Interesting Times

civilized swearwords,” said Mr. Saveloy.
    “Well, you can take ’em and—”
    “Ah?” said Mr. Saveloy, raising a cautionary finger.
    “You can shove them up—”
    “Ah?”
    “You can—”
    “Ah?”
    Truckle shut his eyes and clenched his fists.
    “Dang it all to heck!” he shouted.
    “Good,” said Mr. Saveloy. “That’s much better.”
    He turned to Cohen, who was grinning happily at Truckle’s discomfort.
    “Cohen,” he said, “there’s an apple stall over there. Do you fancy an apple?”
    “Yeah, might do,” Cohen conceded, in the cautious manner of someone giving a conjuror his watch while remaining aware that the man is grinning and holding a hammer.
    “Right. Now, then, cla—I mean, gentlemen. Ghenghiz wants an apple. There’s a stall over there selling fruit and nuts. What does he do?” Mr. Saveloy looked hopefully at his charges. “Anyone? Yes?”
    “Easy. You kill that little”—there was a rustle of unfolding paper again—“ chap behind the stall, then—”
    “No, Mr. Uncivil. Anyone else?”
    “Whut?”
    “You set fire to—”
    “No, Mr. Vincent. Anyone else…?”
    “You rape—”
    “No, no, Mr. Ripper,” said Mr. Saveloy. “We take out some muh—muh—?” He looked at them expectantly.
    “—money—” chorused the Horde.
    “—and we…What do we do? Now, we’ve gone through this hundreds of times. We…”
    This was the difficult bit. The Horde’s lined faces creased and puckered still further as they tried to force their minds out of the chasms of habit.
    “Gi…?” said Cohen hesitantly. Mr. Saveloy gave him a big smile and a nod of encouragement.
    “Give?…it…to…” Cohen’s lips tensed around the word “…him?”
    “Yes! Well done. In exchange for the apple. We’ll talk about making change and saying ‘thank you’ later on, when you’re ready for it. Now then, Cohen, here’s the coin. Off you go.”
    Cohen wiped his forehead. He was beginning to sweat.
    “How about if I just cut him up a bit—”
    “No! This is civilization .”
    Cohen nodded uncomfortably. He threw back his shoulders and walked over to the stall, where the apple merchant, who had been eying the group suspiciously, nodded at him.
    Cohen’s eyes glazed and his lips moved silently, as if he were rehearsing a script. Then he said:
    “Ho, fat merchant, give me all your…one apple…and I will give you…this coin…”
    He looked around. Mr. Saveloy had his thumb up.
    “You want an apple, is that it?” said the apple merchant.
    “Yes!”
    The apple merchant selected one. Cohen’s sword had been hidden in the wheelchair again but the merchant, in response to some buried acknowledgement, made sure it was a good apple. Then he took the coin. This proved a little difficult, since his customer seemed loath to let go of it.
    “Come on, hand it over, venerable one,” he said.
    Seven crowded seconds passed.
    Then, when they were safely around the corner, Mr. Saveloy said, “Now, everyone: who can tell me what Ghenghiz did wrong?”
    “Didn’t say please?”
    “Whut?”
    “No.”
    “Didn’t say thank you?”
    “Whut?”
    “No.”
    “Hit the man over the head with a melon and thumped him into the strawberries and kicked him in the nuts and set fire to his stall and stole all the money?”
    “Whut?”
    “Correct!” Mr. Saveloy sighed. “Ghenghiz, you were doing so well up to then.”
    “He didn’t ort to have called me what he did!”
    “But ‘venerable’ means old and wise, Ghenghiz.”
    “Oh. Does it?”
    “Yes.”
    “We-ell…I did leave him the money for the apple.”
    “Yes, but, you see, I do believe you took all his other money.”
    “But I paid for the apple,” said Cohen, rather testily.
    Mr. Saveloy sighed. “Ghenghiz, I do rather get the impression that several thousand years of the patient development of fiscal propriety have somewhat passed you by.”
    “Come again?”
    “It is possible sometimes for money to legitimately belong to other people,” said Mr. Saveloy patiently.
    The Horde paused to wrap their minds around this, too. It was, of course, something they knew to be true in theory. Merchants always had money. But it seemed wrong to think of it as belonging to them; it belonged to whoever took it off them. Merchants didn’t actually own it, they were just looking after it until it was needed.
    “Now, there is an elderly lady over there selling ducks,” said Mr. Saveloy. “I think the next stage—Mr. Willie, I am