Snail on the Slope Read online

  She washed his head as he spat water out and snorted and brooded over her strong, expert hands just like his mother's, just as good a cook too, likely, then she asked: "Want your back rubbed?"

  He slapped his ear to get rid of the soap and water and said: "Well of course, surely! ..." She scrubbed his back with a rough loofah and turned on the shower.

  "Hold on," he said. "I want to lie just like this a bit longer. I'll let this water out now, let in fresh and just lie here, and you sit there. Please."

  She turned the shower off, went out for a moment, and came back with a stool.

  "Lovely!" said he. "You know, I've never felt so good here as now."

  "There you are," she smiled. "And you never wanted to."

  "How did I know?"

  "Why did you have to know in advance? You could have just tried. What had you to lose? You married?"

  "I don't know," he said. "Not now, seemingly."

  "I thought as much. Loved her a lot, didn't you? What was she like?"

  "What was she like? ... She wasn't afraid of anything. And she was kind. We used to daydream about the forest."

  "What forest?"

  "What d'you mean? There's only one."

  "Ours, you mean?"

  "It's not yours. It's its own. Anyway maybe it really is ours. Only it's hard to picture it like that."

  "I've never been in the forest," said Alevtina. "They say it's frightening."

  "The unknown always is. Everything would be simple if people learned not to be afraid of the unknown."

  "Well I think you shouldn't invent things," she said. "If there was a bit less making things up, there wouldn't be anything unknown in the world. Peppy, you're always making things up."

  "What about the forest?" he reminded her.

  "Well, what about it? I've never got there, but if I did, I don't think I'd do too badly. Where there's a forest, there's paths, where there's paths, there's people, and you can always get by with people."

  "What if there's no people?"

  "If there's no people then there's nothing to do there. You have to stick to people, they won't let you down."

  "No," Pepper said. "It's not as simple as that. I'm going downhill, people and all. I don't understand a thing about them."

  "Lord, what on earth don't you understand?"

  "Anything. That's what started me dreaming about the forest, incidentally. Only now I see that it's no easier in the forest."

  She shook her head.

  "What a child you still are," she said. "Why can't you ever understand that nothing exists in the world except love, food, and power. All rolled up together of course, but whatever thread you pull, you're sure to arrive at love, or power, or food..."

  "No," said Pepper. "I don't want that."

  "Darling," she said quietly. "Who's going to ask you whether you want it or not. Of course, I might ask you: what're you tossing about for, Peppy, what the hell more do you want?"

  "I don't think I need anything," said Pepper. "To clear out of here as far as possible and become an archivist or a restorer. That's all the desires I have."

  She shook her head again.

  "Hardly. That's a bit too complicated. You need something simpler."

  He didn't argue, and she got up.

  "Here's your towel," she said. "I've put your under-things over here. Come out and we'll have some tea. You'll have all the tea and raspberry jam you want, then go to bed."

  Pepper had already pulled the plug and was standing up in the bath rubbing himself down with a huge shaggy towel, when the windows rattled and there came the muffled thud of a distant explosion. Then he remembered the spares dump and Jeanne the silly, hysterical doll. He cried: "What's that? Where?"

  "They've blown up the machine," replied Alevtina. "Don't be afraid."

  "Where? Where'd they blow it up? At the depot?"

  Alevtina was silent for a while, apparently looking out of the window.

  "No," she said at last. "Why the depot? In the park... There's the smoke going up... There they all are, running, running..."

  Chapter Ten

  The forest was invisible. In its place, below the rock as far as the horizon, lay dense clouds. It resembled an ice-field powdered with snow: ice-hummocks and snow dunes, holes and crevasses concealing endless depths - if you jumped down from the rock your fall would be broken, not by earth, warm swamps, or spreading branches, but by hard ice sparkling in the morning sun, powdered lightly with dry snow, and you would stay lying on the ice under the sun, flat, motionless, black. It might be thought to resemble an old, well-washed white blanket, thrown over the treetops...

  Pepper hunted around to find a pebble, lobbed it from palm to palm, thinking what a good little place this was above the precipice: pebbles about, no sense of the Directorate, wild thorn bushes all around, faded untrodden grass, even some little birdy permitting itself a chirp. Best not to look over to the right, though, where a luxurious four-hole latrine was suspended over the precipice, its fresh paint brazenly shining in the sun. Quite a way off, it's true, and possible if you wanted, to make yourself imagine it a summerhouse or some sort of scientific pavilion, but it did spoil the scene.

  Perhaps it was actually because of this new latrine, erected the previous turbulent night, that the forest had shrouded itself in clouds. Hardly likely though. The forest wouldn't wrap itself up to the distant horizon for anything so petty, it was used to a lot worse than that from people.

  At any rate, Pepper thought, I can come here every morning. I'll do what they tell me, I'll tote up on the broken Mercedes, I'll beat the assault course, I'll play the manager at chess, even try to get to like yogurt: it's probably not too bad if practically everybody likes it. And of an evening (and for the night), I'll go over to Alevtina's and eat raspberry jam and lie in the director's bath. There's something to be said for that even, he thought. Dry yourself with the director's towel and warm your feet up in the director's woolly socks, meanwhile crammed into the director's dressing gown. Twice a month I'll go over to the biostation to collect salary and bonuses, not the forest, just the biostation, and not even there, just to the pay-out window, but no meeting with the forest and no war with the forest, just salary and bonuses. But in the morning, early in the morning, I shall come here and look on the forest from afar and lob pebbles into it.

  The bushes behind him parted with a crash. Pepper glanced around warily, but it wasn't the director, just Hausbotcher once again. He was carrying a fat file folder and halted some distance away, looking Pepper up and down with his moist eyes. He clearly knew something, something very important, and had brought this strange alarming information that no one in the world knew of save himself, here to the cliff-edge, and it was plain that everything that had gone before was no longer significant and from everyone would be required to contribute all he was capable of.

  "Hello," he said, and bowed, clasping the case to his hip. "Good morning. Did you rest well?"

  "Good morning," said Pepper. "Well, thank you."

  "Humidity today seventy-six percent," Hausbotcher announced. "Temperature - seventeen degrees. No wind. Cloud cover - nil." He had drawn nearer noiselessly, arms along the seams of his trousers, and, inclining his body toward Pepper, continued: "Double-u today - sixteen."

  "What's double-u?" asked Pepper, getting up.

  "Quantity of spots," said Hausbotcher swiftly. His eyes became shifty. "On the sun," he said. "On the s-s-s..." He ceased, staring Pepper in the face.

  "And why are you telling me this?" asked Pepper with distaste.

  "I beg your pardon," said Hausbotcher rapidly. "It won't be repeated. So, just humidity, cloud cover ... hmm ... wind and ... you won't require me to report planetary oppositions?"

  "Listen," said Pepper dismally. "What do you want from me?"

  Hausbotcher retreated a pace or two and hung his head. "I beg pardon. Perhaps I intruded, but there are a few papers that require ... that is, immediate ... your personal..." He held out the file folde
r toward Pepper, like an empty tray. "Do you order me to report?"

  "You know what..." said Pepper menacingly.

  "Yes ... yes?" said Hausbotcher. Without relinquishing the file folder, he began rummaging through his pockets, as if in search of his notepad. His face was blue-tinged as if from sheer zeal.

  Fool, fool, thought Pepper, trying to control himself. What was I expecting from the likes of him? "Stupid," he said striving for restraint. "That clear? Stupid and not in the least witty."

  "Yes-yes," said Hausbotcher. Bent double, with the file folder clasped between elbow and thigh, he scribbled frantically on the notepad. "One second ... yes, yes?"

  "What are you writing there?" asked Pepper. Hausbotcher glanced fearfully at him and read out:

  "Fifteenth June ... time ... seven forty-five ... place: cliff-edge..."

  "Listen, Hausbotcher," said Pepper, exasperated. "What the hell do you want? Why d'you trail about after me all the time? I've had enough of it, just lay off! [Hausbotcher scribbled.] This joke of yours is sheer stupidity and there's no need to spy around me. You should be ashamed at your age... Now stop writing, idiot! It's damned stupidity! Why don't you do your exercises or get washed, just take a look at yourself, you're like nothing on earth! Ugh!"

  He began doing up his sandal straps with fingers trembling with fury.

  "They're probably right about you," he panted. "They say you get everywhere and take a note of the conversation. I used to think these were your stupid jokes... I didn't want to believe it, I can't stand that sort of thing at all, but it looks as though you're quite brazen about it now."

  He straightened up and saw that Hausbotcher was standing staunchly at attention, tears were flowing down his cheeks.

  "Just what's the matter with you today?" asked Pepper, alarmed.

  "I can't..." mumbled Hausbotcher, between sobs.

  "What can't you?"

  "Exercises... My liver ... chit... and washing."

  "Good God in heaven," said Pepper. "Well if you can't, you needn't, it was just a manner of speaking... Well anyway, why are you following me around? Don't you see, for God's sake, it's not exactly pleasant... I've nothing against you, but can't you grasp? ..."

  "Won't happen again!" cried Hausbotcher, ecstatic. The tears on his cheeks dried instantly. "Never again!"

  "To blazes with you," said Pepper wearily and walked off through the bushes. Hausbotcher forced his way after him. Old clown, thought Pepper, feebleminded ...

  "Absolute urgency," Hausbotcher was muttering, breathing heavily. "Only extreme necessity... Your personal attention."'

  Pepper looked around.

  "What the hell?" he exclaimed. "That's my suitcase, give it here, where did you get it?"

  Hausbotcher placed the case on the ground and was on the point of opening his mouth twisted by the effort of breathing, when Pepper snatched the case handle, not bothering to listen to him. At this, Hausbotcher without a word lay belly-down on the case. "Give me that case!" said Pepper, going ice-cold from fury.

  "Never!" croaked Hausbotcher, scraping his knees about in the gravel. The file folder was in his way so he gripped it between his teeth and embraced the suitcase with both arms. Pepper heaved with all his might and succeeded in ripping off the handle.

  "Stop this outrageous behavior!" he said. "At once!"

  Hausbotcher shook his head and burbled something. Pepper loosened his collar and stared helplessly around. In the shadow of an oak tree not far off, two engineers in cardboard masks were standing for some reason. Catching his glance, they straightened up and clicked their heels. Pepper peered around him like a hunted animal, then hurriedly walked along the path out of the park. There'd been plenty of surprises up till now, he thought feverishly, but this beat all... They were all in it together ... run, he had to run! But how? He emerged from the park and was about to turn off toward the canteen, but he found Hausbotcher blocking his way once more, filthy and appalling. He was standing with the suitcase on his shoulder, his blue face was bathed in tears or water or sweat, his eyes roved beneath a white film of moisture, he gripped the file folder with teethmarks on it close to his chest.

  "Not here, please..." he croaked. "I beg you ... to the study ... intolerably urgent ... not forgetting interests of subordination..."

  Pepper recoiled from him and ran off along the main street. People were standing like statues along the pavements, heads back and eyes staring. A truck speeding toward him pulled up with a squeal of brakes and smashed into a newsstand. People with spades spilled out of the back and began forming up in two ranks. A security guard went by with ceremonial step, holding his rifle at the present-arms...

  On two occasions Pepper attempted to turn off into a side street, but each time Hausbotcher appeared before him. Hausbotcher was no longer able to speak, he just moaned and growled, rolling beseeching eyes. Thereupon Pepper ran off toward the Directorate building.

  Kim, he thought desperately, Kim won't permit... surely Kim wasn't in with them as well? ... I'll lock myself in the lavatory ... let them try ... I'll use my feet... I'm past caring...

  He burst into the hallway only to be greeted at once with the brazen clangor of the amalgamated local orchestras thundering out a march. Strained faces, protruding eyes, inflated chests flashed before him. Hausbotcher caught him up and chased him up the main staircase with its raspberry carpets, a route forbidden to everyone at all times, through some unfamiliar two-tone halls, past security guards in full-dress uniform with decorations, along slippery waxed parquet, up to the fifth floor along a portrait gallery, upstairs again to floor six, past some bedecked females frozen like mannequins, into a sort of luxurious dead end with fluorescent lighting, and up to an enormous leather door with the nameplate "Director." Nowhere else to run.

  Hausbotcher caught up with him and slid under his elbow, croaked horribly like an epileptic and flung the leather door wide before him. Pepper entered, and sank up to his insteps in a monstrous tiger skin, and immersed his whole being into the austere executive twilight of half-drawn door curtains, into the noble aroma of expensive tobacco, in the cotton-wool silence, into the even tenor and serenity of an alien existence.

  "Hello," he said into space. But no one was sitting behind the huge table. No one was sitting in the huge armchairs. And no one met his glance except Selivan the Martyr in a vast picture occupying the whole of one side of the room.

  Behind him, Hausbotcher dropped the suitcase with a thump. Pepper started and turned around. Hausbotcher was standing, swaying and proffering the file folder like an empty tray. His eyes were dead, glassy. The man'll die any minute, thought Pepper. But Hausbotcher did not die.

  "Unusually urgent..." he grated, panting. "Not possible without director's signature ... personal... would never dare..."

  "What director?" Pepper whispered. A terrible surmise had begun to take vague shape in his brain.

  "You..." Hausbotcher croaked. "Without your official stamp ... no way..."

  Pepper leaned against the table and supporting himself on its polished surface, wandered around it to the chair that seemed nearest. He dropped into its cool leather embrace and took in the rows of colored telephones on his left and the gold stamped volumes on the right. In front of him stood a monumental inkwell with Tannhauser and Venus, and above it, the white beseeching eyes of Hausbotcher and the proffered document case. He drew his elbows in, thought: Well, so that's how it is? You scum, sods, lackies ... that's it, eh? Well, well, you bastards, slaves, cardboard snouts... Well, all right, let it be...

  "Stop waggling that over the table," he said severely. "Give it here."

  Things began moving in the office, shadows flitted^ a small whirlwind started up and Hausbotcher materialized at his right shoulder; the folder lay on the table and opened as if of its own accord, sheets of fine quality paper peeped out, and he read a word printed in large letters: DRAFT. "Thank you," he said severely. "You may go."

  Once more the whirlwind, an aroma of sweat was sensed an
d then vanished, Hausbotcher was already by the door pausing, trunk inclined, hands by his seams, appalling, piteous, and ready for anything.

  "One moment," said Pepper. Hausbotcher froze. "Can you kill a man?" asked Pepper. Hausbotcher did not hesitate. He pulled out a small notepad and spoke: "Your orders?" "And commit suicide?" Pepper asked. "What?" said Hausbotcher. "Go," said Pepper. "I'll call for you later." Hausbotcher vanished. Pepper cleared his throat and wiped his cheeks.

  "Let's assume that," he said aloud. "And now what?"

  On the table he observed a desk diary, turned the page, and read the present day's entry. The previous director's handwriting disappointed him; it was large and legible like a primary school teacher's. "Group leaders. 9:30. Foot examination. 10:30. Power for Ala. Try aerated yogurt. Machinization. Reel: who stole it? Four bulldozers!!!"

  To hell with the bulldozers, thought Pepper, that's it: no bulldozers, no excavators, no saw-combines of eradication... Good idea to castrate Acey at the same time - can't, pity ... and that machine-depot. Blow that up, he decided. He pictured the Directorate from above and realized that a great deal needed blowing up. Too much... Any fool can use explosives, he thought.

  He pulled out the desk's middle drawer and saw there heaps of papers, blunted pencils, and two philatelic perforation-gauges, and on top of all this, a twisted golden general's epaulette. Just one. He had a look for the other, raking his hand around under the papers, received a pinprick and found a bunch of safe keys. The safe itself stood in the far comer and a pretty odd safe it was; decorated like a sideboard. Pepper got up and crossed the room to the safe; he glanced around him and noticed a good many odd things he'd not seen before.