Cyclops (The Margellos World Republic of Letters) by Ranko Marinkovic

standing behind him or not! Didn’t you accidentally tread on my foot and very politely say you were sorry? Here, look, the footprint’s still there.”
    The Mexican was the gentleman who had accidentally trod on his foot. He confirmed it with a nod.
    “The footprint’s still there my eye! I’ll give you a footprint across your thieving mug! He only got here a minute ago, and the first thing he did was to ask me if the coppers had been around! As if I didn’t know you, you lush! You’d barter God’s child’s shoes for booze, you would! What will he think of next, the creep!”
    “Did you hear him, folks?” moaned the grief-stricken Four Eyes. “As if robbing you blind wasn’t enough, they call you a drunk in the bargain!”
    “Clear enough, isn’t it? That’s their method all right,” said the Mexican grimly, terribly disappointed by something in this world. “Tell the truth and they’ll say you’re a drunk; tell a lie and they’ll buy you a drink. Ptui!” he spat out vehemently and began to push his way out of the circle around the weighing machine. “Let me through before I ram someone’s teeth down their throat …” and so saying he gave Melkior another once-over glance.
    Melkior’s knees buckled for an instant. The Mexican’s threat had met with approval, and Four Eyes’ unheard-of nerve had found a home with the guardians of the sanctity of private property. Melkior decided it was time he lit out from the circle of these highly honorable men, even at the risk of having them yell “Stop thief!” after him. He stepped down from the weighing machine and tried to elbow through by way of the (so-called) “Mexican’s Passage,” but there was instantly a general mumbling … and a closing of the passage. They meant to have the thief identified (and should there be a brawl as well, so much the better).
    This emboldened Four Eyes. The cyclist had failed to shake his reputation. … Impertinently he stepped out in front of Melkior:
    “Hey, not so fast, young man! What about my money? Someone’s got to answer for it!”
    “You go ahead,” and the cyclist gave Melkior a protective nod. He then let his left hand take charge of the bicycle, putting his right on his hip and facing Four Eyes:
    “All right,
I’ll
answer for it!”
    “H-how do you mean … you’ll answer for it?” stammered Four Eyes, his courage evaporating. “I’m only asking that my money be searched for, no offense meant. … We’re only human, aren’t we? No need to get all hot and … But it’s got to be fair!”
    Melkior then made a gesture of utterly stupid magnanimity: he took out his wallet with several hundred-dinar notes stacked in it and offered one to Four Eyes.
    “Here you are. I’m sure the others will want to give you something, too, but please leave me alone.”
    Four Eyes extended a greedy hand for the money, but the cyclist pushed it aside, scarcely bothering to choose the kindest way of doing so.
    “Why?” wondered Four Eyes. “You can see the gentleman is willing to give it to me. Is that how to be?” he said with mild reproach and made another try to take hold of the note.
    Angered by his manner, the cyclist slapped his outstretched hand and compounded the act by making a fist and pushing it up under his nose.
    “Go on, have a sniff,” he said generously, as if offering him an orange, but the other turned his head aside with a grimace of irritation and disgust.
    “Queasy, eh? But other people’s money smells nice, is that it?”
    “What other people’s? I was robbed …” But this sounded like retreat.
    Four Eyes was indeed backing down, defending himself with a muffled mutter of what sounded like curses. Once outside the circle, he heaved a soul-deep sigh of “Oh, the honest man’s burden!” and went away at his habitual businesslike clip.
    The audience, too, began to disperse, disappointed.
    “Rogues, all of them, I’m telling you, one as bad as the other. It’s anyone’s guess