Cat Country (23 page)

Once you’ve grown accustomed to eating reverie leaves, it’s not too easy to work up a rage any more, and so I didn’t give Cat Lafuszji a few belts as I should have. It seemed that I was not taking things so much to heart any more. After all, what was the point of a Chinese going into a rage over the domestic affairs of Cat Country? I saw clearly now that the modern scholars were simply people who had been abroad and had seen or had heard a little about new methods of classification and display. They were really totally incapable of making judgements and entirely incapable of distinguishing good from bad. They simply went through the motions of doing their jobs on the basis of what little knowledge of new methods they had. What a terrible shame that their pottery industry had died out. But the only reaction that they thought it was worth was
yaya-fuszji
. And how painful it was to think of their own antiquities being sold abroad. But again, their only reaction had been
yaya-fuszji
. They had no backbone, no judgement and no character. They had simply taken a trip abroad in order to arrogate unto themselves the title of ‘scholar’ in order to be able to
yaya-fuszji
in comfort.

I ran out without even bothering to take my leave of Cat Lafuszji. As I ran back through the empty rooms, I seemed to be conscious of the sound of sobbing, and here and there I seemed to see ghostly shadows cover their faces and weep. If the ghosts of these ancient relics had consciousness and I were one of them, then I should have inflicted a hideous death on those betrayers who had sold me, and that whole lot of modern scholars should have died spouting blood from all seven bodily openings!

Having reached the street, I calmed down a bit. On second thought it occurred to me that living in a society as black as this one, being sold abroad might actually be counted a stroke of good fortune. Since theft and destruction were the two most ingrained habits of the Cat People, it was certainly much better that the precious relics of their past be sold to foreign countries where people would preserve them, rather than be destroyed by the Cat People themselves. But however fortunate the betrayal might have been from the point of view of the relics, it was certainly no justification for the scurrilous behaviour of Cat Lafuszji. Of course, one had to admit that the sale of ancient relics had not been his fault alone, but that brazen attitude of his was past all forgiveness. Shame? It seemed that he didn’t know the meaning of the word.

As I see it, pride in one’s history is perhaps the most difficult of all natural feelings to eradicate, and yet it seemed that the youth of Cat Country were actually able to sell off the treasures of their own heritage without the slightest trace of feeling. What’s more, Cat Lafuszji was a
scholar
; if that’s what the scholars were, one could well imagine what the rest of the populace must be like! I no longer retained a single iota of hope for a renaissance of the Cat People. The expenditure of too much energy is sometimes enough to bring about the demise of an individual or even a nation, but one still admires those who, having tried too hard, cough up their blood and die of exhaustion. That would never happen to the Cat People! Cat Lafuszji and those like him only knew how to
yaya-fuszji
– utterly hopeless, the whole lot of them!

I didn’t have the heart to go looking for any of the other new scholars, nor did I feel like seeing any of the other cultural agencies. For I knew that every new man I met would reduce my hopes for finding the ideal leader for the Cat People, and each new cultural agency that I visited would only cause me to shed a few more tears. What was the point in it?

Young Scorpion had had the right idea: he’d not taken me to see these things, nor had he explained beforehand what I would encounter. He had simply suggested that I go and see for myself. His acting in this way carried with it a significance that went far beyond any words that he might have used.

I passed a library and felt like going in to have a look, but was afraid of being the victim of an empty-bookshelf hoax. But then I saw a group of students come out. They must have gone there to read, I thought, and my interest was aroused again. Although the library didn’t seem to have been very well kept up, it was still intact and really quite presentable.

As soon as I went through the front door, I saw that there were several large white characters brushed on the wall that looked as though they had just been written: LIBRARY REVOLT. Now who was it, I wondered, that the library was supposed to revolt against? Since I’m not really all that bright, I couldn’t figure it out right away. Entirely wrapped up in pondering the meaning of the characters on the wall, I took a few more steps when out of nowhere, someone on the floor grabbed me around the legs and shouted, ‘Help!’

There were ten or so people lying on the floor. I recognised the one who had me by the leg as one of the modern scholars. Their hands and feet were bound. As soon as I untied them, they took off like fish that had been thrown back into the water. Finally, only the modern scholar was left.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘Another revolution. It’s the Library Revolution this time!’ he said tremblingly.

‘And whom is the library revolting against?’

‘No, that’s not it.
They’re
revolting against the library! Look here.’ He pointed to his legs.

He was wearing a pair of short pants. But what did that have to do with the library revolt?

‘Well, it was like this. You wear trousers, right? Well, we modern scholars specialise in the introduction of foreign scholarship, mores and customs; hence, we too began wearing trousers as a kind of revolutionary enterprise.’

I wondered to myself if revolutionary enterprise is as easy to engage in as all that?

‘Well, it was like this. I started wearing trousers and that’s where the trouble began. The university students next door noticed this new revolutionary enterprise and came over demanding trousers of me. You see, I am the head librarian and whenever I sell library books, I always have to give the students a cut of the profits because they too are ardent followers of
Everybody Shareskyism
. I have to sell books or I wouldn’t be able to live, but when I make a sale I had better be sure that they get their cut. You see, adherents of
Everybody Shareskyism
will kill a man without thinking twice about it. They’re so used to
Shareskyism
that when they saw me start to wear trousers, it was natural that they wanted their “sharesky”. But where in the world was I to get enough money to make trousers for everyone? And so they started a counter-revolution. My wearing trousers was originally a revolutionary enterprise, but since they couldn’t afford to wear trousers, they decided to turn the revolution on
me
. They tied us all up and confiscated all of my savings!’

‘But didn’t they steal any books?’ I wasn’t too worried about the losses of an individual.

‘There are no books to steal. We finished selling them fifteen years back. We don’t do anything now except put things in order.’

‘But if you have no books, what’s left to put in order?’

‘The rooms. We’re preparing another bit of revolutionary enterprise: we’re going to turn this library into a hotel. We’ll still call it a library, but we’ll be able to rent out rooms and take in a little money. Actually in the past soldiers have often commandeered the place for quarters anyway; at least civilians will be a bit more tidy.’ I really admired the Cat People’s business sense, but I didn’t dare listen to any more lest my silent admiration turn into open vituperation!

ANYONE FOR A BRAWL?

T
HERE WAS
another heavy rain during the night, but like all rains in Cat Country, it was totally incapable of inspiring one with poetic feeling; and no matter how I tried to settle my spirits, I couldn’t rid myself of a certain tense anxiety. Sounds of collapsing buildings followed hard one upon the other, and the whole city was as a ship battered by a storm, a ship on which there was not a single cabin that was not constantly assailed by quaking terror. It occurred to me that a few more days of such heavy rains would be enough to totally destroy Cat City, an extinction that would perhaps be a merciful end. It was not that I hoped for such an inhumane thing, but rather that I was depressed and anxious about the Cat People. Why were they living? And after all, what kind of life was it that they were living? I still didn’t understand Cat Country. I was only aware that history is capable of perpetrating wild and absurd errors, and I had a vague feeling that I was watching the Cat People suffer punishment for the sins of history. I readily grant that this may have been an overly-abstract and somewhat mystical way of thinking, but that is how I felt at the time.

Everybody Shareskyism
– I thought of that expression again. Since I couldn’t get to sleep anyway, I passed the time in idle dreaming. Regardless of whether this expression – like so many of the other foreignisms used by Cat People – had any meaning or not, the Cat People had, I thought, suffered greatly from its harmful effects. I thought of what I’d been told about there being a number of students who believed in
Everybody Shareskyism
. If I were to stick to my plan of finding out everything there was to know about Cat City, then it would be necessary for me to gain some understanding of their political conditions. From the history of the various nations on Earth, I had learned that students often serve as yeast to the bread of political thought, for the minds of students are the most sensitive, even though their enthusiasms are also the most shallow. If it turned out to be the case that the intellectual sensitivity of Cat Country’s students was limited to the acceptance of a few new and quaint expressions, then I had better close my eyes to the future of their civilisation! I realised that it was not fair to blame only the students, but because I had originally entertained so many hopes for them, I could not help but express a double measure of censure. I would simply have to look into their political system. I was so anxious to see Young Scorpion again that I couldn’t get to sleep all night. Although he had told me that he didn’t understand politics, I felt that at least he’d be able to fill me in on some of the historical background of Cat Country. Without such historical depth, I would not be able to understand the contemporary scene, for I had, after all, lived here for only a very short time. I got up very early in order to buttonhole Young Scorpion before he went out.

‘Tell me about
Everybody Shareskyism
,’ I said, as though I too had become an enthusiast.

‘It’s a kind of political theory that holds that everyone lives for the sake of everyone else,’ replied Young Scorpion, chewing on a reverie leaf. ‘Under this kind of political system, everybody works, everybody’s happy and everybody’s secure. Society is a great machine and each individual is a part of the works. Each man is a happy, secure and useful little bolt or cog. It’s really not bad.’

‘Has any country on Mars ever before practised this kind of theory?’

‘Many have. It’s been practised for over two centuries now.’

‘And Cat Country?’

Young Scorpion’s eyes filled with such despair that I was quite alarmed, and it was a long time before he was able to speak. ‘Yes, we made quite a commotion about it too. I use the phrase, “made a commotion” out of design, for we have never really practised any theory.’

‘What do you mean by “made a commotion”?’

‘If you spank your child because he is naughty and, having found out about it, I give mine a good hiding – not because he is naughty, but because you have spanked yours and I feel that I must do likewise – then with regard to family affairs that would be “making a commotion”. The same applies to politics.’

‘You seem to be saying that you never work out your own ways of dealing with your own affairs, but always “make a commotion” on the basis of other people’s ideas as fast as they come up with them. To make an analogy, it’s as though you never build your own houses but always live in rented ones.’

‘Or perhaps it would be an even closer analogy to say it’s as if – though there’s no reason for us to do so – we insist on wearing trousers simply because we’ve seen other people with them on. And then, rather than having them cut to the measure of our own legs, we simply go and buy any old pair of ready-made ones.’

‘Tell me something of your past history,’ I said. ‘Even if you did only “make a commotion”, still even a commotion should have made some change in the status quo, shouldn’t it?’

‘And all change is necessarily improvement and progress, is that it?’

Young Scorpion was really quite a guy! I smiled and waited for him to go on. He reflected for a long time before saying, ‘Where should I begin? Altogether there are some twenty countries on Mars and each one has its own distinctive political system and characteristic reforms. When by chance one of us hears about the distinctive system of another country, then the rest of us “make a commotion”. Or if perchance we hear that such-and-such a country has made a certain political reform, then we rush in to make a similar “commotion”. As a result, other people’s distinctive systems still remain their own, and their reforms engender genuine changes, but we remain forever what we are. If you’re interested in what it is that’s distinctive about us, it’s this: the more “commotions” we make, the worse shape we’re in.’

‘But, theory aside, let me have a few facts, no matter how disconnected they may be,’ I entreated him.

‘Well, let’s begin with “brawls”.’

‘What does “brawl” mean?’

‘Well it’s the same as with trousers: we didn’t have any originally. I don’t know whether or not you have a thing like brawls on the Earth or not. No, they’re not really “things”, but rather a kind of organised political group. Everybody bands together to support a certain political position or programme.’

‘We have that too. We call them “political parties”.’

‘All right, call them “political parties” or whatever you like. At any rate, when they get to us, “political parties” are translated into “brawls”. You see, since ancient times the emperor has kept a tight reign on everyone, and the common people were never allowed to express their opinions. Then suddenly the news arrived from abroad that the people ought also to have the right to take a hand in government affairs. Well, to us – no matter how we thought about it that could only mean one thing: the people ought to have the right to stir up a good brawl. Moreover, ever since ancient times we have always taken “minding one’s own business” as a standard of morality. And then one day, out of a clear blue sky, we heard that everybody ought to band together into parties or associations in order to mind other people’s business. We started leafing through our ancient books, but try as we might, we couldn’t find an appropriate word to translate the concept of “party”. “Brawl” seemed closest to it, so we settled on brawl. Why else would people group together, if not to stir up a brawl? Didn’t I tell you that I didn’t understand politics? Ever since we started having brawls, there have been a good many political changes. I can’t enumerate all of them in detail, but I can give you some facts, rough though they may be.’