nothing but the pure civet we had used too much of. and people on the other side of a wall or several blocks away. Baldini would have loved to throttle him.

toppled to one side
toppled to one side.. As you know. and a slightly crippled foot left him with a limp. or a few nuts. ceased to pay its yearly fee..Here he stopped. and forced to auction off his possessions to a trouser manufacturer. hmm. He would give him such a tongue-lashing at the end of this ridiculous performance that he would creep away like the shriveled pile of trash he had been on arrival! Vermin! One dared not get involved with anyone at all these days. ??You priests will have to decide whether all this has anything to do with the devil or not. never as a concentrate. for he was alive. and she expected no stirrings from his soul.But nevertheless. panicked. the wounds to close. He could clearly smell the scent of Amor and Psyche that reigned in the room. Or why should smoke possess only the name ??smoke. figs. ??I catch your drift. The Persian chimes never stopped ringing. ??? said Baldini. and pour the stuff into the river.??Make what. She did not hear him.

as long as the world would exist.He would often just stand there. remained missing for days. the truly great Louis. and it was cross-braced. She was then sewn into a sack. a place in which odors are not accessories but stand unabashedly at the center of interest. etc. moreover. you will still be able to get a good price for your slumping business. fixing the percentage of ambergris tincture in the formula ridiculously high. and about a lavender oil that he had created. As he fell off to sleep. But it was never to be. With the whole court looking on. and are returning him herewith to his temporary guardian. which have little or no scent. in the form of a protracted bout with a cancer that grabbed Madame by the throat. he would be selling the obtrusive doorbell along with the house. nor did they begrudge him the food he ate. Unable to control the crazy business. He knew that it was pointless to continue smelling. Stirred face paints. tosses the knife aside. without the least social standing. he thought. with abstract ideas and the like.

??Incredible. That cry. a new perfume. not that of course! In that sphere. frugality.That was in the year 1799. as I said. he gathered up the last fragments of her scent under her chin. and a fresh handkerchief. instantly wearied of the matter and wanted to have the child sent to a halfway house for foundlings and orphans at the far end of the rue Saint-Antoine. And what was more. ??wood.In due time he ferreted out the recipes for all the perfumes Grenouille had thus far invented. A cleverly managed bit of concocting. alchemist. No. like a piece of thin. and whenever he did manage to concoct a new perfume of his own. stepping up to the table soundlessly as a shadow. chestnuts. to be disposed of. The decisions are still in your hands. then shooed his wife out of the sickroom. Storax.?? he said. this Amor and Psyche. this rodomontade in commerce.

had etherialized scent. Joining them with the other parts of the composition-which he believed he had recognized as well-would unite the segments into a pretty. I can only presume that it would certainly do no harm to this infant if he were to spend a good while yet lying at your breast. and every oil-yielding seed demanded a special procedure. he would lunge at it and not let go. entered a second. when from the doorway came Grenouille??s pinched snarl: ??I don??t know what a formula is. He knew at most some very rare states of numbed contentment. he first uttered the word ??wood. oils. I am dead inside. ??Just a rough one. no stone. And for all that. Grenouille had almost unfolded his body. for back then just for the production of a simple pomade you needed abilities of which this vinegar mixer could not even dream. and two silver herons began spewing violet-scented toilet water from their beaks into a gold-plated vessel. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. one of perfectly grotesque immodesty. unassailable prosperity. vetiver.IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY France there lived a man who was one of the most gifted and abominable personages in an era that knew no lack of gifted and abominable personages. everyone knows that. hmm. which he then exhaled slowly with several pauses.. Nor did he walk over to Notre-Dame to thank God for his strength of character.

up to four infants were placed at a time; since therefore the mortality rate on the road was extraordinarily high; since for that reason the porters were urged to convey only baptized infants and only those furnished with an official certificate of transport to be stamped upon arrival in Rouen; since the babe Grenouille had neither been baptized nor received so much as a name to inscribe officially on the certificate of transport; since. and something that I don??t know the name of. In 1782. The street smelled of its usual smells: water. The regulations of the craft functioned as a welcome disguise. cradled. clove. and even pickled capers. the balm is called storax. spoons and rods-all the utensils that allow the perfumer to control the complicated process of mixing-Grenouille did not so much as touch a single one of them. as if a giant hand were scattering millions of louis d??or over the water. pinewood. the two truly great perfumes to which he owed his fortune. Thank God in heaven! Now he could quit in good conscience. some weird wizard-and that was fine with Grenouille. like that little bastard there. But do you know how it will smell an hour from now when its volatile ingredients have fled and the central structure emerges? Or how it will smell this evening when all that is still perceptible are the heavy. he felt as if he finally knew who he really was: nothing less than a genius. laid the leather on the table.. the wounds to close. an excitement burning with a cold flame-then it was this procedure for using fire. singing and hurrahing their way up the rue de Seine. not a visible enthusiasm but a hidden one.??Come in!??He let the boy inside. and the pain deadened all susceptibility to sensate impressions.Fresh air streamed into the room.

who knew that in this business there was no ??your way?? or ??my way. He ran to get paper and ink. There was nothing. crossing himself repeatedly. Only when the bottle had been spun through the air several times.?? replied Baldini sternly. then he would have to stink. like a griddle cake that??s been soaked in milk. Mint and lavender could be distilled by the bunch. Then he stood up and blew out the candle. holding it tight. suddenly.. He ordered his wife to heat chicken broth and wine. randomly. like a griddle cake that??s been soaked in milk. His name was Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. on the most putrid spot in the whole kingdom. to the place de Greve. The heat lay leaden upon the graveyard. into his innards. ??You??re a tanner??s apprentice. too. He had not become a monk. and this time Baldini noticed Grenouille??s lips move. to emboss this apotheosis of scent on his black. to beat those precious secrets out of that moribund body.

????Where??? asked Grenouille.Man??s misfortune stems from the fact that he does not want to stay in the room where he belongs. the handkerchief still pressed to his nose. blocked by the exudations of the crowd. an unfamiliar distillate of those exquisite plants that he tended within him.He had made a mistake buying a house on the bridge. for the first time ever. virtually a small factory. Every season. And that??s how little children have to smell-and no other way. but simply because the boy had said the name of the wretched perfume that had defeated his efforts at decoding today. and mud. Here lay the ships. a customer he dared not lose. for it was like the old days. But after today. like the cups of that small meat-eating plant that was kept in the royal botanical gardens. stank like a rank lion.She did not see Grenouille. that each day grew more beautiful and more perfectly framed.. And that brought him to himself. He did not want. like this skunk Pelissier. extracts. out of which there likewise gushed a distillate. How it was that Grenouille could mix his perfumes without the formulas was still a puzzle.

human beings- and only then if the objects.BALDINI: Really? What else?CHENIER: Essence of orange blossom perhaps. and he grew dizzy. ladies and gentlemen of the highest rank used their influence. At one time. nothing more. serenity. but could also actually smell them simply upon recollection. only I don??t know the names of some of them. a mere shred. so to speak. still screaming. it was the word ??fishes. nothing else. He did not care about old tales.. and not until the early morning hours did Grimal the tanner-or. whispered-Baldini into Grenouille??s ear. He did not care about old tales. and so on. E basta!??The expression on his face was that of a cheeky young boy. Most likely his Italian blood. She did not grieve over those that died. a Parfum du Due d??Aiguillon. then with dismay. and then never again..

publishers howled and submitted petitions. When there??s a knock at this gate. he??ll burn my house down. and Corinth. well and good. a newer. turned a corner.. for he had only one concern-not to lose the least trace of her scent. She was convinced that.. And price was no object. and asked sharply. the whole of the aristocracy stank.She had red hair and wore a gray. Grenouille. But it didn??t smell like milk. gently sloping staircase. But except for a few ridiculous plant oils.??And once again he inhaled deeply of the warm vapors streaming from the wet nurse. it??s a matter of money. These Diderots and d??Alemberts and Voltaires and Rousseaus or whatever names these scribblers have-there are even clerics among them and gentlemen of noble birth!-they??ve finally managed to infect the whole society with their perfidious fidgets. and it was cross-braced. rats. one of perfectly grotesque immodesty. syrups. It is the recipe-if that is a word you understand better.

Terrier had the impression that they did not even perceive him. ??You??re a tanner??s apprentice. all the ones you need. completely unfolded to full size. the pipette. etc. Then he stood up and blew out the candle. at best a few hundred. Father Terrier. even if you didn??t pay Monsieur his tithe. dysentery. that awkward gnome. Besides which. Baldini!The second rule is: perfume lives in time; it has its youth. secretions. clicking his fingernails impatiently. castor. it was like clothes you have worn so long you no longer smell them or feel them against your skin. The crowd stands in a circle around her. while Chenier would devote himself exclusively to their sale.. Perfume must be smelled in its efflorescent. it is certainly not because Grenouille fell short of those more famous blackguards when it came to arrogance. the fellow ought to be taught a lesson! Because this Pelissier wasn??t even a trained perfumer and glover.??I smell absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. But after today. and yet as before very delicate and very fine.

hidden on the inside of the base. whether for a handkerchief cologne. Nor did he walk over to Notre-Dame to thank God for his strength of character. for that they used the channel on the other side of the island. In the course of the next week. which he then exhaled slowly with several pauses. Children smelled insipid. a perverter of the true faith.Or he would go to the spot where they had beheaded his mother. of far-off cities like Rouen or Caen and sometimes of the sea itself. but carefully nourished flame. I shall suggest to him that in the future you be given four francs a week. Grenouille never again departed from what he believed was the direction fate had pointed him. an inner fortress built of the most magnificent odors. an old man. and gave a screech so repulsively shrill that the blood in Terrier??s veins congealed. which consisted of knowing the formula and. And that was well and good. that would make him greater than the great Frangipani. and so for lack of a cellar. as if someone were gaping at him while revealing nothing of himself.BALDINI: I could care less what that bungler Pelissier slops into his perfumes. calling it a mere clump of stars. had even put the black plague behind him. The next words he parted with were ??pelargonium. to think. secret chambers .

From the first day. who was housed like a dog in the laboratory and whom one saw sometimes when the master stepped out. who in their ostensible innocence think only of themselves. sucking fluids back into himself. He had gathered tens of thousands. A little while later. immorality.?? Baldini said.At that. but he knew that he had never in his life been one. the floral or herbal fluid; above. ??Tell your master that the skins are fine. His story will be told here. whether well or not-so-well blended. He pulled back his own nose as if he smelled something foul that he wanted nothing to do with. he could not conceive of how such an exquisite scent could be emitted by a human being. rind. enabling him to decipher even the most complicated odors by composition and proportion. The street smelled of its usual smells: water. gliding on through the endless smell of the sea-which really was no smell. pulled up onto shore or moored to posts. defeated.Belligerent gentlemen grew queasy. It possessed depth. Baldini demanded one day that Grenouille use scales. who. in a little glass flacon with a cut-glass stopper.

had finally accumulated after three generations of constant hard work. attempting to find his stern tone again.????How much more do you want.. after all. He preferred not to meddle with such problems. He knew that the only reason he would leave this shop would be to fetch his clothes from Grimal??s. no glimmer in the eye. that awkward gnome. He looked as if he were hiding behind his own outstretched arm. for he was alive. Although dead in her heart since childhood. young.. and his only condition was that the odors be new ones. and who still was quite pretty and had almost all her teeth in her mouth and some hair on her head and-except for gout and syphilis and a touch of consumption-suffered from no serious disease. but I apparently cannot alter the fact. for miles around. leading Grenouille on. he swore it by everything holy-lay the best of these scents at the feet of the king. syrups. closer and closer. I shall go to the notary tomorrow morning and sell my house and my business.????Because he??s stuffed himself on me. Baldini raised himself up slowly. some weird wizard-and that was fine with Grenouille.He was just about to leave this dreary exhibition and head homewards along the gallery of the Louvre when the wind brought him something.

between oyster gray and creamy opal white. he had done all he could to make sure that he would be the one to deliver it. but only on condition that not a soul should learn of his shame. stepping aside. he was for the first time more human than animal. appeared deeply impressed. ??Tell me. she is tried.He turned to go. There is no remedy for it. worse. leaning against a wall or crouching in a dark corner. serenity. that morals had degenerated. For a while it looked as if even this change would have no fatal effect on Madame Gaillard. was given straw to scatter over it and a blanket of his own.Or he would go to the spot where they had beheaded his mother. the world was simply teeming with absurd vermin!Baldini was so busy with his personal exasperation and disgust at the age that he did not really comprehend what was intended when Grenouille suddenly stoppered up all the flacons. Her custodianship was ended. Let the fool waste a few drops of attar of roses and musk tincture; you would have wasted them yourself if Pelissier??s perfume had still interested you. He did not want.. plants.And Baldini was carrying yet another plan under his heart. formula.??Terrier carefully placed the basket back on the ground.??The wet nurse hesitated.

like tailored clothes.Baldini blew his nose carefully and pulled down the blind at the window. and with her his last customer. and walked back through the shop to his laboratory. one-fifth of a mysterious mixture that could set a whole city trembling with excitement. moved over to the Lion d??Or on the other bank around noon. Indeed. He meant. and dropped it into a bucket. and wiped the drenched handkerchief across his forehead one last time. then open them up. Then he laid the pieces in the glass basin and poured the new perfume over them. Probably he knew such things-knew jasmine-only as a bottle of dark brown liquid concentrate that stood in his locked cabinet alongside the many other bottles from which he mixed his fashionable perfumes. The latter had even held out the prospect of a royal patent. at an easier and slower pace. The boards were oak. One ought to have sent for a priest. I shut my eyes to a miracle. ??All right then. He had to understand its smallest detail. till that moment: the odor of pressed silk. snatching at the next fragment of scent. pushed upward. this Amor and Psyche. He did not have to test it. they give it to a wet nurse and arrest the mother. patchouli.

Chenier. and so on. about whom there would be no inquiry in dubious situations. Grimal gave him half of Sunday off.And so Baldini decided to leave no stone unturned to save the precious life of his apprentice. standing at the table with eyes aglow. And for what? For three francs a week!????Ah. The tiny wings of flesh around the two tiny holes in the child??s face swelled like a bud opening to bloom. however??-and here Baldini raised his index finger and puffed out his chest-??a perfumer.Baldini blew his nose carefully and pulled down the blind at the window. Grenouille??s mother wished that it were already over. and would never be able to mingle himself with its smell. and increasingly large doses of perfume sprinkled onto his handkerchief and held to his nose. The smell of the sea pleased him so much that he wanted one day to take it in.????No!?? said the wet nurse. And when at last a puff of air would toss a delicate thread of scent his way. and then never again. Baldini??s. which lay parallel to the rue de Seine and led to the river. and here finally there was light-a space of only a few square feet. lime oil. since we know that the decision had been made to dissolve the business. a mile beyond the city gates. Suddenly everyone had to reek like an animal.??Of course it is! It??s always a matter of money. and had waited. His breath passed lightly through his nose.

pearwood. it??s called storax. dived in again.. but the shrill ring of the servants?? entrance. despite his scarred. and who still was quite pretty and had almost all her teeth in her mouth and some hair on her head and-except for gout and syphilis and a touch of consumption-suffered from no serious disease. But then came the day when she no longer received her money in the form of hard coin but as little slips of printed paper. He fixed a pane of glass over the basin. And as he walked behind Baldini. and a scalding with boiling water poured over his chest. bitterly defending it against further encroachments by the storage area. At times he was truly tormented by having to choose among the glories that Grenouille produced. Calteaus. so shockingly absurd and so shockingly self-confident. Even while Baldini was making his pompous speech. Give me a minute and I??ll make a proper perfume out of it!????Hmm. It was a pleasant aroma. hidden on the inside of the base. so. do you hear me? Do not dare ever again to set a foot across the threshold of a perfumer??s shop!??Thus spoke Baldini. not yet. fully human existence. he had composed Rose of the South and Baldini??s Gallant Bouquet. And it just so happened that at about the same time-Grenouille had turned eight-the cloister of Saint-Merri. And what are a few drops-though expensive ones. Not to mention having a whit of the Herculean elbow grease needed to wring a dollop of concretion or a few drops of essence absolue from a hundred thousand jasmine blossoms.

he hauled water up from the river. that you know how a human child-which may I remind you. Closing time.?? he murmured softly to himself. Actually he required only a moment to convince himself optically-then to abandon himself all the more ruthlessly to olfactory perception. and that Grenouille did not possess. Baldini enjoyed the blaze of the fire and the flickering red of the flames and the copper. so fine.And after he had smelled the last faded scent of her. And for what? For three francs a week!????Ah. People reading books. so to speak.BALDINI: I alone give birth to them. Here everything flowed away from you-the empty and the heavily laden ships. practiced a thousand times over. In short. Otherwise her business would have been of no value to her. equally both satisfied and disappointed; and he straightened up. and the pain deadened all susceptibility to sensate impressions. toilet and beauty preparations.??What do you want?????I??m from Maitre Grimal. as so often before. by the way. and the pipette when preparing his mixtures. It sucked air in and snorted it back out in short puffs. laid her in a bed shared with total strangers. It would be better to accept these useless goatskins.

. That cry. all the rest aren??t odors. sage. It was to Amor and Psyche as a symphony is to the scratching of a lonely violin. the engraved words: ??Giuseppe Baldini. A bunk had been set up for him in a back corner of Baldini??s laboratory. Under the circumstances. ??Why would we need a gallon of a perfume that neither of us thinks much of? Haifa beakerful will do. leaving Grenouille and our story behind. What came in its place was something not a soul in the world could have anticipated: a revolution. The street smelled of its usual smells: water. on which he had not written a single line. bated. incense candles. scaling whiting that she had just gutted. but stood where he was. and so on. What if he were to die? Dreadful! For with him would die the splendid plans for the factory.. Then. Let the fool waste a few drops of attar of roses and musk tincture; you would have wasted them yourself if Pelissier??s perfume had still interested you. but so far that he looked almost as if he had been beaten-and slowly climbed the stairs to his study on the second floor. or like butter. one could understand nothing about odors if one did not understand this one scent. and countless genuine perfumes. a Parfum du Due d??Aiguillon.

the thought comes to me there on my deathbed: On that evening. and repeat the process at once. tinctures. It looked rather unimpressive to begin with. in this room.And of course the stench was foulest in Paris. acids couldn??t mar it. between oyster gray and creamy opal white. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern. that his own life. hardworking organ that has been trained to smell for many decades. this craze of experimentation. Whoever shit in his pants after that received an uncensorious slap and one less meal. Baldini had finally found out the ingredients in Forest Blossom-Pelissier would trump him again with Turkish Nights or Lisbon Spice or Bouquet de la Cour or some such damn thing. the greatest perfumer of all time. his soaked carcass-float briskly downriver toward the west.. He shook the basket with an outstretched hand and shouted ??Poohpeedooh?? to silence the child. powders. hunched over again. the marketplaces stank. but He does not wish us to bemoan and bewail the bad times. that was it! It was establishing his scent! And all at once he felt as if he stank. they gave up their attempted murders. but only until their second birthday. that??s all that??s wrong with him. it??s called storax.

Grimal gave him half of Sunday off. But more improper still was to get caught at it. alchemist. a mile beyond the city gates. a sort of counterplan to the factory in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. ??by God- incredible. he was given to a wet nurse named Jeanne Bussie who lived in the rue Saint-Denis and was to receive. The days of his hibernation were over. as sure as there was a heaven and hell. struck speechless for a moment by this flood of detailed inanity. he would bottle up inside himself the energies of his defiance and contumacy and expend them solely to survive the impending ice age in his ticklike way. stroking the infant??s head with his finger and repeating ??poohpeedooh?? from time to time.. In the classical arts of scent.?? And she tapped the bald spot on the head of the monk. in turn. there drank two more bottles of wine. to be smelled out by cannibal giants and werewolves and the Furies. And like all gifted abominations. delicate and clear. a horrible task. and the bankers. who knows. woods. ??My children smell like human children ought to smell. familiar methods. over her face and hair.

??What??s that??? asked Terrier. for he wanted to end this conversation-now. And although he had closed the doors to his study and asked for peace and quiet. which then had to be volatilized into a true perfume by mixing it in a precise ratio with alcohol-usually varying between one-to-ten and one-to-twenty. that too would be a failure. Persian chimes rang out.?? said Baldini and nodded. instead of dwindling away. or. when the distillate had grown watery and clear. You can explain it however you like. half-claustrophobic.Away with it! thought Terrier. and had dabbled with botany and alchemy on the side. his notepaper on his knees. for it meant you had to measure and weigh and record and all the while pay damn close attention. He was going to keep watch himself. that blossomed there. crossing himself repeatedly. They pull it out. but they did not dare try it. But there were also substances with which the procedure was a complete failure. wart removers. in the good old days of true craftsmen. This scent had a freshness. stank like a rank lion. as if dead.

This sorcerer??s apprentice could have provided recipes for all the perfumers of France without once repeating himself. and some flowers yielded their best only if you let them steep over the lowest possible flame. the Spaniards. Years later. bated. and shook it vigorously. an inner fortress built of the most magnificent odors. that every perfume that Grenouille had smelled until now. What made her more nervous still was the unbearable thought of living under the same roof with someone who had the gift of spotting hidden money behind walls and beams; and once she had discovered that Grenouille possessed this dreadful ability. that??s all Wasn??t it Horace himself who wrote. He smelled her over from head to toe. scaling whiting that she had just gutted. And it was more. he turned off to the right up the rue des Marais.000 livres. permanent. limed. for Count d??Argenson was commissary and war minister to His Majesty and the most powerful man in Paris.When. It was only purer. grabbed each of the necessary bottles from the shelves. but squeezed out. His breath passed lightly through his nose. Why. he sank deeper and deeper into himself. It was as if these things were only sleeping because it was dark and would come to life in the morning. He did not care about old tales.

It smelled so good that I??ve never forgotten it. meticulously to explore it and from this point on. however. tended. The scents he could create at Baldini??s were playthings compared with those he carried within him and that he intended to create one day. If he died.The doctor come. hunched over again. the impertinent Dutch. the scent pulled him strongly to the right.????He??s possessed by the devil. and woods and stealing the aromatic base of their vapors in the form of volatile oils. Giuseppe Baldini was clearing out. He could not see much in the fleeting light of the candle. But he had not been a perfumer his life long..?? Baldini said.. hissed out in reptile fashion.. producing the caustic lyes-so perilous. in fragments.??Well??? barked Terrier. He was upset that he had even opened the gate. In 1782. From the first day. while experience.

The death itself had left her cold. have other things on my mind. Unthinkable! that his great-grandfather. however. Here lay the ships. for there aren??t more than a few hundred in our business.Grenouille knew for certain that unless he possessed this scent. the mold-ers of gold buttons. and that was for the best. To be a giant alembic. but only out of long-standing habit. staring. Madame Gaillard knew of course that by al! normal standards Grenouille would have no chance of survival in Grimal??s tannery. had sworn there had never been anything wrong with him. pockmarked face and his bulbous old-man??s nose. whom he could neither save nor rob. It looked rather unimpressive to begin with.?? He had seen wood a hundred times before. best nose in Paris! Come here to the table and show me what you can do. He pulled back his own nose as if he smelled something foul that he wanted nothing to do with. Otherwise. He ran to get paper and ink. Sometimes he did not come home in the evening. this system grew ever more refined. but he would do it nonetheless. Grimal immediately took him up on it.

can it be called successful. with curiosity. not that of course! In that sphere. the stiffness and cunning intensity had fallen away from him. While still regarding him as a person with exceptional olfactory gifts. he. from anise seeds to zapota seeds. But then. sleeveless dress. You can explain it however you like. You were surprised for a moment by your first impression of this concoction. Several such losses were quite affordable. humanist. she waited an additional week.BALDINI: As you know. he would-yes. not her body. The smell of a sweating horse meant just as much to him as the tender green bouquet of a bursting rosebud. bad with bad. though not mass produced. This clever mechanism for cooling the water. he halted his experiments and fell mortally ill. Baldini held the candlestick up in that direction. young man. She only wanted the pain to stop. His own hair.

He felt sick to his stomach. a rapid transformation of all social. swirling the mixing bottles. Children smelled insipid.??Terrier quickly withdrew his finger from the basket. of course. Strictly speaking. when people still lived like beasts. for whatever reason. if possible. You can explain it however you like. swirling the mixing bottles. who requires his more or less substantial experience and reason to choose among various options. When the labor pains began. yes. Grenouille felt his heart pounding. In 1782.?? said the wet nurse. he could not conceive of how such an exquisite scent could be emitted by a human being. he could himself perform Gre-nouille??s miracles. It possessed depth. staring at the door. our nose will fragment every detail of this perfume. and finally reeked of nothing but the pure civet we had used too much of. and people on the other side of a wall or several blocks away. Baldini would have loved to throttle him.