Edelstein spent his days alternating between apathy and rage. That pain in the stomach had come back, which meant that he was probably giving himself an ulcer.
It was all so damned unfair! Did he have to push himself into an early grave, worrying about Manowitz?
Yes!
For now he realized that Manowitz was really his enemy and that the thought of enriching his enemy was literally killing him.
He thought about that and then said to himself, Edelstein, listen to me; you can’t go on like this, you must get some satisfaction!
But how?
He paced up and down his apartment. The pain was definitely an ulcer; what else could it be?
Then it came to him. Edelstein stopped pacing. His eyes rolled wildly and, seizing paper and pencil, he made some lightning calculations. When he finished, he was flushed, excited—happy for the first time since Sitwell’s visit.
He stood up. He shouted, “I want six hundred pounds of chopped chicken liver and I want it at once!”
The caterers began to arrive within five minutes.
Edelstein ate several giant portions of chopped chicken liver, stored two pounds of it in his refrigerator and sold most of the rest to a caterer at half price, making over $700 on the deal. The janitor had to take away seventy-five pounds that had been overlooked. Edelstein had a good laugh at the thought of Manowitz standing in his apartment up to his neck in chopped chicken liver.
His enjoyment was short-lived. He learned that Manowitz had kept ten pounds for himself (the man always had had a gross appetite), presented five pounds to a drab little widow he was trying to make an impression on and sold the rest back to the caterer for one third off, earning over $2000.
I am the world’s prize imbecile, Edelstein thought. For a minute’s stupid satisfaction, I gave up a wish worth conservatively $100,000,000. And what do I get out of it? Two pounds of chopped chicken liver, a few hundred dollars and the lifelong friendship of my janitor!
He knew he was killing himself from sheer brute aggravation.
He was down to one wish now.
And now it was crucial that he spend that final wish wisely. But he had to ask for something that he wanted desperately—something that Manowitz would not like at all.
Four weeks had gone by. One day, Edelstein realized glumly that his time was just about up. He had racked his brain, only to confirm his worst suspicions: Manowitz liked everything that he liked. Manowitz liked castles, women, wealth, cars, vacations, wine, music, food. Whatever you named, Manowitz the copycat liked it.
Then he remembered: Manowitz, by some strange quirk of the taste buds, could not abide lox.
But Edelstein didn’t like lox, either, not even Nova Scotia.
Edelstein prayed: Dear God, who is in charge of hell and heaven, I have had three wishes and used two miserably. Listen, God, I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I ask you, if a man happens to be granted three wishes, shouldn’t he be able to do better for himself than I have done? Shouldn’t he be able to have something good happen to him without filling the pockets of Manowitz, his worst enemy, who does nothing but collect double with no effort or pain?
The final hour arrived. Edelstein grew calm, in the manner of a man who had accepted his fate. He realized that his hatred of Manowitz was futile, unworthy of him. With a new and sweet serenity, he said to himself, I am now going to ask for what I, Edelstein, personally want. If Manowitz has to go along for the ride, it simply can’t be helped.
Edelstein stood up very straight. He said, “This is my last wish. I’ve been a bachelor too long. What I want is a woman whom I can marry. She should be about five feet, four inches tall, weigh about 115 pounds, shapely, of course, and with naturally blond hair. She should be intelligent, practical, in love with me, Jewish, of course, but sensual and fun-loving—”
The Edelstein mind suddenly moved into high gear!
“And especially,” he added, “she should be—I don’t know quite how to put this—she should be the most, the maximum, that I want and can handle, speaking now in a purely sexual sense. You understand what I mean, Sitwell? Delicacy forbids that I should spell it out more specifically than that, but if the matter must be explained to you…”
There was a light, somehow sexual tapping at the door. Edelstein went to answer it, chuckling to himself. Over twenty thousand dollars, two pounds of chopped chicken liver and now this! Manowitz, he thought, I have you now: Double the most a man wants is something I probably shouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy, but I did.