The thief crept up the sewage pipes gradually, stopping every few feet to catch his breath. However much he preferred going up the elevator, the presence of a burly watchman holding on leash a burlier German shepherd, made him decide otherwise.
The third-floor flat was in total darkness and pivoting like a trapeze artist on the windowsill, he landed inside the bedroom through the open window. ‘Why are people so careless?’ The thief, himself a very meticulous and organised person, wondered. Although it made his job easier, he abhorred carelessness. He was well aware that sloppiness, especially in his business was lethal. He couldn’t really comment on politicians, bureaucrats, bankers etceteras, although he had a gut feeling that their business wasn’t much different from his!
Loud wheezing made him curse under his faltering breath. Exercise invariably induced an attack of asthma in him, and he had felt the attack coming when he was halfway up, dangling precariously from the pipes. He held his breath momentarily so as not to awaken the person sleeping on the bed, but the wheezing sounds still filled the room. He cocked his ears and tried to listen again. This wheezing was surely different from his! More musical and less laboured. As if the person was well adjusted and at peace with the handicap. So! That’s why the window was left open. Being an asthmatic he knew all patients of asthma felt a need to leave the bedroom window open for fresh air. Whether it helped or not, no one knew!
The thief took a few tentative steps forward to explore the room and begin his business. As luck would have it, his right foot struck a spittoon. It rolled below the bed producing a cacophony not unlike that of a rock-band on a roll, spilling sputum suspended in antiseptic solution on the floor.
The person on the bed – a woman in her late fifties gasped in terror, “Who’s it?” She hit the bedside switch, flooding the room with bright yellow light.
“Don’t shout, or I shoot!” Barked the thief in a hoarse whisper.
“I won’t be able to, even if I tried,” spoke the woman patting her salt and pepper hair back into shape. She had an aquiline nose and aqua-blue eyes; the two remarkable features in an otherwise unremarkable face.
“Vanity thy name is asthma,” chuckled the thief who in spite of his lowly profession was always immaculately dressed, his hair always well groomed, his nails properly filed and his shoes vigorously polished.
Both remained stationary, staring at each other for a while. Their breathing producing a shrill harmony as their chests went up and down in tandem.
“Hand me all the dough and jewelry.” The thief made a sincere effort to appear menacing. He knew his roly-poly face and moist, light-brown eyes made him look as dangerous as an earthworm.
“In this age of plastic-money and fake jewelry your command seems a bit outdated,” countered the woman taking charge of the conversation.
“Don’t give me that crap. A woman can live without oxygen in her lungs, but not without diamonds in her ears. Hurry up…” The thief’s voice trailed off as his attack of asthma worsened.
“What you need right now is a Salbutamol inhaler, not diamonds.” The woman, herself an asthmatic, could see the thief sinking. She promptly took out a metered dose inhaler and offered it to him.
The thief, obviously having used the device before, held it in his right hand, exhaled as best as his ravaged lungs allowed and closed his lips around the short limb of the L shaped gadget. Looking gratefully at the woman he took two puffs in quick succession.
“You should sit down,” suggested the woman, pointing towards an uncomfortable- looking, ladder-back chair placed in one corner of the room.
The thief slumped in the chair and closed his eyes, the inhaler still held loosely in his hand. Meanwhile, the woman popped a Deriphyllin-retard tablet in her mouth and washed it down with water. She had dozed off reading a book and had missed her night dose. Thanks to Mr. Thief, she had remembered it.
The woman glanced at the pale, ashen face of the thief and then consulted her watch. It showed 4 AM. The fellow should be better by 4.15 she thought. Apparently, the woman knew a thing or two about asthma.
Gradually the thief began to breathe better and the colour returned to his cheeks, making them look a pale, greyish-pink. The woman got up from the bed and started to move out of the room.
“Where do you think you’re going? Stay put!” grunted the thief. “I don’t want you to invite the cops while I am wheezing in a corner.”
“I’m going to the kitchen to make some strong, black tea with lots of china-grass in it. It’s good for asthma,” replied the woman calmly. Her own breathing improving as deriphyllin levels started building up in her blood.
“OK!” The thief spoke, showing faith in a co-asthmatic.
Shortly the woman returned with two steaming cups of tea. “Have you ever tried applying a paste of beaten eggs on your chest?” she asked handing over a cup to the thief.
“Yeah! Didn’t work. But rubbing a mixture of asafoetida in turpentine oil on chest and back does work for me. Since mom died I’ve never been able to find anyone who was willing to take that much trouble for me.”
“I’ve heard, eating rice pudding left overnight in the open on a full moon night helps many people,” commented the woman taking a long, contented sip.
“Oh! I did that for a full year on every full moon. I must have consumed a full bathing tub equivalent of rice pudding. I can assure you it’s a total waste of time.”
The ingested tea and the inhaled salbutamol seemed to be working well. The thief pulled himself up in the chair. “I tell you I’ve tried every damn remedy advised by every Tom, Dick and Harry. I even went to the Indian city of Hyderabad, where they give you a live fish filled with some indigenous medicine to swallow. The fish got stuck in my throat and I nearly died of choking.”
The woman laughed out aloud. Checking her wristwatch she exclaimed, “Oh, it’s 6.30 already.”
“I must make a move,” groaned the thief getting up from the chair. “You must buy a more comfortable chair for my next visit,” he remarked with a lopsided grin.
“There’s no need to slide down the sewage pipes. You can use a more conventional method, the good old elevator, to go down,” spoke the woman grinning back. “If the watchman questions you, just say you are coming from Dr. Margaret Murdock’s house. And by the way, you can keep the inhaler as a token of my appreciation for the effort you put in to climb up the pipes.”
“Thanks!” said the thief, now smiling from ear-to-ear. “I really enjoyed the discussion.” He bowed with vanity and left.
After a few moments the intercom beside Dr. Margaret Murdock’s bed buzzed sharply.
“Hello!”
“This is Joe, the watchman. I have detained a Mr. Derek Watson, who was trying to sneak by. He claims he had come to visit you.”
“Oh, yes! That’s all right Joe. Let him leave. He is an old friend!”
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