global yarns

8/7/2019 GLOBAL YARNS

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The ragged figure took hold of the door-handle and, like a bird in a snare, looked

round the hall desperately.

"I . . . I am not lying," he muttered. "I can show documents."

"Who can believe you?" Skvortsov went on, still indignant. "To exploit the sympathyof the public for village schoolmasters and students -- it's so low, so mean, so dirty!

It's revolting!"

Skvortsov flew into a rage and gave the beggar a merciless scolding. The ragged

fellow's insolent lying aroused his disgust and aversion, was an offence against what

he, Skvortsov, loved and prized in himself: kindliness, a feeling heart, sympathy for

the unhappy. By his lying, by his treacherous assault upon compassion, the individual

had, as it were, defiled the charity which he liked to give to the poor with no

misgivings in his heart. The beggar at first defended himself, protested with oaths,

then he sank into silence and hung his head, overcome with shame.

"Sir!" he said, laying his hand on his heart, "I really was . . . lying! I am not a student

and not a village schoolmaster. All that's mere invention! I used to be in the Russian

choir, and I was turned out of it for drunkenness. But what can I do? Believe me, inGod's name, I can't get on without lying -- when I tell the truth no one will give me

anything. With the truth one may die of hunger and freeze without a night's lodging!

What you say is true, I understand that, but . . . what am I to do?"

"What are you to do? You ask what are you to do?" cried Skvortsov, going close up to

him. "Work -- that's what you must do! You must work!"

"Work. . . . I know that myself, but where can I get work?"

"Nonsense. You are young, strong, and healthy, and could always find work if you

wanted to. But you know you are lazy, pampered, drunken! You reek of vodka like

a pothouse! You have become false and corrupt to the marrow of your bones and fitfor nothing but begging and lying! If you do graciously condescend to take work, you

must have a job in an office, in the Russian choir, or as a billiard-marker, where you

will have a salary and have nothing to do! But how would you like to undertake

manual labour? I'll be bound, you wouldn't be a house porter or a factory hand! Youare too genteel for that!"

"What things you say, really . . ." said the beggar, and he gave a bitter smile. "How

can I get manual work? It's rather late for me to be a shopman, for in trade one has tobegin from a boy; no one would take me as a house porter, because I am not of that


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class. . . . And I could not get work in a factory; one must know a trade, and I know

nothing."

"Nonsense! You always find some justification! Wouldn't you like to chop wood?"

"I would not refuse to, but the regular woodchoppers are out of work now."

"Oh, all idlers argue like that! As soon as you are offered anything you refuse it.

Would you care to chop wood for me?"

"Certainly I will. . ."

"Very good, we shall see. . . . Excellent. We'll see!" Skvortsov, in nervous haste; and

not without malignant pleasure, rubbing his hands, summoned his cook from the

kitchen.

"Here, Olga," he said to her, "take this gentleman to the shed and let him chop some

wood."

The beggar shrugged his shoulders as though puzzled, and irresolutely followed thecook. It was evident from his demeanour that he had consented to go and chop wood,

not because he was hungry and wanted to earn money, but simply from shame

and amour propre, because he had been taken at his word. It was clear, too, that hewas suffering from the effects of vodka, that he was unwell, and felt not the faintest

inclination to work.

Skvortsov hurried into the dining-room. There from the window which looked out

into the yard he could see the woodshed and everything that happened in the yard.Standing at the window, Skvortsov saw the cook and the beggar come by the back

way into the yard and go through the muddy snow to the woodshed. Olga scrutinized

her companion angrily, and jerking her elbow unlocked the woodshed and angrily

banged the door open.

"Most likely we interrupted the woman drinking her coffee," thought Skvortsov.

"What a cross creature she is! "

Then he saw the pseudo-schoolmaster and pseudo-student seat himself on a block of

wood, and, leaning his red cheeks upon his fists, sink into thought. The cook flung anaxe at his feet, spat angrily on the ground, and, judging by the expression of her lips,

began abusing him. The beggar drew a log of wood towards him irresolutely, set it up

between his feet, and diffidently drew the axe across it. The log toppled and fell over.The beggar drew it towards him, breathed on his frozen hands, and again drew the axe


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along it as cautiously as though he were afraid of its hitting his golosh or chopping off

his fingers. The log fell over again.

Skvortsov's wrath had passed off by now, he felt sore and ashamed at the thought thathe had forced a pampered, drunken, and perhaps sick man to do hard, rough work in

the cold.

"Never mind, let him go on . . ." he thought, going from the dining-room into his

study. "I am doing it for his good!"

An hour later Olga appeared and announced that the wood had been chopped up.

"Here, give him half a rouble," said Skvortsov. "If he likes, let him come and chop

wood on the first of every month. . . . There will always be work for him."

On the first of the month the beggar turned up and again earned half a rouble, thoughhe could hardly stand. From that time forward he took to turning up frequently, and

work was always found for him: sometimes he would sweep the snow into heaps, or

clear up the shed, at another he used to beat the rugs and the mattresses. He alwaysreceived thirty to forty kopecks for his work, and on one occasion an old pair of

trousers was sent out to him.

When he moved, Skvortsov engaged him to assist in packing and moving the

furniture. On this occasion the beggar was sober, gloomy, and silent; he scarcelytouched the furniture, walked with hanging head behind the furniture vans, and did

not even try to appear busy; he merely shivered with the cold, and was overcome withconfusion when the men with the vans laughed at his idleness, feebleness, and ragged

coat that had once been a gentleman's. After the removal Skvortsov sent for him.

"Well, I see my words have had an effect upon you," he said, giving him a rouble.

"This is for your work. I see that you are sober and not disinclined to work. What is

your name?"

"Lushkov."

"I can offer you better work, not so rough, Lushkov. Can you write?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then go with this note to-morrow to my colleague and he will give you some

copying to do. Work, don't drink, and don't forget what I said to you. Good-bye."


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Skvortsov, pleased that he had put a man in the path of rectitude, patted Lushkov

genially on the shoulder, and even shook hands with him at parting.

Lushkov took the letter, departed, and from that time forward did not come to the

back-yard for work.

Two years passed. One day as Skvortsov was standing at the ticket-office of a theatre,

paying for his ticket, he saw beside him a little man with a lambskin collar and a

shabby cat's-skin cap. The man timidly asked the clerk for a gallery ticket and paid for

it with kopecks.

"Lushkov, is it you?" asked Skvortsov, recognizing in the little man his former

woodchopper. "Well, what are you doing? Are you getting on all right?"

"Pretty well. . . . I am in a notary's office now. I earn thirty-five roubles."

"Well, thank God, that's capital. I rejoice for you. I am very, very glad, Lushkov. You

know, in a way, you are my godson. It was I who shoved you into the right way. Do

you remember what a scolding I gave you, eh? You almost sank through the floor that

time. Well, thank you, my dear fellow, for remembering my words."

"Thank you too," said Lushkov. "If I had not come to you that day, maybe I should be

calling myself a schoolmaster or a student still. Yes, in your house I was saved, and

climbed out of the pit."

"I am very, very glad."

"Thank you for your kind words and deeds. What you said that day was excellent. Iam grateful to you and to your cook, God bless that kind, noble-hearted woman. What

you said that day was excellent; I am indebted to you as long as I live, of course, but it

was your cook, Olga, who really saved me."

"How was that?"

"Why, it was like this. I used to come to you to chop wood and she would begin: 'Ah,

you drunkard! You God-forsaken man! And yet death does not take you!' and then shewould sit opposite me, lamenting, looking into my face and wailing: 'You unlucky

fellow! You have no gladness in this world, and in the next you will burn in hell, poordrunkard! You poor sorrowful creature!' and she always went on in that style, you

know. How often she upset herself, and how many tears she shed over me I can't tell

you. But what affected me most -- she chopped the wood for me! Do you know, sir, Inever chopped a single log for you -- she did it all! How it was she saved me, how it


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was I changed, looking at her, and gave up drinking, I can't explain. I only know that

what she said and the noble way she behaved brought about a change in my soul, and

I shall never forget it. It's time to go up, though, they are just going to ring the bell."

Lushkov bowed and went off to the gallery.

END


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CHAPTER 2

Balthazar's Marvelous Afternoon

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The cage was finished. Balthazar hung it under the eave, from force of habit, and

when he finished lunch everyone was already saying that it was the most beautiful

cage in the world. So many people came to see it that a crowd formed in front of the

house, and Balthazar had to take it down and close the shop.

"You have to shave," Ursula, his wife, told him. "You look like a Capuchin." "It's bad

to shave after lunch," said Balthazar.

He had two weeks' growth, short, hard, and bristly hair like the mane of a mule, and

the general expression of a frightened boy. But it was a false expression. In February

he was thirty; he had been living with Ursula for four years, without marrying her andwithout having children, and life had given him many reasons to be on guard but none

to be frightened. He did not even know that for some people the cage he had just made

was the most beautiful one in the world. For him, accustomed to making cages since

childhood, it had been hardly any more difficult than the others.

"Then rest for a while," said the woman. "With that beard you can't show yourself

anywhere."

While he was resting, he had to get out of his hammock several times to show thecage to the neighbors. Ursula had paid little attention to it until then. She was annoyed

because her husband had neglected the work of his carpenter's shop to devote himself

entirely to the cage, and for two weeks had slept poorly, turning over and muttering

incoherencies, and he hadn't thought of shaving. But her annoyance dissolved in the

face of the finished cage. When Balthazar woke up from his nap, she had ironed his

pants and a shirt; she had put them on a chair near the hammock and had carried the

cage to the dining table. She regarded it in silence.

"How much will you charge?" she asked.

"I don't know," Balthazar answered. "I'm going to ask for thirty pesos to see if they'll

give me twenty."

"Ask for fifty," said Ursula. "Youve lost a lot of sleep in these two weeks.

Furthermore, it's rather large. I think it's the biggest cage I've ever seen in my life."


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Balthazar began to shave.

"Do you think they'll give me fifty pesos?"

'That's nothing for Mr. Chepe Montiel, and the cage is worth it," said Ursula. "You

should ask for sixty."

The house lay in the stifling shadow. It was the first week of April and the heatseemed less bearable because of the chirping of the cicadas. When he finished

dressing, Balthazar opened the door to the patio to cool off the house, and a group of

children entered the dining room.

The news had spread. Dr. Octavio Giraldo, an old physi cian, happy with life but tiredof his profession, thought about Balthazar's cage while he was eating lunch with his

invalid wife. On the inside terrace, where they put the table on hot days, there were

many flowerpots and two cages with canaries. His wife liked birds, and she liked themso much that she hated cats because they could eat them up. Thinking about her, Dr.Giraldo went to see a patient that afternoon, and when he returned he went by

Balthazar's house to inspect the cage.

There were a lot of people in the dining room. The cage was on display on the table:

with its enormous dome of wire, three stories inside, with passageways andcompartments especially for eating and sleeping and swings in the space set aside for

the birds' recreation, it seemed like a small-scale model of a gigantic ice factory. The

doctor inspected it carefully, without touching it, thinking that in effect the cage was

better than its reputation, and much more beautiful than any he had ever dreamed offor his wife.

"This is a flight of the imagination," he said. He sought out Balthazar among the

group of people and, fixing, his maternal eyes on him, added, "You would have been

an extraordinary architect."

Balthazar blushed. "Thank you," he said.

"It's true," said the doctor. He was smoothly and delicately fat, like a woman who had

been beautiful in her youth, and he had delicate hands. His voice seemed like that of apriest speaking Latin. "You wouldn't even need to put birds in it," he said, making thecage turn in front of the audience's eyes as if he were auctioning it off. "It would be

enough to hang it in the trees so it could sing by itself." He put it back on the table,

thought a moment, looking at the cage, and said:

"Fine, then I'll take it."


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"It's sold," said Ursula.

"It belongs to the son of Mr. Chepe Montiel," said Balthazar. "He ordered it

specially."

The doctor adopted a respectful attitude.

"Did he give you the design?"

"No," said Balthazar. "He said he wanted a large cage, like this one, for a pair of

troupials."

The doctor looked at the cage.

"But this isn't for troupials."

"Of course it is, Doctor," said Balthazar, approaching the table. The children

surrounded him. "The measurements are careffilly calculated," he said, pointing to the

different comparrments with his forefinger. Then he struck the dome with his

knuckles, and the cage filled with resonant chords.

"It's the strongest wire you can find, and each joint is soldered outside and in," he

said.

"It's even big enough for a parrot," interrupted one of the children.

"That it is," said Balthazar.

The doctor turned his head. "Fine, but he didn't give you the design," he said. "He

gave you no exact specifications, aside from making it a cage big enough for

troupials. Isn't that right?"

"That's right," said Balthazar.

"Then there's no problem," said the doctor. "One thing is a cage big enough fortroupials, and another is this cage. There's no proof that this one is the one you were

asked to make."

"It's this very one," said Balthazar, confused. "That's why I made it."

The doctor made an impatient gesture.


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"You could make another one," said Ursula, looking at her husband. And then, to the

doctor:

"You're not in any hurry."

"I promised it to my wife for this afternoon," said the doctor.

"I'm very sorry, Doctor," said Balthazar, "but I can't sell you something that's sold

already."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. Drying the sweat from his neck with a

handkerchief, he contemplated the cage silently with the fixed, unfocused gaze of one

who looks at a ship which is sailing away.

"How much did they pay you for it?"

Balthazar sought out Ursula's eyes without replying.

"Sixty pesos," she said.

The doctor kept looking at the cage. "Ies very pretty." He sighed. "Extremely pretty."

Then, moving toward the door, he began to fan himself energetically, sniiiing, and the

trace of that episode disappeared forever from his memory.

"Montiel is very rich," he said.

In truth, Jose Montiel was not as rich as he seemed, but he would have been capable

of doing anything to become so. A few blocks from there, in a house crammed with

equipment, where no one had ever smelled a smell that couldn't be sold, he remainedindifferent to the news of the cage. His wife, tortured by an obsession with death,

closed the doors and windows after lunch and lay for two hours with her eyes opened

to the shadow of the room, while Jose' Montiel took his siesta. The clamor of many

voices surprised her there. Then she opened the door to the living room and found a

crowd in front of the house, and Balthazar with the cage in the middle of the crowd,

dressed in white, freshly shaved, with that expression of decorous candor with which

the poor approach the houses of the wealthy.

"What a marvelous thing!" Jose Montiel's wife exclaimed, with a radiant expression,

leading Balthazar inside. "I've never seen anything like it in my life," she said, arid

added, annoyed by the crowd which piled up at the door:

"But bring it inside before they turn the living room into a grandstand."


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Balthazar was no stranger to Jose Montiel's house. On different occasions, because of

his skill and forthright way of dealing, he had been called in to do minor carpentryjobs. But he never felt at ease among the rich. He used to think about them about their

ugly and argumentative wives, about their tremendous surgical operations, and he

always experienced a feeling of pity. When he entered their houses, he couldn't move

without dragging his feet.

"Is Pepe home?" he asked.

He had put the cage on the dining-room table.

"He's at school," said Jose' Montiel's wife. "But he shouldn't be long," and she added,

"Montiel is taking a bath."

In In reality, Jose Montiel had not had time to bathe. He was giving himself an urgent

alcohol rub, in order to come out and see what was going on. He was such a cautiousman that he slept without an electric fan so he could watch over the noises of the

house while he slept.

"Adelaide!" he shouted. "Whaes going on?"

"Come and see what a marvelous thing!" his wife shouted.

Jose Montiel, obese and hairy, his towel draped around his neck, appeared at the

bedroom window.

"What is that?"

'Tepe's cage," said Balthazar.

His wife looked at him perplexedly.

"Whose?"

"Pepe's," replied Balthazar. And then, turning toward Jose Montiel, "Pepe ordered it."

Nothing happened at that instant, but Balthazar felt as if someone had just opened the

bathroom door on him. Jose Montiel came out of the bedroom in his underwear.

"Pepe!" he shouted.

"He's not back," whispered his wife, motionless.


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Pepe appeared in the doorway. He was about twelve, and had the same curved

eyelashes and was as quietly pathetic as his mother.

"Come here," Jose' Montiel said to him. "Did you order this?"

The child lowered his head. Grabbing him by the hair, Jose Montiel forced Pepe tolook him in the eye.

"Answer me."

The child bit his lip without replying.

"Montiel," whispered his wife.

Jose' Montiel let the child go and turned toward Balthazar in a fary. "I'm very sorry,

Balthazar," he said. "But you should have consulted me before going on. Only to youwould it occur to contract with a minor." As he spoke, his face recovered its serenity.

He lifted the cage without looking at it and gave it to Balthazar.

"Take it away at once, and try to sell it to whomever you can," he said. "Above all, Ibeg you not to argue with me." He patted him on the back and explained, "The doctor

has forbidden me to get angry."

The child had remained motionless, without blinking, until Balthazar looked at him

uncertainly with the cage in his hand. Then he emitted a guttural sound, like a dog's

growl, and threw himself on the floor screaming.

Jose Montiel looked at him, umnoved, while the mother tried to pacify him. "Don't

even pick him up," he said. "Let hirn break his head on the floor, and then put salt and

lemon on it so he can rage to his hearts content." The child was shrieking tearlessly

while his mother held him by the wrists.

"Leave him alone," Jose Montiel insisted.

Balthazar observed the child as he would have observed the death throes of a rabid

animal. It was almost four o'clock. At that hour, at his house, Ursula was singing avery old song and cutting slices of onion.

"Pepe," said Balthazar.

He approached the child, smiling, and held the cage out to him. The child jumped up,embraced the cage which was almost as big as he was, and stood looking at Balthazar

through the wirework without knowing what to say. He hadn't shed one tear.


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"Balthazar," said Jose Montiel softly. "I told you already to take it away."

"Give it back," the woman ordered the child.

"Keep it," said Balthazar. And then, to Jose Montiel: "After all, that's what I made it

for."

Jose Montiel followed him into the living room. "Don't be foolish, Balthazar," he wassaying, blocking his path. "Take your piece of furniture home and don't be silly. I

have no intention of paying you a cent."

"It doesn't matter," said Balthazar. "I made it expressly as a gift for Pepe. I didn't

expect to charge anything for it."

As Balthazar made his way through the spectators who were blocking the door, Jose

Monfiel was shouting in the middle of the living room. He was very pale and his eyeswere beginning to get red.

"Idiot!" he was shouting. "Take your trinket out of here. The last thing we need is for

some nobody to give orders in my ,house. Son of a bitch!"

In the pool hall, Balthazar was received with an ovation.

Until that moment, he thought that he had made a better cage than ever before, that

he'd had to give it to the son of Jose Montiel so he wouldn't keep crying, and that none

of these things was particularly important. But then he realized that all of this had acertain importance for many people, and he felt a little excited.

"So they gave you fifty pesos for the cage."

"Sixty," said Balthazar.

"Score one for you," someone said. "You're the only one who has managed to get such

a pile of money out of Mr. Chepe Montiel. We have to celebrate."

They bought him a beer, and Balthazar responded with a round for everybody. Since itwas the first time he had ever been out drinking, by dusk he was completely drunk,

and he was taking about a fabulous project of a thousand cages, at sixty pesos each,

and then of a million cages, till he had sixty million pesos. "We have to make a lot ofthings to sell to the rich before they die," he was saying, blind drunk. "All of them are

sick, and they're going to die. They're so screwed up they can't even get angry

anymore." For two hours he was paying for the jukebox, which played without


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interruption. Everybody toasted Balthazar's health, good luck, and fortune, and the

death of the rich, but at mealtime they left him alone in the pool hall.

Ursula had waited for him until eight, with a dish of fried meat covered with slices ofonion. Someone told her that her husband was in the pool hall, delirious with

happiness, buying beers for everyone, but she didn't believe it, because Balthazar hadnever got drunk. When she went to bed, almost at midnight, Balthazar was in a lighted

room where there were little tables, each with four chairs, and an outdoor dance floor,

where the plovers were walking around. His face was smeared with rouge, and since

he couldn't take one more step, he thought he wanted to he down with two women in

the same bed. He had spent so much that he had had to leave his watch in pawn, with

the promise to pay the next day. A moment later, spread-eagled in the street, he

realized that his shoes were being taken off, but he didn't want to abandon the

happiest dream of his life. The women who passed on their way to five- o'clock Mass

didn't dare to look at him, thinking he was dead.

(1962)

END

CHAPTER 3

The Story of An Hour


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Kate Chopin (1894)

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was takento break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.

It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that

revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her.

It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad

disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He

had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had

hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.

She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzedinability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild

abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she

went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.

There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she

sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to

reach into her soul.

She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all

aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the

street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which

some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering

in the eaves.

There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had

met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.

She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless,

except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has crieditself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.

She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a

certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed

away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of

reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.


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There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was

it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping

out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that

filled the air.

Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this

thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with

her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she

abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said

it over and over under hte breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look

of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her

pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her

body.

She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clearand exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew

that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death;

the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead.

But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that

owuld belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them

in welcome.

There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for

herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence

with which men and women believe they ahve a right to impose a private will upona fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a

crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

And yet she had loved him--sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter!

What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of

self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!

"Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.

Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold,imploring for admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will

make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door."

"Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life

through that open window.


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Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and

summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick

prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a

shudder that life might be long.

She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a

feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of

Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs.

Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.

Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who

entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He

had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been

one. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to

screen him from the view of his wife.

When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease--of the joy that

kills.

END

CHAPTER 4

The Norwegian Rat

Naguib Mahfouz


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Fortunately we were not alone in this affliction. Mr. A.M., being the senior

householder in the building, had invited us to a meeting in his flat for an exchange ofopinions. There were not more than ten people present, including Mr. A.M., who, in

addition to being the oldest among us, held the most senior position and was also the

most well off. No one failed to show up--and how could they, seeing that it had to do

with the rats and their likely invasion of our homes and their threat to our safety? Mr.A.M. began in a voice of great gravity with "As you all know..." and then set forth

what the papers had been reiterating about the advance of the rats, their vast numbers,and the terrible destruction that would be wrought by them. Voices were raised around

the room.

"What is being said is quite beyond belief."

"Have you seen the television coverage?"

"They're not ordinary rats; they're even attacking cats and people."

"Isn't it likely that things are a bit exaggerated?"

"No...no, the facts are beyond any exaggeration."

Then, calmly and with pride in being the chairman, Mr. A.M. said, "It has in any case

been established that we are not alone. This has been confirmed to me by the

Governor."

"It's good to hear that."

"So all we have to do is carry out instructions meticulously, both those that come

directly through me and those that come by way of the authorities."

"And will this cost us a great deal?" it occurred to one of us to inquire.

He resorted to the Koran for a reply. "'God does not charge a soul beyond its scope.'"

"The main thing is that the costs should not be excessive."

This time he resorted to a maxim. "An evil is not warded off by something worse."

At which more than one voice said, "We would hope that you will find us

cooperative."

"We are with you," said Mr. A.M., "but do not rely upon us wholly. Rely too upon

yourselves, starting at least with the obvious things."


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"Absolutely so, but what are the obvious things?"

"Having traps and the traditional poisons."

"Fine."

"Having as many cats as possible in the stairwell and on the roofs. Also inside the

flats if circumstances permit."

"But it's said that the Norwegian rat attacks cats."

"Cats are not without their use."

We returned to our homes in high spirits and with a sincere resolve. Soon, rats predominated over the rest of our worries. They made frequent appearances in our

dreams, occupied the most time in our conversations, and came to engross us as life'smain difficulty. We proceeded to take the precautions we had promised to, as we

awaited the coming of the enemy. Some of us were saying that there was not long togo, while others said that one day we'd spot a rat darting past and that this would be

the harbinger of imminent danger.

Many different explanations were given for the proliferation of rats. One opinion was

that it was due to the Canal towns being empty after the evacuation, another attributedit to the negative aspects of the High Dam, others blamed it on the system of

government, while many saw in it God's wrath at His servants for their refusal to

accept His guidance. We expended laudable efforts in making rational preparations,about which no one wsa negligent. At a further meeting held at his home, the

estimable Mr. A.M., may God preserve him, said, "I am happy with the preventive

measures you have taken, and I am pleased to see the entrance to our buildingswarming with cats. Certainly there are those who complain about the expense of

feeding them, but this is of little importance when we think of our safety and

security." He scrutinized our faces with satisfaction, then asked, "What news of the

traps?"

One of us (an eminent educator) answered. "I caught a skinny specimen--one of our

local rats."

"Whatever a rat's identity, it's still harmful. Anyway, today I must inform you of the

necessity, with the enemy at our gates, for being even more on your guard. Quantitiesof the new poison ground up in corn will be distributed to us. It is to be placed in

vulnerable places such as the kitchen, though extreme care should be taken to protect

children, poultry, and pets."


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Everything happened just as the man said, and we told ourselves that we were truly

not alone in the battle. Gratitude welled up in us for our solicitous neighbor and ourrevered Governor. Certainly all this had required of us a lot of care on top of our daily

worries. And unavoidable mistakes did occur. Thus a cat was killed in one home and a

number of chickens in another, but there were no losses in terms of human life. As

time went on we became more and more tense and alert, and the suspense weighedheavily on us. We told ourselves that the happening of a calamity was preferable to

the waiting for it. Then, one day, I met a neighbor at the bus stop, and he said, "I

heard from a reliable source that the rats have annihilated an entire village."

"There was not a thing about this in the papers!"

He gave me a scornful look and said nothing. I imagined the earth heaving with

hordes of rats as far as the eye could see and crowds of refugees wandering aimlessly

in the desert. Good God, could such a thing come about? But what was so impossible

about it? Had not God previously sent the Flood and the flocks of birds as mentionedin the Koran? Would people tomorrow cease their daily struggle and throw all they

possessed into the raging fires of battle? And would they be victorious, or would this

spell the end?

At the third meeting, Mr. A.M. appeared in cheerful mood. "Congratulations,gentlemen," he said. "We are as active as can be. The losses are slight and will not,

one hopes, recur. We shall become experts in matters of fighting rats, and perhaps we

shall be called upon in the future in other places. His Excellency the Governor is

extremely happy."

One of our number began to complain. "The fact is that our nerves--."

But he was cut short by Mr. A.M. "Our nerves? Do you want to spoil our success with

a thoughtless word?"

"When will the rats begin their attack?"

"No one can give a definite answer to that, and it is of no consequence so long as we

are prepared for the battle." Then, after a pause, he continued. "Latest instructions are

of special importance, relating as they do to windows, doors, and any apertures inwalls or elsewhere. Close all doors and windows and examine in particular the lower

part of any door. If any space is found through which a mere straw could pass, seal itup completely with wooden planks. When doing the morning cleaning, the windows

of one room should be opened, and while one person sweeps, another, armed with a

stick, should stand at the ready. Then you should close the windows and move to the


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next room, where the same procedure should be followed. On finishing the cleaning,

the flat should be left like a firmly closed box, whatever the weather."

We exchanged looks in glum silence.

"It's impossible to go on like that," said a voice.

"No, you must maintain the utmost precision in carrying out..."

"Even in a prison cell there's..."

"We are at war, that is to say in a state of emergency. We are threatened not only with

destruction but also with epidemics--God spare us. We must reckon with that."

We went on submissively carrying out what we had been ordered to do. We became

more deeply submerged in a morass of anticipation and wariness, with the boredomand depression that accompany them. The nervous tension increased and was

translated into sharp daily quarrels between the man of the house and his wife andchildren. We continued to follow the news, while the Norwegian rat, with its huge

body, long whiskers, and alarming glassy look, became a star of evil that roamed in

our imaginations and dreams and occupied the major part of our conversation.

At the last meeting, Mr. A.M. had said, "I've got some good news--a team of expertshas been assigned to the task of checking the buildings, flats and locations exposed to

risk, and all without any demand for additional rates."

It was indeed good news, and we received it with universal delight, the hope being

that we would be able to relieve ourselves of some of the distress we had beensuffering. Then one day the concierge informed us that a bureaucrat had inspected the

entrance to the building, the stairwell, the roof, and the garage, and had pronounced

favorably on the large bands of cats roaming about here and there. He had instructed

the concierge to be extra vigilant and to inform him of any rat that might make its

appearance, be it Norwegian or Egyptian.

One week after the meeting, the doorbell of our flat rang and the concierge gave us

the good news that the bureaucrat was on his way and wished to have permission tomake an inspection. The time was not convenient, because my wife had just finished

preparing lunch, but I nevertheless hurried out to greet him. I found myself standing

before a middle-aged, sturdily built man with a thick mustache, his square face withits short snub nose and glassy stare reminding me of a cat. I greeted him, concealing a

smile that almost transformed itself into a laugh, and told myself that they really did

have a flair for choosing their men. I walked ahead of him, and he proceeded to


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examine the traps and poisons, the windows and doors, nodding his head in approval.

He did, however, find in the kitchen a small window covered over with a wire mesh of

tiny holes, at which he said firmly, "Close the window."

My wife was on the point of protesting, but he snapped at her. "The Norwegian rat

can gnaw through wire."

Satisfied that his order had been carried out, he sniffed at the smell of food, thus

proclaiming his commendation. I therefore invited him to eat. "Only a mean man

refuses generosity," he answered simply.

Immediately we prepared a table for him alone, telling him that we had already eaten.

He sat down as though in his own home and began gobbling up the food without any

restraint or shyness--and with quite extraordinary voracity. Out of politeness, we left

him to it. However, after a while I thought it best to check on him in case he might be

in need of something. I gave him another helping, and while doing so I became awareof a dramatic change in his appearance. It seemed that his face reminded me no longer

of a cat but of a rat, in fact of the Norwegian rat itself. I returned to my wife with myhead spinning. I did not tell her what I had noticed but asked her to be pleasant to him

and make him welcome. She was away for a minute or two, then returned, pallid, and

stared at me in stupefaction. "Did you see what he looks like when he eats?" she

breathed.

I nodded, and she whispered, "It's quite amazing, unbelievable."

I indicated my agreement with a movement of my spinning head. It seems that ourutter astonishment caused us to forget the passage of time, and we only came to when

we heard his voice from the hallway calling joyfully, "May your house ever prosper!"

We rushed out, but he had reached the front door before us and had gone. All we

glimpsed of him was his swaying back, then a swift about-face as he bade us farewell

with a fleeting Norwegian smile. We stood behind the closed door looking at each

other in bewilderment.

END


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