The Dark Arena by Mario Puzo

Author:Mario Puzo
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780345441690
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 1955-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

They left. Out in the street the blackness of the night had become thinner as if the moon had spread itself against the sky and diluted the shadows without giving light. Mosca felt refreshed, alert, and the cold wind cleared his head. He walked briskly beside Wolf. He lit a cigarette and the smoke was mellow and warm on his tongue. They were silent. Once Wolf said, “This is a long walk, but one more stop will end the night and we'll get treated good. Combine business with pleasure.”

They took short cuts through ruined buildings until Mosca lost all sense of direction, and then suddenly they were in a street that seemed cut off from the rest of the city, a little village surrounded by a desert of rubble. Wolf stopped at the last house at the end of the street and gave a quick series of raps on the door.

It opened, and facing them stood a short, blond man, the front of his head completely bald, the golden hair covering the back and top of his head like a skullcap. He was very neatly dressed.

The German grasped Wolfs hand and said, “Wolfgang, just in time for a midnight snack.” He let them in and bolted the door. He put his arm around Wolfs shoulder and hugged him. “Ah, it is good to see you. Come in.” They went into a living-room that was luxurious, with a china closet stuffed full of cut glass and tableware, the floor covered by rich, dark-red rugs. There was a wall of books and glowing yellow lamps and soft armchairs, and in one of the armchairs, her feet over a yellow hassock, sat a thick-bodied, thick-lipped woman with bright-red hair. She was reading a brightly covered American fashion magazine. The blond man said to her, “Here is our Wolfgang and the friend he told us about.” She extended a limp hand to both of them. She let the magazine fall to the floor.

Wolf peeled off his coat and put his briefcase on the chair beside him.

“So,” he said to the blond man. “Any luck, Honny?”

“Ah,” the woman said, “I think you are making a little joke with us. We have been able to find out nothing.” She spoke to Wolf, but she looked at Mosca. Her voice was peculiarly sweet, softening the meaning of everything she said. Mosca lit a cigarette, feeling his face tighten with the desire she aroused in him with her look, the complete frankness of her eyes, and the memory of her hand which had been burning hot when it touched his. And yet now, raising his eyes, watching her through the cigarette smoke, he saw that she was ugly; despite her careful disguise with make-up she could not hide her voracious mouth, the cruel tiny blue eyes.

“It is a true story,” Wolf was saying. “I know. I need only to make contact with the right people. Whoever helps me with that contact will earn a pretty reward.”,

“And this really is your rich friend?” the blond man asked with a smile.

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