Part 30 (1/2)

Great Voorstand

Bruder Mouse saves Oncle Duck.

Meneer Van Kraligan, as everybody knows, was the name of the Saint before he was a Saint. When he was a sinner he used to follow the old ways, and he would keep a Bruder prisoner, and lock him in the cage.

On this occasion he got old Oncle Duck and he was feeding him corn like n.o.body's business, feeding him millet pollard mash, brown peas, even the leftover warm milk and miller's bread his own children left on their plates.

Oncle Duck was eating he could not help himself but he was weeping. He would eat and weep, eat and weep, and the more he ate the worse he felt for he knew he was going to be murdered by and by.

The Saint was sitting by his fireside thinking of our Oncle's flesh his head chopped off and so on. He was thinking terrible thoughts with perfect happiness when Bruder Mouse appeared to him in all his furry finery.

One mo nothing, next minute there he was, b.u.t.tons gleaming, as solid as a yellow oak on a Monday morning. His black ears were sharp. His teeth were white. His eyes as bright as an angel of the lord.

One minute nothing. Next he was as solid as a miller's wheel.

'h.e.l.lo, Meneer Van Kraligan,' he said to the Saint who was not yet a Saint.

'h.e.l.lo, Bruder,' said the Saint. 'What you doing here?'

'I'm going to make you let go that Oncle Duck,' the Mouse said.

'Oh, are you now?' says the Saint. 'I do not think so.'

'It is a sin to keep a Bruder prisoner,' said the Mouse.

'What you're talking is a heresy,' the Saint said. 'And I know it is heresy, for it was declared one by the Pope and it was why they exiled that whole monastery to Voorstand in the first place. I don't suppose,' the Saint said, 'the Pope has told you something different?'

'Not the Pope,' said Bruder Mouse. 'But I was sent by the Archangel Gabriel to show you this.'

Then Bruder Mouse rose off the ground. Then he spun himself five times, in acrobatic harmony. Then he bounced up and down on the table on his little head, and as he went up and down, farting as he went, fart, fart, fart, fart he made the Saint start laughing.

He looped and fell, on his stomach.

The Saint thought this about the funniest thing he ever saw, a little mouse doing Sirkus on his kitchen table.

'You wait there,' he said. 'I'll fetch the Kinder.'

And off he went, laughing and sighing and scratching his big backside.

And when the Saint came back, he saw his duck was gone. There was only the Mouse standing in his place.

One mo there he was, b.u.t.tons gleaming, cane tapping, as solid as a yellow oak on a Monday morning. His black ears were sharp. His teeth were white. His eyes as bright as an angel of the lord.

One mo there he was, as solid as a miller's wheel.

Next mo he was gone.

Tales of Bruder Mouse, Badberg Edition

Rat Man, Fat ManRat man, fat man on his roost, Grabs the neck of the golden goose, Rat man, fat man, dust and dogs, Dirty snakes and licky frogs, Make a cake and have it iced, Pray to rats and Jesus Christ.

Efican folk song circa circa 301 301 EC EC (Source: (Source: Doggerel and Jetsam: unheard voices in the Voorstand Imperium Doggerel and Jetsam: unheard voices in the Voorstand Imperium, Inchsmith Press, London)

1.

I am not one of those Ootlanders who wish to blame you personally for everything your government has ever done, so let me say it clear: I know you are not responsible for my mother's death. Indeed, I write this a.s.suming your individual innocence, believing you unaware of Gabe Manzini or any of his criminal activities.

If I will believe that of you, then please believe the following of me: that when, a whole twelve years twelve years after Voorstand agents murdered my maman, I made the dangerous voyage to your fatherland, it was after Voorstand agents murdered my maman, I made the dangerous voyage to your fatherland, it was not not as Mrs Kram would still have you believe to do your nation harm. as Mrs Kram would still have you believe to do your nation harm.

It is true that I entered Voorstand illegally, but the illegality was created by your government's refusal to place the appropriate stempel in my pa.s.sport, a situation produced in turn by my own actions certain offensive tracts I had written, and published, many, many years before, in the period following my mother's murder.

I understand that no one wishes to have their country called a 'poison gland' or a 'vile octopus'* but imagine, please: my world was shattered. but imagine, please: my world was shattered.

Everything that had allowed me to sustain my problematic existence, the illusion of my talent, my safety, my power, all this died with my mother. One day I was Napoleon. Next day I was a coward.

I was afraid that I also would be murdered. I was afraid of the street, afraid of uncurtained windows, unlocked doors, noises in the night. And yet I would not be a total total coward. Through my teenage years I continued to write the political pamphlets and letters you still cannot forgive. I believed you were watching and listening, and I was not wrong. I kept the doors locked and my fear simmered and bubbled and I skulked and fretted like a c.o.c.kroach inside the mouldy Feu Follet, and when no one came to kill me it did not matter because by then I was afraid of the air on my skin, of the sky itself. coward. Through my teenage years I continued to write the political pamphlets and letters you still cannot forgive. I believed you were watching and listening, and I was not wrong. I kept the doors locked and my fear simmered and bubbled and I skulked and fretted like a c.o.c.kroach inside the mouldy Feu Follet, and when no one came to kill me it did not matter because by then I was afraid of the air on my skin, of the sky itself.

Is it grandiose to say I too feared a.s.sa.s.sination? Then let it be: I was grandiose.

I still rehea.r.s.ed my circus swings and tumbles, juggling, a whole illusionistic repertoire, but I did it with a shame that came from knowing that I lacked the courage to be the Great Figure I had previously imagined. I ate too much. I slept. My pale white stomach began to bulge while my legs remained as thin and twisted as they had ever been.

It was Wally who stole the Axis 9iL computers from the University of Chemin Rouge. His motive was simple entertainment. He imagined I would play Cat & Mouse, Chessmaster Cat & Mouse, Chessmaster and and Battlefield Battlefield, and I did play these games, and others, but my lethargy did not finally disappear until I discovered that I could use Axis 9iL to make money. Then my life changed overnight.

While boys and girls of my age were kissing each other, twining their legs around each other in the back seats of their parents' cars, I was sitting white-eyed at my terminal, plugged into Financial Data Services like 'Voorstand-on-line' and 'Uptrend'. I was a teenage share-trader.

I never did get any higher than level 5 on Cat & Mouse Cat & Mouse but the Bourse was another matter. I persuaded Vincent (the executor of my maman's estate) to release a portion of my inheritance to establish an account. I had a shaky start, but two years later I was producing returns of between 5 and 10 per cent per month. This was from 386 to 393, years of the great Bull Market, and I was one of those so called pin-ball sorciers but the Bourse was another matter. I persuaded Vincent (the executor of my maman's estate) to release a portion of my inheritance to establish an account. I had a shaky start, but two years later I was producing returns of between 5 and 10 per cent per month. This was from 386 to 393, years of the great Bull Market, and I was one of those so called pin-ball sorciers* who brought the market cras.h.i.+ng down a Momentum Investor. I played the game a kid can play so well pure mathematics, trends, swings, surges in stock. Did I make money from toxic waste? Perhaps. Did I buy and sell in Sirkus stock? Who knows? I was interested only in the momentum of the equities. who brought the market cras.h.i.+ng down a Momentum Investor. I played the game a kid can play so well pure mathematics, trends, swings, surges in stock. Did I make money from toxic waste? Perhaps. Did I buy and sell in Sirkus stock? Who knows? I was interested only in the momentum of the equities.

At first I used my profits to make the Feu Follet safer. I engaged a security guard. I put bars on the windows, installed an electronic security system. But then I began to seek safety in money itself. You might say that Mammon became my maman. I do not need to point out what a betrayal this entailed.

Of course it was not just Tristan Smith who was scarred by the events of 20 January. All these years later Efican politicians have not forgotten what happens to those who oppose our great and powerful ally. Even the Blue Party has become, to say the least, pragmatic. Thread all the navigation cable you wish inside our caves. Leave your poison water wherever it suits you. Our government will give you no trouble.

Following my maman's death, I sought wealth in a way that would have upset her dreadfully, but life is never simple and I remained loyal to some of her ideals while I betrayed others. So even while I rode the powerful surges of the Bull Market I was active in the January 20 Group* and I wrote my pamphlets and letters to the editor. and I wrote my pamphlets and letters to the editor.

And this, I can only a.s.sume, is why, two days after my twenty-second birthday, you refused me a tourist Stempel. This is why you still suspect that a great political cause cause had me drag my blinking share-trader's face out into the bright sun. You still want to know why, had me drag my blinking share-trader's face out into the bright sun. You still want to know why, why really why really, did I abandon my safe house and trundle down the No. 25 wharf in my wheelchair. What is the real story? Why did I allow myself to be thrown from a heaving fis.h.i.+ng trawler on to a Morean Beach at dawn?

I, of course, would rather tell you how Wally, Jacques and I crossed what you like to call 'the great historical sea' 'the great historical sea' and how we entered your Voorstand by tunnel, in the company of thieves, how we met Leona the facilitator, how we saw the altars to the Hairy Man beside the highway, how we crossed the great plains of Voorstand, across the mighty earthworks, dams, lakes, and saw the huge Sirkus Domes rising from the earth, everywhere, like mushrooms after rain. and how we entered your Voorstand by tunnel, in the company of thieves, how we met Leona the facilitator, how we saw the altars to the Hairy Man beside the highway, how we crossed the great plains of Voorstand, across the mighty earthworks, dams, lakes, and saw the huge Sirkus Domes rising from the earth, everywhere, like mushrooms after rain.

We had some high old times before the thing came unstuck in Peggy Kram's trothaus, higher than Drs Laroche and Eisner ever thought when I was born. Love, joy, adventure all these things are there ahead of me, and you too, but I know, I am avoiding your question.