sharp, metallic voice replied from the profundities of the drug store. The drug specialist gave headings for the drops in a similar suppressed, estimated voice. "Ja!" came from the other corner. The drug specialist composed something on the remedy, scowled, and inclining his head back, rested his eyes again on the paper. "It will be prepared in 60 minutes," he murmured through his teeth, his eyes examining for the sentence he had quite recently completed the process of perusing. "Would I be able to get it any sooner?" Svoykin murmured. "I couldn't realistically stand by that long."

The drug specialist didn't reply. Svoykin plunked down on the couch and paused. The clerk wrapped up counting the change, moaned profoundly, and shook his keys. One of the dim figures in the inside was beating away with a marble pesde. The other figure rearranged about with a blue vial. Some place a clock stayed with musical consideration. Svoykin was sick. His mouth was ablaze; there was a long aggravation in his arms and legs; hazy pictures tumbled with regards to like mists and covered human figures in his weighty head. He looked as though through a shroud at the drug specialist, the racks of containers, the gas burners, and the cupboards.

The tedious

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