“So I did, so I did. You’re right, James.”
“But,” I said, “I can’t see James’s body either.”
“No, you see James has only got one. You’re very inquisitive. If you must know, his body’s gone to the wash. You wouldn’t have him wear it dirty?”
“I generally wash my own,” I said mildly.
“Well, we don’t. This is a grocery, not a laundry.”
“You must excuse me,” I pleaded, “I’m quite a stranger in these parts.” I saw it was no good to inquire for a doctor. If the grocery was part of the delusion, as it seemed to be, it would be absurd to make the inquiry there. If, on the other hand, the grocery really existed, then probably I did not require the doctor’s services. But I felt very muddled about it. “I suppose you’re Mr. Joseph?” I said.
“I am Joseph, and I should take it as a favour if you would tell me with what I can serve you.”
“Well,” I said, “judging from the state of your counter and shelves, I don’t see anything you can serve me with.”
“Of course you don’t see,” he answered, a little snappishly. “You can’t see the abstract. I’m not a grocer in the concrete. Kindly shut that door. There’s a draught keeps coming down the back of the place where my neck would have been, and that’s a thing I can’t stand.”
As I shut the door I felt more bewildered than ever. An abstract grocer was beyond me, and I said so. “What, for instance, is abstract sugar?” I asked.