"What's going on? A repeat of yesterday?"
"Much worse, Mr. Commissioner. This time there are thousands and thousands. They control all the areas around the Factory. We can't do anything. There are only four or five of us."
"What are the rats doing?"
"Nothing much yet. Shouting and demonstrating. They have big posters. But the people are yelling with them. The rats surrounded the Factory at noon when the workers left and now the workers can't get back in again."
Baudruche had reached the wide avenue that led to the Factory. A small group had gathered behind him and seemed to be pushing him forward like a shield. The timid applause he heard as he went by sounded strange to his ears. It wasn't that he was hated; rather, he was feared. For a moment, he hoped it meant the people thought he was ready to fight and were lending him encouragement and support. But more likely it was applause for the Prefect's man who had turned up to put things right and restore the calm so essential to their lives.
The crowd, a mixture of rats and people, stood aside to let him pass. The rats looked at him without surprise, as if they had been expecting him. A handful who had learned a smattering of the language, cried out: "Commissioner with us!" They saw that the workers and the people who lived in the neighborhood were applauding him, so they awkwardly tried to imitate their gestures. Others were arguing vehemently, but calmed down at Baudruche's approach. He noticed that a few of the rats had sticks or stones in their hands, but no one was using them.
The most agitated group was in front of the closed gates. With the help of his men, he forced his way through the mob. Leponte was anxiously discussing something with his engineers. He rushed into Baudruche's arms.
"Ah, you're here at last! I didn't think you'd ever come!"
Baudruche gave him a slight shove. The two rats who were holding the Director let him go.
"What's going on? I've never seen you in such a state."
"The rats are barring the Factory entrance. The workers can't get back in."
Baudruche motioned for the workers and rats to clear an access to the Factory. An endless line of rats, arms crossed, stood in front of the gate and along the wall as far as the eye could see. Everybody was silent, waiting. So much tension couldn't be contained for long. He turned and looked up.
Rats were watching the scene from the rooftops, their legs dangling over the sides. A few had slid down to the balconies and windowsills and were tapping on the windowpanes to be let in. Though the rats below were disciplined and silent, those above were screaming, shouting and haranguing. A window shattered and three rats dove through.
Baudruche placed his hand on the gate lock. A rat stopped him.
"One moment, Mr. Commissioner. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"We don't mean to interfere with the City's activities, but before we leave, we would like to have a dialogue with you."
A dozen large rats formed a silent circle around the two. Baudruche looked anxiously for his men: they were far away, lost in the crowd. He exchanged glances with a group of workers standing near him, but their eyes were either empty or fearful. Baudruche let go the handle of the gate.
"You want a dialogue? On what subject?"
"Us. "
"But I don't know you and don't want to. You have no business here. Go away."
"Of course you know us, Mr. Commissioner, and we even know that you are sympathetic to our cause. I read about it in your paper. Let's have a little chat; I know you'll come to understand our point of view. Then order can be restored and we'll be on our way. Please come. What harm can it do?"
"I can't imagine what you want to tell me, but I'm ready to listen."
"Mr. Commissioner, we can't talk here. Let's go next door, to the Social Progress, where we've set up our command post."
If only Baudruche could grasp that gray neck, hear the tiny squeak, then the cracking sound, and see the body collapse on the pavement. But it wasn't possible. He was surrounded by hundreds of thousands of rats. His men were too far off to be of any help. And besides, there was the Prefect and the paper and public opinion. So he followed the rat who, with an expansive sweep of the arm, made a path through the crowd.
The owner of the café was sitting at a table, chatting with a dozen rats. Baudruche's companion ordered them to leave; they obeyed without a murmur. He took a bottle and two glasses from behind the bar, sat down and motioned Baudruche to do the same.
"Mr. Commissioner, how well do you know the actual condition of our people?"
For the next hour, Baudruche was told what had been in the papers for days: that they were dying of hunger, their infant mortality rate was shocking. And they knew of the comfort in which the City’s inhabitants lived. The rat had been made spokesman for his people in order to explain their situation calmly and amicably to the one man most likely to understand.
Then the rat took out of his pocket what he termed "a plan for constructive collaboration," and he and Baudruche argued each article at length. Baudruche gave in when there was nothing to do but give in or invite immediate violence. The rat said that he himself would be castigated for his moderation but that he was willing to take the risk in order to reach an understanding and avoid the use of force. So they signed.
The rat drank to the Prefect's health, opened the door and left, waving the treaty over his head. He was greeted with an acclamation. Baudruche followed, crushed and humiliated. An even noisier acclamation greeted him. Reporters and photographers surrounded him, flashbulbs went off, and a reporter approached Baudruche, pen in hand.
"Mr. Commissioner, may I have your impressions for the evening edition."
"You may go to hell."
The crowd would have crushed him but for a double line of rats, arms intertwined, who kept open a narrow path to the Factory. Baudruche stomped forward as the enormous crowd of rats and workers shouted in rhythm:
"Bau-druche! Bau-druche! Bau-druche!"
When he reached the gates, he saw that they were indeed open and that the workers were entering in tight formation. When the last man had gone in, the rats perched on the housetops slid down the drainpipes or clambered down the walls, using cracks or rough patches as footholds. They joined the others in the street and together rushed into their sewer holes and disappeared. Few were empty-handed: their arms and shoulders were loaded with sacks, bags and cartons.
Finally the last rat was gone and the City returned to normal. Tired and bewildered, the inhabitants went back to their homes and carefully locked their doors.
Baudruche stood alone with his men on the front steps of the Factory. The area was completely deserted now.
"You can go home now. I don't need you anymore." His men left slowly, reluctant to leave their chief alone. Baudruche turned on his heels and entered the Factory courtyard. It was only then that his fear caught up with him. His legs turned to jelly, his knees shook. Why should he be trembling when the worst was over? It wasn't until he reached Leponte's door that the ridiculous spasm passed. He walked in.
"Well, Mr. Leponte, feeling better now?"
Leponte rushed to offer him a chair.
"Please sit down, Mr. Commissioner. You must be all in."
"All in? Whatever for? A small incident of no importance. You agree, don't you, Mr. Leponte?"
Leponte looked away, uneasy. At last, the Director spoke:
"I hope you won't hold it against me, Mr. Commissioner, but my report is not quite completed, owing to certain events beyond my control. . . ."
"Beyond your control? Are you quite sure, Mr. Leponte?"
"I will have to finish it in your presence. It won't take me a minute. Five minutes, no more."
Baudruche stretched out in the chair, head back, eyes on the ceiling, hands in his pockets as always.
The Director rose and handed him the paper without comment. Baudruche gave it a quick look.
"You wrote it yourself this time, Mr. Leponte! But I can't say your handwriting is improving. I even detect a cert
ain trembling. . . ."
Downstairs, he ran into Miss Niquel in the deserted courtyard. She had been waiting for him.
"Mr. Commissioner, I can't stay here. I'm frightened."
"Then you should leave."
"Where can I go? I thought maybe you could help me. You look so kind."
"Don't you make fun of me."
"I'm telling the truth."
"Then I'll see what I can do."
Baudruche hadn't gone three steps when she caught up with him. She put her head on his shoulder.
"Please take me away."
"All right. Come along then."
As they walked, she recited the speech she had been rehearsing for so long. But Baudruche's mind was at the Factory among the rats.
The last refugee was climbing the stairs of the ramparts. He leaned over the side and called: "Hey, soldier!"
"Oh, it's you. What's new?"
"Things are getting hot in the City."
"Things were pretty hot here last night."
"What happened?"
"First, one old union group appeared, and then another showed up. They started to swear and curse, and it began to look bad."
"Did they fight?"
"No, they suddenly had this idea of building a house, and you can't fight and build at the same time. Once they got started building, you couldn't tell one union from the other. It was beautiful. It looked as if the house was building itself. By sunup, the house was finished. Then they and the house disappeared. I have to tell you these things or you wouldn't know anything."
"I know every story you've told me. That's why I stay inside the City."
"Will you be back tomorrow?"
"I'll try to come every evening."
Baudruche climbed the stairs to his office, little Miss Niquel behind. He opened the door.
The crucial moment was at hand. Now she would know if she'd been right to give up the security of the Factory for this adventure. Baudruche stood there, hands on his hips, looking at her fixedly. She closed her eyes, and once again placed her head on Baudruche's shoulder. This time, she grasped his other shoulder with her right hand, near the neck.
"Help me. It's hard for a girl like me, alone in the City."
The Commissioner's arms enfolded her.
They were on the big leather sofa. She had rehearsed this scene, along with her earlier speech, many times. Every motion had been thought out, every word, even the expression in her eyes. But it was all for naught, for Baudruche was oblivious to all the nuances. He was on top of her, crushing her, pressing her tightly against him and shaking her in a frenzy.
He thought he was in front of the Factory gates, struggling with a rat—and winning. The body of the rat slid to the ground, inert. He heard a voice saying: "Ahhhh, Mr. Commissioner," and found himself in his office on top of little Miss Niquel.
She dressed herself, thinking what she'd accomplished for all that she'd be black and blue the next day. But he was already back at his desk, thinking hard about the rats.
"O.K. Don't you worry. I'll take care of you."
Baudruche buzzed for Miss Bourrot. One glance at the actors and she was able to reconstruct the scene that had just taken place, a scene that had happened all too often in this office. She thought it unworthy of the Commissioner. He should be without weaknesses, without faults. When forced to, she admitted that there was a Mrs. Baudruche, and obviously he and she sometimes . . . But she erased such pictures from her mind as demeaning to her hero.
"Miss Bourrot, do we have an interesting job available in the City for a young girl who presents an unusual case?"
She thought for a moment. Actually, there was. Miss Teller on the first floor was about to retire. A wonderful job, secure, near the boss, not much to do—liaison with the press. But instead she said, "They need an assistant director in Lost and Found."
"All right, Miss Niquel, there you are! See how wise you were to come to me. Come back tomorrow morning and Miss Bourrot will make the necessary arrangements. Now go home, and sweet dreams."
Miss Bourrot watched her go with a satisfied smile. She'd do fine over there at the other end of the City among the single gloves and umbrellas.
"To work, Miss Bourrot!"
"Mr. Commissioner, a reporter has been waiting outside a long time."
"I have nothing to say to him."
"He's come with a letter from the Prefecture. The Prefect is very anxious that you see him."
A young man came in and sat down. Baudruche recognized him as the man with the pen who had accosted him on the steps of the Social Progress.
"You want to know what really took place this afternoon?"
"What we want are your impressions, Mr. High Commissioner. We can't go to press until we have them."
"Very well. This is how it happened. It is not a pretty story. . . ."
Once the reporter had gone, Baudruche called Miss Bourrot back in.
"Let's get to the report. Tell the Prefect the results of my discussion with the representative of the rats. Stress that I tried to save the City's money while reaching an accord that conformed to the Prefect's wishes: I managed to decrease the amount of food the rat considered a minimum for his people.
"Give the Prefect some of Leponte's message for today: it appears that the recent and happy modification realized by the refugee engineer rendered obsolete a basic part of the machine. But now a young engineer at the factory has discovered that by adding a new part to the one the refugee scrapped, production will increase not by eight point fourteen percent but by seventeen point three percent. So in spite of the loss of time caused by this latest improvement, the Director is eager to realize the new modification and has given orders that the part prematurely scrapped be put back into production.
"Cover the appointment of Elisa Poulet to keep watch over the stranger, and don't forget the weather and the sentries' report.
"Oh, and put in a paragraph for Labrique: the lead columns of ants have taken over the parapets, and there are new columns climbing the exterior walls."
Baudruche already had his hat on when he remembered:
"Please add that the soldier hasn't moved. That should be a comfort to the Prefect. That man worries him too."
Baudruche walked home slowly, his mind a blank. Labrique was waiting for him, the evening paper in his hand.
"You double-crossing son of a bitch! I just read your interview. I suppose you're proud of what you accomplished today?"
Baudruche grabbed the paper from him. The headline across the front page read: "Commissioner Baudruche declares: 'I am satisfied.' "
"Those dirty bastards!" and he tore the paper to shreds.
He spent the rest of the evening sulking and wouldn't play cards.
"Baudruche, aren't you going to tell me about the rats?"
"Do I ask you about your wife?"
7
B A U D R U C H E awoke slowly and painfully the next morning. But once he'd had his coffee, he was back on the rails, the steam pressure up, the engine ready to start.
"Tell me something, Martha: about that fool, Elisa. Do you really think she can be trusted?"
"I think so. You're too hard on her. She has many virtues. She's pretty; she has a good figure . . ."
"She's not my type."
"I'm glad of that, but it may not speak well for your taste."
"When a woman is that stupid, she can't be pretty. What did you two do yesterday?"
"We shopped for Elisa."
They had gone off as planned. An incredible moment for Elisa. She was off to the conquest of elegance, with Martha as her companion. Martha's personality no longer overwhelmed her; they could now talk as equals, since she had just received a confirmation—heretofore only vaguely guessed at—of her own importance.
She hid her bag under her arm. It was worn and she was ashamed of it. But now at least it was crammed with Baudruche's money. She had underestimated the Commissioner: he was generous, and he read Géraldy.
&nbs
p; Yes, now she could see that it was possible to be Baudruche's wife, in spite of his appearance, especially since it made you wife of the High Commissioner—a title worth its weight in gold. Funny: Martha never made anything of it. She could have done anything she wanted around the City because there was hardly anybody who didn't want something from the City. Almost everybody had some tale of injustice: this one was overtaxed, that one had an idiot daughter he wanted placed in a ministry, yet another wanted a building easement. And everybody complained of his neighbor.
All she had to do was to listen with a condescending smile, ask for it in writing and promise she'd give it to the Commissioner. It was in the bag; she would have a devoted slave. Whether or not she gave the note to the Commissioner was of no importance. What mattered was that she promised. From time to time, true, she would have to place a burdensome old man in a nursing home, or slip some cretin into the Postal Service, or "recycle" some public servant who had been caught red-handed. But that's all it would take to make her the City's Good Fairy, its Golden Goddess.
But Martha would have none of it. She was content to tell the suppliant that she never meddled in the City's affairs, and suggest he go directly to the Commissioner whose honesty and integrity were known to all.
But she was still the Commissioner's wife and everybody sought to please her, which was all too evident in the shop they had just entered.
The entire staff came running, the owner in the lead. Someone found her a chair, though Elisa had to remain standing. The owner declared how happy and proud he was to serve Madame Baudruche, and smiled less broadly when he found out it was for Elisa.
Elisa's eye had fallen on an enormous alligator bag with room enough for three coats and four dresses and garnished with the beast's claws and a marble closing as big as a fist. Martha dissuaded her, saying it was in questionable taste. Elisa gave in, as always, and the owner agreed with Martha because she was the Commissioner's wife, and Martha made her buy a simple black bag with a silver snap which looked like nothing and cost almost as much.
"Why didn't you say it was for yourself, Martha? Then we wouldn't have had to pay. . . ."
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