"Ham and cheese."
"Where did you steal it?"
"I didn't steal it. Somebody gave it to me."
"Who?"
"The guys who came here to mow last night."
"To mow? Mow what?"
"You may not realize it, but last night there was a great big field of wheat here. And the sun was out! The place was full of people. They came on wagons drawn by cows and their big wooden shoes were full of hay. But they didn't stay long."
Wearily, Baudruche pushed open his office door, sank into his chair without even taking off his coat, threw his hat on the table and started his dictation.
He reported that more ants had reached the walls and were doggedly climbing the ramparts in serried ranks. He briefly mentioned the soldier and moved on to the great events of the day. He gave a step-by-step account of the crucial dilemma posed by the stranger and his bank notes and assured the Prefect that one of the Commissioner's best agents would keep the man under constant surveillance.
Then he turned to the rats, about whom the Prefect had sent another note demanding prudence, tact and understanding on Baudruche's part. Baudruche countered by asking for full freedom of action to prevent further disorders outside the Factory.
"I'm afraid that won't do much good," Baudruche said to Miss Bourrot, "but at least I tried. Oh, I almost forgot something. I want him to know about it because I think it's funny.
"As a result of the recent disorders, a delegation of workers presented the Director with a demand for a risk bonus and lunch compensation. It appears that this is not included in the fraternization bonus.
"It cannot be denied that the attitude of Mr. Leponte, the Factory Director, constitutes an encouragement to his workers' cowardice. The choice of a new and more energetic Director would be a first step to the reestablishment of order and honor.
"Well, that's it. Mention the flight of the birds and end it with the weather report—unchanged—and the sentry's report. It's probably the same—nothing seen, nothing heard."
Baudruche picked the sentry's report off the desk.
"Wait a minute. No, I'm wrong. Last night, they heard voices and the mooing of cows outside the City. We should all be sleeping out there; it's a lot more interesting than in here."
It was very late. Baudruche went home exhausted. Labrique was waiting for him, fresh and in high spirits.
"You're taking things too hard, old man. Are you getting anywhere?"
"Why don't you read the paper? That'll tell you."
"I did while I was waiting for you. Everything's just fine; the City is prospering. Only the rats aren't fine."
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Why don't you read the paper? It would appear that they are undernourished, underdeveloped, underestimated, under-I don't know what else. . . ."
"I know what they're under. They're under the City’s streets, that's where, and I wish they'd stay there."
"That's not what the religious editor says."
"What does he want?"
"Fraternization. And we're to be an example."
"Great! "
"Don't take it so hard. Nobody reads the religious column."
After dinner, Baudruche and Labrique sat opposite each other like two china dogs. Martha placed the deck of cards between them. To his great surprise, Baudruche won, which restored some of his good humor. As they were going to bed, he said to Martha:
"I'm going to need a woman who's passably good-looking, a little stupid, but discreet."
"A little like me, perhaps?"
"I said passably good-looking . . . and younger than you, my dear."
"I think I know exactly who you're looking for."
6
E M I L P O U L E T had slept badly. Too many worries, too much responsibility, too much intellectual strain. He had to conceive, design and create—as he did every year—the cabinet for the machine. And he had to do this with a worthless team of designers, engineers, technical and artistic advisers who were no better than messenger boys. That's why he slept so badly.
"You'll crack up if you go on like this," his daughter had said the evening before.
Her father, then her mother, had slapped her.
"That will teach you to respect your father!"
"He gets enough of that from you." The girl had fled.
"You look tired this morning, my chick. Had a bad night?"
"I couldn't sleep. I'm at the end of my rope."
"Why don't you stay home and rest? I'll call the Factory."
"But what about the cabinet? Who'll design it? You, my dear?"
"I'm not capable."
"Nor are the others."
Emil slowly pulled his feet from under the covers, painfully slid them into his slippers, stood up, rubbed his back and scratched his head.
Elisa jumped out of bed. "I'll go fix your breakfast."
Sounds of clattering saucepans were already rising from the kitchen. Ten-year-old, flat-nosed, redheaded Sophie was lovingly preparing her own breakfast of braised cabbage mixed with bits of ham and sliced salami.
Her father took his seat at the table. "It's very difficult, my dear Elisa.We have to come up with an entirely new conception, yet one near enough to the old so that people won't be put off. It must be essentially functional but at the same time take into account the legitimate artistic demands of an increasingly sophisticated clientele."
"Daddy, why don't you recite the prospectus for us?"
"Sophie, be quiet when your father's talking."
"How can I follow a train of thought with that little fool around?"
Sophie hurried her breakfast. A few more cabbage leaves, two or three small scraps of ham, and she got up, grabbed her schoolbag and was gone.
She ran to the Public Gardens where she sat on her usual bench and took from her schoolbag a pack of cigarettes, a box of matches and a thick notebook. She struck a match, inhaled deeply, opened her notebook, The Journal of a Disillusioned Woman, and started to write.
Emil made ready to leave.
"I don't know why you had to give me such an idiot for a daughter!"
Elisa was finally alone; her loved ones were gone. It was the best part of the day. She wandered around the apartment, opened empty boxes in the closets and wondered what to put in them, laughed just to hear the sound of her voice, put the clock ahead to see if it would make time go faster, counted the butterflies on the tapestry and scratched her calves for no reason.
Then Elisa stretched out on the bed, fixed her eyes on the ceiling, opened her pajamas and scratched her navel in a fit of introspection.
"Elisa, you're happy; that's why you're bored."
It wasn't easy to be happy. There were the vague glimmerings of intellectual deprivation.
She was abruptly wrenched from her thoughts by the ring of the telephone.
"Is that you, Elisa?"
The voice belonged to Martha Baudruche, her best friend and benefactor—for wasn't she responsible for Emil's job?
"Can we have lunch," Elisa said quickly. She needed to share with Martha the intellectual problems she found so difficult to define. Perhaps Martha could help her. . . .
Baudruche met Labrique at the base of the ramparts.
"I had you last night, you four-flusher! You're not in my league when you don't cheat."
"But I did cheat last night. I cheated so I'd lose. If I hadn't, I would have won in spite of myself."
Without a word, the two men made for the same place as on the day before.
"Baudruche, look."
Labrique pointed to a grayish spot on the parapet. He walked up to it and brushed away the several dozen ants that had reached the top. He waited a moment and the same gray stain was back. Once again he swept the ants away.
Baudruche laughed. "That can go on forever!"
"This is no laughing matter, you fool! The day may come when you can't sweep them back into the moat."
"You're being a pessimist, like everybody who
doesn't do anything."
"And you're an optimist, like everybody who acts without knowing if any good will come of it."
Baudruche got angry.
"It's easy to criticize when you don't do anything."
"I'm not criticizing you, my friend, only what you do. I hate useless effort. I'd rather you did less but knew where you were going."
He brushed the ants away one last time and leaned out over the parapet. The ants were climbing like a giant ivy.
"I can't assign a squadron of ant sweepers to the parapet. Everybody would laugh," Baudruche said.
"In a matter of days, a squadron won't be enough. But at least it would be something."
"I'll see what I can do. But I still don't see why it's really all that serious, Labrique."
The architect didn't reply but continued to observe the ants' endless advance.
On the table in his office, Baudruche found a flat case and two letters bearing the Prefect's letterhead. He opened the case and let out a snort: it was a decoration. He opened the first letter. It was written in the Prefect's own hand, four pages of eulogies and gratitude for the spirit of initiative Baudruche had demonstrated over the "delicate problem of the bank notes which posed such a grave threat to the City."
Baudruche slapped his thigh with delight. It was clear the Prefect had been frightened. He folded the letter and put it in a desk drawer.
Then he opened the other envelope and pulled out another four pages. These were typewritten. This time, it was about the rats. The Prefect was unalterably opposed to all forms of violence or even threats of violence that might be taken as provocation. "Don't show your strength, Mr. Commissioner, for fear you may have to use it." Still the Prefect gave him full powers to resolve the problem in the City's best interests, "knowing full well that, as in the past, Robert Baudruche would know, etc., etc., . . ."
Discouraged, Baudruche stretched out on his couch and tried to figure out where all this was leading him. Miss Bourrot entered, thinking the office empty.
"Forgive me, Mr. Commissioner! I didn't know you were in."
"I am, Miss Bourrot, but not for long. I'm thinking of offering my resignation."
Miss Bourrot froze. "But what will become of us all?" she asked, her voice quavering.
Baudruche was touched to the quick. He bounced off the couch, grabbed his hat, hurled it on the floor and launched into a tirade. Miss Bourrot tried to stop him, or at least make him lower his voice, but it only made him shout the louder. Miss Bourrot was used to the Commissioner's outbursts, but she'd never seen one like this. "He's going to wreck everything," she said to herself in terror.
But Baudruche wrecked nothing, his color returned to normal and he regained a semblance of calm. But his anger had turned to bitterness. It was as hard to take the Prefect's praise as it was his disastrous exhortations. The eulogies offended Baudruche's sense of justice. The compromise he had brought off was actually a defeat. He had agreed to the terms under duress, to avoid a calamity. He felt ashamed, and yet the Prefect was covering him with flowers and decorations. It made him sick.
On the other hand, in the face of a far more serious danger he had asked for a free hand and this had been refused. It pays to be a coward, Baudruche. Leponte is in for a cushy period. The Director's repulsive face flashed before him. He must finish the Prefect's letter. Perhaps it contained an answer to his suggestion that the evil little sneak be replaced. Yes, the answer was there, all right. The Prefect thanked Baudruche for calling his attention to Mr. Leponte's attitude and asked Baudruche not to oppose any action that Leponte might take outside the Factory gates.
"I feel like a soldier sent off to war without a gun."
The idea of resigning came rushing back. No, if he left, the Prefect would replace him with another Leponte. That would be the end of everything, of the City, as it had been of the villages.
Instead, he would go home early to lunch.
Elisa had arrived before him. He could see her through the glass doors of the dining room. He beckoned to his wife.
"Is this idiot the girl you thought up for me?"
"She's what you asked for, Robert. You always think people are stupider than they really are. But if you don't want her . . ."
"I'll try to make the best of it. When do we eat?"
Elisa sat opposite the Commissioner and was the first to speak.
"Well, Mr. Commissioner, how's business?"
Great beginning. It would take all his devotion to the City to make him be pleasant to this fathead.
"What business?"
"The City's, of course. In other words, yours."
"They converge from time to time, but they're never quite the same, thank God! Mine is going well enough: my feet are better, and Martha is leaving me in peace for the moment. As for the City’s, it couldn't be worse, my dear Elisa. It is my pleasure to inform you that, in the very near future, you will probably be devoured by rats."
"Mr. Commissioner, you must be joking!"
"I've never been more serious."
"You're pulling my leg. I've read the paper. Productivity is flourishing, we're on the threshold of a new golden age. I completely agree with the paper's position: these first contacts with the rats are most encouraging. We're entering a period of fraternity and cooperation. We're all brothers together, Mr. Commissioner!"
"Do you live with a family of rats?"
"Certainly not!" She shuddered. "I was talking only in general terms."
"Ah, of course. The altruistic ideas are for others. . . ."
He couldn't help it. For all his good intentions, five minutes of Elisa's company was all he could stand. He cast an inquisitive eye to his right and was delighted to see Martha's look of annoyance.
They were in the drawing room when he finally broached the subject.
"Elisa, you don't do anything with your life, do you?"
She stiffened.
"What about Sophie's education? You think that's nothing?"
"From the results, I can't see that you've done much." It was instinctive; he was at it again. "No, I'm talking about serious things, things that grab you body and soul."
"They belong to Emil, Mr. Commissioner!"
"Of course. But Emil aside, do you think you could give yourself to an important cause, to something in the public interest? In a word, would you consider serving the City for profit and glory? It might round out your life."
Elisa became thoughtful.
"Commissioner, you've touched on a tender spot. I sometimes feel, how shall I say it . . . a yawning abyss growing inside me; that abyss is my heart."
"You are becoming eloquent, Elisa."
"It's not for me, I assure you. It's Paul Géraldy."
She felt a pang of remorse. Were those two lines actually from the great Paul? She knew his work almost by heart. If the great Paul hadn't written these lines, he was certainly capable . . .
"So you have a yawning heart, Elisa! Well, I suspected it for a long time. I think I can fix it up. Stand up, please."
Transfixed, Elisa stood up.
"Turn your head. Smile. Arch your back. Stick out your breasts. Turn. The legs are okay. The body will do. I won't put you through a mental examination. No problem there; I know you only too well."
Baudruche blinked his eyes and bit his lips to keep from laughing.
Martha was less amused. "What have you in mind for Elisa, Robert?"
"I'm going to make her a heroine, my dear."
He saw the change on Elisa's face and knew he had won. He explained what he had in mind. All she had to do was to live in the Hotel for a brief time, without really having to leave her own home and family, in order to observe a certain man and serve occasionally as a sort of liaison. What mattered most was absolute discretion: no one was to know the nature of her mission. She would be well paid. How could she refuse?
"When do I begin?"
"Tomorrow. You can start packing."
"But what about Emil? What will he say?
"
"If he gives you any trouble, I'll make it my business to convince him."
"I don't know if I can be ready in time. I must do some shopping. I have nothing to wear."
"Do it this afternoon," Baudruche said and took some bills out of his wallet.
"I don't know what's happening to me. But I'll do it. Perhaps my destiny is calling."
Martha left the two to their tête-à-tête and went in search of her copy of Baudelaire. She returned with the book open and held it under her husband's eyes, pointing to the passage Elisa had quoted. Baudruche stopped at the last two lines, looked at Elisa and quoted:
"Work out your destiny, soul in disarray
And flee the infinite you carry within!"
Elisa's admiration for Baudruche soared. He read Géraldy too!
She started to leave.
"Wait for me," Martha said. "I'll go with you."
Baudruche was about to go. His wife accompanied him to the door.
"My dear Martha, your Elisa is a very stupid woman but I'll try to use her. Funny; I forgot all about asking her for news of her cuckold of a husband."
Martha drew back.
"Robert, you must be joking! Elisa is a faithful wife!"
"Oh, Emil isn't a cuckold yet? Well, he will be soon enough. I've done my best to bring it about."
He closed the door after him, ecstatic over that arrow he'd been patiently sharpening for an hour.
But his enjoyment lasted only a moment. His foot was barely out the door when he heard a great clamor that seemed to come from the direction of the Factory. He stopped and listened. The noise stopped, then began again. Baudruche headed toward it.
The closer he came, the more it seemed as if the City had been struck by some kind of fever. People scurried from here to there in search of more news. Snatches of conversation reached his ears: "What do they want?" "What are they going to do?" "Somebody ought to do something."
He hurried his steps. The clamor grew louder and louder.
Baudruche caught sight of some of his men and beckoned them to follow. They knew little more than he. It was the rats, all right; they were demonstrating. Revere came running toward him out of breath. They had tried to call the Commissioner at home but he had just left. Revere had come to find him to tell him he must hurry.
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