Andrei fumbled for a chair and sat down. His legs wouldn’t hold him up. He glanced around again.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Fritz, rolling down his sleeves and fiddling with his cufflinks. “I see you’ve got a bump on your forehead. Now, you go to the doc and get that bump logged. I’ve already broken Ruhmer’s nose and sent him to the infirmary. Just as a precaution. During interrogation the suspect Katzman attacked investigator Voronin and junior investigator Ruhmer, causing them bodily harm. Forced to defend themselves… and so on. Got it?”
“Got it,” Andrei muttered, mechanically feeling at his bump. He looked around again. “But where is… he?” he asked with an effort.
“Ah, that gorilla Ruhmer went overboard again,” Fritz said in annoyance, buttoning up his jacket. “Broke his arm, right here… We had to send him to the hospital.”
PART III
The Editor
1
Four daily newspapers had been published in the City since time out of mind, but first of all Andrei picked up the fifth, which had put out its first issue about two weeks before the onset of the “Egyptian darkness.” It was a small newspaper, only one double sheet—not so much a newspaper, more of a handbill, and this handbill was published by the Party of Radical Rebirth, which had broken away from the left wing of the Radical Party. Bearing the title Under the Banner of Radical Rebirth, the handbill was vitriolic, vituperative, and aggressive, but the people who put it out were always superbly well informed: as a general rule, they knew what was going on in the City as a whole and in the government in particular.
Andrei reviewed the headlines: “Friedrich Heiger warns: You have plunged the City into darkness, but we are on the alert”; “But really, Mr. Mayor, what did happen to the grain from the municipal granaries?”; “Forward shoulder to shoulder! Friedrich Heiger meets the leaders of the Peasants’ Party”; “Steel plant workers say: String up the grain dealers!”; “That’s the way, Fritz! We’re with you! PRR housewives’ rally”; “Baboons again?” A cartoon: the fat-assed mayor, enthroned on a heap of grain—presumably the same grain that had disappeared from the municipal granaries—handing out guns to lugubrious characters of criminal appearance. Caption: “Come on now, guys, you tell them where the grain went!”
Andrei dropped the handbill on his desk and scratched his chin. Where the hell did Fritz get all the money for the fines? God, how sick Andrei was of everything. He got up, walked across to the window, and glanced out. In the dense, damp darkness, only faintly backlit by the streetlamps, he heard carts rumbling past, gruff voices swearing, and the loud hacking of a smoker’s cough. Every now and then a horse gave a high-pitched whinny. For the second day in a row the farmers were flocking into the City.
There was a knock at the door and his secretary came in with a bundle of proofs. Andrei peevishly waved her away. “Ubukata. Give them to Ubukata.”
“Mr. Ubukata is with the censor,” the secretary replied timidly.
“He’s not going to spend the night in there,” Andrei said irritably. “Give them to him when he comes back—”
“But the compositor—”
“That’s all!” Andrei said rudely. “On your way.”
The secretary withdrew. Andrei yawned, wincing at the pain in the back of his head, went back to the desk, and lit a cigarette. His head was splitting open and he had a foul taste in his mouth. And in general everything was murky, foul, and scummy. Egyptian darkness… Andrei heard the sound of shots somewhere in the distance—a faint crackling, like someone breaking dry branches. He winced again and picked up the Experiment, the government newspaper printed on eight double sheets:
MAYOR WARNS PRR: THE GOVERNMENT IS VIGILANT, THE GOVERNMENT SEES EVERYTHING!
THE EXPERIMENT IS THE EXPERIMENT. Our science correspondent considers solar phenomena.
DARK STREETS AND SHADY CHARACTERS. The municipality’s political consultant comments on Friedrich Heiger’s latest speech.
A JUST SENTENCE. Alois Tender sentenced to death for carrying a firearm.
“SOMETHING UP THERE’S BROKEN. IT’S OK, THEY’LL FIX IT,” says master electrician Theodore U. Peters.
TAKE CARE OF THE BABOONS—THEY’RE GOOD FRIENDS OF YOURS! A resolution from the latest meeting of the Society for the Protection of Animals.
FARMERS ARE THE STAUNCH BACKBONE OF OUR SOCIETY. The mayor meets the leaders of the Peasants’ Party.
THE MAGICIAN FROM THE LABORATORY ON THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS. Dispatches on the latest research into cultivating plants without light.
“FALLING STARS” AGAIN?
WE HAVE ARMORED VEHICLES. An interview with the commandant of police.
CHLORELLA: NOT A PALLIATIVE, BUT A PANACEA.
ARON WEBSTER LAUGHS, ARON WEBSTER SINGS! The celebrated comic’s fifteenth charity concert…
Andrei raked all these sheets of paper together in a heap, clumped them into a tight ball, and tossed it into the corner. All that seemed unreal. What was real was the darkness, now hanging over the City for the twelfth day. Reality was the lines of people in front of the bread stores; reality was that ominous rumbling of rickety wheels below the windows, the little red sparks of crude hand-rolled cigarettes flaring up in the darkness, the dull, metallic clanking under the tarpaulins in the heavy country carts. Reality was the shooting, although so far no one really knew who was shooting at whom… And the most hideous reality of all was that blunt, hungover buzzing in his own poor head and the huge, furry tongue that he wanted to spit out because it didn’t fit into his mouth. Fortified port and raw spirit—they must have been out of their minds! It was fine for her, lounging under the blanket, sleeping it off, but he had to hang around here… If only the whole damn kit and caboodle would just fall apart, collapse… I’m sick and tired of wasting my life away; they can stick all their experiments, mentors, radical rebirths, mayors, farmers, and that lousy stinking grain right up their ass… Some great experimenters they are—they can’t even guarantee the sun will shine. And today I’ve still got to go to the jail and take Izya his food parcel… How much time has he got left to do? Four months… No, six. That bastard Fritz—if only all that energy could be put to peaceful purposes! Now there’s a man who never loses heart. It’s all grist to his mill. They flung him out of the Public Prosecutor’s Office, so he set up a party, he’s laying plans of some sort, the fight against corruption, all hail the new rebirth—he’s locked horns with the mayor now. Right now it would be good to go to City Hall, grab Mr. Mayor by his shock of noble gray hair, and smash his face into the desk: “Where’s the grain, you creep? Why isn’t the sun shining?” and then land a good kick on his ass—and again, and again…
The door swung open and crashed into the wall, and little Kensi came tearing in. Andrei could see immediately that he was in a fury—eyes narrowed to slits, teeth bared, raven black thatch standing up on end. Andrei groaned to himself. Now he’ll drag me into another fight with someone, he thought drearily.