He noticed with horror that he was beginning to get used to this inconvenience. He sat in the house for two weeks. The car no longer appeared.
Finally the desire to overcome this magnetic field was born in him, to step out from it to freedom, but right away he concealed this desire with other thoughts, so that the cat wouldn’t figure out anything. On purpose he began to think of stupid things which earlier he had never brought up, and at the same time prepared himself for decisive action.
“Well what, have you eaten it up?” He asked the cat, with pleasure noticing perplexity in his eyes.
The cat had ended up in a snare prepared to catch him and by the time he had disentangled himself, Mr. Lutsyk managed to find a way out of his situation.
Events from that moment unfolded very quickly.
The landlady went out and brought back the mail.
“A letter for you.”
The envelope was without a return address and postal markings. The cat impatiently stepped from paw to paw. Mr. Lutsyk opened up the envelope, and at that very moment the cat nervously began to hiss, arching his back and standing his fur on end.
“How do you like Abel? Isn’t it true that he’s a marvelous creature? Respect him. He loves it when you treat him with respect. Why don’t you pet his tummy?”
“A-a!” Mr. Lutsyk began to scream. “Pet his tummy?!” Suddenly he blurted out: “I’ll kill him!”
And then he turned to the dumbfounded cat and with inexpressible delectation tossed the following words right between his eyes:
“Did you hear?! I’m going to kill you!”
The cat was thrown back by an atomic shock wave. He hit the wall painfully and meowed in a fright. But on the floor strangely he quickly regained consciousness and in an instant already was looking at Mr. Lutsyk with insolent distrust: “Well, what are you... Calm down. You won’t kill me. You won’t.” But in his eyes you could also read a certain perplexity.
“Ah, I won’t kill you?!” Mr. Lutsyk shouted, and his fist fell on the table with a rattle.
The cat’s hair stood on end and he meowed once again, but now quite pitifully. Mr. Lutsyk disdainfully took him by the skin and threw him into a tote bag. At that very moment that old, rugged tote bag began to take on the strangest forms, and calmed down only after Mr. Lutsyk had pounded it on the street three times. Further on along the entire road while he was carrying it into the forest that was growing dark at the end of the street, just a quiet whispering echoed from inside there, as though a rusty iron wire were unwinding itself.
Mr. Lutsyk scooped out a hole in the soft clay in the forest, and the cat Abel reposed calmly in the Lord together with the tote bag. The newfound grave digger removed his cap and for several minutes remained silent over the fresh grave.
The return trip was very easy for him, but just as he stopped on the street, he heard those steps again. Someone was rushing after him, at times he sensed a nervous breath. Mr. Lutsyk stubbornly refused to look back. But when he slammed the car door shut and the motor started to grumble, he suddenly backed up to a wall and took a look. No, no-one was planning on running him over. The street was empty and quiet.
The next day in the morning a letter came without a return address and, as earlier, without post marks.
“Ah, how unkind this is, Mr. Lutsyk, to abuse a poor creature, to bury it in the ground. I never expected this from you. But you’re rejoicing too early. You’ll never succeed in getting rid of Abel.”
His dreams now began to be filled with bats, dreams of bright green eyes that moved by themselves in space, sometimes they stopped, diligently looking at him, and he even heard a quiet grumbling. Mr. Lutsyk sprang up and growled: “Shoo!” The eyes disappeared, but getting insomnia from the dream, he didn’t have any peace until it began to grow lightoutside the window, and then he was relieved, sighing, that the night finally had passed and that there was assurance that the next day would come.
When his leave of absence ended and he began to go to work again, he noted with satisfaction that his persecutors were no longer appearing. The leave of absence, evidently, had been useful. The main thing was to get a grip on himself: in the morning—a cold shower, exercise... Sharply limit TV movies, especially when it pertained to crime and horror films.
In the tramcar he saw luxuriant thighs. His eyes ran up to her face along the thighs. A rare harmony stirringly acted on him, and in addition the passionate dark-haired woman unexpectedly smiled at him with that much-promised smile, that all tempting women take as their weapon. Mr. Lutsyk also tried to smile, and, obviously, he was successful, for she sat next to him and put one leg over the other. Her knees glistened like the reflection of the moon on water.
Then they rose up along the stairs, carefully treading so that the landlady wouldn’t hear, but, as it turned out later, she had heard everything quite well with the invariable virtue of all the landladies of the city of Lviv and its environs.
Because of insufficient experience Mr. Lutsyk squeezed his lady awkwardly, and in addition a question made him anxious: what should he take off of her first—her shoes or her blouse? Finally he grew bold enough for a kiss and when their eyes came close, he suddenly blurted out:
“Ah, miss, you’ve never been a kitty?”
The lady began to laugh indulgently:
“What are you...”
“Is the name Abel familiar to you?”
“Abel? How do you know that? Abel is my last name! Suzannah Abel!”
“Abel!” He whispered in a strained voice.
In the meanwhile the lady quickly decided everything herself, and under the questioning gaze of Mr. Lutsyk took off her skirt. He said: “He-he” and shut his eyes. When she had taken everything off and said “that’s it,” and he had opened his eyes, he was finally convinced that it was everything. And suddenly he nearly swallowed his breath, and his eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets: the breasts and stomach of the dark-haired woman were covered with curly black hair. Instead of breasts, some kind of red gelatinous mass gaped, it quivered fervently and was transfused in the light. Below her stomach a black cat’s muzzle laughed malevolently: “Murrr-meow-he-he-he!”
He recognized the cat Abel! He recognized him in that muzzle, and in the eyes of this slut!
“Abel!” Mr. Lutsyk screamed. “You’re persecuting me again! I’m really going to destroy you! Destroy!”
He grabbed a heavy metal candlestick and threw it at Suzannah Abel. The candlestick passed through her body and hit the wall, even spattering the plaster. Suzannah Abel disappeared as if she had never been.
That very night he heard the drone of a motor. And voices.
“He’s sleeping like an innocent babe,” the man rasped.
“A murderer,” the woman said sullenly.
Mr. Lutsyk closed his eyes tightly and began to twirl a new symphony in his head. The music filled his entire brain. And, it seemed, not a single other sound was capable of breaking through it. Yet something broke through...
“...the killer of the kitty Abel shouldn’t sleep like an innocent babe!” The woman pronounced.
I’m not a killer! Mr. Lutsyk wanted to cry out, but fear fettered his muscles.
“No, you’re a killer!” The woman insisted. “A killer with sadistic impulses! To bury him alive in the ground! What could be more horrifying?!”
“Soon he’ll be convinced himself what a pleasure it is!”
That very instant Mr. Lutsyk heard the earth being sprinkled over him. He got tangled in his bed, and even opened his eyes wide, but the earth immediately sprinkled over them. He tried to scream, but the earth was covering his mouth. He still managed to catch sight of a car driving away first before he was choked by the thick clogs of earth.
In the morning he awakened all perspired. The room was inundated with soft, sunny light.
“All of this is just a dream!” He joyfully shouted.
And he spat the earth out of his mouth. He spat it out right on his blanket, and then he ga
zed at it for a long time as though he were gazing at some kind of rare fossil. And it really was earth. Sand was still scraping on his teeth, and his tongue retained the taste.
Then this wasn’t a dream?
There was a knock at the door. The landlady entered.
“Excuse me, are you up already? There’s a letter for you... Mr. Lutsyk, some woman brought your cat here.”
“What?” Mr. Lutsyk startled. “What cat?”
“Well, Matsko... Or whatever you call him. The poor guy has grown so thin... For sure he went courting somewhere, he-he... They say, a cat... I poured him some milk, and he’s lapping it up almost shaking...”
Mr. Lutsyk followed the landlady in agitation and tore open the envelope.
“Dear Mr. Lutsyk! With great satisfaction I’m sending you back your dear cat Abel. Try to find a little bit of affection and compassion for him. Why does he, a poor orphan, suffer? For his love for you? With a fervent greeting!”
The door slammed open, and the cat Abel went into the living room. He truly looked pitiful—emaciated and ragged, not for a moment now did he resemble the one-time Persian beauty. The cat intensely looked at Mr. Lutsyk and, proudly ambling to the stove, rolled up under it like a loaf of braided bread.
Mr. Lutsyk was upset that he didn’t have a revolver. With what pleasure would he have planted a half-dozen bullets into this monster! Suddenly he remembered that there was still a little rat poison in the basement. This was just what he needed. Does he like milk? Great. Mixed with the poison he won’t taste it.
And when he shoved the cat the plate with the poisoned milk, he heard just an indignant hissing. The cat was insulted and had no intention of making contact with Mr. Lutsyk.
“Wait, my darling, it’s not for nothing that I read The History of the Inquisition. You’ll die in my house in horrific agony. Let those people who sent you to me know this!”
With those words Mr. Lutsyk grabbed the cat and wanted to stuff him into his black briefcase, when unexpectedly he sensed pain in his brow—short and sharp like a shot. This lasted just for a minute, but in that minute he, apparently, lost consciousness. When he came to, he suddenly rushed to see what was happening with him. He was lying on somebody’s lap. And someone’s hand was gently stroking his fur...
Mr. Lutsyk turned his head and became convinced that he had turned into a cat. The one who held him on his lap was none other than Mr. Lutsyk.
This was so horrifying that the cat Lutsyk extended his claws and carefully tested the leg he was sitting on. This sensation turned out to be incomparable to anything else. He imagined himself as a mighty tiger from whom everyone seeks favor.
The warm hand pet his neck, and he felt a sweet sleepiness overcoming him, he felt like sleeping and dreamt of the wildness of primeval forests. But, straining all his will, the cat Lutsyk didn’t give in to the drowsiness and jumped from the lap to the floor.
“Kitty, kitty,” the gentle voice of the landlady could be heard.
It turns out I’ve become a cat, and the cat Abel has become me... Who the heck contrived this wild joke?
“Mr. Lutsyk! Mr. Lutsyk!” The piercing voice of the landlady echoed from the steps.
In an instant she had flown into the living room waving a newspaper.
“Look what I just read! What joy! Congratulations!”
The cat Lutsyk jumped up onto the table and tried to look into the newspaper, but it was for naught.
“What joy!”
“What is it?” Mr. Abel asked.
“Congratulations! Let me kiss you!”
And with her entire one-and-a-half hundredweight she threw herself at him to hug him.
“The old bat’s gone nuts,” the cat Lutsyk thought.
Finally Mr. Abel, freeing himself from her intense embraces, took charge of the newspaper.
“You’re a laureyate! Congratulations! A state prize! Who would have thought it! Such a person in my house! Mr. Lutsyk, I’m going to go right away to make your favorite dumplings. And to think that in such an historical moment this kind of disaster happened to me! What a dork I am that I didn’t burn that creature right away!”
“Mr. Lutsyk!” The landlady chattered. You also have to get ready for the prize! I’m already on my way to iron your suit and shirts.”
“I’ll be very grateful,” responded Mr. Abel. “I’ll evidently go tomorrow.”
“Like hell you’ll go!” The cat Lutsyk clenched his teeth. His look fell on a plate with milk. The tin can with the poison stood next to him. It seems this is just what’s needed. Just have to wait for dinnertime.
The radiant landlady floated to the living room with a tray, on which there was a large pot of steaming boiled potato dumplings and a full plate of sour cream.
“Go wash your hands, Mr. Lutsyk.”
“O, you’ve managed really well!” Mr. Abel joyfully began to laugh and, jumping off his bed, pecked the landlady on the cheek.
“How tender you are, Mr. Lutsyk, like never before,” she began to blush.
“That’s for sure,” the cat Lutsyk grimaced. “I never permitted myself anything like this before. Kiss that old dip? For a big pot of dumplings?”
When both of them had left the living room, the cat Lutsyk rushed headlong at the tray and stuck his paw in it. Then on three paws he jumped onto the table and mixed up the poison in the sour cream.
Mr. Abel, returning, didn’t notice anything suspicious. The cat hid under the bed and wiped his paw on the floor to clean off the poison. With all this he really hurried, because he couldn’t deny himself the satisfaction of observing the agony of his hated enemy. He expected that with Abel’s death he’ll return to his natural condition. You can’t say that he didn’t sense fear in this, the vitality of the cat turned into some kind of mystic dimension, where all phenomena simultaneously lose any kind of logical explanation. Those who had decided to conduct their cruel experiments on him could be found close by and observe. If that’s so, then they definitely would be poisoned. But Abel swallowed the dumplings with the poisoned sour cream without any problems.
The cat Lutsyk didn’t take away his anxious eyes from his double. Abel finally noticed this and smacked his lips:
“What, you want a dumpling? I won’t give it to you! There you have your poisoned milk, you can lap it up... And what do you think of a stroll in the woods in a black briefcase? Ah? Ha-ha-ha...”
He belly laughed with such self-satisfaction, that spatters of sour cream, flying from his mouth, fell right under the nose of Lutsyk the cat. The cat replied pertly and stepped away to the wall.
Abel’s laughter soon turned into some kind of raucous droning, and in another minute he had already fallen onto the floor and was thrashing about in spasms, pressing his stomach with his hands.
Mr. Lutsyk sensed a sharp and burning pain in his stomach, he wanted to scream, but instead just a not very dainty gurgling burst out. Piercing sirens began to howl in his head.
Right before his eyes he saw the quite live Abel the cat with a poisonous smile.
Brakes screeched, and the car stopped next to his head.
“You finished the game,” the woman said. “He’s a completely worthless subject.”
“I was right when I suggested not to choose him. He’s evidently no good for this role,” the man responded.
“For some reason it seemed to me that this was the one we needed. Too bad, so much work—all for naught.”
“It’s not all for naught. Contact should be built on mutual sympathy. For this we shouldn’t choose too intellectual of a person. I’d guess that a subject like the landlady would be completely suitable for experiments.”
“You think so?”
“I’m sure.”
Mr. Lutsyk rose up on his elbows, but didn’t see either the car or the people.
“He just has a few seconds left.”
“It’s his own fault.”
With a single strong tug Mr. Lutsyk threw his body to the side and crushed the cat
.
“Lord! What’s he doing?!” The woman shrieked. “Why are you standing there?! Do something!”
Mr. Lutsyk couldn’t feel someone tugging at his shoulders, trying to turn him face up, then he sensed fingers with a frightful strength compressing the cat’s neck, he heard the crunch of cartilage and warm blood that flowed along his fingers that had already torn through the skin and had penetrated into the cat’s dying body. It shuddered once more when they finally had succeeded in turning over Mr. Lutsyk.
“Dead,” the woman said.
And it wasn’t clear who she was referring to—the cat Abel or Mr. Lutsyk.
Order is Everything
“Excuse me... Isn’t it clear you’re getting in the way? Do I really have to explain?”
I obediently walk away toward the wall. I make room for the cleaners. No, they don’t have to explain anything to me. Let them do what they’re doing, and I won’t get in their way. There are lots of them, they’re really careful, they don’t even miss a speck of dust. The brooms, like birds, flutter in their hands. Everything that’s not needed, everything that’s not in place disappears.
“Let me pass...”
I let them pass. Alongside me they carry out something big and cumbersome, the door breaks open from it, it strikes me on the arm, it hurts, but I laugh, so they won’t notice how painful it is for me.
“Did we hit you?”
“No, no, what are you saying! Lord, no!”
The Fantastic Worlds of Yuri Vynnychuk Page 12
