"I don't drink," said Hausbotcher. "And I don't drink for a very simple reason, one that anyone can understand. I have a liver complaint. You can't catch me out, Ace."
"What gets me about the forest," said Acey, "is the swamps. They're hot, get me? It turns me around. I just can't get used to it. You plop in somewhere ... then you're off the brushwood road. There I am in my cab, can't climb out. Just like hot cabbage soup. There's steam coming off it and it smells of cabbage soup - I tried a mouthful once, but it's no good, not enough salt or something ... no, the forest is no place for a man. What more do they want to know about it? They drive their machines on and on into it, like a hole in the ice - and they still write if off, and down they go, and they still...
"Green odorous abundance. Abundance of colors, abundance of smells. Abundance of life. And all of it alien. Somehow familiar, a resemblance somewhere, but profoundly alien. The hardest part was to accept it as alien and familiar at one and the same time, derived from our world, flesh of our flesh - but broken away, not wishing to know us. An apeman might think the same way about us, his descendants, grieving and fearful ..."
"When the order comes out," proclaimed Hausbotcher, "we shall move some real stuff in there, not your lousy bulldozers and landrovers - in two months will turn it all into ... er ... a concrete platform, dry and level."
"You will turn it," said Acey. "If you don't cop one in the jaw, you'll turn your own father into a concrete platform. For straighforwardness sake."
The siren started up thickly. The glass in the windows rattled and above the door a massive bell hammered out, lamps flickered on the walls, while above the counter a large sign lit up: "Get up and leave!" Hausbotcher rose hastily, adjusted his watch and without a word went off at a run.
"Well, I'm off," said Pepper. "Work to be done."
"Time to go," agreed Acey. "Time's up."
He divested himself of his quilted jacket, rolled it up neatly, and moved the chairs so as to lie down, using the jacket as a pillow.
"Tomorrow at seven, then?" said Pepper.
"What?" asked Acey in a drowsy voice.
"I'll be here tomorrow at seven."
"What d'you say?" Acey asked, tossing about on the chairs. "Place is going to the dogs, bastards," he mumbled. "How many times have I told them to get a sofa in here..."
"To the garage," said Pepper. "Your truck."
"Ah-h... Well, to do that thing, we'll see. It's not that easy."
He tucked up his legs, stuck his palms under his armpits, and started snuffling. His arms were heavy and a tattoo could be glimpsed under the hair. "What destroys us" was written there, also, "Ever onward." Pepper made for the exit.
He crossed an enormous puddle in the backyard on a board, skirted a mound of empty jam-jars, crept through a hole in the fence, and entered the Directorate building via the service entrance. It was cold and dark in the corridors, which reeked of tobacco, dust, and old papers. There wasn't a soul anyway, no sound could be heard from behind the leatherette doors. Pepper went up to the second floor by way of a narrow staircase without a handrail, clinging to the dilapidated wall. He went up to a door above which a sign flickered on and off. "Wash your hands before work." A large black letter M showed up on the door. Pepper thrust at the door and experienced a slight shock on discovering it was his own office. That is, of course, it wasn't his office; it was Kirn's, chief of Science Security, but Pepper had put a table in there and now it stood sideways near the door by the tiled wall; half the table was, as usual, taken up with a mothballed Mercedes. Kirn's table stood by the large, well-cleaned window; he was already at work, sitting hunched-up and consulting a slide rule.
"I wanted to wash my hands," said Pepper, at a loss.
"Wash away, wash away," Kim nodded. "There's the washbasin. It's going to be very convenient. Now everybody will be coming to see us."
Pepper went over to the basin and began washing his hands. He washed them in hot and cold water, two kinds of soap, and special grease-absorbent paste, rubbed them with a bast whisp and brushes of varying degrees of stiffness. After that he switched the electric dryer on and for some time held his moist pink hands in the howling stream of warm air.
"They announced at four that they were transferring us to the second floor," said Kim. "Whereabouts were you? With Alevtina?"
"No, I was at the cliff-edge," said Pepper, seating himself at his table.
The door opened wide and Proconsul entered the room with a rush, waved his briefcase in greeting, and disappeared behind the curtain. The door of his study creaked and the bolt shot home. Pepper took the sheet off the Mercedes, sat without moving, then went over to the window and flung it open.
The forest wasn't visible from here, but it was there. It always was there, though it could only be seen from the cliff. Anywhere else in the Directorate something was in the way. In the way were the cream structures of the mechanical workshops and the four-story garage for staff cars. In the way were the cattle-yards of the farm area and the washing hung out near the laundry with its spin dryer permanently out of commission. In the way was the park with its flowerbeds and pavilions, its big-wheel and plaster-of-paris bathers, covered with penciled grafitti. In the way stood cottages with ivy-draped verandahs adorned with the crosses of television antennae. From here, however, the first-floor window, the forest was hidden by a high brick wall, incomplete as yet, but very high, which rose around the flat-roofed one-story Engineering Penetration building. The forest could only be seen from the cliff-edge.
However, even a man who had never seen the forest, heard nothing about it, never thought about it, wasn't afraid of it, and never yearned for it, even such a man could easily have guessed at its existence if only because of the simple existence of the Directorate. I, for example, have thought about the forest, argued about it, dreamed about it, but I never even suspected its actual existence. I became convinced of its existence not when I first went out onto the cliff-edge, but when I first read the notice near the entrance: "Forest Directorate." I stood before this notice with a suitcase in my hand, dusty and dehydrated after the long journey, reading and re-reading it, and felt weak at the knees, for now I knew that the forest existed and that meant that everything that I had thought about it up till now was the toyings of a feeble imagination, pale impotent falsehoods. The forest exists and this vast, somewhat grim building is concerned with its fate.
"Kim," said Pepper, "surely I'll get into the forest. I'm leaving tomorrow, after all."
"You really want to go there?" asked Kim absently. "Hot green swamps, irritable and timorous trees, mermaids, resting on the water under the moon from their mysterious activity in the depths, wary enigmatic aborigines, empty villages ..." "I don't know," said Pepper.
"It's not for you, Peppy," said Kim. "It's only for people who've never thought about the forest, who've never given a curse about it. You take it too much to heart. The forest, for you, is dangerous, it will trap you."
"Very likely," said Pepper, "but after all I came here just to see it."
"What do you want the bitter truth for?" asked Kim. "What'll you do when you've got it? What'll you do in the forest, anyway? Cry over a dream that's become your destiny? Pray for it to be different? Or, who knows, maybe start to re-work what there is and must be?"
"So why did I come here?"
"To convince yourself. Surely you realize how important it is - to be convinced. Other people come for different reasons. Maybe to see miles of firewood, or find the bacteria of life, or write a thesis. Or get a permit, not to go into the forest but just in case: come in handy sometime and not everybody's got one. The limit of their little intentions is to make a luxury park out of the forest, like a sculptor producing a statue from a block of marble. So they can keep it trim. Year in, year out. Not let it be a forest again."
"It's time I got away from here," said Pepper. "There's nothing for me to do here. Somebody's got to go, either me or all of you."
"Let's multiply," said Kim and
Pepper seated himself at his table, found the wall-plug by feel, and plugged in the Mercedes.
"Seven hundred and ninety three, five hundred and twenty-two by two hundred and sixty-six, zero eleven."
The machine began to chatter and leap. Pepper waited for it to settle, then hesitantly read out the answer.
"All right. Clear it," said Kim. "Now, six hundred and ninety-eight, three hundred and twelve, divide for me by twelve fifteen..."
Kim dictated the figures, Pepper picked them out, pressed the multiplier and divider keys, added, subtracted, derived roots, everything proceeded as normal.
"Twelve by ten," said Kim. "Multiply."
"One oh oh seven," dictated Pepper automatically, then woke up and said: "Wait, it's lying. It should be a hundred and twenty."
"I know, I know," said Kim, impatient. "One zero zero seven," he repeated. "Now get me the root of ten zero seven..."
"Just a minute," said Pepper.
The bolt clicked again behind the curtain and Proconsul appeared, pink, fresh, and satisfied. He began to wash his hands, humming the while "Ave Maria" in a pleasant voice. After this he announced:
"What a marvel it is after all, this forest, gentlemen! It's criminal how little we talk and write about it! And it is indeed worthy of description. It ennobles, it arouses the highest feelings. It facilitates progress. We, however, are totally unable to stem the spread of unqualified rumors, stories, and jokes. There is no real forest propaganda being done. People talk and think about the forest hell knows..."
"Seven hundred and eighty-five multiplied by four hundred and thirty-two," said Kim.
Proconsul raised his voice. His voice was powerful and well modulated. The Mercedes became inaudible.
" 'As if we lived in the forest...' 'Forest people ...' 'You can't see the wood for the trees.' 'If you're in the forest, you're after firewood.' That's what we have to fight against! To eradicate! Let's say that you, Monsieur Pepper, don't fight against it, why not? After all, you could do a detailed, meaningful lecture on the forest at the club, but you do no such thing. I've been keeping tabs on you for quite a while, it's been wasted time waiting. What's the matter?"
"Well, I've never been there, have I?" said Pepper. "That doesn't matter. I haven't been there either, but I've read a lecture, and judging by the response, it was most useful. It's not whether you've been in the forest or not, it's a matter of ridding the facts of this encrustation of mysticism and superstition, laying bare the essence of things, having cleansed it of adornments placed upon it by philistines and utilitarians..."
"Twice eight divide into forty-nine minus seven times seven," said Kim.
The Mercedes got going. Proconsul once again raised his voice:
"I did it as a trained philosopher. You could do it as a qualified linguist. I'll give you the points and you can develop them in the light of the latest linguistic research ... if that's the theme of your thesis?"
"It's 'Stylistic and Rhythmic Characteristics of Feminine Prose in the Late Heian based on Makwa-no Sosi,' " said Pepper. "I'm afraid that ..."
"Ex ... cell ... ent! Just the thing. And emphasize the fact that it's not swamps, it's excellent therapeutic mud-baths; not jumping trees but the end product of high-power research; not natives or savages, rather an ancient civilization of proud, free, modest, and powerful people with noble intentions. And no mermaids. No lilac veils of fog, no veiled hints - forgive me for a poor pun - That will be excellent, mynheer Pepper, just splendid. It's a good thing you know the forest, so's you can introduce your own personal impressions. My lecture was good too, but, I fear, somewhat over-speculative. As the basis of my material, I made use of conference minutes. Whereas you as one who has researched into the forest ..."
"I'm not a forest researcher," said Pepper earnestly. "I'm not allowed into the forest. I don't know the forest at all."
Proconsul, nodding absently, wrote something swiftly on his shirt cuff.
"Yes!" said he. "Yes, yes. It is the bitter truth, alas. Alas, we still find pockets of formalism, bureaucracy, heuristic approach to the personality... You can talk about that as well, by the way. You can, yes you can, everybody talks about that. Meanwhile, I shall attempt to get your speech agreed with the higher-ups. I'm damned glad that you'll give us a hand in our work after all, Pepper. I've had a very careful eye on you for a very long time... There you are then. I've noted your name down for next week!"
Pepper unplugged the Mercedes.
"I won't be here next week. My visa has expired and
I'm going tomorrow."
"Well, we'll fix that somehow. I'll go to the director, he's a club member himself, he'll understand. You can reckon to stay another week."
"No," said Pepper. "That won't be necessary." "Oh, yes it will!" said Proconsul, looking him straight in the eye. "You know perfectly well it is, Pepper! Good day."
He brought two fingers to his temple and made off, waving his briefcase.
"It's like a spider's web!" said Pepper. "Am I a fly to them or what? The manager doesn't want me to leave, Alevtina doesn't and now this one..."
"I don't want you to leave either," said Kim.
"But I can't stand it here anymore!" "Seven hundred and eighty-seven, multiply by four hundred and thirty-two..."
"I'll leave all the same," thought Pepper, depressing the keys. "I'll leave anyway. You may not want it but I will. I shan't be playing ping-pong with you, or playing chess, or sleeping with you, or drinking tea with jam. I don't want to sing you any more songs or calculate for you on the Mercedes, sort out your arguments for you or now read you lectures you won't understand anyway. And I'm not going to think for you, either. Think for yourselves, and I'm leaving. Leaving. Leaving. You'll never understand that thinking isn't a pastime, it's a duty..."
Outside, beyond the incomplete wall, a piledriver thumped heavily, pneumatic hammers knocked, bricks spilled with a roar. Four workmen in forage caps were sitting side by side, stripped to the waist and smoking. As a finishing stroke, a motorcycle roared into life under his window and ticked over noisily.
"Somebody from the forest," said Kim. "Better multiply me sixteen by sixteen."
The door burst open and a man ran into the room. He had on a boiler-suit and an unbuttoned hood dangled on his chest from a length of radio flex. From boots to waist the boiler-suit bristled with the pale-pink arrows of young shoots while the right leg was entwined with an orange plaited liana of endless length and which trailed along the floor. The liana was still twitching a bit and it seemed to Pepper a very tentacle of the forest, which would reach out at any moment and drag the man back - through the corridors of the Directorate down the staircase, along the yard wall, past the canteen and the workshops, then down the dusty road, through the park, past the statues and pavilions, up to the entrance to the Serpentine, to the gates, but not into them, past them to the precipice, and down...
He was wearing motorcycle goggles, and with his face thickly powdered with dust, Pepper did not at once recognize Stoyan Stoyanov from the biostation.
He was holding a large paper bag. He made several steps on the tiled floor with its mosaic picturing a woman taking a shower, and halted in front of Kim, concealing the paper bag behind his back and making odd head movements as if his neck was itching.
"Kim," he said, "it's me."
Kim made no reply. His pen could be heard tearing and scratching the paper.
"Kimmy," Stogan said, ingratiating. "I'm asking you, on my knees."
"Get lost," said Kim. "Maniac."
"It's the very last time," said Stoyan. "The very, very last little time!"
He moved his head again and Pepper saw in the depression at the back of his skinny shaven neck a tiny little pink shoot, sharply pointed and already twining, trembling, avid.
"Just pass it over and say it's from Stoyan, that's all. If he starts telling you to go to the cinema, tell him you've got urgent overtime. If he offers you tea, say you've already had some. And don't accept any wine if h
e suggests it. Eh? Kimmikins! For the very last time for ever and ever!"
"What're you fidgeting about for?" Kim asked irritably. "Here, turn around!" "Got one again?" asked Stoyan, turning. "Well, it doesn't matter. Just so you hand that over, nothing else matters."
Kim, leaning forward over the table, was busy with his neck, kneading and massaging, elbows spread. He bared his teeth from squeamishness and muttered curses. Stoyan patiently shifted his weight from foot to foot, head bent and neck extended.
"Hello, Peppy," said he. "Long time no see. What're you doing here? I've brought some again ... what can I do? ... Very, very last time ever." He unwrapped the paper and showed Pepper a small bunch of poison-green forest flowers. "Boy, what a smell! What a smell!"
"Stop pulling, you," cried Kim. "Stand still. Maniac.
Useless."
"Maniac. Useless," agreed Stoyan ecstatically. "But! For the last time ever and ever!"
The pink shoots on his boiler-suit were already wilted and wrinkling, raining down on the brick face of the lady under the shower.
"There," said Kirn. "Now get out."
He moved away from Stoyan and threw something half alive, squirming and bloody into the waste-bin.
"I'm going," said Stoyan. "Right away. But, well, our Rita's acting up again. I'm afraid to be away from the biostation. Peppy, you might come over and have a word with them, eh?"
"What next!" said Kim. "Pepper's not needed there."
"What d'you mean, not needed?" Stoyan exclaimed. "Quentin's fading away before your eyes! Just listen. Rita ran off a week ago - all right. Okay, what can you do? But, she came back that night all wet, white, and icy cold. The guard was questioning her, unarmed, and she did something to him, so he's been senseless ever since. And the whole experimental compound has been invaded by grass."
"Well?" said Kim.
"Quentin cried all morning..."
"I know all about that," Kim broke in. "What I don't get is how Pepper comes into it."
"What d' you mean how? What're you talking about? Who else if not Pepper? Not me, eh? And not you... We're not calling in Hausbotcher, Claudius-Octavian."
Snail on the Slope Page 2
