Everything seemed to stay there as expected, tightly packed into three massive metal crates, weathering the passage with dignity. With great difficulty, Mnusken managed to break open the lid of the frozen chest, and then, after briefly confirming its contents, he returned to the deck and summoned his guide.

Anguk and Nabasi cautiously came to meet him, and with genuine trepidation and hesitation, they walked back and forth on the hull of the ship, as if they had slipped a door and had slipped into a lonely villa. The boxes were very heavy, and the iron gangway leading to the hold was so slippery that it was necessary to carry them onto deck and then disembark, and really have to make a lot of effort to feed. They managed to get the box on the trailer and tie it up, and then gasped for breath for a while. Mnusken didn't say anything, and the two guides giggled and told some untranslated jokes. They did not give a disdainful look at all this, and Mnusken, his heart was quite excited. All right. Succeed with flying colors. If nothing else, it's time to go back. But, before we go back, we'll have to smash one of its little seeds, Nabasi suggested.

While this one was setting fire to the foremast of the Silik with his axe, Mnusken took Anguk down to the hold for a closer inspection. The furs in the cargo were always there, but unlike the other goods, they were not very well preserved, as hard as a tropical tree, and almost all the fur had fallen off the skin: there was no doubt that it was of much commercial value. Ferré still drew a small white fox pelt, which seemed more presentable than the others, and he was going to thaw it and give it to someone, someone who would see it in the future. In what appeared to be a kitchen, he had to convince Anguque not to open a can of beef that had expired for more than half a century. It was a pity that we had not been able to take away all the nice things that had been left on the Silik, what a beautiful little brass lamp, a beautifully bound Bible, a beautiful sextant, and so on.

However, the items they had to bring back were heavy enough that they were not allowed to pack any excesses. Then, having eaten a full meal, it was time for triumph.

Slowed down due to the loading of goods, it took them a lot of time to get back to the port of Leidian. With its sharp little blades, the wind cut their charge from time to time, like a brake slot, and suddenly gave you a blow and a blow, slowing them down.

Polar spring unexpectedly opens gaps in the vast permafrost: Once, when most of Mnusken's leg was sunk in the frozen wet soil, it took a lot of effort to pull him out, then dry and roast him warm. They talked less than they had come, they had eaten in a hurry, they had slept with one eye open, and in short, Mnusken had only thought of his booty. In the port of Leidian, Anguk used his cousin's connections to find him a concrete house, like a club or a reception station, which was the only place in the town that could still be used as a hotel. Finally, when he was left alone in the room, Mnusken opened the box and counted the contents.

Indeed, as De La Ai and other experts had told him, this was an extremely rare piece of ancient whale art, with a variety of styles. Among the treasures were two mammoth ivory carvings gilded with a layer of tarrite, six pairs of snow sunglasses carved from deer antlers, a calf carved out of whale baleen, a small box made of ivory silk strips, a tool made of reindeer horns to dig out the eyes of reindeer, some gems with words written on them, some quartz dolls, some catch balls made of ulna and musk horns of seals, some knick-knacks carved from the teeth of narwhals and sharks, and some rings and awls made of shiny meteorites. There are also a number of magical and funerary items in the shape of a swastika or ring, made of smooth talc or nephrite, red bloodstone, green slate, blue, gray and black flint, and colorful serpentine. Then, there were various masks, and finally, a large pile of skulls, which gagged the holes in their mouths with strips of obsidian and filled their sockets with balls of walrus tusk inlaid with jet pupils. A lot of wealth.

Today, Friday, 22 June, as Mnusken walks on the polar ice floe, Bengtnell wears a gray-black wool suit with a double row of buttons, a dark grey shirt and an iron-grey tie. Despite the fact that the calendar summer had just arrived, the sky was very much in line with the dress, coughing up a small drizzle of rain in a low way, intermittently. Bengatnell is walking down Suzhou Street in Bangkok's 12th district and connected to the Hongcheng subway station. This is a small street near the Boulevard of Barbey, and there are many such small streets nearby, and there are many such small streets in the vicinity, and there are many Southeast Asian-run butcher shops, live chicken shops, grocery stores, shops selling mobile phones and other gadgets, selling brightly colored chemical fiber fabrics, Bazan cloth, batik cloth, claw wah cloth, Dutch printing and dyeing.

On the even-numbered side of Suzhou Street, most of the doors and windows of the dejected old buildings are sealed with rubble and are erratically laid out, indicating that they were left without owners before they were demolished. One of them is not completely blocked: there are two windows on the top floor that are still breathing. The window was covered with a thick layer of dust, protecting the half-hung curtains behind the window, one window had been cracked and covered with insulating tape, and the other was left without glass and replaced with a black garbage bag. The corridor that was already half blocked was first towards two incomplete rows of mailboxes, which were wide open and nameless, and then there was an uneven staircase with large cracks in the wall. Everywhere are marked with date inscriptions and symbols left by the municipal authorities, testifying to the irreconcilable progress of these cracks. The timer switch light was no longer available, Bengtnell had to climb up to the top in the dark, he knocked on a door, and was about to push in without answering, only to see that the door opened by itself, and a tall, dry and thin man ran over quickly, and stabbed out the door, the man was about thirty years old, and almost collided with Bengtnell. In the dimness, Bengtnell could barely make out what the guy looked like, with a long face, a shiny forehead, an evil smile, a hooked nose, slender claws curled up, and few words, but certainly a night owl's eye, as he ran fast through the dark staircase without hesitation.

Bengtnell knew he wouldn't open it again as soon as he pushed it open: the breathless room he walked into was really unpopular, an open space indoors, an open space that turned over like a glove. If there were four walls and a ceiling, the floor could not be seen, and it was littered with garbage, packaging of expired food, piles of dirty laundry, torn pictorials, wet leaflets, a wicker basket with a bottle with a candle head on it, and the wax that flowed from it made it almost impossible to read. An ethane heater made the room so hot that the air was just a foul mess of fuel, moisture, and body odor. It's hard to breathe. A recorder was placed on the head of a mattress, buzzing like a mosquito and playing an unknown sound.

The young man lay on the pus-frothy mattress, covered with a crumpled blanket, leaning against a few cracked cushions, and his face was also unclear. Bengtnell leaned in, and the young man with his eyes closed didn't seem very fresh. He even looked lifeless.

The dual-purpose machine was used as a shelf, with a small spoon on it, a syringe tube, a pile of dirty cotton, and a leftover lemon. Bengtnell could see at a glance what was going on, but at the same time he was uneasy. Hey, eel, he said, hey.

Eel. He bent down and saw the eel exhale, which seemed to be just an expression of discomfort, or an extreme relief. In short, in spite of the closer, in spite of the addition of a candle, the distance was closer, and the light was stronger, the eel's face was still indistinct, as if nature had stripped him of his peculiar appearance. It was a pale, unpretentious figure, and the dark clothes were equally unpretentious, yet he didn't seem to be a dirty exaggeration. In addition, he finally opened one eye.

He even propped up his left arm, lazily propped himself up, and stretched out a hand to Bengtner, who, as soon as he grabbed the warm, slightly greasy fingers, hastened to retract his hand, and took a step back, looking for a chair, but found only a stilted stool; I had to give up and still stand there. The other lazily collapsed on his cushion again, complaining that it was a little nauseous. That is to say, he said slowly, maybe, I should have some tea, but now, I really can't get up, I really can't get up. Bengtnell pouted, but he certainly couldn't refuse, and it looked like he did need the help of another. He found a pot of boiling water on the edge of a sink, filled it with water, rested it on a gas stove, and found a cup with a broken handle and a bowl with an open mouth in the depths of the open space. None of these cups are out of proportion. The eel, whose eyes had been closed again, was now smiling and grimacing again, alternating between smiling and grimacing. Bengtnell waited for the water to boil and looked for sugar, but he couldn't find it, so he had to replace it with a leftover lemon while listening to the radio to pass the time. Well, after drinking his tea, the eel asked, "When can we do it?"

It was only a matter of time, Bengtnell replied, pulling out a phone from his pocket, and it seemed that it would be fine in a month.

The important thing is that from now on, I must be able to contact you at all times and at all times, and I can find you at any time, he said, handing the phone to the young man. Make sure that as soon as the thing arrives, you're ready to go.

The eel snatched the phone and scratched his left nostril with his index finger, and then, after checking the phone and his fingers one by one, he concluded: Great, what's the number? You don't care about the number, it's the number, Bengatnell said, only I know, that's very good. I'm going to tell you one thing about this phone call right away. It can't be punched out, you know? It can only be used to receive. It can only be used to listen to my commands, and when I look for you, you use it to listen, understand? Okay, said the young man, blowing his nose on his sleeve. Well, you'll have to carry it with you at all times, of course," Bengtnell said, filling the cup and bowl again. Of course, the eel said. Equally important, the eel added, I should probably have taken a small advance.

That was natural, Bengatnell nodded in agreement, and pulled out six 10,000-baht bills pinned together with a paper clip in his pocket. Good, the eel explained, while returning the paperclip to Bengartner. A little more, of course, it would be better. No, Bengatnell said, pointing to something that's on the tape recorder, I know you, you're going to throw everything on these stupid things.

This was followed by a long period of haggling, and at the end two more bills were added, during which Bengtnell mechanically folded the paper clip until it unfolded into a small, almost straight stick. Later, as he walked down the street, Bengartner carefully confirmed that there was not a single trace of stain in the environment of the eel's house, and that there was not a single suspicious dirt left on his clothes and trousers.

Still, he dusted his clothes as if they had been polluted by the poisoned air, even though he was so concerned that he would not let them touch anything, knowing that when he got home, he would wash his hands and perhaps brush his teeth. Right now, he's heading straight to the Hongcheng subway station to take the bus back to his new home.

It's not rush hour, the subway is only half-full: many seats are still empty, but Bengtnell likes to sit in a spring-loaded chair.

In the subway, Bengtner prefers to sit in a spring-loaded chair rather than a long seat, regardless of how many passengers the train carries, and even when the train is empty, which is the opposite of Mnusken, who prefers long seats. In the long seats facing each other, Bengatnell was always forced to sit next to or across from someone, and more often with people sitting next to and across from them. This gives rise to all kinds of friction and all kinds of bondage, all kinds of contact, all kinds of trouble with crossed legs and overlapping legs, all kinds of parasitic gazes, all kinds of helpless conversations. After weighing the pros and cons, he decided that even if he had to stand up and give up the little seat he had occupied when the train was full, the spring plus the chair would still be preferable in every way. It is individual, mobile, and flexible to use. It was evident that the sprung chairs alone, though rather scarce, were superior to the side-by-side ones, for the latter still embodied the danger of some messy restraints, which, nevertheless, were not so awkward compared to the inconvenience of the bench seats. Bengatnell likes that.

Half an hour later, Bengatnell returned to his new home on Ike Boulevard, and found that he still had the little wire in his finger, and he could not afford to throw it away: he stuck it in a flower pot and poured it on the couch. He's going to close his eyes, he'd prefer to fall asleep now, it takes twenty minutes to get rid of all this, please give him half an hour, but no, no way.

Mnusken, of course, didn't close his eyes all night. He knelt in front of the open box, rummaging through each treasure a thousand times, looking over and over again, looking upside down. By now, he was exhausted and had no strength to look at them. Not knowing what they are seeing, and even being deprived of the energy of pleasure. His face was wrinkled with fatigue, but he reluctantly stood up and walked towards the window, seeing that the sun had risen, but no, he was mistaken, and the sun had not slept like he had ever slept in the port of Leidian.

Mnusken's room is like a small single dormitory, and while it may seem paradoxical, it's true:

The gray and empty walls, a lamp hanging from the ceiling, a lacquered cloth on the floor, a cracked washbasin in the corner, a double bed, Mnusken chose the lower floor, the television was unusable, there was only a deck of playing cards in the cupboard, at first glance, it happened to be used for fortune telling, but in reality it could not be used, because a red heart was missing, the smell of fuel was very strong, and the heater stammered. There was nothing to read, but, fortunately, Mnusken didn't have much desire to read, and in the end, he finally fell asleep.

After visiting the Silik, they took a breath in the port of Radiumdian, and every time they took a breath, a stream of moisture came out of your lips, swirling, thick as a ball of cotton, smashing against the cold marble air, shattering to pieces.

Anguk and Nabasi were rewarded, received the money, and went to Tuktok.

Mnusken would have to spend two full weeks in this town, where the hotel industry was reduced to his room, and the water room next to it. Whether the house was a club, an annex, a guest house, Ferret never knew because it was always empty, and the caretaker was always dumb. In any case, he did not speak, perhaps he had a suspicion in his bones, that travelers were all too rare in this poor country forgotten by men and God. The days seemed to never come to an end, there was no place for entertainment, and the weather was so cold that the dogs could almost freeze to death. Since there is no police station or any administrative office, it is natural to suspect that the foreign resident has fled to the law. Finally, to round the manager's elongated face, Mnusken needed a lot of days, a lot of dollars, a lot of smiles, a lot of gesture language.

It is also difficult to find a craftsman among the residents of Leidian Harbor who can build several crates for the contents found in the Sillik. It's hard to say it's even more difficult because in such a climate, trees are almost non-existent, and people can't find more wood, but, all the time, money can make the devil grind. Mnusken approached the supermarket clerk, and he agreed to change some sturdy boxes for televisions, refrigerators, and household appliances to the size that Mnusken wanted. It will take a while, and Mnusken will have to be patient. Normally, he always stays in his room, because he doesn't want to go too far from his antiques, and when he can't look at them, he feels nameless annoyance. Leidian Harbor is really uninteresting, nothing happens, especially on Sundays, when boredom, silence and cold are so tightly intertwined that they reach their peak.

He occasionally went out for a walk, but there was nothing to see outside: there were three times as many dogs in the town, and there were twenty or so tiny houses with pleasing colors and tin roofs, and two rows of buildings facing the port. In any case, it was so cold that Ferre never stayed outside for long. He hurried through the desolate streets, circling the round houses, which had been built in circles, in order to keep the cold air from falling in the corners, and to keep it from freezing as much as possible. As he walked towards the pier, he passed a clinic painted yellow, a green post office, a red supermarket, and a blue garage with rows of cars parked in front of his door. In the harbor, there are rows and rows of boats parked on cushions, waiting for a milder season.

Most of the snow on the ground has melted, but the ice floes have always blocked most of the bay's water, creating only a narrow channel.

In the midst of the tranquility, he occasionally observes certain activities. Two very prescient fellows are taking advantage of the thaw to dig holes in the temporarily loosened ground, apparently to bury their relatives who will die in the next winter.

The other two, in the middle of a large pile of prefabricated parts, were busy building their houses, and they were installing the parts step by step according to the procedure described on a videotape; A generator set is set up in the open air, powering the VCR, crackling and breaking the silence. Three children go to the supermarket with empty bottles. Then, on the other side of the harbor, an old metal church facing the shore of the lake, two iron-gray "zodick" dinghys, after opening a channel, anchored on the pier, belching out a dozen passengers, all in ski shirts and big boots. The ice of the lake is shattered by the simple and wide walls of the boats, like small pieces of a child's basic jigsaw puzzle, and in the distance, more than a hundred glaciers, large and small, sway, dripping in the pale sunlight. Mnusken turned back to his lodgings and saw the two men building the house. Perhaps in order to exchange opinions, in order to rest, they changed the videotape of the introduction of the building of the house, and replaced it with another tape, and they stood motionless and watched, with serious expressions, thoughtful, and silent.

For the first few days, Mnusken ate alone in his room, and could only try to communicate with the caretaker.

However, a conversation with the Administrator, if at one point when he almost seemed reassured, was far from a conversation. In addition, it is too tiring to express it only with gestures. During his brief travels, the locals he met always smiled at him, and Mnusken smiled in return, but nothing more. Later, two days before his departure, when he was in front of a house and tried to glance through the yellowed window, he saw a young girl, who smiled at him like no other. Because he always laughed at others, this time he smiled a little, but this time, the girl's parents got involved. The cheerful man seemed to have nothing to do, so he invited him in for a drink: to cool off the whiskey, they sent the girl to the nearest ice to shave some ice, and then, while they drank, chatted in bad English, and soon they left him to eat, and ate the bubbly seal pâté, and the whale's steak. But, at the very beginning, they gave him a tour of the house: the house was remote, there was a telephone and a TV in the house, there was a cauldron and a modern stove, and the furniture was made of cheap white wood, the wood was a northern tree, but one could also find it in the suburbs of Paris.

Mnusken had a good deal with the girl's family, named Apu. At the dinner table, he was a little puzzled by the profession of being a father, and later realized that he did not have a profession. He enjoys a stipend and prefers to hunt seals in nature rather than sweat in a small office, in a big factory, or on a big steamer. Fishing itself, in the eyes of this man, is just a terrible livelihood to make ends meet: nothing compares to seal hunting, the only real sport that can bring a real pleasure. Mnusken, like the owner, toasted one after another, they toasted the seal hunt generously, they toasted the health of the sealers enthusiastically, they toasted the health of the seals with enthusiasm, and soon, the alcohol carried away, and now the owner even invited him to stay for the night, if he wished, he shared the girl's boudoir without any problem, and the next day they had to tell each other about their dreams, and in such a climate, this was the repertoire of every family every morning. Mnusken was too embarrassed to refuse, the electric lights cast a soft light, Coldplay music was playing on the radio, the fire was whirring, it was so warm in the room, everyone was giggling, and the young girl smiled at him, Ah, tell me about Radium Harbor.

That day, after visiting the eels, Bengtnell arrived at his new residence in a spring-loaded chair on a subway train, and then another whole week passed. Not too far from Milan Street, behind an unremarkable gate on the Avenue of Ike, there are three villas from the thirties of the last century, scattered in a beautiful setting of a large garden, next to the back of the Vietnamese Embassy.

However, it is hard to imagine that some of the houses in the 12th arrondissement, when seen from the inside, will be so beautiful. People tend to think that they are just as melancholy as they appear to be, but they are wrong. These imposing boulevards, and these lifeless streets, were originally designed to act as barriers and masks, but they were only superficially sad: they concealed some of the surprisingly lovely dwellings. This is because one of the most clever schemes of the rich is to convince people that they are so bored in their neighborhoods that people almost have to pity them, to avenge them, to sympathize with their wealth, as if their wealth were a disability, as if it had given them a depressing way of life.

On the highest floor of one of the three villas, Bengatnell rents a large studio at a good price. The stairs up and down are a very dark green color, almost like black. As for the studios themselves, the walls are brown marble, the fireplace is marble with white veins, and the ceiling is inlaid with small spotlights. The long hair shelves were almost empty, and there was only one dirty plate on the long dining table, and the long sand was covered with a blue cloth. The room was extremely spacious, with a large Beshstein piano leaning against one corner that looked like a small contra, and a large television set in the other corner resembling a small porthole. There was nothing else useless: only a large closet containing an important wardrobe, all of which were fresh clothes. The high windows faced some acacias, some carnations, and some vines, and outside the window there was a platform, and around the platform was a narrow balustrade with gaps, and it was covered with dirt, and in the soil there were lifeless weeds and other things, and among them was a dandelion.

In the days since he moved here, Bengtnell has barely left his home. He rarely shopped, and even ordered meals on his mobile phone and asked someone to bring them to him. He could almost be said to be isolated, seemingly waiting for his moment. He didn't do anything all day. He tipped a lot of money on the people who delivered the food. Life is arranged like a single person, and he seems to be very good at living alone. But he was not celibate. Proof of this is that he called his wife.

The wireless phone allows him to talk and walk around the suite at the same time. Okay, he said, from the piano to the window, anyway, you know what it's like to live alone. Especially frozen food, he made it clear, and at the same time turned off the volume with the TV remote switch, and browsed the channels one after another: series, documentaries, games. No, he said, vitamins, it's true, I forgot. Anyway, he didn't wait for him to finish his sentence, he changed his emphasis, snapped off the TV screen, and turned his head to look out the window: clouds, morning glories, magpies.

Okay, but I haven't noticed if there's a pharmacy nearby, anyway, he continued, and walked back around to the piano, sat down, and adjusted the stool to the right height. He stepped on the mute and pressed the only third-note chord he knew of on the keys.

Ah, by the way, you heard, no, it's a quarter of an hour team. Anyway, you listen to me, and once he comes back, you'd better go and inquire, you know, and say that he got up and left the piano. As he passed by a flower pot, he pulled out the little wire that had been planted in it that day: he wiped the dirt off it and bent it into the shape of many things, spirals, lightning bolts, television antennas.

But I don't know, I, Bengtnell suddenly shouted, you can flirt with him or something.

Okay, of course, you obviously understand, he smiled and rubbed his nose. But I think it's better for me to stay away, because I don't want to risk meeting anyone. I'm going to keep this set of questions, but I'm going to stay with him in the provinces for a few days. Of course I'll say it to you. No, I'll leave tonight, I like to take the night train. That's nature.

Of course not. Okay, I'm the same, I'll kiss you too. He cut off the call, reconnected the phone, and pressed the number that only he knew, the number that had given the eel's cell. After ringing for a while, the other party turned it on. Hey, the eel said, "I'm listening, oh, hello, sir." At first glance, the eel's voice is not very clear: numb and sluggish, a pot of pulp, without three-dimensionality, vaguely confused, and the vowels drag heavily behind the consonants.

And the light was still so dark in the eel's house, that the tall man in dark clothes that Bengatnell had met in the staircase that day was now sitting next to the tape recorder, fiddling with a small mirror with a "Gillette" razor blade, and seeing nothing. The dark, tall fellow fiddled with it and smiled grimly.

What, said the eel, what's wrong with it, my voice? No, I didn't smoke anything, I just fell asleep, that's all, whenever I was woken up, my voice wasn't very clear. You're not like that, are you? The tall, swarthy man forced himself to laugh in the silence, laughing unnaturally, but this avoided a casual exhalation, for fear that it would distract the two little white paths under his nose. The problem is, I still need a little bit of cash. The swarthy guy nodded vigorously. What's going on, not at all? The guy frowned. But oh, wait a minute. He hung up and hit me in the nose, damn it.

After hanging up the phone, Bengatnell packed his bags. Since he had spent some time carefully selecting his clothes, each one to be compared with the others, and because he had taken some time to examine them, the process had taken him more than an hour, but he had time: he would not leave Paris until late in the evening.

He will first go up the boulevard around the city to the Porte d'Orléans, from which he will enter the highway and from there will pass through Poité to the southwest of France, where he will spend the night.

Over the next few weeks, Bengatnell will be driving alone throughout Aquitaine like a holidaymaker, staying three nights and then changing hotels. It seems that he will not be subordinated to a particular goal and will not act according to a definite plan. Soon he will be out of the Pyrenees Atlantique less and less, he will pass the time in the few museums he can find, and every morning he will visit some churches, exhaust all the tourist attractions, and in the afternoon go to the empty cinema to see foreign films dubbed in French. Sometimes, he would drive around blindly for hours, rarely looking at the scenery, listening to Spanish radio stations with one ear in and the other, parking just to pee behind a tree or ditch on the side of the road, and sometimes spending the whole day in his hotel room, flipping through stacks of pictorials and watching television series.

Bengtnell, who appeared to be hiding from others, who seemed to be very unwanted to be discovered, was careful not to talk to more people, but, it seems, only to lose his ability to speak, he would continue to call his wife every night, and the eels every four or five days. Other than that, he was never near anyone, whether in the "Breeze Garden", or in the "Grinding Stone Coarse Sandstone" guest house, or at the Elby Inn.

Even a frightened rabbit flew across a vast flat meadow at dawn. Even if there was a ferret named Winster chasing the rabbit. The rabbit found that it was not far away, and the naïve creature thought that it was all right, that it would be saved. But before it even had time to sprint, it ran wildly, trying to hide deep into the depths, and the ferret had already leapt up, cornered its prey, and bit the carotid artery and bleed it in the darkness. The stoat then calmly drank its blood, and the slight gurgling and obscene sucking sound were witnesses to the slaughter. After eating and drinking, the ferret longs for a good nap, and falls asleep next to its prey.

Even two technicians from the Paris airport were patiently waiting next to the entrance to the hole. When they decided that the nap had lasted too long, they called out the name of the stoat. It took a long time for Winster to come out of the hole with the rabbit's carcass in his mouth, his heavy eyes full of complaints, his teeth pinned tightly to the rabbit's neck like a pin. The technician snatched the corpse by his ears and put the ferret's Winster in a cage. As they usual discussed, sharing rabbits, cooking rabbits, and sauces, they climbed into a white electric car and drifted away from the runway of the airport, where Mnusken stepped off the plane from Montreal on the same runway as the plane of flight QN579 from Montreal had just landed.

He had to stay in the port of Radium for a few more days than he had planned. He was warmly received by the Apu family, and later had dinner at their house, where the girl came to his room every night for a tryst with him, and he delayed the construction of the crate a little. Truth be told, even in those few days, the warmth of the Apu family was so alluring that he didn't think so much about his antiques anymore. Happy days in Radium Shop Port. However, once the container is built and stopped, it is time for him to make up his mind and leave. Mnusken was a little worried, afraid that he would be disappointed as usual, but Apu's parents didn't bother with it, they understood that he was not their son-in-law after all, and anyway, the atmosphere of farewell was quite happy.

It also took some time to charter a "Time Horse" boat, a two-motor dinghy commonly used in the Arctic, to deal with the customs officers in Montreal. Then, the day finally came to return to France, and just like that, Mnusken arrived. It was still a Sunday, early July, and in the early morning, the night cleaning, wiping, washing, and waxing of the airport had just been completed, and the escalator staircase and conveyor belt were reactivated, making a long murmur.

At this hour, almost no one was working, except for the customs officers and doctors at the airport, who were busy dealing with a gang of fake Pakistani treasure dealers, and a few so-called Colombian tourists, so they didn't pay much attention to Mnusken. Take perspective pictures of the expats, make them drink laxatives so they can drain the precious gems and suppositories, and then put on gloves to recover the items if they want to, and when these things are done, they have to go back and round up the people who sell the snakes and pythons, the people who bury the smuggled cigarettes in the cassava flour, the people who carry the fissile material and the counterfeit money. As a result of these sudden events, Mnusken passed through the cargo area full of suspicious containers without much trouble that morning, unwittingly passing through the barrier formed by the officers of the judicial police and the officials of the Ministry of Finance. Then, as soon as all the goods arrived, he called and asked a pickup truck to come and load it. Since it was a Sunday, things were a little more complicated, but Rajeep, after being woken up from his sleep, agreed to come despite his muttering. While waiting for the bus, Mnusken once again paced patiently in the waiting hall of the religious worship center.