‘From nature’s point of view, no creatures are useful or not useful. That’s just a foolish distinction applied by people.’
He came by that evening, after Dusk, because I had invited him to stay the night. As he had nowhere to sleep… I made up a bed for him in the dayroom, but we sat and talked a while longer. I fetched out half a bottle of liqueur left over from Oddball’s visit. Once Boros had told me about all the abuses and vile acts committed by the State Forests, he finally relaxed a bit. I found it hard to understand him, for how can one have such a very emotional attitude to something called the State Forests? The only person whom I associated with this institution was the forester, Wolf Eye. That’s what I called him because he seemed to have oblong pupils. He was a decent Person, too.
And so Boros settled in at my house for a good few days. Each night he announced that his students or volunteers from Action against the S.F. were coming to fetch him in the morning, but every day there was a new problem: either their car had broken down, or they’d had to go somewhere on urgent business, or they’d stopped off in Warsaw on the way, and once they’d even lost a bag full of documents. And so on. I was starting to worry that Boros was going to infest my house, like a Cucujus larva in a spruce log, and only the State Forests would be capable of smoking him out. Though I could tell he was trying hard not to be a nuisance, and was actually being helpful. For instance, he cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom with great care.
In his backpack he had a miniature laboratory, including a box full of small flasks and bottles, apparently containing some chemical Substances which, though synthetic, were deceptively similar to natural insect pheromones. He and his students had been doing experiments with these potent chemical agents, to be able in case of need to induce the Insects to reproduce in a different place.
‘If you smear this substance on a piece of wood, the female beetles will rush there to lay their eggs. They’ll come running to this particular log from all over the area – they can smell it from several kilometres away. All it takes is a few drops.’
‘Why don’t people smell like that?’ I asked.
‘Who told you that they don’t?’
‘I can’t smell anything.’
‘Maybe you don’t know you can, my dear, and in your human pride you persist in believing in your free will.’
Boros’s presence reminded me what it’s like to live with someone. And how very awkward it is. How much it diverts you from your own thoughts and distracts you. How another Person starts to irritate you without actually doing anything annoying, but simply by being there. Each morning when he went off to the forest, I blessed my glorious solitude. How do people manage to spend decades living together in a small space? I wondered. How can they possibly sleep in the same bed together, breathing on and jostling each other accidentally in their sleep? I’m not saying it hasn’t happened to me too. For some time I shared my bed with a Catholic, and nothing good came of it.
XI
THE SINGING OF BATS
To the Police,
I feel obliged to write this letter, in view of my concern at the lack of progress by the local Police in their enquiry into the death of my neighbour in January of this year, and the subsequent death of the Commandant six weeks later.
As both of these grievous incidents happened in my immediate neighbourhood, you will find it no surprise that I feel personally Saddened and Disturbed by them.
It is my belief that there are many obvious pieces of evidence to imply that they were Murdered.
I would never venture to make such an extreme claim if not for the fact (and I realise that for the Police facts are what bricks are for a house, or cells for an organism – they build the entire system) that together with my Friends I was a witness, not to the actual deaths, but to the situation immediately after the deaths, before the Police arrived. In the first case my fellow witness was my neighbour, Świerszczyński, and in the second it was my former pupil, Dionizy.
My conviction that the Deceased were the victims of Murder is based on two kinds of observation.
Firstly: in both instances Animals were present at the scene of the Crime. In the first case, both the witness Świerszczyński and I saw a group of Deer near Big Foot’s house (while their companion lay butchered in the victim’s kitchen). As for the case of the Commandant, the witnesses, including the undersigned, saw numerous deer hoof prints on the snow around the well where his body was found. Unfortunately, weather unfavourable to the Police caused the rapid obliteration of this most important and unusual piece of evidence, which points us straight towards the perpetrators of both crimes.
Secondly: I decided to examine certain highly distinctive pieces of information to be gained from the victims’ cosmograms (commonly known as Horoscopes), and in both cases it appears obvious that they may have been fatally attacked by Animals. This is a very rare configuration of the planets, and thus I have great confidence in commending it to the attention of the Police. I am taking the liberty of enclosing both Horoscopes, in the expectation that the police Astrologer will consult them, and then support my Hypothesis.
Boros had been staying with me for three or four days when I saw Oddball trudging over to my house, yet another special event, considering he never came to see me. I thought he may have been slightly put out by the presence of a strange man in my house and had come to investigate. He shuffled along bent double, resting a hand on the small of his back and wearing a pained look on his face. He sat down with a sigh.
‘Lumbago,’ he said by way of greeting.
It turned out that while building a new, dry path to his house from the courtyard he had mixed the concrete in buckets and had been on the point of pouring it, but when he’d leaned to pick up the bucket something had cracked in his spine. So he’d been stuck in the most uncomfortable position with a hand stretched out towards the bucket, for the pain wouldn’t let him straighten up at all. Now that it had eased a bit, he’d come to ask for my help, as he was aware that I knew all about construction – last year he’d seen me pouring concrete in a similar way. He cast a very critical glance at Boros, especially at his pigtail, which he must have found highly pretentious.
I introduced them to each other. Oddball offered his hand with noticeable hesitation.
‘It’s dangerous to wander the neighbourhood – there are strange things going on around here,’ he said ominously, but Boros ignored this warning.
So we went to save the concrete from solidifying in the buckets. Boros and I worked while Oddball sat on a chair and gave us orders disguised as advice, starting each remark with the words: ‘I’d advise you to…’
‘I’d advise you to pour a little at a time, now here, now there, topping it up once it evens out. I’d advise you to wait a while until it settles. I’d advise you not to get in each other’s way or you’ll have confusion.’