The Walled City

by Marcel Clouzot

  Still undecided, Baudruche listened to the arguments flying back and forth. The inhabitants were warning his men against violating foreign territory. They wanted no provocations, nothing that might endanger the peace. Insults began to fly.

  A dozen women had joined the men and were even more vehement in upholding legalities and respect for the law. Some hurled insults at Baudruche's men while the more wily tried to take them by the arm. Baudruche still hesitated. He had no desire to risk a confrontation on such dangerous ground just to arrest a couple of hundred lunatics. He blew on his whistle and summoned his men back while the crowd applauded.

  The noise inside the Museum of Man was getting shriller. Suddenly a voice could be heard calling for help. This was too much for Baudruche.

  "Let's go," he said to his men.

  As if obeying a command, the whole crowd lay down in front of the fence, causing great amusement among the rats. As Baudruche's men advanced, hands clutched at their legs in an attempt to trip them. Others were bitten on the ankles and calves. Blows were exchanged. For a second time, Baudruche called his men back.

  The crowd on the ground rose to its feet and began to shout rhythmically: "Baudruche is with us!" "Baudruche is with us!" New screams came from inside the Museum, among them more appeals for help.

  "Shoot into the sky!" he told his men.

  At the sound of the rifle fire, the crowd dispersed; the rats panicked and fought their way back to the sewers.

  "Let's go!" Baudruche shouted.

  He strode toward the Museum entrance, his men at his heels. There was no sound from inside. Baudruche rang, knocked and finally ordered his men to break in the door. He rushed into the banquet room; it looked deserted. The tables were overturned, broken dishes and bottles littered the floor. He stepped up to the head table. There on the floor lay the inert bodies of the President, Esther Labrique and all the government members and the league's board. A vast silence had set in in the wake of the earlier commotion. Then his ears picked up a small noise that seemed to be coming from the basement. He grabbed a few of his men and ran for the stairs.

  It was very dark. He flipped a light switch, but nothing happened. Baudruche took out a small flashlight and moved forward. Muffled cries came from a distance. He saw some rats grappling a few women in front of an open trapdoor, but by the time he arrived, they were gone and the trapdoor shut tight. He tried to open it but it was locked from below. That must be where the underground world of the sewers began.

  Baudruche went back upstairs. The men he had left behind seemed to be playing some kind of game which stopped abruptly as he came near. The small circle broke up, revealing Canard a little the worse for wear. One of his eyes was badly swollen and his clothes were torn. When he saw Baudruche, he cried out:

  "Mr. Commissioner, I protest! I've been the victim of police brutality not worthy of a civilized people. . . ."

  Revere didn't give Baudruche time to answer.

  "He was hiding behind a table, trembling. He was emotionally disturbed."

  "They hit me savagely, several times. They said they were delighted to find me alone in a comer. All because I told the truth in The Rodent and these gentlemen weren't pleased."

  "Mr. Commissioner, his present condition is due to the fact that he fell as he tried to get up—even after we came to his assistance. Isn't that right, Payne?"

  "That's God's truth, Mr. Commissioner."

  Canard shouted:

  "Mr. Commissioner, I'm going to lodge a complaint for premeditated assault and battery. They even threatened my life."

  "All right, lodge your complaint, Mr. Canard. Meanwhile, I'd like a word with you."

  Baudruche led the journalist away where they could sit down.

  "Tell me what happened."

  It was Borgia-like. Every member of the rats' government and of the board of the Women's League, its president, secretary, treasurer—everybody had been poisoned. The bodies were there; the Commissioner had only to count them.

  "What happened to the other women? There were at least two hundred. . . ."

  Canard hesitated.

  "They chose to escape with the rats when they saw you running in with your brutes ! "

  "Watch your language or I'll have you arrested for insulting the forces of law and order. . . ."

  "It's perfectly understandable. They had everything to fear from your people. You have only to see what they did to me."

  "But what about your rats? They must have done something? From what I know about them, they were doing more than lighting the ladies' cigarettes."

  "I am ready to testify that all those women fled of their own free will. "We'll find out the truth about this outrage!"

  Reluctantly, Baudruche let him go. Why hadn't his men hit harder? Baudruche stepped up to the platform and contemplated Esther's body and those of her companions. They must have suffered. They were still clutching their stomachs. A gang of deranged, stupid women, but Revere was right: they were women. He looked at the President, uglier in death than in life, his wide-open eyes staring at him with hatred. Baudruche gave Revere his orders: in their flight, the rats had been reluctant to abandon their dead; let them be. But the women were to be carried to their homes. And he instructed him to remove all food left at the head table, and take samples from the other tables. Then Baudruche left, alone.

  He directed his steps toward the Hotel, climbed to the second floor and opened the door to the small room reserved for the staff. Posey was there.

  "What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Commissioner! Are you looking for Mrs. Poulet?"

  "No,I want to see you. It's serious."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry but my heart belongs to another."

  "Don't be an idiot and answer my questions. What was the food you brought to the Museum of Man this noon?"

  "It was what we prepared here at the Hotel for the rats."

  "You haven't answered my question. What was it?"

  "You know, the chef really worried over that menu. He wanted it to look good but not to cost too much. So, I told him to leave it to me, that I knew what rats ate because I'd seen them around the villages. So I made up the dishes from what was in the garbage cans. With a little parsley and sauceboats of swill, it looked very appetizing. I could have eaten it myself!"

  "Stop joking and tell me the truth. What else was in those dishes?"

  "Ah, I'm glad you reminded me. . . . I was afraid it might taste a little flat so I added some seasoning. Mayonnaise and mustard are hard to find and very expensive with the rationing and black market. So I added a powder I found in a cupboard and I didn't stint. They must have liked it. . . ."

  "What was the powder?"

  "I don't remember too well. I think maybe it was rat poison." Exactly as Baudruche had guessed: Posey was the culprit. He could have kissed her! He looked at her sternly.

  "Do you realize that you are a murderer? And you didn't kill only rats? You killed a dozen women too. . . ."

  "Oh, those fanatics in the league? Women who sleep with rats . . . you call them women?"

  "Yes, they were women all the same."

  "Well, they didn't have to go. They got what they deserved."

  "You know this could get you into a lot of trouble?"

  "Trouble? I know you'll take care of it. Otherwise I certainly wouldn't have told you about it."

  Baudruche took two sandwiches from the Hotel bar and stuffed them in his pocket. He was in a hurry. He wanted to see Leponte. The Director was beginning to seem far less offensive than the other people Baudruche had to deal with.

  "What's new, Mr. Leponte?"

  "Nothing good. Productivity is down. I'm working with a reduced labor force, and you should see the state my workers were in when you returned them to me! Our plant doctors can't keep up with it. I'm missing forty-three point seven percent of my employees."

  "But nobody did anything to them."

  "Then how do you explain the accidents on the job, Mr. Commissioner? And the overwork? Look at
this report from our head doctor: it lists cramps, blisters, loss of appetite, lumbago, head colds, coughs, chilblain, sties, debility, nervous depression. . . . There are words even I don't understand. I can't know the vocabularies of every profession. He even lists sunstroke! "

  "Sunstroke! Here? That's quite impossible, Mr. Leponte."

  "It's not only possible; it's a fact. I have the doctor's certificate to prove it. They're specialists too, health technicians, and if you're going to question a specialist's word, where will it end? There is even the likelihood that all work will have to cease. That would be our ruin, Mr. Commissioner! And all because of some mud that wasn't bothering anybody."

  "Mr. Leponte, I specialize in mud as you do in production. Therefore my decisions on that subject are beyond discussion."

  "Forgive me, Mr. Commissioner. But that isn't all. You see this pile of papers on my desk? That means money going out—a fortune, an immense fortune! And all of it is legitimate. I have to play fair with my workers. There's sick leave, compensation for underproduction, for transfers, for excessive labor, for overtime, for soap, nail brushes, deodorant . . ."

  "Is that all, Mr. Leponte?"

  "No, Mr. Commissioner: there are also unemployment benefits, reemployment . . ."

  Leponte continued, his myopic eyes bent over his papers. Baudruche got up and left.

  Without intending to, he found himself in front of the Library. He opened the door and went in. Labrique looked up.

  "Have you finally made your decison, Baudruche?"

  "What decision? What do you mean?"

  "To take action."

  "Is your fellow here?"

  "No, but he's coming. Well, I gather you put on quite a show awhile ago?"

  "I did what I could and what I thought I should."

  "At last! I'm not exactly against it, you know. . . ."

  "I don't like it. It could make trouble for the City—and for me especially."

  "It had to happen sooner or later. It can't go on like this and you know it. You don't know what your next move is and that's why you're here. Isn't that so, Baudruche?"

  The Commissioner shrugged, sank deeper into his chair and refused to reply. That damn Labrique! Always talking about things he knew nothing about. He saw everything from the top of his ladder. Let him stay in his book nook, far removed from the City, from its problems, from everything. What can you know of the world if you retire from it?

  The door opened without a sound. The stranger entered and locked the door behind him.

  The stranger was gone now and Baudruche didn't have the strength to get out of his chair. He felt even more dejected than when he had arrived. The man hadn't been completely wrong. He saw things clearly, but only the darker side. Couldn't one try to do better? To salvage something? He'd been pretty contemptuous of the City’s inhabitants.

  Labrique coughed. "What is your decision, Baudruche?"

  "I don't know. I have to think first."

  "Nothing can be done without you, and you can't do anything without him. Don't think too hard. Time is running out. It's even later than you think."

  Baudruche got up without speaking and headed for the door.

  He almost ran to his office. It was terribly late. The street-lights were already on, making halos in the swirls of dust.

  When he had finished his report to the Prefect, he asked Miss Bourrot to get him copies of both the City paper and The Rodent. It was important that he read everything tonight.

  He stuffed the papers in his overcoat pocket and read them as soon as he arrived home. Both were full of the day's big event at the Museum of Man. The paper described it in vague, somewhat embarrased terms, full of "It is possible that" and "It is thought that." Nothing was certain. Baudruche's role was barely suggested. However, his men's actions were made much of. They had been out of control, some should be summarily removed; they were the ones responsible for the day's tragedy; they were fomenting a reign of terror. The proof was the way the women fled at their approach. They had preferred refuge among the rats rather than fall into the hands of these "Praetorian Guards."

  The wind is shifting, Baudruche. It's not a frontal attack yet, but they're watching you. . . . He opened The Rodent. There, the tone was definitely more vitriolic and Baudruche was mentioned by name. It expressed surprise that the Prefect would grant such responsibilities to a man whose loyalty was questionable. There were two series of pictures across the middle of the page. One showed photographs of the former members of the rat government, with the caption "The Victims"; the other, the faces of the new President and his ministers, captioned "The Avengers. "

  "They look meaner than their predecessors, Labrique."

  "Yes, and it doesn't bode good for the future."

  Martha came in to announce dinner.

  Baudruche slapped his friend on the shoulder.

  "Come, widower, time to eat!"

  Labrique stirred.

  "Yes, and what's extraordinary about that woman is that she's a bigger nuisance dead than alive."

  18

  "I S S O M E T H I N G wrong, Robert? You don't look well this morning. Didn't you sleep last night?"

  "I couldn't digest my dinner. You're feeding me too much heavy food, Martha."

  "Don't lie to me, Robert. Tell me what's bothering you?"

  "It's too hard to explain. Read about it in the newspapers."

  "I have, but they don't tell me everything."

  "What they say is already more than enough."

  "You're in for a bad time?"

  "No doubt about it."

  "How do you think it will end?"

  "Badly, whatever happens."

  He left under Martha's sad and watchful gaze. She hadn't dared ask him more.

  Labrique and the man had been very unfair to him. They said he had missed a great opportunity. They called that a great opportunity! Like telling a thief that he's just passsed up a jewelry store. What was against the law was against the law. You couldn't get around that, and he wasn't about to change his ideas on that subject. They'd asked him: what if somebody had killed the Prefect? Well, he'd have gone after the killer and seen to it he was punished. If anyone had even considered such a crime, he would have looked him up. They'd laughed at him. But nobody was going to stop him from doing what was right. Besides, the rats were too solidly entrenched in the City. The inhabitants' attitude was past changing. They'd been contaminated by the rats.

  How would it end? He didn't know but he refused to accept the man's prophecy. That the rats' encroachment would continue was unfortunately certain, but to go from there to assume that . . . That was a long jump. Baudruche had refused to accept it: it was impossible, impossible. But what if it wasn't. On second thought, it had a certain logic: the rats would establish their dominion over the City—a form of protectorate. They would control everything: all the services, all the ministries, all the forces of law and order, even the Prefecture.

  Nor would they stop there: the population would be only too happy to serve, because everything that could possibly remind them of their past—museums, monuments, books, education, freedom—would have been destroyed. The children would be raised to serve the rats. They would be taught that they had no other function. The girls would consider themselves lucky to find a place in one of the rats' harems. It would be their ultimate ambition, just as the men's would be to submit to their tasks.

  Work would be very different from what it was now. No more paid vacations, no shortened workweek, no more sick leave. Work or drop dead. They would have to feed the master race and it had a large appetite. The slaves would never be done working, nor would there ever be enough slaves. They'd find ways to make the women produce the most children possible in order to have more slaves. . . . No, that couldn't be; it couldn't come to that. Something had to happen . . . but what?

  He had arrived in front of the main gate. The guards stood well away from it to avoid the falling stone. He passed the big board with the official bulletins
nobody read anymore, and climbed the stairs. It had become a pilgrimage.

  The soldier was throwing dead wood on the fire. They had almost forgotten his presence in the City, or that he was patiently waiting at his post. But Baudruche knew his time was almost up. The last refugee had told him that.

  Baudruche turned and looked at the City. Up the street where he had been the day before, he noticed a crowd in a state of great agitation. People were arguing on the sidewalks, others were carrying bundles and suitcases, still more were moving furniture. It was where the first invasion of ants had occurred. From the looks of things, they must have returned. He took the nearest staircase and went down.

  The place was in an uproar. He was immediately surrounded by a circle of people all talking at once. All he could make out was that they had called the Fire Department.

  The captain of the fire brigade arrived with a covey of red trucks. The colonel would be there in a moment. The situation must be pretty serious if he was coming himself. The firemen leaped from their trucks and attached their hoses. They were watched with gratitude not unmixed with fear. The captain informed Baudruche that this invasion was much worse than the previous day's. This time, the ants were taking over whole buildings.

  Baudruche made a quick visit to the buildings. The task seemed insuperable: each room would have to be completely inundated, and even that wouldn't take care of all the ants. He heard footsteps behind him on the stairs: the colonel had made his appearance. He had assessed the disaster and now told Baudruche what could be accomplished. It wasn't much.

  "Mr. Commissioner, the only solution is cohabitation. Perhaps the inhabitants will get used to it."

  "You are joking of course, Colonel."

  "I never joke on the job, Mr. High Commissioner. We haven't enough hose and not nearly enough water, for the same situation obtains in other peripheral sections of the City."