That was just one incident, but similar scenes were the order of the day.
It was a mystery where all this teeming multitude of animals came from. They were now the true masters of the city and clearly they knew it. In bed I could hear running and a clatter of hooves, as if I were in a large metropolis. Camels and wild asses wandered through the streets; it was dangerous to tease them.
In contrast to this abundance of animals, plant life disappeared more and more. Everything was nibbled and crushed, and there was no new growth. The avenues of limes along the Embankment and out towards the cemetery consisted of nothing more than bare trunks. The earth was steaming, as if it intended to spew out even more creatures. Small holes gave off warm, sickly-smelling fumes. The nights were wreathed in a strange half-light that blurred all the contours.
III
The most uncanny thing was a mysterious process which began with the alarming rise in the number of animals, then continued inexorably, at ever increasing speed, until it led to the complete collapse of the Dream Realm: the Crumbling. It affected everything. The buildings of such different materials, the objects that had been brought together over the years, all the things the Master had spent his money on were doomed. Cracks appeared in all the walls at once, wood rotted, iron rusted, glass went cloudy, cloth fell to pieces. Precious objets d’art succumbed to an irresistible inner decay without any reason being apparent.
A sickness of inanimate matter. There was rot and mildew in even the best-looked-after houses. There must have been some unknown corrupting agent in the air, for fresh food – milk, meat, later on even eggs – went off in a few hours. Many houses burst and had to be hastily evacuated.
And then there were the ants! They turned up in every fissure and fold, in our clothes, our purses, our beds. There were three kinds: black, white and blood-red. The black species, the largest, were found in every crack in the masonry and everywhere you put your foot out of doors. The much more dangerous white ones transformed timbers into powder. Unquestionably the worst, though, were the red ones, since they chose the human body as their habitat. At first, scratching oneself was still considered indelicate, something one did in private. But what can you do when you have an itch? In the French Quarter everyone had been scratching in public for ages. We soon laughed and followed suit. It was the wife of His Excellency the President who boldly gave the lead on the occasion of a state reception.
It had become impossible to get rid of the animal excrement in the streets or the dust in the houses. However desperately we tried, it simply went on increasing. Our clothes disintegrated even while we were brushing and beating them. The only thing I found surprising was how the Dreamlanders managed to retain their good humour.
Melitta Lampenbogen, for example, was irrepressible. The whole of the officer corps were regulars in her house, right down to the most junior lieutenant. He might still stammer, ‘It’s an honour, ma’am’, but she was no longer concerned about the niceties of polite intercourse. Eventually she turned to the lower strata of society. I often observed her ploy of lifting her skirt in the street. People stopped to watch. Dogs ran after her, and they were not to be trifled with now. Once I saw one tear off her dress. She ran away in terror, dropping a crumpled letter. I picked it up and read it later.
My own Queen Ant,
I am still intoxicated with happiness. In my thoughts I kiss every one of your charms. As ever, you are the mistress of my dream. How did you sleep? Not very much, I imagine, as usual. Just think, I’ve found a way of at least being able to lie down in peace. Lay the wardrobe on the floor, then an inch of insect powder, then a blanket, then more powder, then another blanket. (Those nightshirts with buttons at the bottom that have become fashionable are no use at all.) Close the wardrobe door as soon as you’re in; a small (heart-shaped?!) hole covered with a fly-screen allows you to breathe.
Please don’t send your letters to the hotel any more. I hate the American’s gang, that Jacques especially is an utter rogue. Moreover the cooking has gone downhill recently; from now on I’ll take my lunch in the café in Long Street. Send your letters there, marked ‘H. v. B.’, but don’t give them to N. C. to bring, he’s unreliable and since he’s joined up with that damned American he’s become insolent into the bargain.
How is your tub of lard taking the departure of his last tenant? The barber’s shutting up shop and the princess doesn’t pay much. I saw him today in his carriage, but he was too occupied with the attentions of these tiresome parasites to notice me.
I’ll see you at nine o’clock tonight behind the rose bush – how bare it is now!
Your loving
Hector
P. S. I still keep getting anonymous letters about you. How little the world knows my Melitta!
Soon everyone was carrying a bag of insect powder round with them. If they had previously suffered from sleeping sickness, they now hardly slept at all. In a fever of excitement, with flushed cheeks, people wandered round the city until well past midnight. It was safer out in the streets than in the ruinous houses. During the past few days the animals’ mating frenzy had reached a climax. Everywhere – in dark corners, in the water, in the air – all sorts of creatures were copulating. From the stables came whinnying, bleating, grunting. One bull, infuriated by the sight of cows brought in for slaughter, had crushed a butcher to pulp against the wall.
The American was stirring up hatred and dissension, and mocked everything. There were very few left who still believed in the Lord. The Clock Spell was forgotten. Only occasionally did someone go into the cell now, and then they didn’t stay the prescribed thirty seconds, but came straight out. I knew now that the end of the Dream Realm was approaching inexorably.
One night I heard hissing and deep growling on the roof. With horror I watched a gigantic leopard crunch up a hare; an icy shiver ran down my spine as I heard the bones crack. My room wasn’t a cosy den any more. There were two gaping fissures in the wall from which, in the evenings, the rear portions of cockroaches stuck out at regular intervals, making them look like a frieze. During the day a pair of robins used my ash-tray as a nest. They were harmless and rewarded me for leaving them undisturbed with their singing. Unfortunately I was not to enjoy the pleasure for long. One day a kestrel, ignoring me completely, shot in and killed the male robin.
On one of the last evenings I found two scorpions under the blanket as I was going to bed and was hunting out any other such vermin when the weapon I was using – the boot-jack – fell apart. I picked up my scissors: they had rusted away. Only then did I notice that my paper was mouldy and my rulers, what was left of my drawing-table, the three-legged chest of drawers, in short all wooden pieces of furniture were worm-eaten and rotten.
And what did I look like myself? Pretty odd! At least lots of other people, who were usually neat and tidy in their dress, were going round in tatters too. We all had mildew on our clothes and shoes. It was no use washing and scrubbing them, it reappeared as fast as we could get rid of it. The materials our clothes were made from went threadbare, frayed and dropped off bit by bit. We men managed to carry it off with a certain amount of dignity, but the poor women! Better not to talk about it.
IV
A great change came when the houses were no longer really habitable. It was still all right on the ground floor, but going up stairs demanded courage bordering on recklessness.
One day when the waiter brought me a rotten egg, a broken beer bottle containing some murky liquid and a filthy, greasy cloth, presumably intended as a napkin, my patience gave out and I called for the landlord, who happened to be at the rear, propping up the ceiling with parts of the billiard table.
‘What do you call this?’ I barked. ‘There must be a pound of decaying matter on this cutlery. Please remove these disgusting objects and that foul rag at once.’ He bowed and scraped. ‘You can’t get the staff nowadays’, he whined.
‘All right, all right.’ I waved him away in exasperation, stood up, took my mangy top-hat
and left the café. The place where I had been sitting had already been taken over by a colony of ants.
I only kept going to the café out of habit. Conditions there were too revolting to eat or drink anything other than a black coffee. Anton had changed, and not for the better; he never washed his hands and his smell preceded him from a great distance. You didn’t have to go round like that. The barber referred to the crust of filth covering him as ‘primal matter’. It was simply nauseating! I was even more surprised, therefore, when I came back one evening and heard soft giggling in the vestibule. I shone my lamp in every corner, expecting to find some animal, and what did I see behind the storeroom door? Anton and Melitta locked in a passionate embrace!
She died soon after. She was found in her bedroom, torn to pieces. The door was locked and had to be broken down. There was a gigantic mastiff locked in with her. The rabid beast bristled and threw itself at the men who appeared in the doorway, biting two policemen before they managed to shoot it. They died soon afterwards from rabies. In the last days of her life not much was left of her former beauty. It was in vain that she tried to conceal the ravages of her way of life through excessive make-up and powder.
The two chess players also suffered agonies. Eventually the old gentlemen, who were completely in thrall to their passion, came to find any movement so complicated they needed hours of deliberation just to lift a finger. Given the amount of vermin around, it was obvious that such slowness would cause serious problems. Much to be praised, therefore, was a young lady who happened to be taking tea in the café once and noticed the torments the two were suffering. She simply went over and, quite unembarrassed, started picking the ants and bugs off their coats. After that we all followed her example. Until then we had laughed at the grotesque faces the chess players pulled, but now it became the custom for us regulars to give the two gentlemen a quick scratch as we came or left. As you can see, even in those terrible times not all sympathy for the sufferings of others had vanished.
Once again the American was stirring things up. He prophesied that the deluge of animals would soon dry up and he turned out to be right insofar as the bigger species gradually withdrew. For the time being, however, the smaller mammals and reptiles remained, though the birds had completely disappeared, apart from hosts of ravens and white-necked vultures. The vultures, massive, heavy birds, perched like bronze statues on the stumps of the trees along the avenues, staring fixedly at the city as if they were waiting for something. Even though his prophecy had only partially come true, it brought the American new support. From now on his attacks on his mortal enemy, Patera, were even more vicious, if that were possible.
I went back to taking a regular evening stroll along the river. The waves had washed up countless shells, corals, snails, fish-bones and scales on the banks. I was surprised how often I found remains of marine fauna. The banks looked as if they were strewn with mystical signs and I was convinced the blue-eyed tribe would be able to understand this symbolic language. There were definitely mysteries here. The wings of the often magnificent insects – moths and flying beetles – had marks which must be forgotten characters, only I didn’t possess the key to them.
How great you must be, Patera, I thought. Why does the Lord hide himself away, even from those who love him? I walked along, lost in melancholy thought. The bare trees on the opposite bank were bent low over the river so that their branches touched the black water. Gigantic shadows were moving between them and the crack of breaking twigs could be clearly heard. Sometimes I saw long necks or trunks which made me think of monstrous prehistoric creatures. The darker it grew, the more dangerous it was for people out walking alone. One evening, which was to be of great significance for me, I turned back in fright when a beam sticking out of the water suddenly blew out air. An alligator was baring its teeth at me.
As I made my way home I thought about another dangerous incident the previous day which had turned out all right in the end. For a long time rumours had been circulating about a huge tiger, a pregnant female, that was said to be living in the Palace. Various people claimed they had seen its blunt muzzle and long back in the window gallery. Yesterday just such a beast had leapt into Alfred Blumenstich’s glazed veranda. At the sight of the fierce animal the lady of the house, who was fat and chubby, simply fainted without a sound. Professor Korntheuer happened to be having lunch with them. In this terrible situation the venerable old gentleman showed remarkable heroism. ‘Keep calm’, he said to the horrified husband as he stood up, ‘even the fiercest beasts of prey will submit to a higher being. They feel awe at our upright gait and our noble, lordly gaze fills them with fear.’ With that he walked towards the animal, taking his spectacles off. Whether it was the strangeness of the stiff-legged scholarly figure approaching or something else, the result was another crash of shattering glass as the tiger jumped out, unfortunately with Frau Blumenstich in its jaws. Blumenstich wrung his hands. ‘Oh God, please save my Julie’, he whimpered. Pursued by the servants armed with rifles, the tiger carried the unconscious woman off to the Palace. In the street everyone politely made way for them. The fire brigade was called out as quickly as possible and tried to separate the striped monster from its prey. You could hear it in one of the large rooms on the first floor, furiously snarling at its attackers. To shoot it was impossible, they could very easily have hit Frau Blumenstich, so they tried to winkle the animal out with their fire-hoses. That helped. The soaking shower persuaded the tiger to leave its corner, but unfortunately it didn’t forget its prey. With a huge leap it soared out through the high arched window. The people screamed in horror, but God heard her poor husband’s prayer. Frau Blumenstich got caught on the window-catch and hung there, upside down, her skirts over her head, visible to all and sundry, but safe. In the general rejoicing the tiger managed to make its escape.
There was great consternation at the fact that the animal had not been caught. The American suggested a thorough search of the Palace, but, despite the general emancipation from the Master, no one was willing to go that far; the military and the police flatly refused to cooperate.
The Lord’s behaviour was truly strange! Even if he was going to withdraw his protection from Pearl, he could at least have made an exception for his faithful followers, but he didn’t seem to bother about the distinction. At times now the city was quiet, even though almost the whole of the population of the Dream Realm was gathered there.
‘The mansions of the rich for the poor and needy!’ roared the mob. The rich gave up their houses all the more willingly as possession had to be wrung from the animals that had made their homes in them. Lampenbogen’s country villa had become a porcupine warren and a well-fed python was sleeping on the sofa in his late lamented wife’s boudoir. These animals had to be exterminated before the people could move in. And anyway, conditions in these palatial dwellings were not as fine as the common folk imagined. The precious objects had clearly lost the will to live. The valuable vases and china were covered in a delicate network of tiny cracks; magnificent paintings developed black spots which spread over the whole picture; engravings became porous and disintegrated. You wouldn’t believe how quickly well-looked-after furnishings could turn into a pile of rubbish. For this reason most of the peasants who had come into the city preferred to camp out in the open spaces and fields close to the city.
‘Lord, now you show your might through terror alone’, I thought as I made my way up Long Street. It was dark and there was a rustling and creaking all around. At one point a slate plummeted down from the roof, at another lumps of mortar fell away from the wall, there was a constant trickle of fine sand from holes in the masonry which were growing visibly larger and everywhere we had to clamber over piles of rubble, posts and stakes sticking up out of the ground.
Death weaving its intangible web.
On the roof of the coffee house quite close to my attic I could clearly see a black silhouette moving: the leopard. It had doubtless made its lair in the loft of one of the neighbour
ing buildings. It could perhaps have been killed by a rifle bullet, but we were all too cowardly. In my narrow room I fell into the depths of despondency. For a long time I walked up and down, aching in my back and joints.
‘What are we all still living for? We’re damned! If I fell ill now, there isn’t a soul would bother about me.’ An all-pervading fear crept over me. ‘I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die!’ At a complete loss, I put my head in my hands. ‘The pinnacle of creation!’ – It was my despair speaking. – ‘Two legs, tubes of bone, bear my whole world, a world of pain and delusion. The worst part is the body.’ The fear of death sent a shudder through me. ‘What lies in store for my body? All its thousand organs, into what cunning instruments of torture will they be transformed? Oh, if only I could stop thinking, but that functions automatically. There are no certainties that are not countered by uncertainties! It’s an endless labyrinth, and I’m damned! My belly is filled with ordure and disgust, and whenever I do manage to feel something passionately I immediately lose my nerve. There is just one thing I do know: however much I wriggle and squirm, minute by minute I am coming closer to the inevitable, closer to death, and there is nothing I can do about it. I haven’t even the courage to kill myself. Lasting unhappiness is my destiny.’ I sighed.
‘I despair of Patera. I don’t understand him, he plays with mysteries. He must be as powerless as the rest of us or he would long since have crushed the American. But that is beyond him. It is the American who possesses true life. If only I weren’t so timorous, I would go to him, fall to my knees and he would help.’
The Weird: A Compendium of Strange and Dark Stories Page 4