Tatyana Tolstaya - The Slynx

"Take Illness," continued Father-in-law, "the view you hold is incorrect."

"I heard it's tradition," said Benedikt carefully.

"What tradition?"

"To treat people. That there used to be radiation from books, and they treated the ones who had books. But now two hundred years have gone by and it doesn't matter. That's the tradition. That's what I heard."

Father-in-law's eyes gave off a strong light. He scratched the floor, almost ripping out the floorboards.

"Benediiiikt! Come heeeere, let's make love!" Olenka called from the next room.

"Lie down and wait!" cried Father-in-law. "We're having a governmental conversation! About worldviews! So now, this is the way things go: Illness isn't in books, my dear boy, it's in people's heads."

"Like a cold?"

"Worse. Now, you talk about nails. All right. We didn't use to know about nails, right?"

"That's right."

"And was it better when there weren't any nails, what do you think?"

Benedikt thought a moment. "It was worse."

"That's right. So. Things used to be worse. And now they're better. You get my drift."

"I think I get your drift."

"And before that, they were even worse. And before everything-well, there was the Blast. Was that a good thing, what do you think?"

"Heavens no!"

"That's right. So, which way do we need to go? Forward, of course. When you're walking down the street, would you start stepping in place? No. You go straight on ahead. Why are our eyes on our forehead and not on our rear ends, right? Nature is giving us directions."

"That's true," Benedikt admitted.

"Only forward, no other way. So, for instance, since I'm Head Saniturion, I am going to light the way." And he gave off rays as bright as full-moon light. "Do you follow me now?"

"No," said Benedikt.

"No again. Well, what can you do… All right, then. There's a lot of backwardness in society," Father-in-law explained. "And all people are brothers. Now then, can a brother refuse help to his brother? What would he be if he did that? A bad guy, a sleazeball. Helping and fixing come first. But how do some people think? 'Oh, it's none of my beeswax.' Is that good?"

"It's kind of bad. That's not more-alls."

"Right. And how to help?"

"I don't know."

"Think about it."

"Well… I don't know… Feed someone?"

"Ha! You call that thinking! If you feed and feed and feed people, and keep on feeding them, they'll stop working. You'll be the only one sweating, all for them. How're you gonna come up with all that food? Where are you gonna get new food? Where's the food coming from if no one's working? No. Think again."

Benedikt thought about how to help his brother. True, he didn't have a brother, and thinking was uncomfortable. He imagined someone tall, lanky, and irksome: he sat on a stool and whined: "Brooother… He-e-1-l-p me… Pleeease help me, brooother…" And you don't feel like it, so you whack him on the head.

"Maybe by keeping a lookout while he's off?"

"Sure. You stand there like a pillar all day long. And he's out chasing skirts."

Benedikt got mad at this brother: What a bastard! What more did he need?

"You give up," Father-in-law said, shaking his head. "Well, all right. Let's think it through together. You ever planted turnips?"

"Yes."

"You've planted them. Good. So you know how it works: you plant the turnip and you wait. You're waiting for a turnip-but who knows what will sprout up? Maybe half turnips, half weeds. You ever weeded grass?"

"Yes."

"Good. So you know. What's left to explain? If you don't weed the turnip in time, the whole field will be covered in weeds. And the turnip won't be able to push through the weeds. Isn't that right? And there won't be anything to eat, or to guard. So there you have it!"

"True," Benedikt admitted.

"Of course it's true. Now, follow me. You read the story 'The Turnip'? Copied it?"

"The story? I read it: Grandpa planted a turnip. The turnip grew and grew and grew till it couldn't grow anymore."

"Right. Only it's not a story. It's a fable."

"What's a fable?"

"A fable is a directive rendered in a simplified form for popular consumption."

"And which direction do they cook the turnip in?" asked Benedikt in surprise.

"And you call yourself a careful reader, do you? Grandpa pulls and pulls on the turnip, but he can't pull it out. He calls Grandmother. They pull and pull and pull, but they can't pull it out. Then they call a lot of others. No go. Then they call in a mouse-and they pull the turnip out. How do we interpret this? I'll tell you how. It means we can't do without mice. Mice Are Our Mainstay."

And it was true! As soon as Father-in-law explained it that way, it was suddenly all clear, it all fit together. What a smart man.

"So, in general, and all in all," concluded Father-in-law, "this is the picture: the collective depends on the mouse, because the mouse, you see, it's the cornerstone of our happy existence. I'm explaining social science to you, don't turn your head away. This way, leaning against the cornerstone, people grab what they can and pull. If you get a turnip, fine. If there's no turnips, then horsetail, or rusht at worst."

"You're right there. It's true. Last year someone grabbed all the rusht in my pantry. I got home-the door was open, they'd pulled everything out!"

"Good. You've finally started to think. So then, how do you see your job?"

"Which one?"

"Which?! Weeding!"

Benedikt thought hard. "Weeding? Hmm… Do you have to weed? Aha! You mean catch thieves?"

"What thieves!… Figure it out! Who are the thieves?"

"Thieves? Thieves are the ones who steal."

"Well, and who steals?"

"Who steals… who steals… Well, everyone steals."

"That's the whole point," said Father-in-law with a laugh. "Everybody steals! So who are you gonna catch? Your own self? My, my, my, you're so funny."

Father-in-law opened his mouth and laughed hard. Benedikt turned his head: a really foul smell came from Father-in-law's mouth.

"So, then, what's your job? You give up? To treat them, of course. You have to treat people, my fine boy!"

Benedikt felt a chill pass through him.

"Who-me?"

"And who else? Of course you! We'll feed you up a bit-I'll give you a little hook, and when you're used to it, when you've got the hang of it-you'll get a big one."

"I can't, no, no, no I can't. What do you… I can't hook people, no, no, no… knock, knock, knock on wood, no no no-"

"There you go again! I explained it to you, and I thought you were listening up good, and then I hear this T can't, I can't.' You just forget that 'I can't.' Do you have a duty to society or not? Should the people move toward the bright, lofty future or not? Should we help our brothers? Yes, we should. Don't argue. Our job, dear boy, couldn't be more noble, but the people are backward, they don't get it. They've got all these silly fears, they spread gossip. Savages!"

Benedikt was dejected. He had only just understood everything and then Father-in-law sort of turned it all topsy-turvy- and once again everything was all mixed up and he was in the doldrums.

"So what does that mean: We can't read books?"

"What do you mean you can't read books?" said Father-in-law in surprise. "Why not? Read to your heart's content, I have a whole library of Oldenprint books, some of them have pictures. I'll get you a pass."

"Then why treat people?"

"Again all this why oh why! Because of Illness!"

"I don't get it…"

"Not all at once. You'll get it, you will."

"Well, but you said Mice Are Our Mainstay. Then why aren't there any mice in our house?"

"We don't have any mice because we lead a spiritual life. We don't need mice."

Father-in-law had a whole storeroom full of Oldenprint books. When Benedikt got his pass to the books- ooooeeee! - his eyes popped out, his knees went weak, his hands shook and he nearly had a fainting fit. The room was huge, on the very top floor, with windows, and shelves, shelves, and more shelves, all along the walls, and on the shelves were books, books, and more books! Big ones, little ones, all kinds. Some fit in your palm but the letters were big. Others were big but the letters were tiny. There were books with pictures, not just plain ones, but color! Honest to God. Color pictures! There was a whole book of color pictures, with lots of naked women, all pink-sitting on the grass, and on stools, and squatting, and every which way. Some were thin as brooms, others not bad, nice and plump. One of them had climbed onto a bed and thrown off the blanket- pretty good, that one.