Julius was shy. He had always been shy, from the point of cognition down the line. Any small interaction caused him discomfort, and occasionally anguish. The post office, the market, the tailor’s: the pleasure of camaraderie others derived from these moments was denied him. As a child he had been comforted when his mother explained the shyness would pass as he came of age, but it didn’t pass and still had not, and then she’d died so that he could never correct her.
Curiously, his shyness did nothing to diminish his fondness for humanity. Julius loved people and was often saddened at the thought he would never truly know them. It was this shyness that brought Julius to his field of work, as he had always felt he was studying behaviors while maintaining invisibility. Why not receive a wage if he was already performing the duty? He worked only as needed and was not particularly successful, that is, not very skilled; but his mother had left him the apartment in her will, and his needs were modest, and so his life passed vaguely, evenly before him. He was in his middle years.
He was surprised by the coming of this latest job, but the cash in his pocket was thrilling. It was raining and the hole in his left shoe drank puddle water; he entered a shoe store and purchased a pair of black leather Italian loafers. This was extravagance on a level he could scarcely credit, and it served to buoy his mood, but the next morning he awoke in a state of concern at the particulars of the assignment. A blond-haired, blue-eyed woman named Madeleine, he thought. With such scanty clues as this, failure seemed a certainty, and he began to regret his having taken the job at all. He lingered over his hygienic rituals and afterward sat in the park, worrying and wondering if it was too late to give the money back. He felt foolish about the shoes and attempted to return them but the salesman wouldn’t allow it as Julius had scuffed the soles. He slunk back to his apartment, drew the curtains, and slept. In the night he dreamed he had posted flyers describing Madeleine and that she herself had responded; after breakfast he re-created the flyers, offering a reward to the person responsible for Madeleine’s unearthing. He had copies printed and all that day taped the notices up in various metro stations. Forty-eight hours later his phone rang and a hoarse voice came through the receiver claiming to know Madeleine’s whereabouts. Julius was sitting up very straight; he was wearing white briefs and a pair of argyle socks. “Where is she?” he asked.
“Right here. I’m she.” Madeleine coughed phlegmily. “What about this reward?”
Julius made arrangements to meet her outside the Odéon metro. They sat on the terrace of a café; Julius drank coffee, Madeleine a double whiskey. She wore crooked sunglasses, and Kleenex peeked from her coat pockets. She wished to speak of her hardships, which were not insignificant. “The cruise line stopped payment on my check, first thing. Then I set up in a hostel but my money ran out in a week and the manager there was pure scum who rifled all the girls’ bags and, I think, watched us shower through a peephole. Then my wallet was stolen, and I got fleas, or lice, and this cold.” She blew her nose to illustrate. “I’m bored,” she said. “I’m bored and lonely and sick and my parents won’t loan me the money for a ticket home.” Her head tilted. “Did that guy Malcolm put you up to this?”
“And his mother, yes.”
“Are you going to give me the reward, or are they?”
“There is no reward,” Julius said, and Madeleine frowned significantly. He explained about the Prices’ wish to locate a missing cat, and said that perhaps there would be a fee for this service. Madeleine nodded, understanding at once what would be expected of her. She muttered something under her breath.
“What was that?” said Julius.
“I said, ‘It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.’” She drank her whiskey down. “Take me there.”