Песах Амнуэль - Zion's Fiction - A Treasury of Israeli Speculative Literature

I screamed in disgust and threw the empty cup at it, following close behind with my foot up to give it a kick. As the cup was about to hit it, the mouse shrank itself further and vanished.

I looked the question at the Tin Beggar. “What was that all about?”

“A Stern-Gerlach mouse,” it said.

“Stern-Gerlach mice? I didn’t know they could size-shift.”

The Tin Beggar made no answer. Instead it proceeded, in its meticulous limp, to clean up the cup fragments. Then it did the dishes. I went out.

“What were you up to, breaking a glass? Marrying Chambalooloo?” Nana asked, whether in anger or in mirth I couldn’t tell.

“I tried to kill the mouse.”

“What mouse?” Nana was astonished.

“A mouse as big as a donkey,” I told her.

“You’re crazy!” Nana stated. “You’re like Chambalooloo. A mouse like a donkey?! And in my own kitchen yet? Come on, you crazy, you! Where do you get off, saying something like that?”

My face reddened, but I managed to check an angry response. Nana gets mad quickly, and she has a big mouth. Once she gets started, there’s no getting away from her.

After a few minutes Chambalooloo came out, its metallic hands wet. “I’m through, Madam, if you…”

“Thank you very much, Chambalooloo,” Nana interrupted. “Next time, feel free to tell me if you’re tired.”

Obviously, Nana didn’t believe the mouse story.

Suddenly I heard a belabored grunt behind me. I turned around, jumped up, and nearly fainted. In the doorway there stood a mouse as tall as a donkey and broad enough to look like a sickly lion. Around its head there was a metal band made of glowing, buzzing cubes.

The old ladies yelped in surprise; Orit even screamed. I felt like my chest and arms were being stabbed. I growled like an animal, grabbed the stool, threw it at the mouse, and dived after it. The mouse size-shifted, but the stool hit it halfway through the transformation, in the middle of its back. The impact knocked it aside, and I reached it and stomped my foot against its head, once, twice. I lifted my foot for a third stomp… and then all hell broke loose.

From the corner of my eye I saw a grey blur flying at me. I tried to fend it off, but the mouse sunk its teeth into my arm, hanging on to it. From the rooms and the corridor there came out a flood of angry, screaming mice. Mice were nipping at my legs. Then a gigantic mouse popped up behind me. Hearing its disgusting grunt I turned around, and the monster hurled its weight against me. I fell, and a flurry of furious mice scrambled over me, biting. The giant mouse made a move for my head, its gaping mouth revealing teeth as big as daggers, so help me God! I slammed it ferociously with the stool, and it yelped and started shrinking. I pounded it again and again until it nearly shrank from view. Overcoming my panic, I started whacking at the other mice, methodically now, not blindly as before. After killing twenty of them I realized I was bleeding from numerous puncture wounds. I hurled myself out and slammed the door.

Nana was white as a sheet. “Wow, Ethan! I thought you were lying when you said there was a mouse there. Forgive me. Actually, I must beg Chambalooloo’s forgiveness as well.”

The Tin Beggar hissed electronically from the corner of its speaker, “They are all over the street.”

Whole families were running out of their homes, shrieking in terror. (The official inquiry would later determine that the mice, some as big as donkeys, had suddenly appeared in all these houses at the same time, driving out their inhabitants. They must have been microscopic when they invaded, then expanded to their gigantic dimensions. The mice showed up when the men were at work. Only I, a student, could afford to lay about when everyone else was laboring.)

How long can you stay frozen in shock? I started swearing as mothers and daughters burst from their homes, carrying infants in their arms. Old men fled for their lives, waving their feeble fists, and old women scrambled after them, shrieking. The street turned into a cauldron of frenzied howls. A mouse emerged from one doorway, sat on its bottom huffing like a hippo, and started keening, exhorting its fellow combatants with frantic paw gestures. But it never got to the end of its speech. A furious woman slammed a sizable rock against its head. The mouse tumbled, dazed, and before it could issue another squeak, half the street swarmed it with planks and kicking feet. As big as it was, all that was left in the end was some mincemeat.

(A month later I was invited to Israel TV studios for an interview. A trio of reporters, who looked like a contingent of the Spanish Inquisition, insisted that the mice had just wanted to parley. But we, members of the uneducated classes that we were, just had to press the attack. They declared that as a person of some learning I should have sensed the rodents’ yearning for peaceful coexistence and stopped the mob. Knowing that I had single-handedly killed more mice than the military by attacking the mice directly, they branded me the aggressor. I got mad and asked them what should a man do when confronted by monsters that can tear his head off in one bite? He defends himself, inhumanely if necessary. And if he senses an opportunity—as when the speech-making mouse started distracting its comrades—he moves in as aggressively as possible to remove the threat. The TV people didn’t agree, so I stormed out of the studio midway through the ordeal.)

I suddenly remembered the mouse in the kitchen, how it counted jars with its snout, and cried in amazement, “Damn that bastard! It was taking inventory!”

Nana said resentfully, “And tomorrow being Tish’a b’Av!”

She got up heavily from her bench. “Let’s get in the house.”

“Your house is full of mice!”

“Then what should I do? Sleep outdoors?”

The crowd pulverizing the speaker mouse quickly dispersed. Seeing the torn carcass of their gigantic comrade, several mice began whistling excitedly at each other.

All of a sudden I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, its volume and pace growing unbearably. I covered my ears, trying to stop the infernal noise. All around me little old ladies, younger women, and children suddenly fell to their knees, their eyes glazed. By the time my heart reached a crescendo, the noise became indistinct. I lost my sense of balance, the world tilted, and the ground suddenly slapped me in the face. On my way down I caught sight of Chambalooloo sweeping Nana into its clanging arms and running to the end of the street. As I began regaining my senses, it came limping back. “I hope they won’t accuse me of taking part in this occupation and let the Bank repossess me.”

“I’ll testify in your favor,” I replied numbly.

“Wait here,” it said. “Women and children first.”

I cursed it, too, as it shambled away from me.

Chambalooloo picked up fat Orit, who screamed in horror, or perhaps delight, almost choking it. I turned on my back and saw a police hovercraft above the street.

Reaching the end of the street, Chambalooloo tried to shake fat Orit off it. Orit refused to let go. It gently undid her stranglehold with its broken metallic hands, and she let out angry screams at its receding back.

Then a new apparition towered over me, a mouse wearing a helmet fitted with various antennae, wires, flashing lights, sparkling bursts of energy, and whatnot. It was flicking its foul tongue over the control panel hanging in front of its face. A loud whistle pierced the air, nearly piercing me as well. My muscles spasmed and I started screaming. Darkness descended. I floated off.

I tried to reach out and grab at something in this awful darkness. “You are going to die,” I heard in the emptiness.