...held up the press release.
'How many cents did Cisco earn, Haim?
'Eight.'
'And if the party says that it is not eight but sixteen — then how much?'
'Eight.'
The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over Haim's
body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not stop. .... drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly eased.
'How much did Cisco earn, Haim?'
'8 cents.'
The needle went up to sixty.
'How much, Haim?'
'Eight! Eight! What else can I say? Eight!'
The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at it. The heavy, stern face and the income statement filled his vision.
'How much did they earn, Haim?'
'Eight! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Eight! Eight!'
'How much, Haim?'
'Sixteen! Sixteen! Sixteen!!'
'No, Haim, that is no use. You are lying. You still think they earned eight. How many fingers, please?'
'Four! five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop the pain!
Room 101, Haim <G>
With apologies to George Orwell |
