Tatyana Tolstaya - The Slynx

Teterya wanted to be called Petrovich-san, Minister of Transport, Oil, and Refineries. What does that mean? It means that he ordered the guzzelean water to be ladled out in buckets and pails and lugged over to the cellar. You had to admit it was beautiful water, it looked like it was covered with a rainbow. But it was foul-tasting and didn't smell very good. Teterya was Boss of all Transport and Hauling, and of all the Degenerators. Olenka and Fevronia didn't want to be called anything, they only wanted a lot of different outfits, so they could wear a new dress each time there was a public execution, whether it was the wheel or a tongue being cut out, or something else.

It was all so dull.

"… Papa's feelings are hurt, he says you wrinkle you nose at him. Benedikt! Don't wrinkle your nose!"

"Get out of here. I'm reading."

Benedikt waited until every last inch of Olenka had left through the wide doors. She broke his train of thought, the bitch.

"You're wrinkling your nose up at me, I see," said Father-in-law.

"Don't be silly."

"And here we are, friends forever and all time. We swore to it."

"Mmmmmm."

"Where you go, I go. Put that book down!"

"All right, all right, what is it?"

The family was sitting at the table, eating grilled canaries and looking at Benedikt with displeasure, all of them, even Petro-vich-san. The children, Bubble and Concordia, crawled under the table, scraping the floor with their claws.

"I've got a mind to reorganize the power structure, my dear boy."

"Be my guest."

"Petrovich and I decided to whip up an internal combustion engine. We've got the guzzelean, I can spark it with my eyes, the rest will take care of itself in the course of things."

"Godspeed. What do I have to do with it?"

"We need a little bit of consolidation," Petrovich-san piped up.

"I don't have any."

"Ay! Help, we need help!"

"I want to remove the Head Stoker," said Father-in-law.

Benedikt thought he'd misheard. He put his finger in the book, and leaned forward.

"Move him where?"

"Where, what do you mean where? Remove him-execute him! Clean out your ears!" Father-in-law sputtered. "You've gone overboard with all that reading, buried yourself in papers, abandoned the government. And you're supposed to be a Deputy! I wish to execute him as a fire hazard. In accordance with the Governmental Decree that took effect ages ago. He's harming the economy: the people have gone to seed, they get their stoves lighted for free, no one's paying the fire tax!"

"Now that we've got gasoline, we cannot tolerate any open flames," confirmed Teterya. "I declare this officially, as Minister of Oil and Refineries. We're an OPEC country now. We have to think about exports, and not all these shenanigans."

"What's more, he's carrying out dangerous excavations and undermining the government. We'll wake up one morning and the country will have collapsed."

"He's erecting columns, interfering with traffic flow-now I'm speaking in my capacity as Minister of Transport."

"The revolution goes on, there's nothing to discuss," said Father-in-law angrily. "Do we need to uphold the purity of the ranks? We do. I'm a medical worker, don't forget. You know what oath we medical workers take? Do no harm. And he's doing harm. Well? So you go on over and see him and tie him up with a rope real quick. Tie him to that column or something, only make sure he's tied tight. I would send my own people, but he'll just huff and puff at them and get away. But he won't huff and puff at you."

"I won't let you execute Nikita Ivanich, what on earth is going on!!!" cried Benedikt. "He's an old friend… he made sweet rolls for me, we carved the pushkin together, and… he… he… this… and… anyway!!!"

He decided not to mention the tail.

"You'll let us, you won't let us-no one's asking your permission!" shouted Father-in-law. "You are the Deputy for Marine and Oceanic Defense, and this is terra firma business. We'll build an engine and drive along the roads! Your job is to bring him in, so he doesn't get away!"

"Up yours!"

"So that's how it is, huh? Cosmopolitan!" shouted Teterya, shoving the table.

"Some cosmetologian you are! You four-legged warty fur-ball!" Benedikt retorted.

"That's how you talk to a Minister?" Father-in-law bent over and tore the book out of Benedikt's hands. He hurled it on the floor and the pages fell apart.

"Jeez!… And you, Papa, you just plain stink!"

"Oh, so that's it, is it? Come on, then," Father-in-law jumped across the table in one leap, knocking over the dishes. He grabbed Benedikt by the neck with his strong, cold hands. "Come on, let me hear that again! Say it again-again I say! I'll teach you to-"

And, squinting his eyes, he began to burn Benedikt with a chill, yellow, scratching sort of flame.

"Enough of this outrageous behavior! And in front of the children!" Mother-in-law cried out.

"Control yourself, Papa!"

"What are you?… You're just a…a…a… you're the Slynx, that's who you are!!!" cried Benedikt, scaring himself- words just fly out of your mouth and then you can't catch them. He was scared, but he shouted, "Slynx, Slynx!"

"Me? Me?" laughed Father-in-law, suddenly loosening his fingers and letting go. "Nanny nanny foo foo, you got it wrong. You're the one who's the Slynx."

"Me?!?!?"

"Who else? Pushkin? You! You're the one and only…" Father-in-law laughed, shook his head, stretched his stiff fingers, and put out the light in his eyes-only reddish glints flickered in the round eyeballs. "Go take a look at yourself in the water… in the water… hee, hee, hee… Yes, the Slynx, that's just who you are… No need to be frightened… no need… We're among friends…"

Mother-in-law laughed too, Olenka giggled, and Terenty

Petrovich-san grinned. The children stopped scratching the floor, raised their flat heads, and shrieked.

"Just look at yourself in the water…"

He ran out of the room. The family's laughter followed him.

What are they saying! What did they mean! Here's the storehouse, here's a barrel of water. Blocking the light with his hands, he looked into the dark, slimy-smelling water. No, it was all lies. Lies!!! It was hard to see, but you could tell: his head was round, though his hair had thinned; his ears were in place, his beard, nose, eyes. No, I'm a human! A human is what I am!… That's right! To hell with you!

He rinsed his face in the barrel: the skin smarted where Father-in-law had burned it with his rays, and it felt rough to the touch, like it was covered with tiny blisters or a rash. He suddenly felt nauseated, as though he'd eaten cheese. He ran to the door and vomited his guts out. Something yellow. Must be the canaries. He'd eaten too many canaries. Ugh, he felt weak.

… He should take a walk, no? Get some fresh air. He hadn't walked anywhere in ages. From the city gates. Hiss to the guard. Walk to the hills. To the river. Over the bridge-into the forest, and farther, farther, till he was up to his knees, waist, shoulders in grass, to the place where there are flowers and flies, a hidden glade, and a honey-sweet wind, and the white bird… That's right, just wait…

He trudged on, shuffling along in his lapty on weakened, sickly feet. He suddenly understood clearly that it was all in vain. There isn't any glade or any bird. The glade was trampled, the tulips torn up, and the Princess Bird, well, she was caught long ago in the snare and ground into meat patties. He ate them himself. He himself slept on pillows of snowy, lacy feathers.

He knew, but he walked on, almost indifferently, like just before death, or just after death-when everything has already happened and you can't fix anything. He plodded past fields planted with bluish turnips, along ravines with their piles of red clay, across canals and pools with worrums. He climbed up the hills with difficulty, slipping on overgrown marshrooms. From the hills you could see far, far away: fields and then more fields, with weeded and unweeded turnips, and new ravines, and dark patches of woods where the blindlie bird hides, and the unbelievably far-off oak groves with their firelings, and then more fields as far as the eye could see. The wind of his homeland blew brisk and warm, grayish clouds turned the heavenly vaults murky, and on the horizon, like a deep blue wall, stood dark clouds ready to sob with summer downpours.