Catlantis

by Anna Starobinets

  CHAPTER 18

  Lies

  “He’s back, Boss,” said the Trash Man, bowing submissively before Noir. “Baguette is back.”

  “With the flower?” asked Noir impatiently.

  “Without the flower, Boss. But with a Frenchman.”

  “A Frenchman?”

  “Yes, he owns a bakery. His name is Jacques Saussure de Tutu. He found Baguette in France, put him in a bag and brought him here on a plane. At this very moment the Frenchman with a bag—more precisely, the Frenchman with Baguette in a bag—is heading to the Petrovs’ apartment. He saw one of the ‘Lost Cat’ signs and is going to return the cat.”

  “Since Baguette doesn’t have the flower, we don’t need him,” said Noir. “Leave the cat and the Frenchman alone. Sunset is less than an hour away—soon Purriana will be mine. I’ll marry her and she’ll give birth to black kittens. Kittens that are black as night, just like me.”

  “If I may, Boss, if I may disagree.”

  “What?!” said Noir, his fur standing on end. “You? Disagree? With me?”

  “Yes, but only because I want to help you,” quickly began the Trash Man. “You see, the Petrovs are offering a reward for the ginger cat, if you remember . . .”

  “Of course I remember.”

  “Yes, Boss, your memory is superb, just like all your traits. The reward is a gold medal, one month’s salary, a ring with an imitation diamond and an eternally green cactus . . . if you remember . . .”

  “Yes, of course I remember,” said Noir, becoming irritated. “If you’ll allow it, Boss, may I, that is to say, if you’ll order me, may I take the bag with the cat away from the Frenchman? I’ll pretend that I found the cat and the Petrovs will have to give me the reward. And I’ll give it to you, Boss.”

  “I don’t want their useless human junk!” laughed Noir. “I don’t need their money, their diamonds or their gold. I’d take a juicy fish head over all that stuff any day.”

  “But, if I may, the cactus . . .”

  “What?”

  “The cactus.”

  “I don’t need a cactus! What’s gotten into you? Is your brain made of trash too? Take off that cap so I can have a look.”

  “As you wish, Boss,” said the Trash Man. He lifted his cap, revealing a clump of dirty hair, then put it back on. “If I may, Purriana thinks the cactus is significant. I heard it with my own ears—she said, ‘Great-great-grandmother, your prediction wasn’t wrong!’ ”

  “Strange,” said Noir thoughtfully. “There were rumors going around about that cactus—the oracle was convinced it could give cats nine lives, but she was wrong. She was definitely wrong! The cactus was useless. Very strange . . . What could’ve changed? What could’ve happened? Holy claw!” he yelped suddenly. “Holy claw! I need that cactus! Stop the Frenchman immediately! Have him smell this.” Noir handed the Trash Man a small vial with black powder. “This vial contains a horrible poison—I made it from a unique recipe using black magic. It’s called nicatine. It’s deadly for cats but it only causes extreme drowsiness in humans. When the Frenchman inhales it, he’ll fall asleep for many years— that’s when you’ll take his bag. Then go to the Petrovs and say you found their cat. When they give you the reward immediately come back here and above all guard the cactus with your life!”

  “Will do, Boss,” said the Trash Man. He put the vial of nicatine in his pocket and left the alley.

  Monsieur Jacques Saussure de Tutu whistled as he walked. Baguette was in the bag dangling from his shoulder. Monsieur de Tutu was admiring the red evening sun. He was in such a good mood that he stopped whistling and began to sing.

  “Oh, Champs-Élysées!” he belted. “Ohh, Champs-Élysées!”

  “If I may, it’s impolite to sing so loudly in our city,” said a passerby unexpectedly. Jacques stopped and looked at the passerby. He was wearing a dirty brown trench coat, an old cap with a rusted gold star and military boots that went up to his knees. His eyes were invisible behind the blurred lenses of huge horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Pardon,” said Monsieur de Tutu, “Je ne comprends pas the language of Russian. You say how you love my song?”

  “If I may,” said the Trash Man, taking the vial out of his pocket.

  “Oh, my friend, you want giving me a smelling of tasty tobacco?” With these words Monsieur de Tutu took the vial from the Trash Man’s hands, brought it up to his nose and took a big sniff.

  “Merci,” said Monsieur de Tutu and immediately fell asleep—his body sprawled out on the sidewalk.

  “You’re welcome,” said the Trash Man. He took the bag with Baguette from the sleeping man and headed to the Petrovs’ apartment. “Let’s go, kitty. I’ll take you to your mommy and daddy and they’ll give me a reward!”

  CHAPTER 19

  The Cactus

  “Where are you off to in such a rush, my kitty cat?” said Noir, blocking the way for Purriana.

  “None of your business.” Purriana tried to get around Noir, but he wouldn’t let her pass.

  “Sure it is, my striped darling,” laughed Noir. “I’m your future husband. A wife should never keep any secrets from her husband!”

  “You aren’t my husband,” hissed Purriana.

  “Oh, yes, I am! Your former fiancé—your ginger Baguette— didn’t bring back the flower. At sunset your great-great-grandmother will die and you’ll marry me and give birth to black kittens!”

  “There’s still half an hour until the sun sets,” said Purriana.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t matter. I know where you’re going. You’re going to the Petrovs’. To get the cactus.”

  “You know about the cactus?”

  “I’m not stupid, you know,” said Noir. “No, your husband-to-be isn’t stupid. I just saw it on Polina’s window-sill. The cactus has flowered, hasn’t it? When they found a flowerless cactus in the spot the oracle had described, everyone assumed that she had been wrong. But now a snow-white flower has bloomed on it. A Catlantic flower.”

  “Yes! So let me go! I’ll tell Baguette about the flowering cactus—I heard he’s back. He’ll pick the flower and bring it to my great-great-grandmother. If he does it right away, he’ll make it before sunset. Let me through, Noir! Please! The flowering cactus will give all of us nine lives!”

  “Oh, no, my sweetheart, I can’t do that,” purred Noir. “I won’t let you pass anywhere. My assistant, the Trash Man, has just gone to the Petrovs. He has returned Baguette and they’ve given him the promised reward: the salary, the gold medal, the ring with an imitation diamond and the cactus. By now the cactus is at my dumpster. I haven’t seen it or smelled it yet but I was just about to . . .”

  “Give me that cactus!” begged Purriana.

  “Why would I do that, my darling? So you can take it to your great-great-grandmother? No way! The cactus is mine— I’m the only one who’ll smell it and who’ll have nine lives. And I guess I’ll let my children, who’ll be as black as me, smell it too. And that’s it. No one else can smell it! Your striped oracle will never see this cactus, she’ll have nothing to show to the Council and she’ll die in shame. And all the striped cats will marry black cats. You, for instance: you’ll marry me . . .”

  “No!” whispered Purriana. “NO! NO! NO!” She began yelling in desperation, “Baguette! Save me, Baguette! SAAAAVE MEEE! Noir’s tricked us! He has the flow—”

  “Stop yelling,” said Noir, irritated. He held Purriana’s mouth shut with his black paw. “Be quiet, my darling. I think I’ll marry you right now . . .”

  CHAPTER 20

  The Jump

  Baguette was lying in the open porthole of the Petrovs’ window on the twelfth floor. His ginger tail hung inside the room, his whiskers poked outdoors and his downy belly was suspended in the six-inch gap between the two window panes. So he wouldn’t fall out, all twenty of his claws dug tightly into the window frame.

  Everyone in the Petrov family was happy to have Baguette back, but Baguette was despondent. He had returned e
mpty-handed. He hadn’t accomplished the heroic feat in honor of his beloved. He hadn’t found the Catlantic flower. At sunset his beloved Purriana would marry the black cat Noir.

  My life is in shambles! thought Baguette. Maybe I should just jump out of this twelfth-floor window?

  “Cheer up! Eat some salami,” said Mama Petrov, holding out a piece for him. Baguette sniffed the salami then turned away, dejected. He had no appetite.

  “Chew on this, friend.” Bonehead offered Baguette his very favorite bone. “Chewing always helps—helps you forget.”

  “I don’t want to forget,” Baguette shook his head sadly. “I’ve already forgotten what the Catlantic flower looks like. I couldn’t accomplish the feat—I’ll remember this failure forever.”

  “Smell this flower,” said Polina, holding a vase under his nose. “Look how beautiful it is. And it smells so wonderful. It’ll cheer you up right away!” Baguette sniffed the flower and dismissively turned away. How can I enjoy stupid, ordinary, human flowers when I’ll never inhale the wonderful aroma of a Catlantic flower again?

  “Save me, Baguette! SAAAAVE MEEE!” came a cat cry from outside. Baguette jumped up and looked out the window—he recognized the voice of his beloved Purriana. He saw two cats on the street down below: Purriana and Noir. Noir was holding her tightly, covering her mouth with his black paw. Purriana was struggling, trying to escape.

  “Let her go, you scoundrel!” yelled Baguette from his window.

  “Never! She’s mine now!”

  “Let her go!” Baguette arched his back in fury.

  “What’re you going to do about it, ginger?” Noir looked up at the twelfth floor with a sneer. “What’re you going to do? Jump down here?”

  “I’ll jump all right,” whispered Baguette. Then he yelled, “I’m coming, my darling!” Baguette stood up in the open porthole, preparing to jump.

  “Don’t do it, friend!” whined Bonehead. “It’s too high up—you’ll kill yourself.”

  “Don’t jump, Baguette!” yelled Purriana. “Don’t jump from the twelfth floor—you’ll never make it.”

  “I have no other choice,” said Baguette quietly. “It’s a question of honor—and honor is greater than life.”

  And Baguette . . .

  And Baguette jumped.

  “Mama, Mamaaa!” Polina ran into the kitchen, sobbing. “Our kitty cat! Our kitty jumped out the window! He’s down there on the asphalt! He’s dead!” The whole Petrov family gathered solemnly at the window. In the setting rays of the sun they could see something down below on the gray asphalt—a bright ginger splotch. The splotch was Baguette.

  “Bowwww-wowwww!” howled Bonehead.

  “Oh dear,” whispered Papa. “Polina, don’t look down there.” Down below, a crowd was gathering around the motionless ginger cat.

  “Oh, no! The Petrovs’ kitty fell out of the window,” said a neighbor. “He was probably hunting for birds.”

  “Ay, ay, ay, that poor cat,” her husband shook his head. “What negligent owners! Why didn’t they put a screen on their window? Or bars?”

  “What an idiot,” hissed Noir. “Jumping from that kind of height—he deserves it.”

  “Be quiet!” scolded a large white cat called Whale. “How can you speak ill of your own kind at a tragic time like this?”

  “My darling Baguette!” sobbed Purriana, hugging his motionless body. “Why, Baguette? Why did you have to leave me this way?”

  “May the ground feel like down feathers to him,” said Whale quietly.

  “Actually, the ground is quite hard,” muttered Baguette, opening one eye. “Purriana, my Wonderful Cat, why would you think that I’ve decided to leave you?” And he opened his second eye.

  “You’re alive?!” said Purriana excitedly. “You’re alive!” And she rubbed her soft pink nose against Baguette’s strong masculine nose.

  “He’s alive,” confirmed Whale happily.

  “He is indeed,” said Noir, his brow furrowed. “How very strange.”

  “Yes, I’m alive,” said Baguette. “I jumped, I fell and then everything kind of . . . sort of . . . turned off. And then I saw a white cat.”

  “Me?” asked Whale.

  “No, not you. This cat had wings.”

  “A cat with wings?!”

  “Yes, with wings. White wings—like a chicken before it’s been plucked. And this winged cat said to me, ‘Ginger Baguette, your life has ended. This was your first life, now begins your second life. I wish you all the best in your personal life.’ ”

  “I think I understand!” said Purriana. “You must’ve acquired nine lives. Baguette, did you smell the flowering cactus before the Trash Man took it away?”

  “No, I didn’t smell the cactus,” said Baguette. “I smelled its flower—but that was after that rude, stinky man left with the cactus.”

  “What do you mean—after?” said Purriana.

  “Yes, what exactly do you mean—after?” shrieked Noir.

  “Well, it’s all very simple,” said Baguette. He stood up and shook himself off. “The stinky man came to the Petrovs. I was in his bag. He asked for the reward: the medal, the salary, the ring and the cactus. So, Vadik got his medal, Papa put his salary in an envelope, Mama took the ring off her finger and Polina went to get the cactus. She looked at the cactus for a long time. A couple of days ago a beautiful white flower had blossomed on it. And Polina said to me, ‘I promised to give away my eternally green cactus for you, my dear Baguette. That’s exactly what the sign said: “eternally green cactus.” But there was nothing about a flowering cactus—the sign didn’t say that. So I’m going to keep the flower. I hope you won’t think I’m greedy, Baguette. For you, I’d give anything, it’s just . . . the man who brought you is so stinky! He probably lives by the dumpster—the flower won’t survive there. And this flower is very rare. I read in Vadik’s encyclopedia that cactuses like this one only flower once every thousand years.’ So Polina cut off the flower and put it in a vase. Then she gave the cactus to the stinky man.”

  “Is it still in the vase?” said Purriana in a quivering voice.

  “What? The stinky man?”

  “No! The flower! The Catlantic flower! Is it still in the vase?”

  “Wait, so it’s . . .” Baguette shut his eyes in concentration and suddenly remembered what the Catlantic flower looked like: it looked exactly like the flower in the vase. “Holy claw! It’s a Catlantic flower! Yes, it’s at our house in a vase. We have to bring it to the oracle right away. There’s still a few minutes before sunset! Hey, Bonehead!” he yelled with all his might.

  “You’re alive, my friend!” barked Bonehead from the window.

  “Yes, I’m alive. I need your help! Get the pretty white flower that’s in the vase and throw it down!”

  “Throw it down? Why? The Petrovs will scold me!” “Do it for me, friend!”

  “OK. For you, I’ll do it.” Bonehead grabbed the white flower with his teeth and threw it out of the window.

  CHAPTER 21

  Short and Sweet

  The striped oracle was lying in her rocking chair. Her eyes were closed. The last ray of the sun was slowly disappearing from the attic. The members of the wise Council of Six were respectfully sitting around the chair.

  “When did you say you were going to pass?” said the gray cat.

  “Right after sunset,” said the oracle in a feeble voice.

  “There are only a few moments left,” said the gray cat. “While you’re still with us, on behalf of the Council, I must state our resolution. The wise Council of Six has determined: the striped oracle, who resides in the attic, has made two wrong predictions. First, she incorrectly predicted that the Catlantic flower would be at the florist’s—instead of a flower it was a cactus. Then she predicted that the Catlantic flower would be brought to her by a ginger cat whose name begins with the letter ‘B’ and ends with the letter ‘E,’ and that he’d do so before she passed away—that is, before today’s sunset.

/>   As we can all see, the sun has almost set”—the gray cat pointed to the window with his paw—“and there is no sign of the ginger cat or the Catlantic flower. In the name of the Council of Six, we condemn the breed of striped oracles to disappear from the face of the earth. This evening every striped cat must marry a black cat and give birth to black—”

  “Wait!” came Baguette’s voice. “Wait! I have the flower!” Breathing heavily, Baguette and Purriana ran into the attic. Baguette held the white Catlantic flower in front of the oracle’s face. In the setting sun’s rays it looked crimson.

  “Thank you, courageous Baguette,” whispered the oracle barely audibly. “You’ve made my last moment a happy one.”

  “The Catlantic flower!” exclaimed the Council of Six. “Look! He’s brought the Catlantic flower!”

  The very last ray of sunlight disappeared—the sun had set.

  “Farewell,” said the oracle. She inhaled deeply, opened her eyes for just an instant, and went limp in her chair.

  “Farewell, Great-great-grandmother!” Purriana began to weep.

  “It’s a bit early for farewells,” said Baguette calmly. “She just smelled the Catlantic flower. She has eight long lives ahead of her.”

  The striped oracle sneezed and began to move in her chair.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “I must’ve dozed off . . .”

  CHAPTER 22

  More of an Afterword

  Baguette and Purriana were married that very evening. All of the neighborhood cats came to their wedding with the exception of Noir, who stayed at his dumpster and scowled. The striped oracle danced at her great-great-granddaughter’s wedding as if she were a teenage cat, and when she returned to her attic it was in the company of a very respectable gray suitor.

  After the wedding, Baguette brought his new wife to the Petrovs’ apartment (the newlyweds were planning on living there) and introduced her to the whole family. Polina, her older brother Vadik and Bonehead were all very excited to have a new cat. Mama and Papa were a little less excited, but they didn’t protest—they respected their cat and his choice of wife.