"We're going the day after tomorrow," said Kandid. "You've prepared food?"
"Prepared it and eaten it. I haven't got patience to look at it, lying there and nobody to eat it except the old man - he's getting on my nerves, I'll make a cripple of him yet if I don't go soon... What do you think, Dummy, who is that old man and why does he eat everybody out of house and home, where does he live? I'm a traveled man, I've been in a dozen villages, I've been with the funny folk, I've even visited the skinnies, spent the night there - nearly died of fright, but I've never seen an old man like that, he must be a rare specimen, that's why we keep him and don't beat him, but I've no patience left to watch him rummage around my pots day and night - he eats in the house and takes stuff away with him, why my father used to curse him before the deadlings smashed him up... Where does he put it all? He's just skin and bones, there's no room inside him, but he can lap up two jars and take two away with him, and he never brings any jars back... You know, Dummy, maybe we've got more than one old man, maybe there's two or even three? Two sleep while one works. When he's had his fill he wakes up the next and goes to sleep himself..."
Barnacle accompanied Kandid as far as the house but declined to have dinner, out of tact. After chatting for fifteen minutes about how they lured fish in the Reed-bed lake by wiggling their fingers, and promising to drop in on Hopalong to remind him of the journey to the City, and asserting that Ears was no Ears at all, but only a very deranged man, and that the deadlings caught women for food, since men had tough flesh and the deadlings had no teeth, and promising to prepare fresh supplies and drive off the old man without mercy, he at last departed.
Kandid got his breath back with difficulty, and before going in stood awhile in the doorway shaking his head. You, Dummy, don't forget that tomorrow you've to go to New Village, early in the morning, don't forget: not to the Reed-beds, not to Clay Clearing, but New Village ... and why should you go there, Dummy, better go to the Reed-beds, lots of fish there ... good fun... To New Village, don't forget, New Village, don't forget Kandid ... tomorrow morning to New Village ... talk the boys into it, you'll never get to the City with just the four of you... He entered the house without realizing it.
Nava was still absent, but the old man was seated at the table waiting for someone to put his dinner out. He squinted testily at Kandid and said:
"You walk slow, Dummy, I've been in two houses - everybody's having dinner but here there's nothing... Likely that's why you've got no children, you walk slow and there's nothing in the house at dinner time..."
Kandid went right up to him and stood there for some time, reflecting. The old man continued:
"How long will you take to get to the City, if you're as late as this for dinner? It's a long way to the City, they say, a mighty long way, I know everything about you now, I know you've decided to head for the City, only thing I don't know is how you're going to reach it if you spend a whole day getting to a pot of food and still don't get there... I'll have to go with you, I'll lead you there, I should have gone long ago, only I don't know the road, but I've got to get to the City to fulfill my duty and tell everything about everything to the proper person..."
Kandid took him under the arms and hoisted him swiftly from the table. The old man was dumbfounded. Kandid carried him out of the house in outstretched arms and placed him on the road; he wiped his hands on the grass. The old man recovered his wits.
"Just don't forget to take along food for me," he said to Kandid's back. "Take a lot of good stuff for me, because I'm going to fulfill my duty and you're going for your own pleasure and though 'not done'..."
Kandid returned to the house, sat down at the table and lowered his head onto clenched fists. Never mind, I'm leaving the day after tomorrow, he thought. Let me not forget that: day after tomorrow. Day after tomorrow, he thought, day after tomorrow.
Chapter Three
Pepper was awakened by the touch of cold fingers on his bare shoulder. He opened his eyes and perceived someone standing over him, dressed in underwear. The room was dark, but the man was standing in a shaft of moonlight. Pepper could make out his pale face and
staring eyes.
"What do you want?" whispered Pepper. "You have to vacate," the man whispered in return.
It's only the warden, thought Pepper, relieved. "Why vacate?" he asked loudly, raising himself on his elbow. "Vacate what?"
"The hotel is overbooked, you'll have to vacate the room."
Pepper glanced around the room in confusion. Everything was as it had been, the other three bunks were empty as before.
"You needn't stare," said the warden. "We know the situation. In any case the sheets on your bed have to be changed and sent to the laundry. You won't be washing them yourself, not brought up to..." Pepper understood. The warden was very frightened and was being rude to keep his spirits up. He was in that state where one touch and he would cry out, squeal, twitch convulsively, call for help.
"Come on, come on," said the warden and pulled the pillow from beneath Pepper's head in a sort of weird impatience. "Sheets, I said..."
"Look, what is this," said Pepper. "Does it have to be now? In the night?" "Urgent."
"Good God," said Pepper, "you're off your head. Well, all right... You collect the sheets, I'll get by. I've only got this one night left."
He slid from the bunk onto the chilly floor and began stripping the pillowcase off. The warden, as if frozen to the spot, followed his movements with bulging eyes. His lips quivered.
"Repairs," he said finally. "Repairs got to be done. All the wallpaper's peeling off, the ceiling's cracked, the floors need re-laying..." His voice took on a firmer note. "So you've got to vacate in any case. We're starting repairs right away here."
"Repairs?"
"Repairs. Look at that wallpaper. The workmen will be here directly."
"What, now?"
"Right now. Why wait? The ceiling's full of cracks. Just take a look."
Pepper began to shiver. He left the pillowcase and picked up his shorts.
"What's the time?" he asked.
"Well after twelve," said the warden, again whispering, and, forsome reason, glancing around.
"Where on earth shall I go?" said Pepper, pausing with one leg in his shorts. "You'll have to fix me up. Another room..."
"Full up. And where it isn't, repairs are under way."
"In the duty room, then."
"Full up."
Pepper stared at the moon in despair.
"Well, the storeroom will do," he said. "The storeroom, the laundry, the isolation ward. I've only got six more hours to sleep. Or maybe you can fix me up in your place..."
The warden began rushing about the room. He ran between the bunks, barefoot, white, and terrible as a specter. Then he stopped and groaned:
"What a business, eh? I'm a civilized man as well, graduate of two colleges, I'm not a savage or anything... I know it all. But it's impossible, get me? It's absolutely out of the question!"
He bounded up to Pepper and whispered in his ear, "Your visa has run out! Twenty-seven minutes ago it ran out and you're still here. You mustn't be here. I beg you..." He collapsed onto his knees and drew Pepper's boots and socks out from under the bed. "I woke up at five to twelve covered in sweat," he mumbled. "Well, I thought, this is it. This is the end of me. I ran off just as I was. I don't remember a thing. Clouds over the streets, nails catching my feet - and my wife's expecting! Get dressed, please, get dressed..."
Pepper got dressed in a hurry. He found it hard to think. The warden kept running between the bunks, shuffling across the moonlit squares, now glancing out into the corridor, now looking out of the window, whispering, "Good lord, what a business."
"Can I at least leave my suitcase with you?" inquired Pepper.
The warden clacked his teeth.
"Not at any price! You'll be the ruin of me... You might have some sympathy... Good lord, good lord..."
Pepper gathered his books together, closing his case with difficulty, and picked
up his raincoat. "Where shall I go now?" he asked.
The warden was mute. He waited fidgeting with impatience. Pepper hefted his suitcase and went off down the dark and silent staircase to the street. He paused on the verandah and while attempting to control his shivering, spent some time listening to the warden instructing the somnolent duty clerk: "He'll ask for readmittance. Don't let him in! He's got ... [inaudible sinister whisper] Got it! You're responsible..." Pepper sat down on his suitcase and placed his raincoat across his knees.
"I'm afraid not, sorry," said the warden behind him. "I must ask you to leave the verandah. I must ask you to vacate the hotel premises completely."
He had to go down and put his case on the roadway. The warden stamped around, muttering: "I must ask you... My wife ... and no fuss... Consequences ... can't be done..." and left, white underwear gleaming, stealing along the fence. Pepper glanced at the dark windows of the cottages, the dark windows of the Directorate, the dark windows of the hotel. There was no light anywhere, even the street lighting was off. There was only the moon, round, brilliant, and somehow malevolent.
He suddenly realized he was alone. He had nobody. All around people were asleep and they all like me, I know that, I've seen it many times. Yet I'm alone, just as if they'd suddenly died or become enemies ... and the warden - kind, ugly man, a martyr to Basedow's disease, a loser who latched on to me the very first day. We played the piano together, four hands, and argued. I was the only one he dared to argue with and next to whom he felt himself a real person, not just the father of seven children. And Kim. He had returned from the chancellery and brought a huge document case with him, full of informers reports. Ninety-two denunciations of me, all written in one hand and with different signatures. That I steal official sealing wax at the post office, that I brought an underage girl in my suitcase and am now keeping her in the bakery cellar, and much besides... And Kim read these denunciations and threw some into the wastebasket, and kept others to one side, muttering: "I'll have to put some headwork in on that." And that was unexpected and horrible, senseless and repulsive... How he would timidly glance at me and drop his eyes at once.
Pepper rose, gripped his case and wandered off, following his nose. His nose led nowhere. Not that there was anywhere to lead to along these dark empty streets. He kept stumbling, the dust made him sneeze, and he fell a time or two. The suitcase was incredibly heavy and somehow ungovernable. It rubbed its.bulk against his leg then swung out to one side and then, returning from the dark, struck his kneee a tremendous clout. In the park's dark alley where there was no light at all and only the statues, like the warden, glimmered shakily in the gloom, the case got caught up in a thread of his trouser-leg and Pepper abandoned it in despair. The hour of despair had arrived. Weeping and blind with tears, Pepper struggled through dry, dusty, spiky hedges, rolled down steps, fell, painfully striking his back, and finally drained of strength and gasping with exasperation and self-pity, went down on his knees at the edge of the cliff.
The forest, however, remained indifferent. So indifferent that it was invisible. Below the edge was inky blackness. Only on the far horizon something layered, gray, and formless lazily reflected the rays of the moon.
"Wake up," asked Pepper. "Look at me just this once, while we're alone, don't worry, they're all asleep. Surely you need at least one of us? Or don't you understand what a need is? It's when you can't do without ... when you think all the time about ... when all your life you've been striving toward... I don't know what you are. Nor do those who are dead sure they know. You are what you are, but I can hope that you're what I've wanted to see all my life: kind, intelligent, indulgent, and considerate, perhaps even grateful. We've dissipated all that, we've no energy or time for it, all we do is construct historical monuments, ever higher, ever cheaper, but consideration is something we can't manage. But you're different, because from a long way off I came to you, not believing you actually existed. So you really don't need me? No, I won't lie. I'm afraid I don't need you either. We've caught sight of each other, but came no closer. It shouldn't have been that way. Perhaps they stand between us? There are plenty of them and only one of me, but I'm - one of them, you, probably can't pick me out in the crowd, maybe it isn't worth the trouble.
Maybe I invented those human characteristics that would appeal to you myself, to you that is, not as you are, but as I had imagined you to be...
Suddenly from beyond the horizon, bright white puffs of light slowly swam up and hung, dissipating and at once to the right under the cliff, under the overhanging rocks, searchlight beams began hunting wildly, haring about the sky and encountering massed banks of fog. The light balls above the horizon continued to thin out and disperse and turned into silvery clouds before extinguishing. A minute later the searchlights went out.
"They're afraid," said Pepper. "I am too. I'm afraid for myself but I'm afraid for you as well. You don't know them after all, yet. Even I don't know them at all well. All I know is they're capable of any extreme, the furthest extremes of stupidity and wisdom, cruelty and pity, fury and restraint. There's only one thing they lack - understanding. They always substituted some sort of surrogate for understanding, be it faith, disbelief, indifference, or neglect. That always turned out to be the simplest way. Easier to believe than comprehend. Easier to become disenchanted than to comprehend. I'm leaving tomorrow, by the way, not that that matters. I can't help you here, here everything's too solid and well-established. I'm just too obviously superfluous here, alien. I'll find the pressure point though, don't worry. It's true they can ruin you irretrievably, but that needs time and plenty of it. They've yet to find the most effective, economic, and above all, cheap method of approach. We'll keep up the struggle, it will have been worth it... Good-bye."
Pepper got up from his knees and wandered back by way of the bushes, the park, the alley. He tried without success to locate his suitcase. After that he got back to the main street, empty and illuminated only by the moon. It was already after one when he halted outside the Directorate library, it was open invitingly. The windows were hung with heavy curtains but inside it was brightly lit, like a dance hall. The parquet floor had dried out and squeaked desperately; all around were books. The shelves groaned under the weight of books, books lay in heaps on tables and in corners, and apart from Pepper and the books there wasn't a soul in the library.
Pepper lowered himself into a big old armchair and stretched out his legs; reclining he calmly placed his arms on the rests. Well now, what are you standing there for, said he to the books. Lazy devils! That's not what you were written for? Tell us, you tell me how the sowing went, how many acres? How many acres "of the wise, the good, the everlasting"? What are the prospects for the harvest? Above all - how is it sprouting? Quiet now, you there, what's your name two-volume! How many people have read you? How many understood? I've a lot of affection for you, old man, you're a good, honest friend. You never bawled or boasted or beat your chest. Good and honest. Those who read you also become good and honest, at least for a time. At least to themselves. You know, though, don't you, that some are of the opinion that goodness and honesty are not all that indispensable if we're to forge ahead. For that you need legs. And boots. Even unwashed legs and dirty boots. Progress can be perfectly indifferent to concepts of goodness and honor, as it has been indifferent up to now. The Directorate, for example, has no need of goodness or honor in order to function properly. Pleasant, desirable, but by no means essential. Like a knowledge of Latin to a bathhouse attendant, or biceps on an accountant. Or respect for women to Hausbotcher... It all depends on your definition of progress. You can define it so the famous "for all that" appears: an alcoholic but for all that an outstanding specialist; a lecher but for all that an excellent preacher; a thief, you know, a rogue, but for all that what an executive! A murderer but for all that, what discipline and dedication... You can also look on progress as a transformation of everyone into good and honest men. Then we'll live to hear people say: he's a specialist, of c
ourse, knows his stuff, but he's a dirty type, he'll have to go...
Listen, books, do you know there are more of you than there are people? If all the people were to disappear, you could populate the earth and supply their place. You've got good and honest among you, wise and erudite, frivolous rattles, sceptics and madmen, murderers, corrupters of children, children, prophets of doom, complacent fools, and hoarse demagogues with flaming eyes. You wouldn't know why you were here either. Why are you here, anyway? A lot of you give knowledge but what use is it in the forest? It has no connection with the forest. It's like drilling the principles of fortification into a future builder of sun cities, and then no matter how he tried to build sanatoria or stadia, he kept producing gloomy redoubts complete with bastions, scarps, and counterscarps. All you've given to people coming to the forest is prejudice, not knowledge... Others of you instill mistrust and depression. And that's not because they're miserable or cruel or suggest hope be abandoned, but because they lie. Occasionally they lie radiantly, accompanied by rousing songs and jaunty whistling, sometimes maudlin, moaning, and defensive, but - they lie. For some reason nobody ever burns books like that and never removes them from libraries, never has there been a case in human history where a lie has been given to the flames, unless people chanced not to understand it, or indeed believed in it. In the forest they're not needed either. They're never needed. Probably that's why there are so many of them ... or rather it's because people like them. "Dearer to us than the bitter truth..." What? who's that talking there... Oh, it's me ... as I was saying, there are other books... What? ...
"Quiet. Let him sleep." "Why sleep. Better have a drink." "Stop scraping about like that... Here, it's old Pepper!"
"What if it is, watch you don't fall." "He's sort of unlooked-after, he's pathetic!" "I'm not pathetic," mumbled Pepper as he woke up. A library stepladder stood opposite Pepper. On its top step sat Alevtina from the photo laboratory, while below, driver Acey was holding the steps with his tattooed arms and gazing upward. "He's always wandering about like a lost soul," said Alevtina, looking at Pepper. "No supper, likely. He wants waking up, a glass of vodka at least. What do people like that dream about, I wonder?"
Snail on the Slope Page 5
