"A panic? Over fake bank notes?"
"It is precisely because they are not fake that everybody would immediately reject ours, which are."
"But if worse came to worst, what's to prevent our withdrawing the ones in circulation and replacing them with more like the one you have there?"
Mr. Blankman shook his head sadly.
"Were we able to print real ones, we wouldn't be obliged to circulate fakes."
"Is that true? You can't make real ones anymore?"
Blankman looked at Pressman.
"That's so, isn't it, Pressman?"
Pressman shook his head slowly. "Can't be done, Mr. Director."
Blankman and Waters saw him to the door.
Baudruche hurried away with the word "panic" ringing in his ears. Although he was almost running, the way to the Hotel seemed endless.
Forgetting his aching feet, Baudruche dashed up the stairs, knocked on the door and walked in. He had been rehearsing what he would say to the man all the way to the Hotel: a few brief, brutal words. But he never had the chance. The man spoke first.
"Come in, Mr. Commissioner. I suppose you are returning my bank note? I was very sorry to have missed your first visit. You should have told me you were coming."
"Change your tone, please. I don't like the way you are addressing me. Now, how did you find out about the bank note?"
"There was a string in the bottom of the suitcase, so I guessed somebody had been in the notes. And you aren't a thief, so I knew you took only one. I even knew why: because you were intrigued."
"And why was I intrigued?"
"Because of the way they looked."
"They're fakes."
"You know perfectly well they aren't."
"Be that as it may, they spell danger to the City, so I'm taking them. I'll give you a receipt. I'm an honest man."
"Can I live on a receipt the rest of my days?"
"The City's interests come before personal interests. It is essential to the City that these bank notes never get into circulation. I'm going to put them in a safe place."
The man disappeared into the bathroom, returned with the suitcase and placed it before the Commissioner. Baudruche was about to take possession.
"I have a key too, Mr. Commissioner. May I? Look. What do you see?"
"Some of them are gone."
"You were born for your job; you miss nothing. Yes, some are gone."
"What did you do with them? Did you put them in circulation?"
"No, Mr. Commissioner. I entrusted them to a dependable person in anticipation of your visit."
"Why?"
"You disappoint me, Mr. Commissioner. You're not so smart after all. Can't you guess? All right, I'll tell you. Either you are going to take my suitcase, in which event I will need to have some money tucked away for myself, or you are going to take me and my suitcase, in which event there are arrangements for the other bills to be put into circulation. Which do you plan?"
That was precisely what Baudruche had feared.
"Either way, the public interest is not served."
"I'm glad to hear you say that. That means you're becoming more reasonable. But you still don't know what to do, do you? Yet the solution is easy: get the hell out of here."
"And leave you free to distribute your bank notes and create a financial panic in the City? Not on your life. I'd rather kill you with my own hands."
"That would solve nothing. Besides, I have no desire to spend these particular bank notes. Quite the opposite, in fact."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if you give me enough to live comfortably, according to my tastes—which are modest—I will not spend these bills. After all, I have a sentimental attachment to them."
"Why, for God's sake?"
"Why not? These bills represent the entire heritage of all the branches of my family for generations. I've been accumulating them gradually."
Baudruche felt trapped. He had no reason to think the man was lying. So some of the money was locked up safely somewhere. Baudruche was being blackmailed, but could he afford to do anything about it?
"Where do you think I'm going to find the wherewithal to support you?"
"Mr. Commissioner, I think there's a misunderstanding. I wasn't asking you for the money; I was asking the City."
"You are too kind. I hadn't expected that. You think the City has money to throwaway on a lazy good-for . . ."
"You know how much the City wastes as well as I do. A little more, a little less . . ."
The man stopped and Baudruche tried to think again. He had to make the decision alone and take the consequences. What bothered him this time was that the solution involved his defeat—defeat by an unknown person, a nobody without a title, without any position in the City.
"You are asking me to do something quite irregular."
"And what do you call what you did in my room yesterday?"
This was too much. Baudruche faltered. His tone changed. "Please don't think I do everything my job requires with a light heart."
"Then why don't you resign?"
"Who would take my place?"
The answer popped out before he had time to think. He was absolutely sincere. Nobody was capable of taking his place. The man knew that.
"Protect yourself, and you'll be protecting the City."
"It isn't easy, you know; I'm afraid for the City. It has no rival, but somehow I believe it is weak."
"It is."
"Do you know why?"
"It has lost its soul."
Both were silent for a moment. The two enemies understood each other. Baudruche broke the silence.
"I'll do what I can for you. I have some influence with the Prefect in this kind of thing. When must you have your answer?"
"Right away."
"Why right away?"
"Because I have no money except for what's m that suitcase."
Baudruche took out his wallet.
The stranger said, "I'll give you a receipt, Mr. Commissioner."
Baudruche took the receipt and absentmindedly stuffed it in his pocket. Then he put his head in his hands.
"If, as I hope, everything goes well with the Prefect, I will have to ask two things: that these bills be put safely away under lock and key, and that you give me your word that you won't take advantage of your special 'situation to defy the laws of the City. Is that clear?"
"Yes, I promise. You keep your word and I'll keep mine."
"Tell me something: why did you come back to the City?"
"I was the last one. A man can't live alone."
"What are you going to do now?"
"I have no idea."
"I'll have to keep you under surveillance, but we can use the agent to send each other messages if you like."
Mr. Baidroume was waiting for Baudruche outside his office. Baudruche advised him that, from this day on, the City would assume all expenses entailed by the guest in room 23.
Then Baudruche walked off. He wasn't proud of himself. Yet he felt he had at least avoided the worst. What was hardest to bear was that he had been forced to give in to someone other than the Prefect.
Baudruche smelled an odor of agitation in the streets as he returned to his office after lunch. People were talking on their stoops. Some were excited, some disturbed, a few seemed sad. He couldn't make out what they were saying, for they stopped when he approached. But he knew something had happened.
He speeded up, taking the stairs of his office three at a time. Miss Bourrot was just returning the telephone to its cradle when he barged in.
"Thank God you're back!"
"What's happened?"
"It's all right now. It's all been straightened out."
"It's when things have been straightened out that it's most dangerous around here. Tell me what happened."
"There was an incident in front of the Factory at noon."
"The rats again."
"Yes, Mr. Commissioner."
"They
assaulted more workers in front of the Social Progress Café?"
"Well, not exactly. They waited until about a hundred men had come out, then they swept forward from basement windows, doors and sewer holes—as if at a command—and surrounded the workers. It was just like yesterday and the day before, except that this time there were a hundred workers. As for the rats, there were more than you could count."
"How did the workers react?"
"Everybody was very calm. There was no fighting, only a halfhearted protest from a few of the workers and some of the people in the windows. But some applauded the rats and egged them on."
"I don't believe it!"
"It's true, Mr. Commissioner. At least, that's what Revere and Payne told me. They got there for the end of it."
"Are they still here?"
"I don't know, Mr. Commissioner. I'll find out."
She picked up the phone and located them at the canteen where they were discussing the event with their colleagues. They were in the office soon after and confirmed Miss Bourrot's account.
"Absolutely, Mr. Commissioner. There were even some attempts at fraternization."
Miss Bourrot let out a small scream.
"How horrible! Touch a rat . . . !"
"There are those who can't resist them, my dear girl!"
Miss Bourrot pursed her lips in disapproval.
"Some of the rats were whistling to the women in the windows and making signs to come down—even to old ones like you," Inspector Payne taunted her. "Some were even showing them their . . . I won't go on. I can see that this makes you uncomfortable. "
Baudruche enjoyed the Inspector's tactics. He loved to see Miss Bourrot shocked. But he was still angry. "Couldn't either of you do anything?"
"What could we do against a mob like that? It wasn't the workers we were afraid of; it was the rats. We would have needed a brigade. We thought of blowing a whistle or telephoning, but it was too late. It all happened so fast."
"The Director didn't do anything?"
"It was all over by the time he arrived. ·When he was told what had happened, he got up on the wall and made a speech."
"What did he say?"
"He congratulated the men on their restraint. He told them they were right not to listen to the militants."
"Of course. He meant me."
"Then he told them they'd all get a bonus. What did he call the bonus, Revere?"
"A fraternization bonus."
"That's it."
"What about the rats?"
"They'd gone. They'd gotten what they wanted and scrammed. We could hear them whining as they shoved their way back into the sewers. It made us sick to watch them. And Revere and me don't get sick easy. We went and had a drink at the Social Progress. The bartender wouldn't let us pay. I guess he figured he could afford it. He was doing a big business; the place was jammed. What we should do, Mr. Commissioner, is all of us should go down there some noontime, but there ought to be a lot of us. I promise it'll be a good show."
"I wish I could, of course. But you must remember there's the Prefect, and the newspaper."
"We don't give a shit for the paper or the Prefect!"
"Careful! You don't know what you're saying!"
"What's the diff, Mr. Commissioner? It's all among ourselves, right?"
Revere and Payne left reluctantly. They had hoped for something more from Baudruche. A promise of something, a special mission, a little encouragement, or at least a conspiratorial wink. Rut nothing.
Baudruche felt drained. He dropped into his big chair, his eyes glued to the ceiling. He felt that he must act, that he had to fight. But fight against whom? Against what? Miss Bourrot watched him sadly. She would have liked to do something too. If she could come up with an idea or a word that would help the Commissioner . . .
Suddenly, Baudruche leaped to his feet, picked up his hat and strode out of the office, banging the door behind him.
He walked rapidly, hands deep in his pockets, eyes riveted to the sidewalk. He marched through the gates of the Factory, up to Leponte's office and opened the door without being announced.
"I didn't hear you knock, Mr. Commissioner."
For a moment, they looked at each other in silence. Baudruche's face was livid.
"From your expression, Mr. Commissioner, I gather that things aren't going to your liking. A personal disappointment of some kind, perhaps?"
"Would you call the recent incident in front of the Factory 'a personal disappointment'?"
"Mr. Commissioner, may I say that I am deeply sorry to see you so upset. It surprises me, although I should have expected it. I'd like to help you. . . ."
"That surprises me. . . ."
"Perhaps it is within my paltry means. You deplore what seems to you a tragedy; to me it is the first sign of an awakening collective conscience. Those men whose behavior offends you so are struggling against a sordid egotism with every means at their disposal. What's wrong with that?"
"Mr. Leponte: I didn't come here to listen to your drivel, nor to be read a lecture. I came for your report."
The Director answered with a wide smile. Baudruche's exasperation was beyond his wildest dreams.
"For my report? But of course, Mr. Commissioner. It's all there and waiting for you, as usual."
He handed him the sheet which Baudruche flung in the air.
"That's not what I'm talking about!"
Leponte examined him from head to foot, saw that he was at his mercy and changed his tone. His voice became very dry.
"Mr. Commissioner, this is the only report you have any right to claim. I know you are alluding to a certain scene that took place near the Factory. But I would like to remind you that although I may be responsible for what happens inside the Factory, I am in no way responsible for what happens outside. I could remind you who is, but out of respect for you, I won't."
Baudruche decided to cut things short. The day was Leponte's. His would have to come later. He walked to the door. Leponte rushed after him.
"Mr. Commissioner, you're forgetting my report."
Baudruche plucked it from his hand and stuffed it In his pocket.
Leponte was suddenly very gentle. "Mr. Commissioner, it is madness to obstruct the people's will. Listen to what the people are saying. Read the editorial in today's paper. They are speaking with one voice. I may not have the honor of being able to address the Prefect, but I'm convinced that if . . ."
Baudruche left before he finished the sentence. Leponte whistled as he sat down at his desk. He called for Miss Niquel.
She entered, as sullen as he was expansive.
"You want to dictate?"
"No! Let's just have a little talk, the two of us." He dropped into his chair and opened his arms wide.
"Play with yourself; I don't feel like it. These rats are wrecking my nerves."
Baudruche knew his face reflected his defeat, so he avoided people as best he could. He bypassed the Public Gardens and Prefect Avenue, and took the street that paralleled the ramparts. It was almost deserted. But as he approached the main gate, he noticed the flock of birds in the sky. Instead of flying off as they did every night when darkness came, the birds flew in tighter and tighter circles toward the belfry of City Hall. Baudruche ran up the steps to the sentry walk for a better look.
The birds had converged in one immense circle and were wheeling around the belfry. The screeching which had made the last few days unbearable was deafening. Gradually, they slowed their flight and alighted, not on the branches of trees as they usually did, but on the belfry and its neighboring roofs.
Baudruche was joined by other curious onlookers. They stood, mouths agape, eyes glued on the City's center.
The birds had grown quiet, and the usual sounds of evening had reasserted themselves, when suddenly a vast lament welled up from around City Hall. And just as suddenly, it turned into a giant scream of anger that sounded as if it came from one enormous bird. There was another silence—of barely a second—and then
all the wings spread wide, there was a great sound of flapping, and the birds swooped into the sky. Like a huge squadron, they moved into position, forming one head and two enormous, seemingly endless wings.
With a last cry, they turned away from City Hall and flew east, almost brushing Baudruche's head as he stood watching their shadow against the gray clouds. They stayed in tight formation, wings interlocked, then one lone bird broke away and seemed to lead them.
Baudruche and his companions spun around to follow their flight toward the horizon. There, they broke into smaller flocks and slowly floated down to earth. Baudruche guessed they were going to nest in the ruins of the villages.
His companions stood rooted to the spot, speechless. In some obscure way, they felt that something very serious had just taken place and that somehow they were responsible. They went down the stairs in tight little groups, clinging to each other with fear.
"Oh, maybe they feel a little guilty now, but for how long? Until tonight, when they're back in front of the pacifying machine? The fools!" Baudruche gave a last look at the vast plain; he could just make out the outline of a few charred remains. "Maybe the birds will put a little life back into those houses."
The man from the Hotel was talking to the soldier again.
"How are things out there?"
"On the last front? Not too bad. But it's pretty dull; nothing ever happens."
"That's not the way it is in here."
"Why? What's going on?"
"Oh, they're beginning to have trouble with rats."
"What's with the rodents?"
"Some of them are demanding food and in a tone that isn't exactly friendly."
"Do the people give it to them?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"They're crazy. You feed dogs and cats—and birds, because they're nice and they sing. But not rats!"
"They're not allowed to feed the birds. Anyway they've all just left."
"Yes, I saw them going. It doesn't surprise me that things are like that in there. But what are you doing in the City?"
"I'm doing what you're doing: waiting."
"What are you waiting for?"
"War."
"War? My kind?"
"Yes, if you like, but in a slightly different form."
"I hope you have better luck."
"You're talking with your mouth full. What are you eating?"
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