“He-he-he!”
Welcome to Ratburg
“When I arrived in this town, the first living soul I met was a rat.”
This is the way Marko Pekelny began his story after having come back from his last trip. Each time experiencing breakneck adventures, this guy, who at first glance seemed so quiet and had such a far from heroic appearance, appeared at my place without any notice. Tossing out a brief “salute” at the doorstep, he came upstairs right away to my study, entering the holiest of holies, where even my wife feared to drop by without a knock at the door. On the steps Marko, without turning his head, asked:
“Got any coffee?”
He wasn’t interested in the answer. He knew the answer beforehand—there had to be coffee. When I came back with it, Marko was already lying on the couch, throwing his long legs over the edge.
I turned on the tape recorder and listened to the latest adventure.
“Yep, there was a rat... His appearance baffled me—he was in a black suit, a white shirt and white gloves, and from beneath his heavy breeches white gaiters peeked out. The rat gallantly raised his hat above his head, and, baring his yellow teeth, said:
“Welcome to Ratburg!”
The rat was the size of a cat and stood on his hind legs.
“Ratburg?” I was surprised, and pointing to the buildings, added: “But people also live here.”
“Of course. Just like in any town. But rats founded Ratburg. We discovered this place and settled down. And people showed up later. That’s the history of a lot of towns. But for some reason we were always in the shadows.”
“And how do you get along with the people?”
“Great. Beyond all expectations. We even name the separate streets in human language.”
“And where do you live?”
“In the cellars where we’ve always lived. In principle nothing much has changed. At the same time there are certain changes for the better. We finally found a common language as well as common interests. People stopped harming us. On the contrary, they respect us, consult us with regard to the building up of the town. We’ve made them happy.”
“You?”
“Of course! Figuratively speaking, they’re sitting on our shoulders, ha-ha.”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted, “Did I not hear that they’re sitting on your shoulders?”
“No-no! That’s the way it is. We do a lot for them. We write books for them, which they read with pleasure, compose songs, which they listen to with pleasure, we make films for them, which they watch with delight. We enliven them spiritually. And they’re very thankful. Their thankfulness is expressed mainly by their treating us to dinners. Note—just dinners. We have to get our own breakfast and lunch. Agree—they make out very cheaply. And moreover, all their spiritual nourishment is only nominally in our hands. In films, for example, people appear, even if they concern essentially problems of the rat family. And books? In books, too, as a rule, people act as protagonists, and rats only appear episodically. Historical works become an exception... since only we represent and create history here, people don’t really have any connection to it. And all of this—just for dinner! Can you imagine?”
“Hmm... Really. This is the first time I’ve met such sincere rats.”
“He-he... That’s a good one—sincere rats! I’ll remember that.”
Listening to the rat, I noticed that not far from the building someone was watching us—in the window behind the curtain I could see a figure. But each time that the head of the rat turned in that direction, the figure disappeared and just the barely noticeable glimmering of the shadows on the white curtain gave away the observer. At the same time the unknown person made signals to me with his hand.
“Well, I’m quite thankful to you,” I said. “I’ll move on.”
“I’d be happy to guide you to the most interesting places.”
“Thanks, but I have little time and it’ll be enough for me to just stroll around the town.”
“Wonderful! I’ll show you to the main street.”
“No-no, I’ll go alone... I, you know, like to walk alone.”
“I’ll accompany you anyway. Otherwise you’ll have a twisted impression regarding our hospitality.”
The rat spoke amiably, but in such a tone that I had no doubt he would not back off.
“Listen,” I lost my patience, “I’m used to just traveling alone, and till now—quite successfully. I’m not planning on abandoning my habits in your town.”
“No one’s stopping you. Though things may happen! We have hooligans here. It’d be really awful if you had a mishap.”
“I’ll manage. Be well,” I grumbled with irritation, and, turning my back, went to the building. The rat followed in my footsteps. I heard his quiet shuffling. When I got up to the building and put my hand on the gate, I heard a screech:
“Stop! What are you doing? That’s not allowed!”
“What did I do? I’m terribly thirsty. I want a drink,” I responded courteously, which irritated him even more.
“But where are you going? A madman lives there!”
“That doesn’t matter. I want some water.”
“I’ll show you where the water is!”
“I’m already sick of your spying!”
“How can you? Me—a spy?! I just showed some hospitality. In my place...”
“That doesn’t interest me.”
When I jostled the gate and stepped into the yard the rat became totally infuriated. He dashed about, spewing foam and shrieking as he convulsed:
“Stop! Don’t move a muscle! You won’t get away with this! You’ve caught my diligence off guard. I’ll lose my job through you! Turn back immediately! A madman is there! It is strictly prohibited to visit people! They are all mad! All of them! They just ridicule our culture. They just pretend, I know! You’ve been sent by someone! Who sent you?!”
He was screaming, and during that time I cut across the yard and walked up to the steps. At that instant a piercing drone began to reverberate. Looking back I saw him jumping hysterically, unable to stop me in any way. And a few dozen rats were running along the street to come to his aid.
A door opened up by itself and someone’s hand pulled me inside. The lock screeched in the dark hall and a man’s voice said:
“Follow me.”
When we got to the room, the master of the house glanced through the window:
“Boy, they’re bustling around!”
“What is it?”
“Take a look,” he said, not without a certain satisfaction in his voice, which really surprised me, because I saw the street filled with rats. What’s there to be happy about?
He was a robust guy of about 50, with wild gray hair and long shaggy whiskers.
“Is it impossible to cope with them?” I asked.
“Nothing bothers them. They’re much too smart. They don’t eat poison bait, they don’t get caught by traps, they’ve devoured all the cats and dogs a while ago... What’s worst, right now there’s a new generation in power that has already been born after we had become scared. It’s so sure of itself, convinced that it’s doing us a great favor by taking care of our every step.”
“What do they want?”
“Submission and gratitude. But we’re already incapable even of that. We’re tired of being grateful.”
“Is it really true they’ve taken your entire spiritual sphere of life away from you?”
“You can just imagine—it’s true... But this is just on the surface, because few if any of us truly accept this. Mostly we’ve all learned to pretend, and when we need to, we paint satisfaction on our faces. But alone, hiding behind three doors, we let ourselves relax, and crawling under feather beds and hiding our head beneath the pillow, hum one of the old songs... We’re wary of singing when visiting each other, because there are a lot of stool pigeons among us.” “And what do they do to you for this? Prison?” “Worse. An asylum. We don’t have any prisons. There, in the center of to
wn, there’s even a banner hanging up: ‘Ratburg—a town without prisons.’ Everybody ends up in the asylum who dares to doubt the propriety of the rats’ power... From this day on that may await even me.”
“You?/.. But how can they know what we’re talking about here?”
“Just listen,” he said, pointing to the floor. And it was true, from there a careful scratching echoed to us. I stamped my foot and it grew silent.
“They’re everywhere,” the man of the house smiled sadly. “You can come across them in the most unexpected places.”
“But what happens to out-of-towners who come to visit you?” I finally inquired, sensing unpleasant news.
“First they try to work on people the way they did on you. To cloud your head. When they succeed, they take the out-of-towners to exemplary families, acquaint them with the life of the town and show them around with favor. And if they don’t succeed, they put them away in the asylum.”
“Why have you lured me here?” I got angry. “Now both of us are threatened with danger!”
“I just ask you not to be angry... I’ve been waiting for this moment a long time. Because I can only trust an out-of-towner. Especially if he’s fallen into the same kind of dead end as I have... The fact is that I was a colonel once. I’ve managed to store away certain reserves. I have a lot of grenades, two machine guns and a flame-thrower. The three of us can smash them into bits...”
“The three of us?”
“You and me and my daughter. It’s entirely possible that other townspeople will join us. I believe that. It can’t be that they’ve all been turned into cowards. We’ll break into the asylum at first. The people we need are there right now.”
I didn’t know what to answer out of surprise. For no reason at all to take part in an uprising against the state wasn’t particularly enticing. Why should I meddle in someone else’s internal business? It’s true that rats don’t evoke any sympathy in me, but they didn’t burn me up so much that I’d go in for breaking their heads and beating them. But the prospect of ending up in an asylum scared me all the more. How would we manage against this countless number of rats? When the insurrection flares up, of course, the business would go easier, but before we do anything good, they’ll chew off our fingers.
There was nowhere to retreat—the rats were already swarming beyond the window. But not even the shadow of fear flashed on the face of the master of the house; hate beamed from his eyes and just hate.
“Good, I’m for it,” I said.
“We don’t have another way out anyway.”
“There was. If you hadn’t have summoned me into the house, I wouldn’t have ended up in this trouble.”
“Yes, I acted discourteously... But understand me... I’ve waited for this day for so many years! My God!... I waited until my daughter grew up... Then I waited for a stranger... But not a single one appeared at my house. I’d already lost even the smallest hope. I couldn’t trust just anybody, and because of that, I had to pretend to be a faithful citizen... Even though my only son died in the asylum... When my daughter was born, instead of being thrilled, I banged my head against the wall. What is a daughter for me? I needed a son! But God sent me a daughter. And then I was reconciled. My wife died during childbirth... It was in the late stages. This entire time I’ve raised my daughter as a vicious killer. I taught her hate... Her hate grew to such a degree that she even disgusted her classmates, because they all believed the rats. But I also taught her to hide her feelings. The slightest suspicion—and my whole plan would blow up from the start.”
“After so many years haven’t you found anyone in the town who thinks the way you do?”
“All such instances have ended miserably till now. Everyone who tried to protest or gather like thinkers around himself ended up in the asylum. That’s why we’ll go there first. We’ll release the prisoners. We can trust them... All people with courage are there. They also have nothing to lose.”
“Keep in mind—I’m a sorry shot.”
“I’ll give you a flame-thrower. It’s a simple device. My daughter and I will lead in front, and you’ll cover our rear guard. I’ll also entrust you with a wagon with grenades, and fuel. You can’t leave that wagon even for an instant, all our hope lies in it...”
“How did you hide the weapons if the rats can get into the house like child’s play?” “I kept them in a box with mothballs.”
“What can I say, pretty sharp,” I broke out laughing.
The clamor and rustling reached us from beneath the floor.
“Aha, I got under your skin!” The colonel barked under the floor. “So you’ll get yours, scoundrels!”
The door at the entrance opened at that moment and a tall lean girl appeared in jeans and a checkered shirt. At first glance she looked, maybe, 16. Her thick ash-colored hair fell on her shoulders. She was holding a tray with three opened tin cans, sliced bread and a jar of dill pickles.
“Time to have lunch,” she said.
“This is my daughter. Her name is Violetta, Viola... Because the name’s similar to the word ‘volya’—freedom.”
The girl smiled.
“Daddy gives a secret meaning even to a little thing like a name...”
“This isn’t such a little thing in our time when rat names and customs permeate every family and when they feed us exclusively with canned goods. I don’t want to ruin your appetite, but you have to agree: eating the same thing day in and day out isn’t so hot.”
“Is it canned fish?” I asked, when we sat at the table.
“Yes. This, take note, is our national dish. For all holidays. Pickles—and these already are old stock. And during the day I eat canned potatoes or porridge.”
“By the way, Dad, it’d be worthwhile for us to take a bit of food.”
“I’m counting on you to do that. And where’s the wine? We have some from way back. Two bottles. Bring it, honey.”
“Does it turn out that you’re low on wine?” I asked.
“We have dry laws. Alcohol loosens the tongue, and that’s really unsafe. That’s what the rats think. They keep us from subversive conversations.”
The girl brought two bottles of wine and uncorked them.
The wine turned out to be not just tasty, but strong as well. I sensed this right away with my tongue and palate. On the other hand, the canned food made my mouth twinge.
“Don’t twinge,” the master of the house said. “It’s more than rash to undertake the overthrow of the state on a hungry belly. Who knows how long our revolution will last.” I forcibly pushed the food into me in big chunks, as though I were swallowing a hot potato. My spirit was somewhat lifted by the wine, but not so much that I would throw myself onto the barricades right away. What kind of devil bit into me to end up in this Ratburg? I had already seen that this was some kind of suspicious place, and look, I had stuck myself in it already. Now it was not known whether I could extricate myself from here alive.
“There, the little devils! They’re already here!” The old man shouted.
I looked where he was pointing and saw a rat in the middle of the room staring at us attentively.
In a lightning move the old man grabbed a revolver from beneath his shirt and shot it. The volley blasted the rat against the wall, splattering it with blood, and tore the creature into shreds.
“Without aiming!” He said. “Well, how about it—let’s drink to the start of rat hunting season! This is the happiest day of my life.”
“If only I had your enthusiasm!” I smiled unhappily. “What’s one rat when there are thousands of them?”
“Now there’ll be a hundred less,” he cut me off and with those words pulled an automatic out of the dresser.
“Dad, what have you thought up?” The girl got frightened.
“A little diversion,” her father tossed back to her. “Can’t I allow myself a little diversion after so many years of humiliation?”
With a strike of the rifle butt he blew out the window pane and sent a
volley into the thickest part of the grinning rats who were sitting all around the street.
I saw how the blood gushed out, how paws, heads and bits of skin flew into the wind. The rats, demented from the shock, scurried in various directions, crawled out one on top of the other, allowing a single bullet to strafe through several of them at once. The volleys shredded them pitilessly, turning them into a foaming mass that was squealing and moaning.
It was disgusting to watch this, and finally I turned my eyes away. But this was just the beginning. A comparable spectacle will happen with me either until I die or until I get out of this damned place. I could save myself only by stepping on the dead bodies of the rats. The worst thing was that I was forced to fire at these ravenous creatures.
The machine gun turned silent. The clip emptied, and the old man tossed it onto the street. Inexpressible satisfaction shone in his eyes.
“Well, what? Now are you convinced that we can kill them? The main thing is just not to panic and not to turn soft: hate, hate and more hate! Understand? Our breed is too compassionate. Any kind of stupid little thing can move us to tears. A broken flower or a baby bird that falls from its nest... We’re a nation of lyric poets and not warriors. That’s why we’re doomed to perish. A nation that hasn’t given birth to a single dictator can’t be called a nation. This is just a throng, unified by language, embroidery, and songs about eternal life. Take note—they sing about eternal life, while they’re at death’s door! We, who haven’t created our own country yet, will die in battle with the rats! We’re already dying!”
“Why are you aggravating the problem so much!” I disagreed. “The rats took over a single town, and that’s just the result of a nuclear accident. What’s one town against tons of other towns?”
“You’re wrong. The rats live with people in every town and village. Throughout every country, throughout the entire world. They even travel on ships and planes. They’re everywhere. And they’re just waiting for the signal. Understand? They’re waiting for a signal to take power! And their intellectual base will be here, where they’re working out the plans for a future war. Their diversionaries and leaders are getting ready here. We have to destroy all this.”
The Fantastic Worlds of Yuri Vynnychuk Page 17
