Cat Country (15 page)

Revery came closer to me and winked. A cold shiver ran down my spine. I simply didn’t know what to do. What line was this bunch of women in? I didn’t know. If they were all whores, then as a newcomer I’d have to watch my reputation; but if they were respectable ladies, then I’d have to watch what I said so as not to offend them.

To tell the truth, though I am not a misogynist, I have never felt too well-disposed towards women in the first place. Somehow or other I’ve always seen their penchant for make-up as an indication of dishonesty. I have, of course, encountered women who don’t powder or rouge, but they haven’t necessarily proved any more honest than those who do. This feeling has not at all diminished in me the respect that one ought to show to the opposite sex. In sum, my attitude, with regard to women, is that of Confucius with regard to ghosts and spirits: respect them, but keep them at a distance. But what was the proper way of respecting this bevy of cat-women?

Young Scorpion seemed to be conscious of my predicament. He pushed them away in a teasing, playful manner and said, ‘Now that two philosophers have run into each other, there’s no longer any need for you.’ In a flurry of giggles, the women tactfully disappeared into the crowd again. I was still stunned.

‘Most of the traditionalists take concubines; most of the modernists take wives. As a man who despises both the old and new, I neither marry nor take concubines, but simply play around with them. I muddle through. As with everything else, I just muddle through. What’s the point in taking them too seriously?’

‘The women who were here just now seemed to be . . .’ I really didn’t know what to say.

‘Oh, them. Seemed to be . . .’ Young Scorpion picked up the words that I had left dangling, ‘seemed to be
women
. Women are all the same. The way one treats them varies with a man’s way of thinking: you can treat them roughly, spoil them, respect them, worship them, or just take care of them. But no matter how you treat them, they themselves will never change. My great-grandmother used make-up; my grandmother used make-up; my mother used make-up; and my younger sister uses it too. All of our present-day women use make-up, and their granddaughters will continue to use it. Whether you lock them in a room or turn them loose on the street, they’ll still powder their faces.’

‘You’re being pessimistic again,’ I said.

‘It’s not pessimism. In saying this, I’m actually complimenting and exalting women. A man spends his whole day making a pompous fuss over nothing; he’s a hopeless case. Sometimes he’s a saint, sometimes a sinner. But a woman, and a woman alone, remains constant from start to finish. From beginning to end, she’s a woman, and from cradle to grave she never gives up trying.

Somehow or other she always feels that there is something wrong with the face she was born with, and invariably tries to improve it with make-up of one kind or another. But even if a man did happen to feel that his face would be improved by a touch of powder, his scrupulous sense of honesty and purity would keep him from resorting to such camouflage. With his sparkling reputation still intact, he’d go off with his unimproved face and find something else to raise hell about.’

His bantering tone put me into a reflective mood. Obviously pleased with himself, Young Scorpion continued, ‘The ones that were just here are all so-called “new women”. They are the enemies of my father and the ambassador’s wife. You see, my father hates them for being a new breed. For instance, if they were his daughters, they wouldn’t sit about and allow him to sell them as though they were so many reverie leaves. No, they’re a new breed, and he knows it. And if they were his concubines, they wouldn’t passively allow him to lock them up in a room without putting up one hell of a fight. They’re a new breed, and he hates them for it. However, this is not to say that they are stronger or abler than my mother or the wife of the ambassador; it’s just that they are better at being women – feminine, helpless, thoughtless and intractably stubborn. One must admit, however, that they have made improvements in the art of make-up, and they are very lovable. Even a person like myself who doesn’t love anything is often moved to muddle through with them.’

‘Have they all received a modern education?’

My question so tickled Young Scorpion that it was a long time before he was able to recover himself.

‘Education? Oh, education, education, education!’ It seemed that Young Scorpion had lost it a little. ‘In Cat Country, except for the schools, you’ll find education everywhere. Grandfather’s cursing of people – education! Father’s selling of reverie leaves – education! The ambassador’s wife superintending eight walking-dead felinettes – education! The stinking ditch downtown – education! Soldiers using the people’s heads as drums – education! Powder being applied in thicker and thicker coats – education for women! You’ll find “education” everywhere you look. Whenever I hear the word, I have to eat an extra ten reverie leaves just to keep from vomiting.’

‘Are there many schools here?’

‘Yes. Haven’t you been over to that side of the street to see them yet?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You ought to go and have a look. That side of the street is completely taken up by cultural agencies.’ He smiled again. ‘But please don’t ask whether or not our cultural organisations have anything to do with culture. At least we have the buildings.’ He raised his head and looked at the sky. ‘Uh-oh, it’s going to rain.’

There were no heavy clouds in the sky at all, but there was a very cold gust of wind from the east.

‘Hurry home!’ Young Scorpion seemed very much afraid of the rain. ‘We’ll meet here again when it clears up.’

It was as though the cat-tide had encountered an irresistible wind, for now it was rolling back towards the houses like a tidal wave. And even though I knew I’d still get wet back in the roofless house, I ran along with them. It was really something to see the Cat People madly climbing the walls of their homes. I’d seen a few obstacle-course races before, but I had never before seen an entire city climbing walls!

Another gust of wind blew out of the east and the sky suddenly turned black. A bolt of red lightning bracketed both ends of the row of houses and formed a triangle. To the rumble of a clap of thunder, scattered rain drops as big as eggs started coming down in the distance, making gentle splashing sounds. In the midst of the grey clouds where the sky lowered over the land, it began to get bright, and another giant bolt of lightning came down, accompanied by a gust of cold wind. Now the rain hammered down from the sky, and one could no longer distinguish the sound of individual drops. The sky grew black and everything around me disappeared into a darkness that was occasionally relieved by red splashes of lightning. Then high up in that waterfall descending from the sky, an opening was rent as a tremendous bolt of lightning leapt out of nowhere and momentarily cleaved the blackness. It shuddered once or twice against the black sky and then, like a startled snake, disappeared again into the forest of darkness, surrendering the field once again to blackness. By the time I arrived back at the house, I was thoroughly soaked.

Which home belonged to the ambassador’s wife? I couldn’t see clearly, and moved back several paces to await the temporary brilliance of a lightning flash. Then a huge one came, a blinding white flash; it was as though the largest devil in heaven had suddenly opened his eyes and quickly blinked several times. But it was so bright that I couldn’t see against its glare. I began to panic and decided to worry about whose house it was after I’d climbed in. By the time that I was halfway up, I could tell by the feel of things that it was the right house – I recognised the way the walls swayed.

There was a great flash of lightning and then, after a pause that seemed centuries long, a peal of thunder that sounded as though the whole sky were caving in. I was conscious that the wall and I were no longer upright. We were leaning! I closed my eyes, and heard another peal of thunder. Where was I going? Who knew?

MADAM AMBASSADOR’S STORY

I
WAS
vaguely conscious of the sound of thunder moving off into the distance, but I was still in such a foggy state that I couldn’t tell whether I was really hearing a roll of thunder or was merely dreaming. I tried to open my eyes, but couldn’t; it seemed as though every last bit of mud from the walls of the landlady’s house was plastered across my face. ‘Yes,’ I decided, ‘that really is thunder and I am awake.’ I started to feel about with my right hand, but discovered that I couldn’t move it; it was pinned under some stones. I couldn’t even see my feet or legs and felt for all the world like a rice plant that some farmer had stuck in the mud.

I finally got my right hand free and began to wipe the mud away from my face. Madam Ambassador’s house had become a large mound of earth. While struggling to free my legs, I screamed loudly for help. I wasn’t thinking of myself, but of Madam Ambassador and the eight sexpots in her care, for I was sure that they were buried beneath all the rubble. But no matter how loudly I called, I couldn’t seem to rouse anyone. There were still a few scattered raindrops in the sky. Remembering how deathly afraid of rain the Cat People were, I realised that no one would come out until the sky was perfectly clear.

I succeeded in extricating the half of me that was buried and began tearing away like a mad dog at the mud pile, with no time to even worry about whether or not I myself had suffered any injury. When the sky had fully cleared, all the Cat People came out. I kept on digging as I called to them for help. Quite a few came and stood off to one side, watching me. I thought that perhaps they had misunderstood, and explained to them that I didn’t want them to save me, but the nine women buried beneath the rubble. After they understood my meaning, they all crowded forward for a better look, but not one lifted a hand to help. I realised that exclusive reliance on entreaty would be useless. I felt in my pocket. My National Souls were still there. ‘Anyone who comes and helps me dig gets one National Soul!’ They stood, mouths agape, for a moment as though they didn’t believe me. I hauled out two National Souls, which I waved in their faces. They came up the mound like a swarm of bees. One would pick up a piece of stone and depart with it; then another would pick up a piece of brick and make off with that. I knew what they were up to, for taking advantage of every opportunity for personal profit was a prevalent custom in Cat Country. ‘All right! Go ahead and steal the bricks and stones! When you’ve stolen them all away, the people buried underneath will be saved anyway!’ And were they ever fast! It reminded one of a colony of ants making away with the separate grains of a pile of rice. When I heard the sound of a voice from below, I was somewhat reassured. But then I became doubly nervous when I realised that Madam Ambassador’s voice was the only one to be heard. When the rubble had been entirely cleared, Madam Ambassador appeared through the hole in the flooring. She was in a sitting position; the eight vixens were strewn all around her. None of them were moving. I was going to help her up, but just as my hand touched her shoulder she began speaking.

‘Aiyah! Don’t touch me! I am Madam Ambassador! You’ve all stolen my house away and I shall report it to the emperor unless you all act like honest folk and return the bricks and things back immediately!’ Her eyes were still stuck together with mud so she couldn’t possibly have seen anything, but being familiar with the habits of the Cat People, she’d taken it for granted they had already made away with the wreckage of her collapsed house.

All around me the Cat People were still gracefully scampering about in search of more booty. Since the bricks had already been moved away, they now had to content themselves with scooping up the dirt. I was struck by the way that economic oppression can cause people to feel that it’s at least better to go home with a double-handful of mud than nothing.

Madam Ambassador clawed the mud away from her face. Her cheeks had been torn in two places and a mighty lump had risen on her forehead. Fire seemed to be shooting out of both eyes. She struggled to her feet and stumbled towards one of the Cat People. I don’t know how her aim could have been so accurate, but at any rate, she had the poor unfortunate’s ear clamped between her teeth in less time than it takes to tell. She snarled fiercely out of the sides of her mouth as she chewed on the ear, just like a cat that has caught a rat. The cat-man being bitten began to howl and belabour Madam Ambassador’s belly for all he was worth. After they had been at it tooth and nail for a while, Madam Ambassador noticed the other women strewn about and relaxed her jaws in surprise just enough to allow the unfortunate cat-man to shoot away like an arrow. The people standing about gasped and moved back from Madam Ambassador so as not to crowd her. She clasped one of the dead strumpets and began to wail.

I melted. So she wasn’t a heartless wretch, after all! I was tempted to go over and comfort her, but was afraid that in her present frenzied state she might well latch on to one of
my
ears. After she had cried for quite a time, she looked at me again.

‘It’s all your fault! You pulled my house down with all your climbing! You won’t get away with it, nor will those rascals who made off with my house! I’m going to see the emperor and have you all killed!’

‘I have no intention of running away,’ I said slowly. ‘I shall simply stay here and do all that I can to help you.’

‘Since you’re a foreigner, I guess I can trust you. But as for that bunch of cat-rabble there, I’ll see to it that the emperor dispatches soldiers to search all their homes, house by house. Wherever a single piece of brick is found, that person will be executed. After all, I am the ambassador’s wife!’Angry spittle flew a long way out of her mouth and finally, with a retching sound, she spat out a mouthful of blood.

I didn’t know whether she really had all the prestige that she laid claim to, but at any rate, I began to calm her down for fear that she would go completely out of her head. I asked, ‘Now what do you want done with these eight ladies?’

‘What have these eight dead sexpots got to do with you? I’m only worried about the living. I can’t be bothered about the dead. Do
you
have some way of disposing of them?’