Jasper Fforde - The Constant Rabbit

The weekend break was therefore something of a blessing, and Pippa and Bobby’s shopping trip on Saturday seemed to go pretty well. They were quiet on the way in, but animated on the way out. Pippa seemed delighted with Bobby, and despite the enormous differences between their species, they had a lot in common: career, food, political activism, taxonomy (both belonging to the class mammalia ), and feminism – the latter a subject upon which Bobby had some interesting thoughts.

‘Before the Event we were a matriarchy, and as far as we were concerned everything worked really well. Males were basically bodyguards, with payment in mating rights. The problem,’ continued Bobby, ‘was that the Event gave us not just some of the physical attributes of your species, but many of the social ones, too – including a switch to the patriarchal system. Almost immediately the bucks realised that under this new system they could do what they did before and hoover up some fringe benefits at the same time. Simply put, they wanted us all to embrace some of the more egregious male-centric bullshit you guys seem go in for.’

‘How did you deal with it?’ asked Pippa.

‘Well,’ said Bobby with a smile, ‘for a rabbit, the power lies in the workers who control the means of reproduction, so we told them that unless they agreed to a nine-point gender equality constitution, it was strictly no sex of any sort.’

‘How long did that last?’

‘A seventeen-day shutdown was all it took, as it turned out.’

She laughed.

‘Before my time, of course, but by all accounts they were climbing the walls. Mind you, so were the females, but when you feel that strongly about something, I guess sacrifices are always worth it.’

‘What were the nine points of the constitution?’ asked Pippa.

‘Oh, the usual suspects,’ she said, ‘all the stuff you Fudds bang on about but are slow to implement. Strict gender split in governing bodies both on the institutional and corporate level was the biggest, as I recall. Simultaneously, we also formulated a long-term plan to water down the seemingly innate sense of male hierarchy entitlement, and head towards a goal of hard-wired pluralism.’

‘By education?’ asked Pippa.

‘No,’ replied Bobby. ‘We decided to tinker with toxic masculinity at the evolutionary level, where we can make a lasting difference. Simply put, we’re sexually sidelining the Byronic male rabbits with looks, aggression and drive in favour of breeding with the also-rans. The nice-enough, good-enough bucks who are – shall we say – less impulsive, less exciting, less willing to take ridiculous risks. Boring even. Evolutionary biology is a fascinating subject, but if you want to use it to bring about meaningful societal change, then you have to play the long game – I reckon we might see some results in a couple of thousand generations.’

‘So some time next year?’ I said somewhat daringly, but she took it in good humour, and laughed out loud.

‘Or sooner. Exploiting unity and focus in the quest to effect change should never be underestimated.’

Pippa and I fell silent, pondering Bobby’s words. The human version of unity and focus was probably more akin to vague agreement and self-serving muddling.

‘So what do the males think about having their mysogyny being bred out of them?’ I asked.

‘We thought it best not to tell them. Not a word now, especially to Doc. He’s a terrific stepfather – ambitious, fun, a born leader and with a never-ending supply of bawdy limericks – but Mum will have to head for someone less dynamic to father her next litter if she’s fully committed to the machismo dilution plan.’

I thought about Connie and her talk of Rupert being ‘not rubbish enough’. That must have been what she was up to.

‘What if it doesn’t work?’ I said. ‘What if it turns out you actually need your bucks like that for broad societal advantage, even with the pitfalls?’

‘Then we’ll reverse the policy,’ she said simply. ‘But look, if you don’t try these things, you’ll never know if they’ll work or not.’

‘Wow,’ said Pippa, ‘you really take your social issues seriously.’

Bobby smiled.

‘It’s a rabbit thing.’

‘You are such a sweet darling!’ said Connie when I saw Bobby to their front door at Hemlock Towers. Mrs Rabbit smiled and blinked her large eyes, and I could detect that warm earthy scent again.

Bobby asked Pippa whether she wanted to see her collection of Rick Astley memorabilia, and Pippa said, ‘That would be totally awesome’ and they disappeared into the back of the house somewhere. Where possible, rabbits avoided heights, and that included going upstairs. The rabbit version of the Extreme Sports Club centred around daring each other to climb to the top of a stepladder. 41 41. Oddly, they could deal with heights – but just didn’t like to. Rabbits serving in the RAF saw it as their duty and soon got used to it.

‘I think they got on quite well,’ I said.

‘Seems so,’ she said, and then, voice lower, added: ‘Look, thanks for not mentioning to Doc we bumped into one another in Waitrose. Did I really pop a Little Gem in the fruit and veg section?’

I nodded, and she grimaced.

‘A woeful reversion to stereotype – most regrettable. Sorry I legged it; there was a family emergency.’

‘About Rupert?’

She looked at me quizzically.

‘Who’s Rupert?’

‘The cousin you were having the affair with?’

She thought hard.

‘I know thirty-four Ruperts, all are cousins and I’ve had affairs with nine of them. Could you narrow it down a bit?’

‘On your father’s sister’s daughter’s husband’s mother’s side?’

‘Oh, that Rupert. No, it wasn’t working out. I was sleeping with him but thinking about someone else. That never really works, does it?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘In any event,’ she said, moving swiftly on, ‘the family emergency was Diane Rabbit, who is my twelfth cousin on my father’s aunt’s sister’s daughter’s boyfriend’s father’s aunt’s side. She was caught off-colony without a pass and I had to stand her bail. Have you ever been into the colonies?’

The colonies were mostly an underground warren: dark, warm, labyrinthine and a place where humans were traditionally not welcome unless expressly invited. I would visit, eventually, on the day of the Battle of May Hill, my first and last time. But that wouldn’t happen for another two months, and I would see little except the basement of the meeting house and the spinney of trees on the summit.

I’d be there when it all ended.

‘No,’ I said, ‘I’ve never been.’

‘You should. They do tours now, y’know. Peek behind the species curtain, try some carrot gin, smoke some dandelion root, watch a live multiple birth, that sort of thing.’

Her voice trailed off and we stood in silence for a moment, staring at one another. I was thinking of the conversations we’d had back at uni, and I think she was too. We’d found there was little we couldn’t talk about, and our conversations ranged far and wide. Sometimes political, sometimes about movies, sometimes about nothing at all. But for me at least, there was always something more to it than just chat and social intimacy. I had grown fond of her, no matter how ridiculous and impossible that sounded, and I always wondered whether she had felt the same.

‘Well,’ she said, breaking the awkward pause, ‘you and I must have a catch-up some time.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’d like that.’

And there was another long pause. I think she wanted me to suggest something, but again, I couldn’t be sure, and felt sort of tongue-tied and stupid.