The Light of the Pearlwort

Polano Square

Journal of Leono Kust, Former Grade 17 Official Translated by Miyazawa Kenji

At that time I was serving in the Natural Science Bureau of the city of Morio.

As a grade 18 official, I had a very low rank even in that office, and received hardly any compensation. But my assignment, collecting and preparing specimens, was one I was born to, and I spent each day very happily. At that particular time, the race track in Morio was being planted as a botanical garden, so our office had charge of a broad and lovely looking area planted in acacia, with its attached ticket office and signal building. I was therefore able to live in the watchman's cottage, alone with a small phonograph and twelve records purchased from the amount I received each month as a quarters allowance. I was raising a goat in the horse stalls, with a small yard I built of boards. Each morning I milked her and had a breakfast of cold bread dipped in the milk. Then I would put a few documents and magazines in a black leather briefcase, shine my shoes, then stride through the shadows of rows of poplars to the city offices.

I had the cold wind that blew through Iyhatovo, the blue sky with its edge of coldness even in summer, the city of Morio decorated with forests, and the brightly sparkling grasses at the edge of town.

Now when I think of all the people I knew there, Fazelo and Rozalo, the goatherd Milo, the red-faced children, the landlord Temo, Doctor Wildcat or Borgant Destupago, and the huge, dark stone buildings, they seem like the phosphorescence of a old, familiar breeze. I will now quietly set forth, using a number of subheadings, the events of May through October of that year in Iyhatovo.

The Runaway Goat

It was the last Sunday of May. I awoke to the clamor of bells in the city's churches. The sun was already up, and my surroundings were well lit. I looked at the clock; it was just six. I slipped on a vest, and went out to see my goat. But all I found in her pen was a depression in the straw-- her short horns and white hair were not in sight.

"The weather's so good, she took command and decamped."

Caught between laughing and cursing her, I looked around the field where she liked to run, between the signal building and the service road. I glimpsed, between the poplars, the white church tower at the edge of town, but nowhere did I see her white head or back.

I wondered if remembered places they'd been before, or the road they had come by, and returned as dogs and horses did. Once the thought had entered my mind, I could not stand not knowing. But the race track, unlike my office, had no elderly clerks who would know such things, and no reference books where such facts would be written. And so all I could was start out along the service road, and head out to the meadowland along the path by which a villager had first brought the goat to me. Oats and rye were sprouting in the fields I passed, and some were plowed and still waiting to be planted.

Before long I found myself on the road leading from town to the villages to the southwest.

A number of farm women, dressed in black with white kerchiefs, were walking toward me. I realized it was time for me to return. I was dressed in my night clothes, wearing a vest but no cap, and with my face still unwashed, looking for the unknown spot in these broad fields to which my goat had flown. At that point, however, I did not feel right about going back. The approaching women were almost close enough to see their faces. Making up my mind, I walked resolutely toward them, bowed to them and asked their help.

"I wonder if a goat hasn't come wandering this way?"

The women all stopped. They were carrying bibles, apparently on their way to church.

"My goat may have come this way, but have you seen him?"

They all looked at each other. Then one of them answered.

"We've all come straight this way, so..."

Of course. The goat hadn't run off at a time when people were on the road. I bowed and thanked them. The women walked away. I wanted to go back, but that would have meant catching and passing the women. I could pass time just taking a stroll, but that would have been no help at all, I realized with a bitter smile. Just then a young man in his middle twenties and a boy of 17 carrying a shovel came along. It would be no use, but I bowed again and ask them, just for form's sake.

"My goat may have come this way; have you seen him?"

"A goat? No. Were you leading it this way when it escaped?"

"No, it escaped from its pen. Well, thank you."

I bowed and started off. Then the boy called out to me.

"Someone's coming over there-- is that one yours?"

I turned around and looked in the direction he was pointing.

"That's Fazelo, and doesn't he have a goat?"

"It's a goat, and it must be yours. There's no other reason Fazelo would be walking along with a goat these days."

It was a goat without question. But could it be a different goat he was taking to sell in town? He was headed that direction. I went toward him. He was a red-cheeked boy of 17, wearing a vest and no jacket, who approached me with an embarrassed smile. He was leading a nanny goat, one that certainly looked like mine, by a leather lead around the neck. Although she certainly looked like mine, I stopped, hesitant to say anything. The boy also stopped, and bowed to me.

"This goat must be yours."

"It looks like it."

"It was wandering alone when I came out."

"I wonder if goats remember roads they've walked, like dogs."

"Maybe so. Here, take it."

"I'm really grateful. I came looking without even washing my face."

"You came that far?"

"I live at the race track."

"Over there?" As he unfastened the lead from the goat's neck, he looked across the fields until he saw the greenish acacia swaying brightly through the haze.

"Have you come far?"

"Well, I came this far... Goodbye."

"Wait a minute. I'd like to give you something, but I don't have anything."

"No, I don't need anything. It was fun leading a goat."

"Just the same, I couldn't forgive myself. I know-- could you use a chain?" Figuring that I could get along without it, I removed the silver chain from my watch.

"No, thanks."

"There's a lodestone attached."

The boy flushed suddenly, but quickly returned to normal and surprised me with a vague reply. "No, thanks. A lodestone won't help find it."

"Won't help find what?"

The boy was a little flustered, as though there were something he was keeping inside.

"Won't help find what?"

The boy hesitated a bit longer, then made up his mind to speak. "Polano Square."

"Polano Square? I think that's what you said. What is Polano Square?"

"It's from a fairy tale, but it's showed up again recently."

"Oh, that's right. I think I heard about it as a child. It's a festival out in the middle of the plain. You get there by counting the serial numbers in pearlwort flowers."

"That's the fairy tale. But it seems to actually exist these days."

"Why do you say that?"

"When we go out on the plain at night, we can hear sounds coming from there."

"Can't you just go toward the sound?"

"We've done that several times, but we get confused."

"But if you can hear it, it can't be that far off."

"No, Iyhatovo plain is big. Even Milo gets lost on foggy days."

"I suppose so. There are maps, though."

"You have a map of the plain?"

"Yes, but it spreads over four sheets or so."

"Looking at the map, could we see the roads and forests and everything?"

"A few things may have changed, but you can tell pretty well. Suppose I thank you by buying a map and sending it to you?"

The boy flushed again, and assented.

"I take it you're called Fazelo. How should I address it?"

"I'll find some time and go to your place."

"If it's a matter of free time, how about today?"

"I have to work today."

"Isn't this Sunday?"

"There aren't any Sundays for me."

"How come?"

"I have to work."

"What sort of job is it?"

"At the boss's place. We're all headed to the fields now. We gather the wheat."

"So you work for an employer?"

"Yes."

"What about your parents."

"None."

"Older brothers?"

"I have an older sister."

"Where?"

"Same boss."

"I see."

"But my sister may go to Dr. Wildcat's."

"What? Did you say Dr. Wildcat."

"That's what we call him. His real name is Destupago."

"Destupago? Is that Borgant Destupago, the provincial councillor?"

"Yes."

"He's a bad one-- is his home in this area?"

"Yes, from my boss's place..."

"Hey, what're you goofing off here for?" We were interrupted by a loud voice behind us. We turned to see an old, tough looking farmer with a red cap and a leather whip.

"I thought you'd have gotten some work done by now, but here you are standing around jabbering. Get to work!"

"Okay. Goodbye, then."

"So long. I'm always back from the office by 5:30, you know."

"Okay."

Fazelo hurried toward the next road with a water jar and hoe.

"I don't know where you're from, but from now on you can just keep out of my affairs."

"I just came looking for my goat when it ran off. That boy brought it to me, and I was asking how I could show my appreciation."

"Enough of that. Goats have feet to walk. Fazelo is crazy to go running off after one." The farmer, his face flushed red, raised his hand and snapped the whip he was holding.

"Isn't it a little wild of you to snap your whip at people?"

The farmer poked it toward my face.

"This whip? Are you talking about this whip? This isn't a whip for people-- it's a horse whip. I drove four horses here. That's how it is, you see."

The farmer cracked the whip fiercely in my face. I could feel the blood rushing to my head. I decided, though, that this wasn't the time to fight, and looked at my goat. She was walking along, eating clumps of grass here and there. The farmer went off in the same direction as Fazelo, and I followed the goat. When I looked back. I could see the farmer's red cap bouncing along the dark horizon above the surface of the fields. Among the dimmer shadows in the same direction I could see flashing farm tools and the dark figures of a horse and Fazelo, or someone like him, slapping the horse to move it forward.

The Light of the Pearlwort

One evening, exactly 10 days later, I had returned from the office and was removing my cufflinks when Fazelo suddenly stuck his head in at the door. He spoke before I had really gotten over the surprise. "So you've finally come. Good evening."

"Thank you for the other day. I've got the map ready. Do you still hear that sound?"

"It was really strong last night. I really wanted to find you this evening, so I came with Milo, the goatherd."

"Everything's okay at home?"

Fazelo only grunted vaguely in reply.

"Your boss is a pretty frightening fellow. What's his name?"

"Temo."

"Temo? I'm sure I've heard that name."

"Maybe you have. He delivers fruits and vegetables to offices here and there."

"Maybe so. Anyway, here's the map." I spread out the map I had bought in the doorway.

"Can I call Milo?"

"Anyone's welcome to come."

"Milo! Come on! Look at the map."

At that, a healthy-looking youth about three years older than Fazelo emerged from the goat's pen. Wearing gaiters and a tattered, blue leather jacket, he bowed in greeting.

"Say, I don't know much about maps-- which way is west?"

"The top is north. Turn it like this." As he spoke, Fazelo placed the map on the floor and oriented it with our surroundings.

"So this is east, and this is west. We're right here now-- at this round racetrack."

"Where is the carbonization plant?" Milo asked.

"I don't think the carbonization plant is on this map." I spread out another. "Perhaps it's on this one."

"It's not here. How long has it been around?"

"Since last year."

"That's why it's not here. The survey for this map was earlier than that. Where is the plant?"

"At the edge of Murad forest."

"Oh, that's probably over here. What kind of trees are they-- oak and birch? Not Chinese cedar or cypress?"

"Oak and birch. Oh, is this it? I'm sure the sound I heard last night was coming from here."

"Let's go, then! We'll go take a look." Fazelo jumped up still holding the map.

"Can I go along?"

"Sure. I was going to ask you to."

"I'll go, then. Just a minute."

I hurried to get ready. The moon was supposed to be out, but we had to be able to read the map. I picked up a glass-sided lantern.

"Well, let's go." I slammed the door shut, and started out after Fazelo and Milo.

The sun had already set, and the sky had turned the blue of an old pond. The shrubs and acacia trees looked greener than any other time of day.

We cut across the center of the race track, and were soon on a little path that led out onto the plain. When I looked back, my house was small and glowed yellow.

"If we get to Polano Square, what do they say will be there?" I put this question to Fazelo, as we walked along behind Milo.

"There's an orchestra, and wine and all sorts of things. I don't drink wine, but I'd like to go along with the crowd."

"That's what they say-- I heard that sort of thing as a child."

"The best thing is that when you go there, anyone can sing beautifully. Even Milo, right?"

Milo agreed with a grunt. I had the impression he must have sung well to start with.

"When I was little I always came out on this plain to play," Fazelo said.

"Is that right?"

"Then my mother would say, 'hurry back, and don't be fooled by the owl.'"

"Said what?"

"'My mother would say, 'hurry back, and don't be fooled by the owl.'"

"By the owl?"

"Yeah, the owl. Once when I was even smaller, I went out onto the plain. Far away, I heard 'who ate it, who ate it?' That was the owl. I was a dumb little kid, and ran right toward it. When I got in the woods I got lost and started crying. Afterwards my mother would always say that."

"Where is your mother now?" I asked him softly, thinking of what he had said before.

"She isn't." He spoke sadly.

"You said before that your big sister might go work for Destupago."

"She didn't want to. But the boss told her to go."

"Temo?"

"Yeah. The boss is afraid of Dr. Wildcat."

"Why do you call him Dr. Wildcat?"

"I don't really know. Do you know, Milo?"

"Yeah." Milo looked back at us. "His business is walking wildcats and selling them abroad."

"Wildcats? Is he in the zoo business?"

"Maybe it's zoos." Milo fell silent, as though he didn't know either.

It had gotten really dark around us. The western horizon had stopped shining like the water of an old pond, and the vegetation had changed to a dark blue color.

Fazelo called out, "Hey, a pearlwort light came on."

Sure enough, in the black of the bushes to the side of us, a small pearlwort flower was shining dimly. And there was another, and another. The air was full of a must aroma of honey.

"If you look carefully at that light, it's a bunch of small, pale lights shaped like a moth."

"So it is-- I thought it was a single light."

"And there-- look, it's true! They have serial numbers."

We squatted down looking at the flowers. Sure enough, on each flower was what seemed to be a small, brown accounting number.

"Milo, what is it?"

"Maybe 1,256-- no, 1,258."

"Mine is 3,24...6."

"Are they as clear as that?" I really couldn't read them that clearly. But the flowers were lighting up, here, there and all around us.

"Here's 3,856. We just have to count up to 5,000, so Polano Square ought to be pretty close by."

"But there are none of the nice sounds you were talking about, are there?"

"I can hear it now. This one is 2,556."

"There's really no point reading out the numbers," I said.

"Why not?" Fazelo and Milo stood up straight and looked at me.

"Because first of all, I don't think there are any numbers written here; it's just a trick of your eyes. And if you can actually hear any music now, I think we should just go straight toward it. In any case, shouldn't we go ahead, since we've been here many times before? We're just a little north of that fork in the road. Mur„d forest is still ahead. What do you think, Milo?"

"It's still ahead."

"Well, then-- let's go. After we've gone a ways you can check the flowers again. We're just at 2,000 or 3,000."

Milo nodded and started walking. Fazelo followed silently. Not speaking, we walked across the plain, which looked strangely striped by masses of pale flowers ahead of us. Above the black horizon at the edge of the plain, the sky had taken on a steel color, a few small stars had shown up, and the air had become sweeter. About that time, our shadows appeared on the ground ahead of us. We turned back to look, and saw half the flat-looking full moon peeking above the street lights of Morio. We all let out a cry without thinking. Fazelo raised both hands as though to greet it, and leapt in the air.

Suddenly, across the pale plain, there was a quiet sound that might be a cello or bass.

"There! That's it!" Fazelo said, slapping my arm.

I stood straight and pricked up my ears. The sound resembled a very low murmur. I was completely unable to say, however, from which direction it was coming. It was not from the west, the south, the north, or from the direction from which we had come. Rather, it seemed to rise and fall, in a delightful way, from within the surface of the ground.

"It's just like in the old stories, isn't it? I had stopped understanding."

"The serial numbers over here are around 2,300," Fazelo said as he checked the pearlwort lights that had become even brighter since the moon came out.

"I don't think we can rely on serial numbers," I said, bending over to look.

Just then I saw a small, black bee move from the light of one flower to another.

"Look, a bee. The buzzing we've been hearing comes from bees that started moving when the moon came out. Look! There are bees all over the plain."

"With that, I thought it had become understandable. Fazelo and Milo were silent, but looked like they didn't accept it.

Milo finally spoke. "They are bees, you know. So it may be that's why it comes from all over the plain."

"Not at all. If it had been bees we'd have known it from the start. But last night I heard people laughing, clearer than ever."

"Was the laughter deep and loud?"

"No."

"I see." I no longer understood, and stood with my arms folded.

That's when it happened. From the western part of the plain I clearly heard the low tones of a trombone or bass fiddle. I turned sharply to face it. It could still be heard in the west. I couldn't help shivering; it was as though someone had bewitched the entire plain. The only other possibility was that, just as in the fairy tales, this joyous Polano Square somehow existed in the middle of a plain where there was nothing during the day. The daylight hours, when I sat in my office pasting labels in notebooks and carrying documents in to my supervisor's office, seemed to belong to a different world entirely.

"There's something after all, isn't there?"

"There is. But I still don't know where it's coming from."

"If we don't having bearings like this, there's no choice but to read the serial numbers, like the legend says. But how high do we have to count?"

"5,000."

"5,000? And how high did you say we were?"

"About 3,000."

"In that case, let's check to see if they increase to the west or to the north."

But then we heard a loud voice laughing behind us. "Haha. So you characters want to go to Polano Square!"

"Well, if it isn't Dr. Wildcat's coachman!" Milo said.

"Three of you lost together, counting numbers on the lights. Hahaha." An old man with a twisted leg and one eye stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, laughing loudly.

"We're counting, so what do you know about it, grandpa? Does Polano Square exist nowadays?" Fazelo asked.

"It does. It does, but it's not a Polano Square of the sort you're asking about, that the likes of you can find by crawling around counting flowers."

"In that case, what sort is it?"

"Much better."

"What sort?"

"Well," the old man hiccoughed. "It's no use to you three."

"Do you go there a lot, grandpa?"

"You couldn't say I haven't gone. It's such a good place."

"You've been drinking tonight, grandpa?"

"Because they have such good straw wine." He hiccoughed again.

"Maybe we shouldn't go, then."

"Don't go, you mustn't. The devil would take you for sure." The old man swayed, holding his head. It looked like a beetle had flown into him.

"Grandpa," Milo asked, "tell us which direction to Polano Square, and I'll sing you a song about the devil."

"Bad luck. You crawl around and look some more." Angered, the old man stamped down some pearlworts, and started of to the south.

"Grandpa, wait up," Fazelo called. "I'll water your horses."

The old man just kept going. Milo remained quiet at first, but finally couldn't hold back. "Hey! I'll sing for you!" he called out.

Fazelo seemed not to notice, but I was happy to see I had been right about Milo being a skilled singer. Milo loosened the top buttons of his jacket and shirt, and drew a breath.

"A boar fly or beetle, ignoring
The light of the moonlit pearlwort,
Rushes, and blunders into
Dr. Wildcat's blind, bony driver,
Who tramples him where he has fallen.
Not seeing the moonlit pearlwort,
He pulls himself quickly together,
And futilely flies away."

From the direction in which the old man walked off, however, a high, thin voice was calling "Fazelo, Fazelo."

"Sister! I'm coming!" Fazelo called back. The distant voice fell silent.

"That's too bad. The boss was calling for sure. I'd better hurry as far as the forest and see."

Milo stiffened and quickly said, "It's all right. I always thought there was something fishy about that cart driver or town grocer or whatever he is. He's always drunk lately; he definitely knows about Polano Square. Besides that, there have been a lot of strange carts piled with dry grass in the plain lately. Fazelo, don't let on you know anything, and go home and get some sleep. I'm certain to find Polano Square in five or six days."

"Really? I don't really understand."

We heard the voice again. "Fazelo! Come on! You've got a job in town."

"I'm coming!" Then to me, "Can you bet back to the racetrack by yourself? I have to go to the boss's place."

"I can. I've come here many times during the day. Here, you take the map."

"Give it to Milo. I never have time to come on the plain during the day."

Then I saw a lovely girl standing a little way off in the light of the moon and the pearlworts. Fazelo addressed her. "Sister. This is him. He gave me a map."

The sister didn't come closer, but bowed silently. I also bowed, silently.

"Goodbye, then. I've got to hurry."

Fazelo ran off. Milo stood facing the north, hands to his hears, and said nothing. I felt that Polano Square was right there, just as it stood, and that the coachman and Milo had not awakened from their dreams.

"Milo-- that was a good song. You don't have to go to Polano Square to learn to sing. Goodbye."

Milo bowed politely. I walked back home, across that beautiful plain, filling my chest with the smell of honey.

3. Polano Square

The fifth day from that time was a Friday evening. Work in myy office that day had been greatly disrupted by a dispute with my colleagues about whether to skin a dead polar bear. As I was drinking some tartaric acid mixed in water to restore my spirits, I heard a far-off whistle. The tune made me think Fazelo bring my goat to me, and of hurrying across the plain. "He's coming," I immediately muttered to myself. And it was Fazelo; his red face poked it at the door before I had even finished drinking the cup of tartaric acid.

"I know now, finally. Last night I set up some guideposts. And you can tell from the map. Tonight we can go to Polano Square without fail. Milo set out during the day, and promised to meet us. I'm going to try going-- If I'm right we can take everyone tomorrow."

I was hooked, and felt my heart pound.

"Really? I'll go too. I'd better, in case anything happens. I wonder what sort of people will be there."

"I suppose clothes don't matter. Let's go now. I don't know who else will be there."

I hastily knotted a necktie, put on a new straw hat and went out. We reached the place where we had parted previously just as the blue light of evening was pouring into the pearlworts and it was becoming difficult to see the scratch-like pattern on their leaves. Fazelo stood on tiptoe and looked around for a moment, then suddenly started running. Moments later he stopped, just as suddenly.

"Ah, this is it-- look!"

What I saw was a branch stuck in the ground, apparently by Fazelo, with an arrow drawn on a piece of paper at the tip pointing toward the northwest.

"Let's go this way. See the two small birch trees over there? That's the next marker. Let's hurry, before it gets dark."

Fazelo started off at a steady run. By then the pearlworts were beginning to light up. I ran along behind Fazelo.

Still running, Fazelo called back, "Hurry, hurry. I don't want the Wildcat's coachman to spot us."

We still weren't close to the two birches I had seen before. Fazelo was a good runner. I was running for all I was worth.

Fazelo stopped when we reached the trees. Night had fallen all around us, and the birches stood out black against the darkening sky. The pearlwort flowers, on the other hand, were growing brighter, and looked as if they had actual incandescent bulbs. When I looked closely, each light was shaped like a small white moth, just as everyone had said the previous night, and they were actually glowing nicely. Here and there were taller, red lamps, each with a design of green leaves. Fazelo quietly climbed up a birch tree. He looked over the western part of the plain for a few moments, then jumped down out of the tree.

"I can't see the next marker now. But Polano Square should be directly west of here. Let's head toward the slightly brighter part of that cloud. It's not too much farther."

We started walking again. Suddenly we heard a ringing sound like steel beetles' wings spread across the sky. At times we could hear bits of some other music and human voices mixed in with this sound.

After we had walked a while Fazelo stopped, grasped my arm and pointed at the western edge of the plain. I looked in the direction he indicated, rubbed my eyes and looked again. There were seven or eight trees of some kind there that glowed blue as though glowing within themselves. The air surrounding them also had a vague glow.

Then we heard a voice: "Fazelo?"

"Ah, you've come! Is it going?"

"It is-- very lively. It looks like Dr. Wildcat has come too."

"Dr. Wildcat?" Fazelo sounded terrified.

"Let's go together, though. Anyone who finds it can go to Polano Square, you know."

"Good. Let's go." Fazelo spoke quite clearly.

We all headed toward that light. Both Milo and Fazelo seemed quite worried about something; they didn't say anything further. Now I was the one with bright spirits. Would things really be like in the old fairy tales? And what else would there be? What was Dr. Wildcat doing there? I had to go find out. And on that day I was carrying over half of what remained of my salary, and was ready to treat Fazelo and Milo if it was necessary to pay.

"Okay, then, this time you follow me-- I don't have any reason to be afraid of Dr. Wildcat."

I went to the front, and hurried forward. The sound of beetle wings grew louder, and individual branches of the blue trees became visible. Beneath the trees there were black forms in white shirts moving back and forth. I saw someone raise his hand and say something.

Finally we were close enough that I could tell this was the real Polano Square. What had shown blue were fairly large alder trees, but their branches were strung with numerous lamps that made the very leaves sparkle. Above them were lines of moths and butterflies flying in circles around them.

In the beautiful summer sky, the Milky Way arched above us, looking like a hazy explosion just above the black southern horizon. Amidst the aroma of the pearlworts the aroma of a variety of fruit and the laughter of the crowd, many of the crowd began dancing. And there was an actual orchestra, even though it was only seven or eight people, that has begun a gay waltz. As the dance ended, the dancers separated and took up their glasses. With happy cries, they drank them dry. Perhaps it was the effect of the night air, but some of the cries sounded like cheers for Destupago.

"There's Dr. Wildcat," Fazelo said. He pointed at a stocky man in a yellow-striped shirt and red leather jacket who sat alone at a table guzzling wine.

Six or seven people had thrown confetti and streamers, which fell through the air glittering like snow, or flower petals.

We stopped at the edge of the square. Destupago stood up, glass in hand, just at that moment.

"Hey! Hey, waiter-- how about pouring me some wine!"

A white-shirted waiter quickly ran over. "Yes sir, I'm sorry. It's just that you were sitting down..."

"Whether I'm sitting down or standing up doesn't change who I am, does it? Okay, everybody, how about drinking to my health? P-p- prochit!"

Everyone emptied his glass.

I was somewhat daunted, and wondered if we should return home. But considering what I had just told Fazelo and Milo, I could neither stop nor flee. I decided to just see what happened, and removing my hat, lead the two into the circle of lights. Everyone fell silent, and looked at us suspiciously. Then they looked at Destupago.

Destupago had lowered his eyes, thinking. It was as though he didn't want to look like he had seen us. Then a man in a summer frockcoat approached him and whispered something in his ear. Destupago gave us an ill-tempered glance, then nodded as though to say it couldn't be helped.

At that Temo, also wearing a frockcoat-- it was Temo-- came over to us. He was carrying three glasses imprinted with a seal, and silently placed them before myself, Milo, and then Fazelo. Temo glared wordlessly as he gave one to Fazelo. Fazelo pulled back slightly. From a large pitcher with no label, the waiter poured the same wine everyone else had been drinking.

Finally I spoke. "We don't drink wine-- could you bring some soda?"

"We don't have soda," the waiter said.

"In that case, just bring us water."

For some reason, everyone was staring right at us, as though to bore a hole right through us.

"Impossible," Temo said. "Mr. Destupago doesn't treat people to water."

"I didn't ask for a treat. This is Polano Square, in the midst of the plain, approached by counting pearlwort lights. I am thirsty, and would like to drink water."

I felt that under the circumstances there was no choice but to speak plainly.

Temo laughed loudly at the mention of pearlwort lights. Destupago laughed as well. In a moment everyone was laughing along with them.

"You may not like it, but Polano Square is Mr. Destupago's," Temo said quietly.

Then Dr. Wildcat spoke. "Good, good, give them water if that's what they want. But if guys that drink water come here, Polano Square may get hidden a little better."

Temo agreed with him, then lowered his voice. "Fazelo-- What are you doing here? Get lost, now! If you ever come back I'll beat you till you can't stand up." Fazelo pulled back.

"Who's the kid?" Destupago asked.

"It's Rozalo's little brother," Temo replied with a bow.

Destupago looked away without responding. Just then the orchestra started playing what sounded like a folk song. People got up and were forming a circle to start dancing when Destupago spoke.

"Hey, how about playing Katzhusker instead?"

The man with the cello said the orchestra didn't have the music for piece. Destupago, already drunk, said "I said to p-play it, so why aren't you p-p-playing it!" The orchestra had no alternative but to begin playing Katzhusker, all from a single sheet of music. Destupago began to dance too. He did not dance along with the others, but in fact moved around as though trying to get in their way. The other dancers gave up dancing, and stood in a circle around Destupago, who continued dancing wildly by himself. In the end he was stamping his feet in front of the others, then suddenly leaping up as though to pick a fight. The others fled in an uproar. The man in the summer frock coat, apparently worried, touched his shoulder and tried to say something, but Destupago pulled away threateningly. The orchestra kept playing a little longer, but finally gave up.

Destupago returned to his chair, looking tired, and called, "Hey! Pour!" and drank down two more glasses of wine.

Two people who seemed to know Milo came over to speak to him.

"Milo, since you've come this far, how about singing one for us?"

"Everyone else has been singing and dancing, so we're tired, you know."

But Milo refused and waved away the hands they stretched toward them. But in fact he had come because he wanted to sing, so when one of the orchestra said they were ready to accompany him if he would sing, Milo turned pink and and began to breathe rapidly.

"Do it, I told him; "Give them a good song."

Milo made up his mind. He cleared his throat and got up on an empty box under the alder trees.

"What would you like to do?" the cellist asked him.

"Play Frozen Tree, please."

"We don't have the music for that either-- it's a pretty old song." The orchestra laughed and exchanged looks, then consulted for a moment. "How's this, then? Only the clarinet knows it, but he'll play it with the drummer beating time, and if they sound okay, you can join in on the second verse."

People clapped. Even Temo turned to listen. The orchestra played, and then Milo started singing.

"At six this morning, when I was about
to cross Valtravala ridge,
The morning mist, at just that hour
was just about to lift.
A chestnut shone with a halo of sun
where I sat down on a stone.
I started to nibble a piece of bread
that had turned as hard as stone.
Two electric squirrels suddenly
slid down out of the tree.
But just as quick, I..."

"Hey! Hey, that's wrong!" Dr. Wildcat bellowed.

"What do you mean?" Milo was dumbfounded.

"There wouldn't be any electric squirrels on Valtrav„la ridge this morning. You must have seen a weasel. Please think carefully before you sing."

"That's certainly a good idea." Milo stepped down angrily.

Then Dr. Wildcat stood up. "I'm going to sing now. You, band, play In the Good Summer Time." He began to sing, surprisingly well, as soon as the orchestra started playing.

"In the evening when the pearl-
wort flowers are in bloom.
There's a summer festival
at Polano Square.
But if those who won't drink wine,
and just drink water come,
Polano Square is sure to fade
away in the morning sun."

Fazelo said nothing, but looked like he was ready to cry. When the song was over, he jumped up before I could grab him, and climbed up on the stand.

"I'll sing too. The same tune."

The orchestra started up again. Dr. Wildcat said, "no, this isn't normal," and guzzled down two more large glasses.

Fazelo sang with all his energy.

"On nights when the perfume
of pearlwort fills the air,
There's a summer festival
at Polano Square.
But if drunken wildcats
in yellow shirts sit there,
Then the rain is sure to fall
on Polano Square.
Rain will soon be pouring down
on Polano Square."

Destupago stood up in a rage. "That's an insult. Let's duel... a duel."

I stood up immediately and pulled Fazelo behind me.

"You're talking nonsense-- you insulted us first. How can you duel a child like this? Would you like to fight me?"

"It's not your turn yet. Get out of the way. He insulted me, an honorable provincial councillor. So he's the one I challenge to a duel."

"No, you insulted me, so I challenge you to a duel. If you look at the whole picture, it all goes back to your vanity in thinking the whole plain belongs to you. You choose-- pistols or swords!"

Destupago quickly guzzled down more wine. "Fazelo can handle it," I laughed to myself. "This guy's a weakling."

Then Destupago bellowed in a hollow voice, "Shut up! You don't know the protocol of duelling."

"All right. Even a child can take on a contemptible fellow that can't even talk without drinking wine first. Go ahead, Fazelo. This guy is a pine caterpiller from the plain. I'll be watching your back, and I'll join in if they try anything funny."

"Okay, who's going to be my second?"

The man we'd seen before in the summer frock coat came up then. "Now, now. You shouldn't take on a child like this. Not on an important night like this. Don't you agree?"

Dr. Wildcat pushed the man away. "Stop babbling! Be quiet. Hey, who's going to be my second? Temo!"

"Yes sir. Excuse me, please. I've got a lot to take care of later."

"Stop babbling! Krono! You do it."

The man called Krono, who looked like a farmer, said "No, not me," and moved to the back of the crowd.

"Coward! Portio, you do it."

"I can't."

Destupago was steadily growing angrier. "All right, I don't need a second. Get ready!"

"You get ready," I said, taking Fazelo's jacket.

"Bring swords or guns, which ever you prefer."

"You say which you want," I said, wondering where such things could be found.

"All right. Waiter! Bring two swords."

The waiter seemed to have been waiting for the order. "There are no swords on the plain. Will knives do?"

Destupago looked relieved, and replied loudly. "All right-- bring them out."

"Right away, sir."

The waiter brought two dinner knives, and handed them to Destupago respectfully. To me it looked like a play. Destupago politly inspected the two knives, then said, "Take whichever you like," and handed them to Fazelo.

Fazelo immediately took one and threw the other at Destupago's feet. Destupago picked it up.

Then I stepped between them. "Ready. Follow the protocol of duels. No grabbing. One, two three, go!"

At that, Destupago grasped his short knife like a sword and began thrusting it at Fazelo's breast with all his energy, at the same time retreating from him. Fazelo used a dagger grip, and aimed at Destupago's wrist. After they circled three times, Destupago suddenly dropped his knife and pressed his left hand against his right wrist.

"Oh! Oh! He got me. Doesn't anyone have some iodoform? Any hydrogen peroxide? He got me, he got me." And he flopped down in a chair.

I laughed at him. "You seem to know the names of a lot of medicines. Would someone bring him some water?"

It was Milo that brought the water. He sprinkled it liberally on the yellow shirt until Destupago stood up, soaked from his knees to his chest. To disguise is discomfort, he boldly said, "I must go now. Please drink your fill." And he quickly ran out into the plain. Temo, the man in the summer frock coat and four or five others hurried after him. Once they were gone, everyone suddenly felt much livelier.

"Well fought, Fazelo. Who's the man with you?"

"He lives at the race track."

"What's going on here tonight?" I asked.

"Well, that Wildcat fellow is getting ready for teh election next year. He thought up this Polano Square where you can drink wine free."

"Since spring he's been going around here and there getting people to come together and drink."

"This same wine?"

"Let's not talk about him. Will you have a glass?"

"No, thanks. We don't drink."

"Well, good night."

I was disgusted with the place. "Let's go, Fazelo. Let's go home."

Irushed out into the plain. Fazelo came right behind me. The rest chattered noisily behind us. The orchestra started playing another song, and we could hear the voice of someone making a speech. The two of us set our sights on the lights of Morio, and hurried toward them through the pearlwort lights. A pale moon in its 22nd day was resting quietly on a bank of clouds. When I glanced back, the alder trees and their lights looked small, and the milky way was stretched across the west, and the reddish star in Scorpio was up in the south.

Before long we arrived at the point where the three of us had parted the last time.

"Are you going back to Temo's?" I asked with concern.

"Yes. My sister is there," Fazelo said in a voice weighed down with sadness.

"Right, but they're liable to harrass you."

"They'd go after my sister if I didn't return." The tears finally came.

"Shall I go with you?"

"No." He was still crying a little.

"Will you come to my place?"

"No."

"What will we do, then?"

Fazelo was silent for a moment, but suddenly spoke with some vigor. "It's okay. It will be all right. Temo won't be that bad."

As I thought vaguely of my work at the office the next day, a fault I have as a civil servant, I decided that Fazelo was probably right.

"If that's the case, then all right. Let me know if anything happens."

"I may come for help for my sister."

"That will be okay."

"Goodbye, then."

Fazelo headed south, pulling a long, dark shadow across the pearlworts. I started home, but kept looking back at him.

When I got back, my early evening glass of tartaric acid was sitting on the table, the light was burning, and the clock by my pillow showed two o'clock.

4. The Police Bureau

It happened the day after the next day. I was at my desk copying things out of an old ledger when the office boy came up and tapped me on the shoulder.

"The director says you should come right away."

I immediately put my pen away and threaded my way between the other desks and opened the door of the director's office.

He was holding a piece of paper and had a fierce expression even before the door opened. He watched me approach his desk and continued to watch as I bowed deferentially, then silently passed the paper to me. It read as follows:

IPB No. 3256

29 June 1929

The following person is to report to the Personal

Affairs office of this Police Bureau for examination

at 1500, this day.

Iyhatovo Police Bureau

Leono Kust,

Grade 18 Official

This was Destupago's work, I thought to myself, and should be interesting. The director was still watching my expression in silence. He finally asked, "Do you know what this is about?"

"Yes, sir. I do," I replied, dropping my hands to my sides.

The director relaxed his expression enough to look relieved, then glanced at the clock. "Good. You'd better go now."

I made another respectful bow and left the office. I returned to my desk, cleared the top, and quietly left the office. As I walked along a street lined with huge cherry trees and stopped in front of the red brick building of the police, I was surprised to feel my pulse race. But I encouraged myself by saying I hadn't done anything wrong, and boldly approached the reception desk in the front entry.

"I've come at your request-- Leono Kust."

The patrolman at the desk silently flipped through five or six ledger pages, then said, "Oh, it must be the missing person case. Please go to Personal Affairs, through that door on the right, and wait there."

What did he mean by missing person? I expected him to say the dueling case-- the dueling was done with table knives with rounded tips, but I didn't know whether Destupago had bled or not; I entered the room wondering if there had been some mistake. It was a large, nearly empty room with seven windows along one side. Sitting in one corner, unnecessarily stiffly, was Dr. Wildcat's coachman. He was waiting with a strange, pallid look. "Say, grandpa. Did you get called in today, too?" I walked over and greeted him with a smile.

The old man squirmed as though he didn't want to be seen talking with such a villain as me; he remained in his seat without saying a word.

"Is your master not around?"

"He is not," the old man finally said, but he began shaking as he did.

I kept asking. "I wonder what happened?"

"They're grilling her now."

"Who?" I asked in surprise.

"Rozalo."

"Rozalo! Why?" I was completely serious now.

"Because Fazelo is gone."

"Fazelo?" I raised my voice without thinking.

"No talking!" we heard as the inside door rattled open. "Witnesses are not to talk to each other. You-- come in here."

The old man struggled to his feet and went into the next room. As I looked at the officer who addressed us, I saw that Rozalo was indeed in the next room being examined by someone. She seemed to have been repeating her answers quietly for a while. I felt a great pressure on my chest.

I could only think that Fazelo was gone. He had fought and won in the light of that waning moon, then dragged his shadow across pearlwort lights, returning dejectedly while filled with emotion so strong he could hardly speak. Then Destupago, the collar of his linen summer coat turned up, and three or four underlings must have been lying in wait for him. He would have stopped when he spotted them, and they approached quietly, smiling. Suddenly one grabbed Fazelo, and they all beat him and securely tied his flailing arms. When Fazelo was unable to move, Destupago taunted him without mercy. Finally Destupago said 'he's no good to us now-- take him away,' and they stuffed him in an oven at the carbonization plant. My eyes widened in horror at these thoughts.

(Oh, at such a time, how could I just go home to bed as usual? How could I show so little understanding at a time when I should have found inaction unbearable? On top of that, the gentle, beautivul Rozalo was being intimidated and tricked into incriminating statements in the next room.)

Unable to bear the tension, I paced back and forth in the center of the room. As I looked out the window I saw people walking under the rows of cherry trees. Each of them seemed to look like Destupago or Fazelo. If a youth came by with a hunting pulled well down over his face, I believed Fazelo had escaped and was passing by. If I saw someone stout, I believed Destupago had disguised himself and was checking out the situation. Suddenly these thoughts disappeared from my head. There was a faint sobbing sound in the next room, and then a raised voice and the threatening stamp of a foot. Despite the risk, I was about to open the door and rush in. The the room was quiet for a moment, after which the door creaked open and Rozalo came out with eyes wide and walking unsteadily.

I stammered, with no idea of what to say. Rozalo bowed slightly, without speaking; she walked past me and left. Then I realized that the officer or patrolman I had seen before had poked his head out the door as Rozalo left. When I saw him he pulled his head back in and the door closed. Dr. Wildcat's coachman seemed to be making some kind of plea inside; from time to time I could hear raised voices, and then the flustered voice of the coachman. I tried to focus my thoughts, but everything was confused, and I couldn't do it. I decided it would be best to tell the police all I knew; then I sat still and settled down. Before long the door opened, and the pale coachman staggered out.

The policeman stuck his head out again. "You're grade 18 official Leono Kust?"

"That's correct."

"Then come this way."

I went in. A man who seemed to be a policeman with an impressive beard was seated at a table covered with documents. He had turned away, apparently in a yawn, but looked at me and said, "Please sit here." I bowed and sat down in front of him.

"You're Leono Kust?"

"That's correct."

"You're employed as a public official, your grade is 18, and this is your age, domicile and present residence?" He showed me a document with my name and the other information.

"That's correct."

"In that case, what I want to ask you is where you have hidden Mr. Temo's agricultural worker Fazelo."

"Agricultural worker Fazelo?" I was puzzled at the term.

"Agricultural worker. Children of 16 years or more can be agricultural workers," the police officer said wearily. "You have hidden Fazelo somewhere, I take it."

"No. I haven't seen him since we parted west of the race track the night before last."

"Your lies will result in criminal charges."

"I'm not lying. There was a waning moon, and the plain was full of pearlwort lights."

"Is that your idea of evidence? We can't write down that sort of thing."

"If you think I'm lying, you can search anywhere you like and see."

"Whether we search or not is our decision. Where have you hidden him?"

"I don't know where he is."

"You will be indicted..."

"That won't change anything."

The two police looked at each other.

"In that case, what I want to ask you is how you became acquainted with Fazelo."

"Fazelo caught my goat for me when she escaped."

"I see. When and where?"

"The last Sunday of May. I think it was the 27th."

"I see. The 27th. Where?"

"It was on some road. Off to the side of the church-- I'd gone about a kilometer along the road to the village."

"I see. And on the 27th of June you interfered in a village celebration, taking Fazelo along."

"It wasn't a matter of interference. We saw lights and heard noises, and went to see."

"And what happened then?"

"Then Temo became angry when we wouldn't drink wine."

"When did you become acquainted with Temo?"

"The same time I met Fazelo. That time Temo cracked his whip in my face and said I was interfering with Fazelo when he was going to work."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"What happened at the celebration?"

I related all the events at Polano Square. One of them wrote everything down.

Finally the officer spoke again. "You hold that you didn't know Fazelo was missing until you came here?"

"Yes."

"Can you offer any evidence?"

"Yes. Well, you can confirm that I worked at the office yesterday and today. If I had known I wouldn't have been able to sit there the whole time working calmly."

"That isn't evidence either. Listen, you! I've had enough of your innocent looks! Mr. Temo filed a missing persons report. If you tell us his whereabouts now, we can wrap things up quietly. If not, you'll pay the consequences."

"I really don't have any idea. You two know your business-- pay good attention to my voice and appearance. You ought to be able to tell." I said this all in one breath, somewhat upset.

The two exchanged looks again. I decided I might as well say some more. "Why didn't you call in Destupago before me? Anyone can see that Fazelo's disappearance is Destupago's doing. He may even have killed him!"

"Mr. Destupago is not around."

That stopped me short. Fazelo really may have been killed, deliberately or accidentally. The officer spoke again.

"Your statement differs on several points from that of Mr. Temo. That is to be expected, though. We will read our record now; Listen carefully and note any discrepancies from what you said." One of them started to read.

"No discrepancies," I answered vacantly, thinking of Fazelo.

"Sign here."

I wrote my name at the bottom of the document. I was so worried I couldn't bear it.

"You can leave now. We'll call you again tomorrow," the oficer said.

I couldn't hold myself back any longer. "What's happened to Fazelo? Why haven't you picked up Destupago?"

"You shouldn't talk like that."

"But what happened to Fazelo?"

"If you're that worried you can look for him yourself. Please leave."

They seemed to be tired, and eager to finish. I left the police station, which had lighted its lamps already, in a daze. I saw Rosalo in the evening haze leaning against the cherry tree at the station entrance and staring at the distant sky.

"Aren't you Rosalo? Where should I search for Fazelo."

Rosalo looked down as she spoke. "He's far away. If he's still alive."

"I'm really sorry. But I'll definitely search for him."

"Yes."

"Destupago is gone?"

"Yes."

"His coachman?"

"I haven't seen him."

"Doesn't your employer know?"

"No."

"Did you make a missing persons report."

"No. The police came to investigate."

"Will you be going back to your employer?"

"Yes."

"I'll go with you, that far."

We started walking. I tried several times to start a conversation, but Rozalo always answered sadly in one or two words. However I tried, it was not possible to bring up her life with Fazelo. When we reached the point where my goat had been returned, Rozalo said "This is close...," then bowed and went on by herself.

My heart was filled with loneliness and worry. I spent that night and the following nights out on the plain searching for Fazelo. On Sunday I was out all day, as well. In particular, I searched the area between Temo's and the place where Fazelo and I had parted, to see if something might have fallen or if Destupago or Fazelo had left footprints. On several nights I walked around Destupago's house to see if I could hear anything inside.

I also walked the area between the two birches and Polano Square a number of times. All I saw was the stems of the pearlwort around there gradually turning brown and a few tattered, faded trunks of alder at Polano Square; I didn't even meet Milo. I wasn't summoned again by the police, so I went to them and asked what had happened; they only said they had had no contact with either Fazelo or Destupago, and seemed not to be concerned. And so for some reason-- because I had become used to the situation or because I was worn out-- I too came to feel that Fazelo was Fazelo, and knew where he was.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-28