A Series of Unfortunate Events Box: The Complete Wreck by Lemony Snicket
“Esmé!” Jerome said. “I’m shocked! We’re not going to auction off these children.”
“Of course we’re not,” Esmé said. “It’s against the law to auction off children. Oh, well. Come along, Gunther. I’ll give you a full tour of our apartment. Jerome, take the children to Café Salmonella.”
“But we haven’t even introduced them,” Jerome said. “Violet, Klaus, Sunny—meet Gunther, the auctioneer we were talking about earlier. Gunther, meet the newest members of our family.”
“I am happy to meet you, please,” Olaf said, reaching out one of his scraggly hands.
“We’ve met before,” Violet said, happy to see that the element of surprise was fading away and that she was finding the courage to speak up. “Many times before. Jerome and Esmé, this man is an impostor. He’s not Gunther and he’s not an auctioneer. This is Count Olaf.”
“I am not understanding, please, what the orphan is saying,” Olaf said. “Please, I am not fluent in the English language, please.”
“Yes you are,” said Klaus, who also found himself feeling more courageous than surprised. “You speak English perfectly.”
“Why, Klaus, I’m surprised at you!” Jerome said. “A well-read person such as yourself should know he made a few grammatical errors.”
“Waran!” Sunny shrieked.
“My sister is right,” Violet said. “His improper English is just part of his disguise. If you make him take off his boots, you’ll see his tattoo, and if you make him take off his monocle, his brow will unfurrow, and—”
“Gunther is one of the innest auctioneers in the world,” Esmé said impatiently. “He told me so himself. I’m not going to make him get undressed just to make you feel better. Now shake Gunther’s hand, and go off to dinner and we’ll say no more about it.”
“He’s not Gunther, I tell you!” Klaus cried. “He’s Count Olaf.”
“I am not knowing what you are saying, please,” Count Olaf said, shrugging his scrawny shoulders.
“Esmé,” Jerome said hesitantly. “How can we be sure this man is really who he says he is? The children do seem quite alarmed. Perhaps we should—”
“Perhaps we should listen to me,” Esmé said, pointing one long-nailed finger at herself. “I am Esmé Gigi Geniveve Squalor, the city’s sixth most important financial advisor. I live on Dark Avenue, and I am unbelievably wealthy.”
“I know that, dear,” Jerome said. “I live with you.”
“Well, if you want to continue to live with me, you will call this man by his proper name, and this goes for you three children as well. I go to the trouble of buying you some smashing pinstripe suits, and you start accusing people of being in disguise!”
“It is O.K., please,” Count Olaf said. “The children are confused.”
“We’re not confused, Olaf,” Violet said.
Esmé turned to Violet and gave her an angry glare. “You and your siblings will call this man Gunther,” she ordered, “or you will make me very, very sorry I took you into my glamorous home.”
Violet looked at Klaus, and then at Sunny, and quickly made a decision. Arguing with somebody is never pleasant, but sometimes it is useful and necessary to do so. Just the other day, for example, it was useful and necessary for me to have an unpleasant argument with a medical student, because if he hadn’t let me borrow his speedboat I would now be chained inside a very small, waterproof room, instead of sitting in a typewriter factory typing out this woeful tale. But Violet realized that it was neither useful nor necessary to argue with Esmé, because her guardian had clearly made up her mind about Gunther. It would be more useful and necessary to leave the penthouse and try to figure out what to do about the reappearance of this dreadful villain, instead of standing there and bickering over what name to call him, so Violet took a deep breath and smiled up at the man who had brought so much trouble into the Baudelaire lives.
“I’m sorry, Gunther,” she said, almost choking on her false apology.
“But—” Klaus started to argue, but Violet gave him a look that meant the Baudelaires would discuss the matter later, when there weren’t any adults around. “That’s right,” he said quickly, understanding his sister’s glance at once. “We thought you were someone else, sir.”
Gunther reached up to his face and adjusted his monocle. “O.K., please,” he said.
“It’s so much nicer when no one is arguing,” Jerome said. “Come on, children, let’s go to dinner. Gunther and Esmé have to plan the auction, and they need the apartment to themselves.”
“Let me just take a minute to roll up my sleeves,” Klaus replied. “Our suits are a little big.”
“First you complain that Gunther is an impostor, then you complain about your suits,” Esmé said, rolling her eyes. “I guess it goes to show you that orphans can be in and rude at the same time. Come on, Gunther, let me show you the rest of my glorious apartment.”
“See you later, please,” Gunther said to the children, his eyes shining brightly, and gave them a little wave as he followed Esmé down the hallway. Jerome waved back, but as soon as Gunther was around the corner, he leaned in close to the children.
“That was very nice of you to stop arguing with Esmé,” he said. “I could tell that you weren’t completely convinced you had made a mistake about Gunther. But don’t worry. There is something we can do to set your minds at ease.”
The Baudelaires looked at one another and smiled in relief. “Oh, thank you, Jerome,” Violet said. “What did you have in mind?”
Jerome smiled, and knelt down to help Violet roll up the legs of her suit. “I wonder if you can guess,” he said.
“We could make Gunther take off his boots,” she said, “and we could see if he had Olaf’s tattoo.”
“Or we could make him remove his monocle and unfurrow his brow,” Klaus said, as he rolled up his sleeves, “and we could get a better look at his eyebrow situation.”
“Resyca!” Sunny said, which meant something like “Or you could simply ask him to leave the penthouse, and never return!”
“Well, I don’t know what ‘Resyca!’ means,” Jerome said, “but we’re not going to do those other things. Gunther is a guest, and we don’t want to be rude to him.”
The Baudelaires actually did want to be rude to him, but they knew it was rude to say so. “Then what will set our minds at ease?” Violet asked.
“Instead of climbing down all those stairs,” Jerome said, “we can slide down the banister! It’s great fun, and whenever I do it, it takes my mind off my troubles, no matter what they are. Follow me!”
Sliding down a banister, of course, was not going to make the Baudelaires feel any better about an evil person lurking around their home, but before any of them could say so, Jerome was already leading the way out of the penthouse. “Come on, Baudelaires!” he called, and the children followed him as he walked quickly down the hallway, through four sitting rooms, across a kitchen, past nine bedrooms, and finally out of the apartment. He led the youngsters past the two pairs of elevator doors to the top of the staircase, and sat on the banister with a wide grin.
“I’ll go first,” he said, “so you’ll see how it’s done. Be careful on the curvy parts, and if you’re going too fast you can slow yourself down by scraping your shoes along the wall. Don’t be scared!”
Jerome gave himself a push, and in a second he had slid out of view, his laughter echoing off the stairwell as he raced down toward the lobby. The children looked down the stairway and felt their hearts sink with fear. It was not the fear of sliding down the banister. The Baudelaires had slid down plenty of banisters, and although they had never slid down one that was either forty-eight or eighty-four stories high, they were not scared to try, particularly now that regular light was in so they could see where they were going. But they were afraid nonetheless. They were afraid that Gunther had a clever and nasty scheme to get his hands on the Baudelaire fortune, and that they didn’t have the faintest idea of what it was. They were afrai
Jerome’s laughter grew fainter and fainter as he slid farther and farther away, and as they stood together without a word and looked down the stairway, which curved and curved and curved as far as their eyes could see, the Baudelaire orphans were afraid that it was all downhill from here.
CHAPTER
Five
Café Salmonella was located in the Fish District, which was a part of the city that looked, sounded, smelled, and—if you were to kneel down and lick its streets—probably tasted like fish. The Fish District smelled like fish because it was located near the docks of the city, where fishermen sold the fish they had caught each morning. It sounded like fish because the pavement was always wet from the sea breeze, and the feet of passersby made bubbly, splashy sounds that resembled the noises made by sea creatures. And it looked like fish because all of the buildings in the Fish District were made of shiny, silvery scales, instead of bricks or wooden planks. When the Baudelaire orphans arrived at the Fish District and followed Jerome to Café Salmonella, they had to look up at the evening sky to remind themselves that they were not underwater.
Café Salmonella was not just a restaurant, but a theme restaurant, which simply means a restaurant with food and decorations that follow a certain idea. The theme for Café Salmonella—and you can probably guess this from its name—was salmon. There were pictures of salmon on the walls, and drawings of salmon on the menu, and the waiters and waitresses were dressed up in salmon costumes, which made it difficult for them to carry plates and trays. The tables were decorated with vases full of salmon, instead of flowers, and of course all of the food that Café Salmonella served had something to do with salmon. There is nothing particularly wrong with salmon, of course, but like caramel candy, strawberry yogurt, and liquid carpet cleaner, if you eat too much of it you are not going to enjoy your meal. And so it was that evening with the Baudelaire orphans. Their costumed waiter first brought bowls of creamy salmon soup to the table, and then some chilled salmon salad and then some broiled salmon served with salmon ravioli in a salmon butter sauce for a main course, and by the time the waiter brought over salmon pie with a scoop of salmon ice cream on top the children never wanted to have another bite of salmon again. But even if the meal had featured a variety of foods, all cooked deliciously and brought by a waiter dressed in a simple, comfortable outfit, the Baudelaires would not have enjoyed their dinner, because the thought of Gunther spending the evening alone with their guardian made them lose their appetite far more than too much pink, flavorful fish, and Jerome was simply not willing to discuss the matter any further.
“I am simply not willing to discuss the matter any further,” Jerome said, taking a sip from his water glass, which had chunks of frozen salmon floating in it instead of ice cubes. “And frankly, Baudelaires, I think you should be a little ashamed of your suspicions. Do you know what the word ‘xenophobe’ means?”
Violet and Sunny shook their heads, and looked over at their brother, who was trying to remember if he had come across the word in one of his books. “When a word ends in ‘-phobe,’” Klaus said, wiping his mouth with a salmon-shaped napkin, “it usually means somebody who is afraid of something. Does ‘xeno’ mean ‘Olaf’?”
“No,” Jerome said. “It means ‘stranger,’ or ‘foreigner.’ A xenophobe is somebody who is afraid of people just because they come from a different country, which is a silly reason for fear. I would have thought that you three would be far too sensible to be xenophobes. After all, Violet, Galileo came from a country in Europe, and he invented the telescope. Would you be afraid of him?”
“No,” Violet said. “I’d be honored to meet him. But—”
“And Klaus,” Jerome continued, “surely you’ve heard of the writer Junichiro Tanizaki, who came from a country in Asia. Would you be afraid of him?”
“Of course not,” Klaus said. “But—”
“And Sunny,” Jerome continued. “The sharp-toothed mountain lion can be found in a number of countries in North America. Would you be afraid if you met a mountain lion?”
“Netesh,” Sunny said, which meant something like “Of course I would! Mountain lions are wild animals,” but Jerome continued talking as if he hadn’t heard a word she said.
“I don’t mean to scold you,” he said. “I know you’ve had a very difficult time since your parents’ death, and Esmé and I want to do all we can to provide a good, safe home for you. I don’t think Count Olaf would dare come to our fancy neighborhood, but in case he does, the doorman will spot him and alert the authorities immediately.”
“But the doorman didn’t spot him,” Violet insisted. “He was in disguise.”
“And Olaf would dare to go anywhere to find us,” Klaus added. “It doesn’t matter how fancy the neighborhood is.”
Jerome looked uncomfortably at the children. “Please don’t argue with me,” he said. “I can’t stand arguing.”
“But sometimes it’s useful and necessary to argue,” Violet said.
“I can’t think of a single argument that would be useful or necessary,” Jerome said. “For instance, Esmé made reservations for us here at Café Salmonella, and I can’t stand the taste of salmon. I could have argued with her about that, of course, but why would it be useful or necessary?”
“Well, you could have had a dinner that you enjoyed,” Klaus said.
Jerome shook his head. “Someday, when you’re older, you’ll understand,” he said. “In the meantime, do you remember which salmon is our waiter? It’s close to your bedtime, and I’d like to pay the bill and take you home.”
The Baudelaire orphans looked at one another in frustration and sadness. They were frustrated from trying to convince Jerome of Gunther’s true identity, and they were sad because they knew it was no use to keep on trying. They scarcely said another word as Jerome ushered them out of Café Salmonella and into a taxicab that drove them out of the Fish District to 667 Dark Avenue. On the way, the taxicab passed the beach where the Baudelaires had first heard the terrible news about the fire, a time that seemed in the very, very distant past, even though it had not been all that long ago, and as the children stared out the window at the ocean waves rippling along the dark, dark beach, they missed their parents more than ever. If the Baudelaire parents had been alive, they would have listened to their children. They would have believed them when they told them who Gunther really was. But what made the Baudelaires saddest of all was the fact that if the Baudelaire parents had been alive, the three siblings would not even know who Count Olaf was, let alone be the objects of his treacherous and greedy plans. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny sat in the taxi and stared mournfully out the window, and they wished with all their might that they could return to the time when their lives were happy and carefree.
“You’re back already?” the doorman asked, as he opened the door of the taxi with a hand still hidden in the sleeve of his coat. “Mrs. Squalor said that you were not supposed to return until your guest left the penthouse, and he hasn’t come down yet.”
Jerome looked at his watch and frowned. “It’s quite late,” he said. “The children should be in bed soon. I’m sure if we’re very quiet, we won’t disturb them.”
“I had very strict instructions,” the doorman said. “Nobody is supposed to enter the penthouse apartment until the guest leaves the building, which he definitely has not done.”
“I don’t want to argue with you,” Jerome said. “But perhaps he’s on his way down now. It takes a long time to get down all those stairs, unless you’re sliding down the banister. So it might be O.K. for us to go up.”
“I never thought of that,” the doorman said, scratching his chin with his sleeve. “All right, I guess you can go up. Maybe you’ll run into him on the stair
The Baudelaire children looked at one another. They weren’t sure which made them more nervous—the idea that Gunther had spent so much time in the Squalor penthouse, or the idea that they might meet him as he came down the stairs. “Maybe we should wait for Gunther to leave,” Violet said. “We don’t want the doorman to get in trouble.”
“No, no,” Jerome decided. “We’d best start the climb or we’ll be too tired to reach the top. Sunny, be sure to let me know when you want me to carry you.”
They walked into the lobby of the building and were surprised to see that it had been completely redecorated while they were at dinner. All the walls were painted blue, and the floor was covered in sand, with a few seashells scattered in the corners.
“Ocean decorating is in,” the doorman explained. “I just got the phone call today. By tomorrow, the lobby will be filled with underwater scenery.”
“I wish we’d known about this earlier,” Jerome said. “We would have brought something back from the Fish District.”
“Oh, I wish you had,” the doorman said. “Everybody wants ocean decorations now, and they’re getting hard to find.”
“There are sure to be some ocean decorations for sale at the In Auction,” Jerome said, as he and the Baudelaires reached the beginning of the stairway. “Maybe you should stop by and purchase something for the lobby.”
“Maybe I will,” the doorman said, smiling oddly at the children. “Maybe I will. Have a good evening, folks.”
The Baudelaires said good night to the doorman, and began the long climb up the stairs. Up and up and up they climbed, and they passed a number of people who were on their way down, but although all of them were in pinstripe suits, none of them were Gunther. As the children climbed higher and higher, the people going down the stairs looked more and more tired, and each time the Baudelaires passed an apartment door, they heard the sounds of people getting ready for bed. On the seventeenth floor, they heard somebody ask their mother where the bubble bath was. On the thirty-eighth floor, they heard the sounds of somebody brushing their teeth. And on a floor very high up—the children had lost count again, but it must have been quite high, because Jerome was carrying Sunny—they heard someone with a deep, deep voice, reading a children’s story out loud. All these sounds made them sleepier and sleepier, and by the time they reached the top floor the Baudelaire orphans were so tired it felt as if they were sleepwalking, or, in Sunny’s case, being sleep-carried. They were so tired that they almost dozed off, leaning against the two sets of sliding elevator doors, as Jerome unlocked the front door. And they were so tired that it seemed as if Gunther’s appearance had been a dream, because when they asked about him, Esmé replied that he had left a long time ago.