Tatyana Tolstaya - The Slynx

"Hey, hey, don't tear up any books! I have to read them!"

"No letters here. Just a picture."

Father-in-law tore a portrait out of a book, rolled it up in a cone, stuck his hand in it, and cleaned Fyodor Kuzmich, Glorybe, off the hook. Then he wiped off the hook.

"There you go," muttered Father-in-law. "No more tyranny allowed! It was just getting too darn fashionable!"

Benedikt was suddenly exhausted. His temples pounded. He wasn't used to bending down. He sat on a stool to catch his breath. There were a bunch of books laid out on the table. Well, that was it. Now everything was his. He opened one of them cautiously.

The trepidation of life, of all the centuries and races, Lives in you. Always. Right now. In all your hidden places.

Poems. He clapped the book shut and looked at another.

He who draws the darkest lot of chance Is not subject to the dance; Like a star drowned in the skies, In his place, a new star will arise.

More poems! Lord and Saints Almighty. How much there is to read! He opened a third book:

What kind of East do you favor?

The East of Xerxes, or of Christ the Savior?

A fourth book:

Is all quiet among our fair people? No. The Emperor's murdered, cast down. And there's someone now talking of freedom, On the square of the town.

It was all sort of about the same thing. The tyrant must have been putting a little collection together for himself. Benedikt opened the fifth book, the one from which Father-in-law tore a portrait that Fyodor Kuzmich, Glorybe, ruined:

Man suits all elements, every season. Tyrant, traitor, or the prison.

Father-in-law tore the book away from Benedikt and tossed it aside.

"Stop that nonsense! Now it's time to think about the State!"

"About the State? What about it?"

"What? You and I have carried out a coup, that's what. And he says: What about it? We have to put things in order."

Benedikt looked around the room: true, everything was topsy-turvy, the stools were upside down, the tables were all over, books lay every which way, having fallen off shelves while he and Father-in-law chased the Greatest Murza, Long May He Live. Everything was dusty.

"So what? Send over a bunch of serfs and they'll clean up."

"Now that just shows you're a real dimwit! Spiritual, spiritual order is what we need! And you keep fretting about earthly stuff! We have to write a decree. When you carry out a coup d'etat you always have to write a decree. Come on now, find me some clean bark. There ought to be some around here."

Benedikt rummaged around on the table, moving the books. He found a scroll that was nearly clean. Fyodor Kuzmich, Glorybe, had only begun to write on it.

DECREE Since I am Fyodor Kuzmich Kablukov, Glory-to-me, the Greatest Murza, Long May I Live, and Seckletary, Academ-ishun, and Hero and Ship Captain and Handyman, and since I am constantly thinking day and night about the people, I decree:

– Now I've got a couple of free minutes, but the whole day was nonstop. - This is what else I thought up for the people's goo…

And then there were a bunch of lines and blotches: that's where he got scared.

"All right, then. Come on, let's get on with it. What have we got here?… Cross all that out. You write, your handwriting is better: Decree Number One."

DECREE NUMBER ONE 1. I am going to be the Boss now.

2. My title will be General Saniturion.

3. I will live in the Red Terem with twice as many guards.

4. Don't come any closer than one hundred yards, 'cause whoever does will get the hook right away no questions asked.

Kudeyarov

Henceforth and forever more the city will be called Kudeyar-

Kudeyarichsk. Learn it by heart.

Kudeyarov

Benedikt wrote it down.

"OK. Show me how it came out. 'Kudeyarov' needs to be bigger and with a curlicue. Cross it out. Rewrite it, so that the last name is in big letters, as big as a toenail. After the V twist it around in circles left and right, kind of like loops. There you go. That's it."

Father-in-law blew on the bark so it would dry; then he admired it.

"All right. What else should we do?… Write: Decree Number Two."

"Kudeyar Kudeyarich! You should decree more holidays."

"Ay ay ay! Your approach is so ungovernmental," said Father-in-law testily. "Has the decree been signed? It has! Did it take effect? It did! So you call me General Saniturion. Talk to me like you're supposed to. Who do you think you are?"

"And the extras? The attributes?"

"Ah, the attributes… attributes… Hmm… How about: 'Life, Health, Strength.' General Saniturion, Life, Health, Strength. Write it in there. All right. You need a title too… How about Deputy for Defense?"

"I want to be General Deputy for Defense."

"What's this now, already trying to oust me?" cried Father-in-law. "You want to oust me, is that it?"

"What does it have to do with… You're always going on like… like I don't know what! No ousting, it just sounds nice: General!"

"Of course it sounds nice! But two can't have it at the same time! There's never more than one General! If you want, you can be Deputy for Defense and Marine Affairs."

"For Marine and Oceanic."

"Whatever you like. Let's keep going. Decree Number Two."

"Holidays, more holidays."

"There you go again with an ungovernmental approach! First and foremost are civil liberties, not holidays."

"Why? What does it matter?"

"Because! That's how revolution is always done: first the tyrant is overthrown, then the new Boss of everything is named, and then come civil liberties."

They sat down to write, shuffling the bark. Light began to appear in the window. Beyond the doors you could hear a murmuring and a muttering, whispered negotiations, a commotion. There was a knock at the door.

"Who's trying to get in? What do you want?"

A serf stumbled in with a bow.

"There's a, um… a delegation of representatives asking: What's up?"

"What representatives?"

"What representatives?" shouted the serf, turning back toward the entrance.

"Of the People!" came the cry from the entryway. It seemed to be Lev Lvovich shouting. They'd barely had time to overthrow the tyrant and here petitioners were already besieging them. The rumor must've got around. That's the people for you! Won't give you a minute of peace!

"Some Representatives of the People."

"Tell them the revolution was successful, the tyrant has been deposed, we're working on a decree about civil liberties, don't bother us, disperse and go home."

"Don't forget about the Xeroxes!" came the cry from the en-tryway.

"Now he's telling me what to do! Who's the liberator here? Me! Kick him out," said Father-in-law angrily. "Close the door and don't let anyone in. We're writing fateful papers here, and he's hanging around bugging us. Come on, Deputy. Write: Decree Number Two."

"I wrote that."

"All right, then… Liberties… I've got it written down here somewhere… a list… I can't make it out. Your eyes are younger, read it to me."

"Ay… What bad handwriting… Who wrote it?"

"Who wrote it? I wrote it. I copied it from a book. I consulted the literature so everything would be scientific. Go on, read it."

"Hmm… freedom of the… left or maybe it's life and… I can't figure it out."

"Skip it, read on."

"Freedom… of ass-Ocean, is that it?"

"Let me see. That seems right… Yes, that's it. OK, so that when people get together, they can move around freely. Or else they'll just clump up and crowd into one place and there won't be any room to move. They'll smoke the place up, then they'll get headaches and they'll be bad workers. Write: No more than three can gather."