by Iliazd
Yes, if some witness who had seen the young man a minute ago met him now, he wouldn’t believe his eyes. Laurence’s face was transfigured to such a degree, full of valor, without a care, unwrinkled, unreflecting. Humming, Laurence sought a place where he could cross the stream, part wading and part leaping from one boulder to another, and took off running on the opposite bank in order to warm himself and dry off. Laurence had strength enough and to spare, and if he had recalled just now being in despair, he would have been amazed. But Laurence no longer remembered anything. He proceeded with a weightless gait and if the road that lay before him had been much longer and much more difficult, it would have been overcome with the same animal litheness. For the first time since the evening when Luke had attempted to intervene in Laurence’s life with art, Laurence was the same as he had been before that memorable evening. If only the path led into infinity
The forest stretched out on the opposite bank, and Laurence rustled among the branches and boughs, as though a massive beast were going through the woods; he spooked a few fallow deer and chased them, whistling. Even when it was getting dark and fireflies filled the air, causing a multitude of troubles, Laurence did not slow his pace. And, reflecting that this night, for sure, was exactly the same as the night of Brother Mocius, he felt only bolder and more assured. How much simpler everything is when you know what you want. And he flew into the sleeping unpronounceable hamlet precisely as he would have a year ago on his way to a merry hunt
Laurence paid no attention to the barking of dogs provoked by his appearance, not the bark that greets a human being’s approach, but the kind that meets the appearance of a ravening and bloodthirsty beast, drawn out and dismal. The bark of a few was taken up by the rest, the wennies woke up, listening closely, and the soldiers, who were not entirely comfortable in this godforsaken den of thieves, jumped up, grabbing their weapons
Laurence found the cabin rebuilt and lit from inside, and after knocking down the door with a blow, he burst in. Near the entrance, on the floor, stood a lamp, and the wenny was lying next to it, his head turned so the shadow from his monstrous goiter fell across his face, howling like a dog. And no matter how eerie the barking of the village dogs, Laurence disdained the sheepdogs, but here he could not keep from shuddering and shrinking back. Was it a death plaint, an animal’s savage exhaustion or a desperate call in view of a mortal enemy’s approach? What hadn’t Laurence heard during these last months: the crying of rape victims and the bawling of torture victims; nothing could compare with this fount of overwhelming horror. The young man grew cold, began reeling, trying to catch hold of the wall, and collapsed in a dead faint
When he came to, there was no more howling and the old wenny with his disfigured yap was bending over him. “I know you came for advice, my wayward son,” he wheezed, “you who mocked it in due season. You wanted mountain treasures and found Ivlita, the greatest of all. And what of it, were you content? Still, you took off for the plains? You promised to make my sons rich and famous. And where are they? You spent time on the plains, collected some money; well, did it come in handy for you? And I won’t even mention the fact that the whole country’s mucked up because of you. And all because you’re a pretender, one of the unwashed, you knew perfectly well you weren’t a highlander, said so yourself, but you pushed in among the highlanders. Going nowhere fast, spitting in the wind. And you had the big idea of committing murder on top of it all. What advice can I give you now? Die like a dog and rot, you demon!”
“What garbage,” Laurence cried out, bouncing back. “You’ve gone nuts because of your age and your wounds, obviously. At last, I see that you are the pretender, not I, and your wisdom is nonsense just like Brother Mocius’s riches! I don’t know what kind of blackout came over me. I thought: you can give me some advice, your words mean something. They’re crap, that’s all. Just like all you highlanders. Get this, you old blockhead,” the young man went grinding on right into the wenny’s ear, “murder’s the only thing makes life worth living. We travel, get drunk, work, sleep with broads, all according to nature’s laws, like we’re walled in. There’s only one way out—murder. Nature intended such and such person or beast to make his way through life, but I messed with the plan, took a knife or a pistol and turned everything upside down, violated the order of the world, broke free. I celebrated the mystery of turning wine into blood. Don’t bother searching, murder is the only way to make freedom visible. Especially when it’s not caused by hunger, or revenge, or at war, but murder for its own sake. You’ve been blowing smoke about you people not dying, but turning into trees. If you like, I’ll cover the barren cliffs with vegetation and every desert with a garden in bloom. I’ll strike you on the temple and branching death will sprout from your head this very day”
“Die like a dog, murderer,” the old man rasped. And, forgetting his years and wounds, he jumped up and threw himself at Laurence. He knocked him down and both rolled on the floor. The lamp tipped over, kerosene streamed out and ignited
Villagers and soldiers, attracted by the fire and noise, came running. But they could not step over the threshold. Through the shimmering curtain of flame that engulfed the floor and the unhinged door, they observed two grappling people, now falling, now ascending with a snarl and a roar
But those gathered began whispering among themselves, and then a rapturous word rolled over them: Laurence. They could see: one of the brawlers stopped, distracted at being hailed
Laurence? One of the two? The soldiers raised their rifles and began shooting into the flames
But in the morning among the ashes and roof tiles of the burned-out cabin they found no corpses. Just one trunk of a strange tree resembling a skeleton and untouched by flames
In the city, they did not yet know anything of the latest events. Laurence, the treasury and all that, had been forgotten long ago in favor of other, more current, stories and the name of the unfortunate Arcady was covered over by the same oblivion. Therefore, if on this day some verifiable information had arrived about what happened in the cretins’ hamlet or in the village with the sawmill, it would have appeared in small print, and only for lack of other material, on the last pages of the newspaper, where no one, it goes without saying, would even notice. And at present there was more than enough material, and the most urgent, official information, not subject to any rewriting or abbreviation, and so you could say with certainty that reports of Laurence’s latest appearance would not have landed in the news section—no space for them would have been found even in the provincial chronicle. Today, the city was graced with a visit from the emperor
In consideration of the empire’s breadth and variety, its juridical, so to speak, head was deprived, naturally, of the possibility of frequently displaying his outward ugliness to the populace, so devoted to him for his inner ugliness, and all the more of appearing in places distant from the capital, like the city with the grand boulevard. And since, besides, the emperor, dubbed The Prodigal Frigging Hand, hated his people for the characterization bestowed on him, despised them for their servility, and feared them, without knowing why, then, although appearing before the people was an obligatory condition of any reign, viewing The Prodigal Hand was permitted on extremely rare occasions. However, in accordance with considerations intelligible only to his entourage, it was incumbent on him, nevertheless, sometimes to travel, and the emperor was even now traveling, and since the city with the grand boulevard lay along his route, he could not avoid the grand boulevard and was obliged to give its citizens an occasion for demonstrating once again all their slavishness and the baseness of their race
In all classes of the population, therefore, a phenomenal fever held sway, whose degree depended on the degree of each class’s participation in the events described. And it reached virtually its highest degree among the police. Since the task set before the state’s police force was in this case particularly difficult and ticklish
First of all, they needed to preserve the person of the emperor, sinc
e it was customary in the country’s history for emperors to end their lives in violent death. This problem would not have been so complicated if it had been possible to know precisely from whom they needed to protect the emperor. Although there was a simple answer in such cases: from the party, the inadequacy of this answer was too obvious: the party had been in existence for not all that many years, while emperors had been dying violent deaths since the dawn of time. But in view of the fact that the other assailants were too highly placed and that they were inaccessible or simply unknown to the police, the police stood by their answer and, naturally, strove to prove that they were right. And in view of the fact that the party, knowing that the emperor was only the sign over a shop where others were enriching themselves, had no plan for assassinating him, the police, in order to have something to intercept, had to arrange for an assassination attempt on their own. But because, finally, plotting attempts on the emperor himself was risky and his lackeys didn’t have enough spirit, plots were set in motion against those close to the emperor, who actually trembled in fear for their own heads on such trips. That’s why the struggle against the party was the second, concomitant concern for the police
But since the attempt had to be carried out, all the same, not by the police but by the party, it was necessary for the police, if not to run the party, then, in any case, to urge the party on to heroic exploits. The whole question came down to getting rid of surprises, which, however, remained, for no matter how many hands the police had in the party, not all the party’s leaders were its people. The robbery of the treasury had succeeded only thanks to Basilisk’s quick wits, and this time they had to be especially careful so as not to repeat the episode with the treasury
Several facts made the work of the police easier during such trips, in part the etiquette that divested a crowned personage of all freedom of action and predetermined for several months how that personage would pass each day and along what streets he would move while carrying out the ceremonies that made up his schedule. And since it had long been established that the linchpin of his visit would be a solemn prayer service in the city’s cathedral in the presence of all ranks of civilians and soldiers, high and middling, the cathedral was chosen as the next theater
This time, the pantomime was sure to come off particularly ravishing and elegant, since the main role was assigned to a woman remarkable in all respects. Actually, Anna was a flower girl, whose adventurous love affairs were known well beyond the bounds of the city. She wasn’t beautiful, perhaps good-looking, but in her strange figure—a small head with a broad smile, flat chest, excessively voluptuous thighs and sculpted little legs—was so much charm and banality that the males of the city were driven mad. Anna, however, who could easily have become rich and made a name for herself, derived no advantage from all her attractions, remaining trifling and poor. That’s why the glory of an unmercenary settled on her, opening all doors into society, which despised disinterestedness, and the police, resolved to be, at long last, sharp-witted, suggested to Anna that her genuine path in life, in that case, was the party. But to keep Anna from becoming too zealous in working for the benefit of the party, they kept her in reserve for some solemn occasion. And now such an occasion was at hand, and it was decided to release Anna into circulation
Everything was extremely uncomplicated. In the cathedral, Anna had to carry out an attempt on the person of the chief of the state’s police force (it stands to reason that this was a decision of the police chief himself, who worked out the details of the attempt), but not an entirely successfully one, then to be apprehended and immediately put to death. Thanks to the attempt, the chief of police was making his tenure more secure and receiving his next ribbon, and rewards and promotions were being prepared for his subordinates. Members of the party, once they had been accused of aiding and abetting, could be, in part, sent into exile, and in part, incarcerated: new sources for police prosperity. And everything was so clear and preordained, even the fever that had seized the police gained hold, essentially, only over the lower and less responsible ranks, while its leaders maintained the most magnificent calm in fulfilling their loyal duty. From the outside, the only thing that differentiated the peculiar life of the massive police barracks from its everyday aspect was that all ongoing work was suspended and the barracks was transformed into a theatrical wardrobe. Day and night, apparel for all kinds of citizens was being sewn, since it behooved the costumed police both to embody a crowd and to represent a delegation of craftsmen and merchants, bureaucrats and teachers, and every kind of delegation imaginable, up to and including governing circles. And although the emperor knew of this, and if he didn’t, could easily have guessed, seeing in all corners of the country approximately the same forensic types, etiquette required him to pretend that, as he said, he was pleased with the reception, to believe in the genuineness of the people presented to him, often ten times in one day in one and the same city, changing their costumes and makeup, and to pose questions, hear out replies and read with pleasure the patents and charters submitted to him. True, the costumers’ tastes and the love of state folklorists for old-fashioned things led to the people who met the emperor usually being dressed as no one had dressed for many centuries already. But this only made everything more picturesque, and for the unfeigned philistine who watched the shuffling of costumed police, the spectacle turned out to be not merely amusing, but even educational
The Prodigal Hand was dressed in the same kind of antediluvian costume in order not to break the unity of the decor when, emerging from the train station, he had to clamber up onto the horse that was presented to him and, surrounded by his entourage, brilliant to a rare degree, ride through the entire city to the cathedral. And since the number in disguise was, nevertheless, insufficient to bank the road from the station to the cathedral, The Prodigal Hand was forced to move along at a particularly slow pace, thereby giving the ecstatic populace the opportunity, once he had passed them, to race forward along side streets and, in this way, fill the boulevard, which, cordoned off by soldiers, was, in fact, deserted. In the cathedral, what there was of baseness in the city and whatever vapidity could be brought were united for the meeting. And Laurence, scrutinizing the monstrous mugs, heavy-lobed, hawk-nosed and cross-eyed, and the feeble bodies, bony hands, bugged-out and unctuous eyes, the whole devil’s Sabbath, asked himself with a shudder what the leader of these fiends must be and why a church was such a suitable place for bats, guano, sin and degeneration
After managing to jump out the window following his fight with the wenny and to flee the unpronounceable hamlet, Laurence considered Arcady’s murder the last thing left to do and showed up in the village with the sawmill in search of the captain. But there he found out about The Prodigal Frigging Hand’s arrival in the city and, seeing in this unexpected trip his one chance for redeeming the past, since to sweeten the theatrical effect they often pardoned bandits who turned up with a confession, he asked the village scribe to draw up a petition, carefully hid the sheet and, without disturbing Arcady’s dreary sleep, set off once more for the city, where, so recently, he had resolved never again to make an appearance. And now, after gaining access to the cathedral thanks to his picturesque bandit’s costume, Laurence was standing not far from the entrance, holding his petition, determined to press the paper immediately into The Prodigal’s hands, since the hope for a pardon was an unhoped-for way out with respect to the future father who had returned to his senses
When she saw him, Anna could not for a long time recollect whether this was the same person she had met in Basilisk’s company in the suburban garden on the eve of the robbery. But when she was certain he was the same, only then did it occur to her: yes, of course, that’s Laurence, and everything was suddenly extraordinarily illumined, and Anna no longer saw anyone in the cathedral besides Laurence. But Laurence’s very presence was so unnatural that Anna could in no way come to terms with it, and meanwhile, she needed to act. And allowing that Anna knew Laurence’s tie to the party
had been broken, and saw that he was alone, she was convinced that Laurence had planned something incredible, more magnificent than his former audacity. And although the object of his new plan could only be the emperor, the emperor whose approach the hautboys were already announcing, Anna did not consider whether she ought to get in Laurence’s way, for to get in his way would mean renouncing what she had planned. And acknowledging that, no matter what, she had been driven into a corner and that if she did not shoot and kill the chief of police, she would all the same be strangled somewhere, Anna in the end decided to let Laurence act first and see what would come of it
And at once her agitation disappeared and was replaced by a sense of utter fulfillment. What fun it would be if he killed The Prodigal Frigging Hand or caused some unbelievable calamity here. And with the rapture, which, she tried to assure herself on this point, she had experienced once before when she met Laurence with Basilisk, Anna gazed at her hero, standing near the entrance on a dais and poised over the cathedral. The sunshine, penetrating the rainbow-colored glass, scattered bunches of alpine flowers around Laurence and cast a shadow from him in such a way that Anna, overwhelmed by the difference between him and the officials, had a vision: the whole area of the building was shrouded by Laurence, and the degenerates crowding around dissolved in him, along with the streams of people filing into the cathedral, more and yet more, the powerful of this world, preceding the emperor