Everyone started shouting and stomping again, and a few people showed the deadlings the pots and made threatening motions. Grasskiller was precious; no one wanted to trudge to the village to get new ferment; these were seasoned, cautious deadlings—it ought to turn out all right.
And it did turn out all right. The steam and smoke billowing from beneath their feet got thicker, and the deadlings began to back away. “That’s it,” the men said, “they didn’t put up a fight, now they’ll turn inside out.” The deadlings subtly changed, as if turning inside their own hides. Their eyes and mouths vanished—they now had their backs to the villagers. A second later, they were already retreating, appearing and disappearing between the trees. In the place where they used to be, a cloud of steam was slowly sinking to the ground.
The men, chattering eagerly, began to move back toward the furrow. They suddenly realized that it was time to head to the village for the meeting. They headed there. “Off we go to the square,” the village head kept telling everyone. “The meeting’s at the square, so we have to walk to the square . . .”
Candide looked for Tagalong, but he couldn’t see him in the crowd. He had disappeared. Big Fist trotted next to him, saying, “Remember, Silent Man, how you jumped on a deadling? You jumped right on it, fur and fuzz it, grabbed its head, like it was your Nava, then started to shriek. Remember how you shrieked, Silent Man? Got burned, you did, that’s why, then you had blisters all over, they oozed, they hurt. Why did you jump on it, Silent Man? One guy, he used to jump on deadlings, then the skin on his belly all peeled off, so he doesn’t jump on them anymore, fur and fuzz it, and won’t let his kids jump on them either. They say, Silent Man, that you jumped on it so it’d carry you to the City, but you aren’t a girl, why would it carry you? And anyway, they say there’s no City at all, just that old fart making up words—the City, the Surpassment . . . And who’s ever seen it, this Surpassment? Hearer stuffs himself with liquor beetles, then he runs his mouth, and that old fart’s on the spot, listening, then he wanders all over, eats food that isn’t his, and repeats it—”
“I’m going to the Settlement tomorrow morning,” Candide said. “I’ll be back in the evening, I won’t be here during the day. Go see Crookleg and remind him about the day after tomorrow. I’ve reminded him, and I’ll remind him again, but you should remind him, too, or he might wander off.”
“I’ll remind him,” promised Big Fist. “Won’t have any working legs left, he won’t, when I’m done reminding him.”
The entire village had come to the square. They chattered, shoved, and poured seeds onto the ground to grow soft mats to sit on. Children were underfoot, and people were dragging them about by their hair and ears so they’d stop getting in the way. The village head cursed as he chased away a column of badly trained ants about to drag the larva of a worker fly right through the square, and angrily questioned everyone: Who in the world had ordered the ants to walk there? People suspected Candide and Hearer, but there was no longer a way to make sure.
Candide found Tagalong and wanted to talk to him, but he didn’t have the chance, because the meeting began, and as always the old man insisted on speaking first. It was impossible to figure out what he was talking about, but everyone sat meekly and listened, hissing at their scampering children so they would stop horsing around. A few people, who had made themselves particularly comfortable by finding spots far away from the hot sun, dozed off.
The old man spent a long time pontificating about the meaning of the word wrong, and the senses in which it was used, called for Surpassment for all, threatened them with victories in the North and South, and bad-mouthed the village and the Settlement along with it, because there were new squads of helpmates everywhere, but not in the village or in the Settlement either. And there was neither peace nor fusion, and it was because people forgot what wrong meant and imagined that nowadays everything was allowed, like Silent Man, for example—he wants to leave for the City, no less, even though no one has summoned him there. And the village is not responsible for him, because he is a foreigner, but if it turns out that he is actually a deadling, and there are those in the village who do think so, then there is no knowing what would happen, especially since Nava, for all that she’s foreign herself, has no children with Silent Man, and it is wrong to put up with such things, but the village head puts up with them—
By the middle of the speech, the village head had also gotten sleepy and dozed off, but when he heard himself mentioned, he started and immediately barked, “Hey! No sleeping!
“Sleep at home,” he said, “that’s what homes are for, they’re for sleeping, and the square, it isn’t for sleeping, the square’s for meetings. We’ve never let anyone sleep in the square, don’t let them do so now, and never will.” He glanced sideways at the old man. The old man nodded contentedly. “And we can all agree that it is wrong.” He smoothed down his hair and announced, “A bride has turned up at the Settlement. And we have a groom, Loudmouth, who you all know well. Loudmouth, stand up and show yourself . . . Actually, you’d better not, you’d better stay seated, we all know you, we do . . . Here’s the question: Should we let Loudmouth go off to the Settlement, or should the village take the bride in instead? No, no, Loudmouth, you stay seated, we’ll figure it out without you . . . Those of you sitting next to him, hold on to him during the meeting, don’t let him go. And let anyone who has an opinion speak up.”
There turned out to be two schools of thought. Some people (mostly Loudmouth’s neighbors) demanded that Loudmouth be sent off to the Settlement—let him live there, and we can stay here. But others—calm, serious people, who lived a good distance from Loudmouth—thought that no, there weren’t enough women, women got stolen, so we should take the bride in: Loudmouth may be Loudmouth, but he’ll still probably have kids, that’s a separate thing. The argument was long, heated, and initially on topic. Then Crookleg unfortunately cried out that we’re at war and no one cares. Everyone immediately forgot about Loudmouth. Hearer started explaining that there was no war and never had been, and all that there is, was, and ever would be is a Big Soil Loosening. It’s not a Big Soil Loosening, someone objected in the crowd, it’s a Necessary Waterlogging. The Loosening ended ages ago, it’s been the Waterlogging for years, Hearer has no idea, and how could he know, anyway, since he’s Hearer? The old man got up, his eyes bulging out of his head, and bellowed hoarsely that this was all wrong, that there was no war, and there was no Soil Loosening, and there was no Waterlogging, and all that there is, was, and ever would be was a Universal Struggle in the North and South. What do you mean, no war, fur and fuzz it, people answered, when there’s a lake full of drowned people past the kook village?
The meeting exploded. So some people drowned, who cares? Where there’s water, people will drown, everything past the kook village is strange, the kooks are no example to us, they eat off clay, they live under clay, you let the thieves take your wife, and now you talk about drowned people? They aren’t actually drowned, and there’s neither a struggle nor a war—there’s only Peace and Fusion for the purposes of the Surpassment! Then why is Silent Man going to the City? If Silent Man’s going to the City, then the City must exist, and if it exists, then how can there be a war—it must be Fusion! . . . Who cares where Silent Man’s going? One guy, he was going to go somewhere, someone bonked him on the nose, now he isn’t going to go anywhere . . . That’s just why Silent Man’s going to the City, because there is no City, we know that Silent Man, you might think he’s a few leaves short of a tree, but he’s a clever one, he is, you can’t put one over on him, and since there’s no City, how can there be Fusion? . . . There’s no Fusion, there was at one time, it’s true, but it’s been over for a long time . . . And there’s no Surpassment either! Who’s that yelling there’s no Surpassment? What do you mean by that? What’s wrong with you? . . . Don’t forget about Loudmouth! Don’t let go of Loudmouth! . . . Oh no, you let Loudmouth go! How could you let him go?
Candide, who knew th
is would now take a while, tried to start a conversation with Tagalong, but Tagalong was in no mood for conversation. Tagalong was screaming at the top of his lungs, “Surpassment, what Surpassment? And why are there deadlings? You’re quiet about the deadlings because you don’t know what to make of them, that’s why you scream about some Surpassment! . . .”
They spent a while screaming about the deadlings, then about the mushroomy villages, then they got tired and quieted down, wiping their faces—they now barely had enough energy to weakly wave their arms at each other in disagreement. It was soon discovered that everyone was already silent, and the only ones left arguing were Loudmouth and the old man. Then everyone came to their senses. They forced Loudmouth to sit down, piled on top of him, and stuffed leaves into his mouth. The old man kept talking for a while longer, but he’d lost his voice and wasn’t audible. Then an agitated representative of the Settlement stood up and, pressing his hands to his chest and looking around ingratiatingly, started hoarsely entreating them not to send Loudmouth to the Settlement, they didn’t want any Loudmouths, they’d lived for years without any Loudmouths and they’d like to live that way for many more, the village should take the bride in, and the Settlement won’t skimp on the dowry, you just wait and see . . . No one had the energy to start arguing again—they promised to think about it and make up their minds later, especially since there was no hurry.
People were starting to disperse for lunch. Tagalong took Candide by the hand and dragged him under a nearby tree. “When are we going, eh?” he asked. “I’m tired of the village, I am, I want to go into the forest, I’ll get sick from boredom here . . . If you aren’t going, tell me, I’ll go without you, I’ll convince Crookleg and Big Fist and go with them.”
“We’re going the day after tomorrow.” said Candide. “Did you get the food ready?”
“I got the food ready and ate it already, I don’t have the patience to watch it sitting there for nothing, no one eating it but that old man, he makes all my insides hurt, I’ll give him a good beating one day if we don’t leave soon . . . What do you think, Silent Man, who is this old man, why does he eat everyone’s food, and where does he live? I’ve been around, I’ve visited ten villages, I’ve been to the kook village, I’ve even spent the night with the haggard ones and almost died of fright, but an old man like that, I haven’t seen that anywhere. Must be a very rare sort of old man, that’s probably why we keep him around and don’t beat him up, but I just don’t have the patience to watch him poking his nose into my pots day and night—he eats it on the spot, and he carries it away, even though my father himself used to yell at him, before the deadlings got him . . . How does it all fit inside him, eh? All skin and bones, he is, no room in there at all, but he’ll lick two pots clean and take two pots home, and he’s never brought a pot back . . . You know, Silent Man, maybe there isn’t just one old man, maybe there are two or three? Two of them sleep, while the other one works. He stuffs himself, wakes another one up, and goes to sleep himself . . .”
Tagalong walked Candide home but refused to stay for lunch out of a sense of delicacy. He talked for another fifteen minutes about the lake in the Reeds, which was an excellent place to fish, you just wiggle your fingers in the water and the fish come; agreed to drop by and see Crookleg to remind him about the trip to the City; told Candide that Hearer doesn’t hear anything at all, he’s just a very sick man, and that the deadlings catch women to eat because men have tough meat and deadlings don’t have teeth; promised to prepare more provisions for the day after tomorrow and to mercilessly chase the old man away; then finally left.
Candide caught his breath with difficulty and stood in the doorway for a moment before going in, shaking his head from side to side. Silent Man, don’t you forget that you’re going to the Settlement tomorrow, going in the early morning, don’t you forget, not the Reeds, not the Clay Meadow, the Settlement . . . And why are you going to the Settlement, Silent Man, you should go to the Reeds instead, there’s lots of fish there . . . it’s fun . . . The Settlement, don’t you forget, Silent Man, don’t you forget, Candide . . . Going to the Settlement, tomorrow morning . . . to talk those guys into coming, because the four of us won’t make it to the City . . . He went inside without realizing it.
Nava wasn’t back yet, and the old man was sitting at the table, waiting for someone to serve lunch. He gave Candide a surly sideways glance and said, “You walk slowly, Silent Man, I have visited two houses already, everyone is having lunch by now, your house is the only one that is empty. That is why you have no children, probably, because you walk so slowly, and because you are never home when it is time for lunch.”
Candide came right up to him and stood there for a bit, thinking.
The old man continued: “How long will it take you to get to the City, if you cannot even be on time for lunch? It is said that the City is very, very far away, I know everything about you now, I know you intend to go to the City, there is only one thing I do not know: How will you ever get to the City, when you spend an entire day trying to get to a pot of food, and cannot get to it still? . . . I will have to come with you, I will lead you there, I have long since needed to go to the City, but I do not know the way, and the reason I need to go to the City is this: I need to discharge a duty, and inform those concerned in it about it—”
Candide grabbed him under the arms and yanked him away from the table. The old man stopped talking in surprise. Candide carried him out of the house, holding him at arm’s length, set him down on the road, and wiped his palms on the grass.
The old man recovered. “Just do not forget to bring food for me,” he said to Candide’s retreating back. “Bring me good food, and plenty of it, because I am discharging a duty, unlike the rest of you, who are going for your own pleasure and despite the fact that it is wrong . . .”
Candide returned to the house, sat down at the table, and rested his head on his clenched fists. I’m still leaving the day after tomorrow, he thought. That’s what I have to remember: the day after tomorrow. The day after tomorrow, he thought. The day after tomorrow, the day after tomorrow.
3.
PERETZ
Peretz woke up because he felt cold fingers touching his bare shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw a man in underclothes standing over him. The light was off, but the man was in a strip of moonlight, and Peretz could see a white face with bulging eyes.
“What is it?” Peretz whispered.
“You need to vacate the premises,” the man also whispered.
It’s just the hotel manager, Peretz thought with relief. “Vacate the premises?” he said loudly, and raised himself on one elbow. “Why?”
“The hotel is full. You have to vacate the room.”
Peretz looked around the room, bewildered. The room looked the same as before, the other three cots still empty.
“Don’t you peer around like that,” said the hotel manager. “We know best. And anyway, we need to change your linens and launder them. Won’t be washing them yourself, will you? Not how you were brought up.”
Peretz understood: the hotel manager was terrified, and he was being rude to work himself up. When a man was in this state, you could lay one finger on him and he’d start to shout, screech, and flail, then he’d break a window and holler for help.
“Come on, come on,” said the hotel manager, and in some kind of sinister hurry started to pull the pillow out from under Peretz. “The linens, I said . . .”
“What’s the matter?” Peretz forced out. “Does it have to be now? In the middle of the night?”
“It’s urgent.”
“My God,” said Peretz. “You’re out of your mind. All right . . . Take the linens, I’ll manage without, I only have one night left.” He climbed out of his cot onto the cold floor and started to pull the pillowcase off the pillow.
The hotel manager watched him with his bulging eyes, standing stock-still. His lips were moving. “We’re renovating,” he said finally. “It’s time to renovate. The
wallpaper is peeling, the ceiling is cracked, we need to lay new flooring . . .” His voice grew stronger. “So you still need to vacate the room. The renovations are starting now.”
“You’re renovating?”
“We’re renovating. See the state the wallpaper’s in? The workers are on their way now.”
“Right now?”
“Right now. We can’t possibly wait any longer. The ceiling’s all cracked. You never know what could happen.”
Peretz started to shake. He put the pillowcase down and picked up his pants. “What time is it?” he asked.
“It’s already past midnight,” the hotel manager said, whispering again, and for some reason looking around.
“But where will I go?” Peretz said, pausing with one pant leg on. “Come on, put me up somewhere. In another room—”
“We’re full. And the rooms that aren’t full are being renovated.”
“Maybe the duty room?”
“It’s full.”
Peretz stared at the moon in despair. “Even the pantry would do,” he said. “The pantry, the laundry, the infirmary. I only have six hours left to sleep. Or maybe I could stay with you for a bit.”
The hotel manager suddenly began to rush around the room. He ran between the cots, barefoot, white, and terrible, like a ghost. Then he stopped and moaned plaintively, “What is happening here?!?! I’m a civilized man, I have two degrees, I’m not some sort of savage. I understand everything! But it can’t be done, do you understand? It simply can’t be done!” He ran up to Peretz and whispered into his ear, “Your visa has expired. It expired twenty-seven minutes ago, and you’re still here. You can’t be here. I’m begging you.” He crashed onto his knees and pulled Peretz’s shoes and socks out from under the bed. “I woke up at five minutes to twelve drenched in sweat,” he muttered. “I’m done for, I thought. This will be the end of me. I ran over just as I was. Can’t remember a thing. Clouds in the streets, nails scraping my feet . . . And my wife is about to give birth! Get dressed, get dressed, please.”
The Snail on the Slope Page 5
