"Two to go."
That's all he could get out of him. Before leaving, he gave a last look at the deserted plain. It wasn't very lively out there either. But in the distance, there was still a small ray of sunshine.
"Let's keep moving, Miss Bourrot. Don't look at me with those fish eyes. Continue."
One by one, Baudruche answered the points the President had raised. But the Commissioner chose to refrain from comment on the subject of his resignation.
He warned, though, that the new President was following a much harder line than his predecessor. "Mr. Prefect, the City is in danger. The enemy we have been awaiting from the outside has not and will not come. He has erupted from inside the City and is gradually taking over."
Then he asked the Prefect for permission to return the City to the way it was before the appearance of the first rat and first ant. "I will do it in such a manner that our neighbors will show fear and respect, retire to their side of the border and return to us alive those members of our population who have disappeared. In order to carry out this project, I ask you to close down the Factory for a brief period so that I can mobilize the workers to clear the moat and permit the water to return. This will solve the problem of the ants in no time. . . ."
"That's all, Miss Bourrot. End with the usual. . . ."
Baudruche took his coat and cane and left, forgetting for the first time in his life to say good night to his secretary. As he walked along, he reflected on what he had just done. Never before had he dared talk this way to the Prefect. But he knew he was right. If it made the Prefect angry, so much for him! He wasn't man enough to ask for Baudruche's resignation—not as long as even one of Baudruche's men remained faithful. But how long would that last?
Head down, lost in thought in the midst of the dust and enveloping night, he failed to notice the girl who now accosted him.
"Want to come with me, ratty?"
Labrique complained that Baudruche was starving him. He took the Commissioner aside and whispered:
"I saw our man. The soldier has only two days to go."
"It isn't much," Baudruche sighed.
"He also wants you to know he's fed up to here with Elisa."
"So am I," Baudruche replied.
19
B A U D R U C H E went to the ramparts even though it was a pointless exercise. He crushed a few ants with the delight of a sadistic child, then went into one of the few turrets still standing and looked through a spy hole. The plain was even darker today. The sunshine seemed to be retreating farther and farther; the clouds were encroaching on the horizon. There were no reflections on the river; darkness enveloped the nearer villages. Perhaps it was better so. He didn't want to see them anymore. It was too painful—the pitiful blackened walls where he had once been so happy.
Ah, with what envy he had once looked at the walls of the City! It had been the goal of all his ambitions: to leave the village and go to the City. He used to talk to Martha about it all the time, although she was less eager to leave the village than he. Weren't they happy where they were? Yes, of course; he didn't want to contradict her, but—yes—he thought they could be even happier. That had proved untrue, for happiness had gradually forsaken them. It wasn't really their fault: it was simply the way life was. Oh, he wasn't admitting defeat yet! You were defeated only when you stopped fighting, and nothing would prevent him from fighting as he always had, and to the very end. But there it was: he was fighting without spirit, with out conviction, for now he knew his private struggle had no future.
He left the turret, turned on his heels and walked to the spot over the main gate. No need to worry: he was still there. He still had two days. No, not even two days. His stint would be over the next evening. Though why shouldn't he stay on a few extra days? It wasn't so bad, sitting there doing nothing. After all, Baudruche was hanging on.
He turned and looked toward the City. The muddy roofs were still visible, but everything below was hidden in the swirling dust. Like a finger pointing into the sky, the tower of City Hall dominated the scene. For a moment, he thought he saw a bright eye watching him from the middle of its facade. But it was only the illuminated face of the clock.
He went down the stairs. The guards were still standing by the main gate, armed now with large brooms with which to fend off the ants. He noticed that the big bulletin board for the official notices had been devoured. Oh, well, it was just a lot of worthless bureaucratic junk anyway. . . .
The Commissioner followed the deserted streets to the first inhabited houses. People were milling about in the street. As soon as he was recognized, they flocked around him and fired him with questions. Couldn't he do something? He answered "no" with a mixture of shame and embarrassment. All he could suggest was that they send a delegation to his office and tell him how many were without homes, by families, and the minimum space each would need. He would do everything he could to find them lodgings, probably in the temporary barracks occupied by the refugees from the villages.
One man spoke up timidly. He said maybe it wasn't necessary for the Commissioner to go to all that trouble, that the others had easily found shelter in the Factory district with the rats. . . . Baudruche tried to argue, but they stopped talking and fixed their eyes on the ground. So he left, and when he turned after a few steps, they were looking at him with distrust.
As if they'd been waiting for his departure, the rats converged on the scene the minute his back was turned, and went through the same motions as on the previous day. Today's procession was still longer as it headed for the Factory; it completely filled the courtyard. The moment the last evacuee passed under the porte cochère, the door was locked and the arrivals shoved into different lots: the solidly built men who appeared to be in good health were put in one corner, the others were pushed aside. Then the rats picked out the young, vigorous-looking women and lumped the older ones together with the useless men. Lastly, the children were herded together and led into another courtyard. Suddenly, a window on the fifth floor flew open and a man leaned out, shouting:
"Get out of here! It's a trap!"
The crowd stiffened and looked up at him. A ripple of fear ran through them; they wavered, and a few tried to push toward the entrance. They were turned back with cudgels and well-placed bites. Screams went up, as much from fear as pain. Their angry voices reached into the neighboring streets where the flea market was in full swing. Some City inhabitants inquired about the cause of the noise and were told that the people in the courtyard were rehearsing some songs. The inhabitants asked no further questions; they had become accustomed to the strange way the rats sang. And besides, why get involved in things that didn't concern them?
The body of the man who had shouted teetered on the window ledge and fell to the pavement. A few of the evacuees tried to reach him, but the rats pushed them away, tapping their foreheads to indicate that the man had lost his mind. Other rats prodded the useless evacuees toward a flight of stairs that led to the basement and from there to the sewers. Tomorrow there'd be a large stock of new used clothing to throw on the market.
That done, the auction began. This time, more force was needed to get the evacuees up on the improvised platform, but only the first called up made a show of resistance. Those who followed were threatened into docility. The auction speeded up; there were so many to dispose of. Only the best specimens were bought singly; the rest were sold in lots. It wasn't easy to get rid of them. Prices were well below the previous day's which discouraged speculation. If still more arrived, the bottom might fall out of the market.
Baudruche's first act on returning to his office was to open the Prefect's letter. Not that he didn't know exactly what it would say. The Prefect gave in when he was no longer the strongest. The man was good only for tyrannizing the weak. Why hadn't Baudruche seen this sooner?
All the President's demands were met, and more: Baudruche must agree to the disarming of his men in order to avoid clashes with the new militia under the rats' control. The Prefect wa
s very relaxed about whether they had found those guilty of the poisoning; they would always be able to find someone to pin it on—if the President pressed his demands. Also, he knew he could trust Baudruche to arrive at suitable reparations for the unfortunate violation of territory at the Museum of Man. So far as the ants were concerned, Baudruche had only to be patient: the new powder would be tested within a few days. He twitted Baudruche for wanting to clean up the moat, in view of the fact that no one in the City would be willing to go outside the ramparts. Even if they were, he would oppose it. It would mark a return to the Middle Ages. If the moat had been abandoned, it was for a good reason.
The Commissioner's resignation was lightly brushed aside. The Prefect held him in too high esteem even to contemplate such a thing. . . . What a faker! Let the ranks of his men be decimated and it would be a very different story. . . .
The last paragraph was a long and amiable sermon on how Baudruche must rid himself of his old-fashioned, bellicose ideas. He should thank the Lord that the conscience of his people and their leaders had been awakened; differences were resolved not by arms but through negotiation.
Baudruche boldly crumpled the pages in his hand, tore them to shreds and threw them in the wastebasket. He remained seated a long time, unable to face the pile of papers on his desk.
"Miss Bourrot!"
She opened the door a crack. "You called me, Mr. Commissioner?"
"Obviously, since you are there. Have you heard anything about my men leaving my service?"
"Yes, Mr. Commissioner. They're going into the Prefect's."
"Couldn't you have told me sooner?"
"You haven't given me a chance."
"You only talk nonsense; this is important. Have there been many?"
"About a dozen. The list is there on your desk."
"Hand it to me. Why do you look at me like that? Do I have a spot on my nose?"
She fled, visibly upset. Baudruche glanced at the list. Every name hurt. He saw their faces; he had thought they were attached to him. Money! They hadn't been able to resist the money. And perhaps the fear of making a mistake by sticking by the Commissioner. Pitiful. The whole thing was pitiful. Bastards? Not even that—just pathetic. He crumpled the list as if it were no more than an unpleasant memory and tossed it into the waste basket. The door opened again.
"What is it now? I said I didn't want to be disturbed under any conditions. . . ."
"I know, Mr. Commissioner, but Mr. Labrique is here."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner? Show him in!"
Labrique entered, his hands in his pockets.
"Do you see your fellow again tonight?"
Labrique looked at his watch. "Yes, he may even be on his way there now."
"Well, then, get going. If you don't find him at the Library, try to see him before tonight. Tell him it's O.K. and everything will be ready at the agreed time."
"My poor friend, this is hard on you, isn't it?"
"Mind your own business and don't be late for dinner."
The stranger was on his way back from the ramparts. He had thrown the package to the soldier, but the latter was as noncommittal as the day before. All he could get out of him was:
"It's almost over."
Dinner at the Baudruches' was almost gay. Each felt so sad that he did his best to seem happy. They even came close to laughter, and once the table was cleared, Baudruche himself got out the cards.
In the hall of the second floor at the Hotel, Elisa was shaking the door of number 23. He had dined before her, or so she had been told, obviously to avoid her. There was no answer. But she was certain he was in his room. His key wasn't hanging on its hook. She said in a loud whisper:
"Open the door. I have something to tell you."
Still no answer. She raised her voice; it grew insistent. At last she heard someone move inside the room. He was finally going to open up. No, he stayed on the other side of the door and said just loud enough for her to hear:
"Beat it!"
The game was almost over at the Commissioner's. And he'd won. He'd beaten that cad, Labrique, at his own game by cheating better than he. Labrique looked at him indulgently. Throwing his cards on the table, he smiled.
"At last you're beginning to learn how to play!"
20
N O O N E had ever seen the Commissioner arrive so early. The building was still dark. Baudruche tried the door to the office. It was locked. He found his key in the bottom of his pocket among some shreds of tobacco. He went in, removed his hat and coat, threw himself on the couch and took four sheets of paper from his jacket pocket. He had spent a large part of the night on them.
He reread the pages carefully, made some corrections and rose abruptly at the sound of footsteps in the courtyard. He looked out the window and saw that it was Revere. He called down:
"Come up right away. I want to speak to you."
Revere entered, bewildered and out of breath.
"What's going on, Mr. Commissioner?"
"You'll know soon enough. For the moment, it's none of your business or anybody else's. I want you to post yourself at the entrance and tell anyone who comes to the door to wait in the courtyard. Each time you see someone you trust, tell him to go guard an exit. I want the entire building sealed. People can come in but they can't leave. If anybody asks you why, tell them what you know, which is nothing."
Revere left. Baudruche sank into his leather chair. He needed a moment's relaxation, for the night had been brief. He had pretended to be asleep for Martha's sake, but actually he had been checking over in his mind all the things he must anticipate. Anything could happen and nothing must go wrong. Everything rested on him. He scratched his head and cracked his knuckles with anxiety. There was a noise in the hall. He opened the door; it was the Prefect's messenger.
"You can give it to me, boy."
"To you, Mr. Commissioner?"
"Isn't the letter addressed to me?"
"Yes it is, but I'm not used to . . ."
"Well, you'll get used to it, if it becomes necessary. We all need to change our ways from time to time."
The messenger left without further word. Everything was all mixed up. He ran into Miss Bourrot on the stairs.
"You have the letter?"
"Not anymore. I gave it to the Commissioner."
"He's here already?"
She sped up the stairs and knocked gently before opening the door.
"You're here, Mr. Commissioner!"
"No, it's my ghost, my double. Actually I'm off fishing."
"But . . . why?"
"Why what? Do I have to give an account of myself every time?"
She tiptoed back to her office. Didn't she count for anything in this place? After all these years in the Commissioner's service, he was treating her like scum! She opened the window and noticed that the courtyard was filling with people. Baudruche's men were standing around in small groups, probably discussing the same subject that consumed her. She hoped that at least nobody knew any more than she did. That, she could never forgive him.
"Miss Bourrot!"
She ran to the door.
"You called me, Mr. Commissioner?"
"Get me a dozen stenographers and have them bring their typewriters with them."
She wanted so badly to ask him why . . . but she soon returned with a troop of girls.
"Take whatever place you can find. I want each of you to type eight copies of what I'm about to dictate. No, don't leave, Miss Bourrot. I need you too. Now, take this down: 'General Instructions.' "
Baudruche gathered up all the pages and told his secretary:
"Lock up all these girls in an office. They are not to leave before I return this evening. Give them lunch on the house."
The girls filed out in a flurry of whispers. Baudruche went over to the window. The courtyard was now full. Baudruche saw Revere giving orders to close the main door. Apparently everybody had arrived so Baudruche started down the stairs.
"Is anyone miss
ing, Revere?"
"Yes, Mr. Commissioner, about a dozen men. I don't think they'll be coming. They've gone over to the other side."
"Well, we'll get along without them perfectly well."
Baudruche stood on the stoop and addressed his men.
"Today, you don't go to your usual stations. I want you to form into squadrons of six men, each squadron to be commanded by an officer. Payne, come here. . . . Take these sheets of paper and dole them out to the head of each group."
Baudruche looked at his watch. Time was running out. He ordered the main door opened and, walking at the head of his men, directed his steps toward the Hotel.
The stranger had left a short while before. As soon as he reached Prefect Avenue, he leaned against a wall, took the flute out of its case and put it to his lips. Passersby looked with curiosity at this man blowing into a pipe from which no sound came. Some women approached him and stood around in a circle. From every window in the vicinity, children's heads emerged. They recognized the flute player, galloped down the stairs and pushed through the women to get near him. He played a moment longer, looked up, and seeing that there were no more children at the windows, moved on. People walking by joined the crowd out of distrust for what they didn't understand. They tried to get nearer to the man but the children pushed them away. The adults heckled the man with the flute, but he paid them no heed. The crowd grew larger and more threatening; a few stopped to pick up stones off the street. Baudruche's men arrived at that moment. The Commissioner ordered the crowd to break up and everyone dispersed. He placed his men in two long rows on either side of the children to guard them. The man with the flute moved up Prefect Avenue, his followers constantly growing in numbers.
The mob of children and women kept on marching, protected by Baudruche's men who were instructed to let the children in and keep the men out. Hours went by, the procession always growing. There wasn't a house where the flute wasn't heard by those who could hear it. Baudruche's eyes darted right and left. Up to now, everything had gone as planned. A few incidents but nothing serious. Payne, who was walking at his side, asked:
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