The Slynx

KHER

It was an ordinary day, Thursday. A bit of snow was falling, and nothing foretold anything. And that's the way it is in books: if nothing foretells anything they always tell you special. And if they tell you, hold on: birds will cackle, the wind will take to howling, and the mirror will crack. A mirror is what people had in Oldener times, sort of like a board, and they looked at that board and could see themselves, like when we look in the water.

They all sat down to eat.

Benedikt opened issue number seven of the Northern Herald. It was a very strong book, sewn with threads and glued together; he cracked the spine so it wouldn't close, leaned on it with his elbow, and held it down with a bowl of soup.

Mother-in-law said: "Eat up, son, the meat patties are getting cold."

"Mmm…"

"They're tasty, juicy."

"Mmm…"

"Steamed with marshrooms. Try them, they should be good, I steamed them in the oven for an hour."

Olenka said: "Mashed turnips are good with patties."

Father-in-law: "Puree goes good with everything."

"No, especially with meat patties."

"Well, that's for sure-it's not every day we steam patties."

"It sure isn't."

"…," Benedikt read, his eyes already accustomed to racing across the lines,"…"

"Last year, remember, we gathered biteweed and cooked up some macedoine with turnips."

"Uh huh."

"If you slopped some goat cheese into the macedoine for the taste, it would be even more delicious."

"That's right."

"And noodles are good too."

"How could they be bad?"

"It's really good when you put butter in the noodles, add some forest herbs, a bit of kvas, bake it and then let it simmer, and as soon as it sizzles, you serve it."

"With ground marshrooms on top."

"That's right."

"And a flaky roulette stuffed with nuts."

"And ferns."

"Ferns, yep."

"Then spice cookies. Braided ones."

"Why braided? Broiled are better."

"Yeah, sure, broiled. Broiled they come out a touch bitter."

"So? So what? That's good."

"What's good about it? Woven ones are way better. There's an egg in them."

"What do you know. Woven!… Next thing you'll be talking about bliny again."

"Bliny, so what? What about bliny?"

"What about, nothing about! Bliny! What'll it be next?"

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing! That's what!"

"Well, then, don't say nothing. But I say: bliny!"

"I'll give you bliny!"

"You're a real blin yourself."

"That's right, I'm a blin. So what does that make you?"

"Nothing!"

"Then shut up!"

"Shut up yourself!"

"I'll just shut up, then!"

"So just go ahead and shut up!"

"So there, I'll shut up! Bliny!"

"Then just shut up! Give us some peace and quiet!"

They shut up. Chewed. Benedikt turned the page, resettled his bowl, and held the journal down again.

"Eat your patties, son."

"I'm eating."

"Take some more. Olenka, serve him some more. Pour some sauce on them, for heaven's sake! There you go. Pour some more."

"Give him some marshrooms."

"And some fried steak."

They were silent again.

"Too bad Eudoxia croaked. She knew how to whip up the best nut souffle."

"You're not kidding."

"There was a kind of crust on top, but it was soft inside."

"That's right…"

"And her charlottes… Who can make a charlotte like that nowadays?"

"Which one? With turnips?"

"That's right, turnips."

"I know how to make one from turnips."

"Yeah, sure."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing."

"You don't think I can?"

"Nope."

"Well, I can."

"You're lying."

"Oh, yes, I can. First you steam it, then you mash it. Then you add eggs, nuts, and goat milk and pop it in the oven. On a high heat. Like for bliny."

"There you go with your bliny again."

"What's wrong with bliny, you creep? Just wait, you'll be asking for them next thing you know!"

"Yes, I will! Puffy, flaky ones."

"To hell with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said."

"Just you wait, I swear I'll smack you on the forehead with a ladle-then you'll have your bliny!"

Benedikt turned another page.

"Son!"

"Mmm…"

"Put the book down. As soon as you're at the table you've got your nose in a book. Can't sit with you or have a proper conversation."

"Mmm…"

"Son!"

"Mmm?"

"What're you reading there? Read it out loud."

"What? Art, that's what!"

"So go on and read it."

Olenka pursed her lips. "He's just reading about women. Wants an adventure."

"Fat chance you'll understand. Well, why not… Here goes: 'Liudmila wrapped her shivering body in the fluffy shawl, covering her thin, shaking shoulders. Her blushing cheeks blazed brightly with a crimson fire. Her starry eyes shot arrows of alarm at Vladimir. Under her silk blouse, her high breasts rose and fell like the ocean waves. "Vladimir," she whispered. "Vladimir…" Vladimir gritted his teeth. Stern muscles bulged under his tanned skin. He turned away. Liudmila's delicate fingers played nervously with the fringe of her shawl. "Vladimir!" she cried, reaching out with her palms…'"

Olenka frowned stubbornly. "And just how many hands does she have, that Liudmila?"

"Just the right number. Two!"

"Well, she's fiddling around like she's got six. Is that a Consequence or what?"

"Take a look at yourself!" said Benedikt angrily. "This is art."

Women-they're all the same. They'll go and spoil your whole dream. Just riles you. Benedikt turned some more pages. "'Liudmila rubbed her tired temples with delicate fingertips. "Never," she murmured, wringing her hands. A deathly pallor filled her face. She released herself from his embrace. "It's all over," muttered Vladimir. The stern line of his lips betrayed extreme emotion.'" Oh, jeez, it's true… Liudmila has a Consequence… Why didn't they say anything about this before? Benedikt turned the page. "To be continued…" Damn! In the most interesting place. He felt the journal, turned it over, thumbed through the pages: maybe he'd find the next part at the end-it happens sometimes. But it wasn't there. He pushed back the stool to go have a look in the storeroom.

"Where are you going? What about the meat patties?"

Benedikt had arranged all the shelves in the storeroom a long time ago: you could see right away what was where. Father-in-law had Gogol right next to Chekhov-you could look for a hundred years and you'd never rind it. Everything should have its own science, that is, its own system. So you don't have to fuss around here and there to no good end, instead you can just go and find what you need.

Number eight wasn't there. Well, maybe he made a mistake and put it in the wrong place… that happens… Here's The Northern Herald, here's The Herald of Europe, Russian Wealth, The Urals, Lights of the Urals, Beekeeping… no, not here… Banner, Literary Bashkortostan, New World… he'd read them, Turgenev, he'd read it, Yakub Kolas, read it, Mikhalkov, A Partisan's Handbook, Petrarch, The Plague, The Plague of Domestic Animals: Fleas and Ticks, Popescu, Popka-the-Fool-Paint It Yourself, Popov, another Popov, Poptsov, The Iliad, Electric Current, he'd read it, Gone With the Wind, Russo-Japanese Poly-technical Dictionary, Sartakov, Sartre, Sholokhov: Humanistic Aspects, Sophocles, Sorting Consumer Refuse, Sovmorflot-60 Years, Stockard, Manufacture of Stockings and Socks, he'd read that one, that one and that one…

Chalk Farm, Chandrabkhangneshapkhandra Lal, vol. 18, Chaucer, John Cheever; The Black Prince, aha, a mistake, that didn't go there, Chekhov, Chapchakhov, Chakhokhbili in Kar-sian, Chukh-Chukh: For Little People.

Chen-Chen: Tales of the Congo, Cherokee Customs, Chewing Gum Stories, Chingachguk the Giant Serpent, Chipmunks and Other Friendly Rodents, Chkalov, Chrysanthemums of Armenia Part V, Chukotka: A Demographic Review, Chukovsky, Chum- Dwelling of the Peoples of the Far North, Churchill: The Early Years, read it. Kafka, Kama River Steamboats, Kashas Derived from Whole Grain. Dial M for Murder, Murder in Mesopotamia, Murder on the Orient Express, Kirov's Murder, Laudanum: The Poetic Experience, Lilliputians and Other Little People, Lim-onov, Lipchitz, Lipid-protein Tissue Metabolism… he'd read it all.

The Red and the Black, Baa Baa Black Sheep, The Blue and the Green, The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle, The Blue Cup, Island of the Blue Dolphins, The Chocolate Prince, The Crimson Flower… that's a good one… The Crimson Letter, Crimson Sails, Little Red Riding Hood, The Yellow Arrow, The Five Orange Pips, The White Steamboat, White Clothes, White Bim- Black Ear, T. H. White, The Woman in White, The Purple Island, The Black Tower, Black Sea Steamboats: Registry, this is where The Black Prince goes. Now…

Appleton, Bacon, Belcher, Blinman, Cooke, Culpepper, Honeyman, Hungerford, Liverich, Pearson, Saulter… Baldwin, Beardsley, Hatcliff, Morehead, Skinner, Topsfield, Whitehead, Whisker… Bairnsfather, Childe, Fairbrother, Motherwell, Littleboy… Ambler, Bulstrode, Chatterley, Doddleton, Dolittle, Fleetwood, Gabbler, Golightly, Hopkins, Sitwell, Skip-with, Standon, Swift, Talkien, Walker, Whistler… Hammer-stein, Hornebolt, Ironquill, Newbolt, Witherspoon… Canby, Mabie, Moody, Orwell, Whowood… Bathurst, Beerbohm, Beveridge, Brine, Dampier-Whetham, de La Fontaine, Dewey, Drinkwater, Dryden, Lapping, Shipwash, Washburn, Water-house… Addicock, Cockburn, Crapsey, Dickens, Dickinson, Fullalove, Gotobed, Hooker, Longfellow, Lovelace, Loveridge, Middlesex, Sexton, Simpkiss, Sinkin, Strangewayes, Sweetecok, Toplady… Fairweather, Flood, Fogg, Frost, Haleston, Rain-borough, Snowdon, Sun Yat-sen, Weatherby, Wyndham… Middleton, Overbury, Underhill… Coffin, Dyer, Feversham, Lockjaw, Paine, Rawbone…

The Vampire's Embrace, The Dragon's Embrace, The Foreigner's Embrace, The Fatal Embrace, Passion's Embrace, Fiery Embraces, The All-Consuming Flame of Passion … The Dagger's Blow, The Poisoned Dagger, The Poisoned Hat, Poisoned Clothes, With Dagger and Poison, Poisonous Mushrooms of Central Russia, Golden-haired Poisoners, Arsenic and Old Lace, Death of a Salesman, Death Comes for the Archbishop, Death Comes at Midnight, Death Comes at Dawn, The Bloody Dawn…

Children of the Arbat, Vanya's Children, Children of the Underground, Children of the Soviet Land, Kids in Cages, Children on Christ, The Boxcar Children, Nikita's Childhood.

Marinina, Marinating and Pickling, Marine Artists, Marinetti -the Ideologist of Fascism, Mari-El Grammar: Uses of the Instrumental Case.

Klim Voroshilov, Klim Samgin, Ivan Klima, K. Li, Maximal

Load in Concrete Construction: Calculations and Tables (dissertation).

Anai's Nin, Nina Sadur, Nineveh: An Archeological Collection. Ninja in a Bloody Coat, Mutant Ninja Turtles Return, Pa-panin, Make Life from Whom?

Eugenia Grandet, Eugene Onegin, Eugene Primakov, Eugene Gutsalo, Eugenics: A Racist's Weapon, Eugene Sue.

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Tashkent-City of Bread, Bread -A Common Noun, Urengoi- The Land of Youth, Uruguay- An Ancient Land, Kustanai- The Steppe Country, Scabies-An Illness of Dirty Hands,.

Foot Hygiene on the Road, F. Leghold, Ardent Revolutionaries, The Barefoot Doctors, Flat Feet in Young Children, Claws: New Types, Shoe Polish Manufacture, Grow Up, Friend: What a Young Man Needs to Know about Wet Dreams, Hands Comrade!, Sewing Trousers, The Time of the Quadrupeds, Step Faster!, How the Millipede Made Porridge, Marinating Vegetables at Home, Faulkner, Fiji: Class Struggle, Fyodor's Woe, Shakh-Reza-Pahlevi, Shakespeare, Shukshin.

Mumu, Nana, Shu-shu: Tales of Lenin, Gagarin: We Remember Yura, Tartar Women's Costumes, Bubulina-A Popular Greek Heroine, Boborykin, Babaevsky, Chichibabin, Bibigon, Gogol, Dadaists Exhibition Catalogue, Kokoschka, Mimicry in Fish, Vivisection, Tiutiunnik, Chavchavadze, Lake Titicaca, Popocatepetl, Raising Chihuahuas, The Adventures of Tin Tin.

Afraid of guessing, Benedikt went through the treasures with shaking hands; he was no longer thinking about issue number eight. It's not here, I'll live. But book after book, journal after journal-he'd already seen this, read this, this, this, this, this… So what did this mean? Had he already read everything? Now what was he going to read? And tomorrow? A year from now?

His mouth went dry and his legs felt weak. He lifted the candle high; its bluish light parted the darkness and danced on the shelves along the books' covers… maybe, up on the top…

Plato, Plotinus, Platonov, Plaiting and Knitting Jackets, Herman Plisetsky, Maya Plisetskaya, Plevna: A Guide, Playing with Death, Plaints and Songs of the Southern Slavs, Playboy. Plinths:

A Guidebook, Planetary Thinking, Plan for Popular Development in the Fifth Five-year Plan. Plebeians of Ancient Rome. Plenary Sessions of the CPSU, The Horn of Plenty in Oil Painting, Pleurisy. Pliushka, Khriapa, and Their Merry Friends. Plying the Arctic Waters. The Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock. He'd read them all.

That was it. "It's all over," muttered Vladimir. Nothing foretold this. Benedikt stood there, dripping candle oil on the floor, trying to take in the full horror of what he'd just realized. A guy is feasting at a rich banquet, wearing a crown of roses, laughing, carefree, his whole life lies ahead: he doesn't have a worry in the world and everything's bright; he takes a bite of sweet roll in play, reaches out for another-and all of a sudden he sees that the table is empty, cleared, there are no leftovers and the room is dead: no friends, no beauties, no flowers, no candles, no cymbals, no dancers, no rusht, maybe even the table itself is gone, there's only dry straw… slowly drifting from the ceiling… rustling and drifting…

Slowly, slowly he returned to the dining room and sat down; they talked and grumbled, served him food… Patties… On his plate-a meat pattie. It lay there. A pattie… There's a meat pattie on Benedikt's plate. He looked and looked… the pattie lay there. He couldn't understand… what should he think… about the meat pattie?

"Eat! Eat, while it's still warm! Do you want some sauce?" They're saying words; who's talking? He looked and saw a huge woman, a female. A big head, a little nose in the center. On either side of the nose, cheeks-red, rubbed with beets. Two dark, worried eyes that looked as though they were full of autumn water; just like when you step on moss in the woods and leave a footprint-brown water fills it up right away. Black eyebrows arching over the eyes. A stone hung between the eyebrows, clear, bluish from the candlelight. On either side of the eyebrows-the temples, with woven, colorful temple rings, and above the eyebrows no forehead, only golden hair, all twirled and plaited, and above the hair a headdress. Small stones set in the headdress like stars, a blizzard of ribbons and beaded threads falling like rain-they hang, jangle, reach all the way to the chin. Under the chin, under its dimple-right away there's the torso, wide as a sleigh, and on the torso-three-story tits. Wow! Unbelievably, horribly beautiful: could this really be Olenka? The Queen of Sheba.

"Olenka!" said Benedikt in amazement. "Is that really you? How beautiful you've become! When did this happen? My forest rose! My Siren!"

"Control yourself," said Olenka, heaving and jiggling. But her eyes didn't leave him for a moment.

Benedikt didn't try to control himself, and Olenka was just saying that out of habit, just for appearances, as they say. For three days running, or maybe it was four, or five, or perhaps six… why beat around the bush-for an entire week Benedikt and Olenka frolicked and capered every which way as if in some sort of daze-and, well, you couldn't keep track of what they did. Seeing what was going on, Mother-in-law rolled a barrel of egg kvas out of the granary, strong stuff, take a gulp-you gasp- and tears spring to your eyes; it's good kvas. They romped and rollicked royally-got up to all sorts of antics, and played leapfrog. They ran around on all fours, Olenka in her birthday suit. Benedikt had a sudden hankering to wear Olenka's headdress and rattle her beads, and where his tail used to be he tied her bobbins on so there'd be more of a clatter-you tie on a string, thread the bobbins on it and it makes a regular racket-my oh my, like a thunderstorm at the beginning of May. Then he'd start bleating like a goat.

But after a while-how to put it? There was a pause. A kind of grimness set in.