Portuguese Irregular Verbs by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

know, has a very fine binding. They will then, at their own expense and at no cost to yourself , change the embossed spine title to Portuguese Irrigated Herbs and use the books as furniture for the bookshelves they install in the houses of their customers. I am sure you will agree that this is an excellent idea, and I look forward to receiving your views on the proposition.’

    It was no use, thought von Igelfeld, to attempt to use the arguments of scholarship and value when dealing with commercial men, such as the proprietors of Studia Litteraria undoubtedly were: they only understood the market. It would be far better, then, to ask them to wait for a while and see whether the sales of Portuguese Irregular Verbs picked up. From the commercial point of view, it would surely be more profitable to sell the book as a book, rather than as – what was the insulting expression they had used? – furniture .
    Yet it was difficult to imagine sales picking up. There was no event, no anniversary, on the horizon to suggest that Portuguese Irregular Verbs might suddenly become more topical. Nor was von Igelfeld’s own fame, though unquestioned in the field, likely to become markedly greater. No, any sudden increase in interest in the book would have to be the result of von Igelfeld’s own efforts to persuade those who did not currently own a copy to buy one.
    As an experiment, von Igelfeld wrote to his mother’s cousin in Klagenfurt, Freiherr Willi-Maximilian Guntel, asking him whether the library in his country house contained a copy of the work. A prompt reply was received.
    ‘ My dear Moritz-Maria ,’ the letter ran. ‘ My failing health makes me something of a recluse these days, and it is therefore such a great pleasure to receive mail, especially from the family. How kind of you to offer to give me a copy of your book. I must admit that my library has little about Portugal in it. In fact, it contains nothing at all about Portugal. Your kind gift would therefore be most appreciated.
    Now, on another matter, do you remember cousin Armand, the thin one, who used to mutter so? Well, it really is the most extraordinary story . . . ’
    Von Igelfeld was, of course, trapped, and in due course the order department of Studia Litteraria was surprised to receive an order for a copy of Portuguese Irregular Verbs , with an accompanying cheque drawn on the account of the author, Professor Dr Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld. Clearly, caution would have to be shown in soliciting purchases, or it could become an expensive business.
    Von Igelfeld thought again. What he should try to do was to find out by more indirect means who owned a copy and who did not. Unterholzer, for example: did he own a copy, or did he merely make free use of library copies?
    ‘Unterholzer,’ von Igelfeld said one day as the two philologists sat in the Café Schubert, drinking coffee, ‘I’ve been thinking recently about updating Portuguese Irregular Verbs . What do you think?’
    Unterholzer looked surprised. ‘Does it need it?’ he asked. ‘Have the verbs changed recently? Becoming more regular?’
    Von Igelfeld reacted crossly to what he thought was an unnecessarily flippant remark.
    ‘Of course not,’ he snapped. ‘But scholarship always marches on. There have been several very important developments since the last edition.’
    Unterholzer was apologetic. ‘Of course, of course.’
    Von Igelfeld glanced sideways at his friend. Now, perhaps, was the time to strike.
    ‘But I wonder if people would want to buy a new edition . . . ’ He paused, raising the coffee cup to his lips. ‘Especially if they already have a copy.’
    ‘They might,’ said Unterholzer. ‘Who knows?’
    Von Igelfeld lowered his cup. ‘Take somebody like you, for example. Would you buy a new edition?’
    Von Igelfeld felt his heart pounding within him. He was astonished at his own sheer bravery in asking the question. Surely he had Unterholzer cornered now.
    Unterholzer smiled. ‘I