Cat Country (14 page)

‘Very, very far! Tell me is that old man your grandfather?’

‘Yes. Grandfather thinks that all of our troubles were brought in by the foreigners and that’s why he hates them so!’

‘Does he eat reverie leaves too?’

‘Yes. He thinks that since reverie leaves were brought in from abroad in the first place, he disgraces the foreigners by eating them so that the wrong is not on his part, but theirs.’

A crowd started to gather around us. They all popped wide their eyes and let their mouths hang open as they watched me the way one would study a freak.

‘Couldn’t we find some quieter place where we might chat?’

‘They’ll follow us wherever we go, so we might as well talk right here. They’re not interested in hearing what we say, anyway. They just want to see how you open your mouth and blink your eyes.’

I found young Scorpion’s candour delightful.

‘Fine,’ I couldn’t very well insist on the point, ‘and your father?’

‘He’s a “new” man. At least he
was
a new man twenty years ago. Back then, he was opposed to eating reverie leaves, but now he has inherited grandfather’s reverie forest. Twenty years ago he came out for women’s rights, but now he won’t even let you inside the house because he doesn’t want to expose his women to you. Grandfather often says that I’ll be the same way later. He says that young people like new things and are curious about everything, but when they arrive at middle age, they begin to look back fondly to the bequeathed patterns of their ancestors. You see, grandfather is totally ignorant of foreign things, and therefore he takes the rules handed down to us by our ancestors as the ultimate norms for getting along in the world. My father, on the other hand, knows something about foreign things. When he was young, he even wanted to copy everything from the foreigners. Now he merely uses what little he knows of foreign things as a tool for maintaining his own advantage. He uses foreign methods where he feels they are practically applicable and, in that regard, he is not so stiff-necked as grandfather, but when it comes to the overall purpose of life, their views are no different.’

I closed my eyes. In the light of his speech I could see the outlines of a painting of social change. Outside the edges of the painting there were perhaps a few rosy clouds, but inside the frame there was nothing but a sombre mist that was getting darker all the time. Whether or not that sombre mist would be able to combine with those rosy clouds and thus brighten things up a bit would depend entirely on whether or not Young Scorpion could throw a bit of strong light on the canvas. I expected much of Young Scorpion, although I really didn’t know as yet what kind of person he was.

‘Do you eat reverie leaves, too?’ I suddenly asked. It was as though I had seized upon reverie leaves as the source of all evil, though I can’t tell exactly why I felt that way.

‘I eat them too,’ Young Scorpion answered.

The painting in my mind’s eye now turned entirely black; there was not so much as a pinpoint of light in it any more.

‘But why?’ I forgot about being polite. ‘Excuse my directness.’

‘If I didn’t eat them, I wouldn’t be able to take it!’

‘You mean by eating them you can at least muddle through?’

Young Scorpion was silent for quite a while.

‘Muddle through? Yes, that’s it! I’ve been abroad and I have some notion of what the world’s about, but living in the midst of a people that doesn’t even think about solving its problems, I just muddle through. If I didn’t muddle my way through, how would I live?’ Young Scorpion smiled a smile that wasn’t a smile.

‘And individual initiative?’

‘Useless! Against a mass of people who are so docile, stupid, pitiful, poor, easily satisfied and even happy; against so many soldiers who only know how to wield clubs, steal reverie leaves and rape women; against politicians who are intelligent, selfish, shortsighted and shameless, who always have plans for themselves but are not interested in society – against all this you’d pose something as fragile as individual initiative? A brave gesture, indeed! But no matter how you look at it, your own scalp is more worth looking after than someone else’s.’

‘Do most young people think this way?’ I asked.

‘What’s that?
Young
people? In Cat Country we don’t have any young people! We only have different age groupings. If you want to count those who aren’t too advanced in years as young, then we do have young people – young people who become old —’ He was damning some group or other, but I didn’t get the word that came after ‘old’.

‘Some of the “young” people among us are even more antique in their thinking than my grandfather, and some of them are even more narrow-minded than my father, and some —’

‘You can’t overlook the impact of an unfavourable environment,’ I interrupted. ‘We ought not to be too hard on them.’

‘A poor environment can exert a bad influence, but from another point of view, it can also serve to awaken people. There always ought to be a little hell in all youth, but our young people are born half-dead. As long as they don’t see an opportunity to get a little something for nothing, they’re not so bad. But if they spot something that will afford them an advantage, then anything goes. Ordinarily they are critical of everything they see, but if it’s a case of something that can bring them personal profit and gain, then they forget all of their complaints and will approve anything.’

‘Excuse my saying so, but you are too pessimistic. You have become a pessimist, possessed of a clear head, but lacking in courage. Because you yourself are lacking in initiative, you judge all other people from that point of view alone, and therefore you see everything as black and hopeless. But perhaps that’s not actually the case. Perhaps if you looked at things from a fresh point of view, this society would not look so fearfully black after all.’

‘Perhaps. I leave the task of observation to you. Since you’re from distant parts, perhaps you’ll see things a bit more clearly than we do,’ Young Scorpion smiled faintly.

It seemed that the people around us had had their fill of seeing how I used my mouth and blinked my eyes, for now they began looking at my raggedy pants. There were still a number of questions that I wanted to ask Young Scorpion but we were so crowded in that I had to almost gasp for air. I asked Scorpion to help find me a place to live. He too exhorted me to go to the foreign enclave, carefully framing his words in a philosophic manner. ‘I really wouldn’t like you to stay here and carry out that observation you spoke of, for I’m afraid that your enthusiasm and hopes would be obliterated. But if you really insist on living here, I can help you find a place. It’s a place that doesn’t have anything to recommend it except that the people there don’t eat reverie leaves.’

‘If I can just find a place to live, I won’t worry about anything else. I’ll be very grateful for your trouble!’ I had made up my mind, once and for all, not to live in the foreign enclave.

A RAINSTORM

T
HE ORIGINAL
landlord, who had been an ambassador, had been dead for several years now. My landlady was the ambassador’s widow. Besides the fact that she had, as the ambassador’s wife, lived abroad for a while, there was something else quite distinctive about her: ‘We don’t eat reverie leaves!’ I think I heard her say that more than a hundred times a day. But it didn’t matter who my landlady was; the important thing was I had attained my goal of ‘climbing the walls’ of a cat-home. I was as proud as any Cat Country kitten who had just learned how to crawl in and out of the house. Now at last I would see how the quadrangular cat-homes were arranged on the inside.

When I had climbed halfway up the wall, I began to feel a bit nervous. If I were to say that the wall was shaking, I’d not be telling the truth; however, it would certainly be no lie to say that earth kept falling off the wall at every spot my hands or feet touched. I thought to myself that perhaps this cracker-crisp wall had some other use that I was as yet unaware of. By the time I got to the top, I couldn’t tell whether it was my head that was reeling or the wall that was shaking.

Since the home had no roof to begin with, what did they do when it rained? I couldn’t figure it out, and that made me all the more curious to live there for a while.

Five feet or so down from the top of the wall on the inside of the house there was a layer of boards; in the middle of this flooring was a large hole. I first saw the ambassador’s wife when her head popped up through this hole to greet me.

My landlady’s face was large and her eyes ferocious. This I could take. What did shake me up was that her whole face was covered with heavy white powder through which her fine grey hairs poked, making her look like a thorny old frost-covered winter melon on which someone had hung a pair of glasses.

‘If you have any baggage, put it down on the boards. That area up there is all yours, but you’re not to come down here. We eat once at the crack of dawn and once at sunset; don’t be late to meals. We don’t eat reverie leaves! Let me have your rent.’ It was apparent that the ambassador’s wife was an old hand at conducting foreign affairs. I handed over the rent; I still had the five hundred National Souls that Scorpion had given me stuffed away in my pocket.

My situation was very simple. Since I myself was my only baggage, I had nothing to worry about so long as I had a place to live. My quarters? Just a layer of boards with walls on all four sides. There was no need to bother with tables and chairs, and as long as I didn’t lose my head and fall through the hole in the floor, things would probably go along very smoothly.

There must have been more than two inches of mud on top of the boards, and the odour that it gave off was not something one would expect in the home of an ambassador. All that sun and stinking mud was more than I could take; I’d simply have to go out. I began to understand why the Cat People lived on the streets during the day.

Before I had a chance to set out, the landlady came up through the hole, accompanied by eight other women, all of whom also had melon-like faces. All eight of them climbed straight over the wall without favouring me with so much as a glance. The ambassador’s wife was the last one out; once outside, she rested her chin on top of the wall and said, ‘We’re going out. See you again this evening. You see what a miserable predicament I’m in! Ever since the death of the ambassador, the responsibility for looking after these eight vixens has been entirely on my shoulders. I’ve no money, no man, and have to spend my days looking after these eight felinettes! And I don’t even eat reverie leaves! My man was an ambassador, you know; and so I’ve been abroad, and that’s why I don’t eat reverie leaves. And yet, from morning till night, I have to look after these eight feline . . .’

I hoped that she would hurry up and follow them down, otherwise who knew what those eight women might become on the tongue of the ambassador’s wife. I guess she did have a sense of the appropriateness of things after all, for suddenly she was gone.

I was confused again. What was going on here? Were they eight daughters? Eight younger sisters of the late ambassador? Eight concubines? Yes, that must be it – eight concubines! That was probably also the reason that old Scorpion hadn’t wanted me to enter his home. There would be no fresh air at all down there under the boards. To think of a cat-man down there with eight ‘felinettes’ – to borrow a word from the diplomatic vocabulary of the ambassador’s wife – how stinking, dissolute, obscene, ugly! I began to regret having come here, for what was to be gained by observing this excuse for a house? However, since I’d already paid my rent, I was determined to find some way of taking a look around down there, no matter how repulsive it might be.

Since they were all out, why not go down right now and have a look? But the ambassador’s wife had specifically enjoined me not to go down, and to do so behind her back wouldn’t seem very honourable. Just as I was debating the morality of the question, my landlady’s head appeared over the wall again.

‘You hurry up and go out too. It would be very unseemly for you to stay here and peek about down below!’

I immediately climbed down to the street. Whom would I visit? I decided that Young Scorpion was the only one with whom I could get along, even though he was pessimistic. But where would I find him? He wouldn’t be at home, of course; and trying to find him on the street would probably be as hopeless as looking for a needle in the ocean. Moving crosswise, I pushed my way out of the throng, and surveyed the street from a safe distance. I saw clearly now that the centre of the city was taken up by government buildings and the residences of the nobility. These buildings were much taller than those on either side, and the farther you went from the centre, the lower and more dilapidated the buildings became. I concluded that the outer ones must be small shops and the dwellings of the poor. And that’s all there was to Cat City.

At this juncture, ten or so women emerged from the throng. I could tell they were women even at this distance because of their powdered white faces. They were coming towards me. I felt just a trifle uneasy, for from the impression that my landlady and Scorpion had given me, I had concluded that the local women were exceedingly submissive, upright, and moral. And if that were true, then ten or more women gadding about the street together couldn’t possibly be entirely respectable. Since I was a newcomer here, I’d have to keep an eye on my reputation. As I reached this point in my thoughts, I turned to run the other way. ‘Are you beginning your research?’ It was Young Scorpion’s voice.

I turned back and took a second look. Young Scorpion was enfolded in the midst of the women. There was no point in running now. In less time than it takes to tell, I too was there in the middle of the group with Young Scorpion, fleshed in from all sides by cat-women!

‘Why don’t you try one?’ asked Young Scorpion with a smile. He turned his gaze on the women. ‘This is Blossom; this is Revery (she’s even more intoxicating than the reverie leaves); this is Star . . .’ He introduced all of them to me, but I can’t recall all of their names any more.