Hermit and Six Toes: Part III

In which the heroes engage the crowd.  Written by Victor Pelevin.  Translated from the Russian by A. Baylin.  (Beginning here.)
  May 12, 2004

Despite the desert's total lack of objects one could hide behind, Six Toes found himself slinking.  The closer they came to the socium the stealthier his walk got.  The vast crowd that looked from far away like one enormous undulating organism gradually resolved into discrete bodies.  One could even read the surprise on the faces of those who had noticed their approach.

“The important thing is to act cocky,” Hermit instructed in a whisper one more time.  “Not too cocky, though.  We must rile them up but not so much that they tear us to pieces.  Basically, just copy me.”

“Check out Six Toes, back from the dumps!” somebody yelled cheerfully up ahead.  “Hello there, shithead!  Whozzat with you?”

This inane remark had suddenly, unexpectedly raised in Six Toes a powerful wave of nostalgic memories from his childhood.  Hermit, coming up just behind him, must have sensed it and gave him a slight push in the back.

On the outskirts of the socium the crowd was sparse.  This space was inhabited primarily by cripples and dreamers, who disliked jostle; getting through them was easy.  Farther in, the crowd grew denser until before long Hermit and Six Toes found themselves pressed in on all sides.  It was still possible to move forward but only at the cost of trading words with those around you.  Eventually, when the vibrating roof of the feeder loomed large over the heads of those gathered in front, they could not make another step.

“I have always admired the cleverness of this system,” Hermit said quietly to Six Toes.  “Those who stand close to the feeder are happy, mostly because they are always thinking about those who'd like to take their place.  The rest, who spend their lives waiting for the tiniest crack to open up in front, are happy because they have something to hope for.  That's harmony and unity for you.”

“Don't like it much, do you?” a voice came from one side.

“Nope,” replied Hermit.

“What exactly don't you like?”

“Everything.”

And Hermit swept his hand in a wide semicircle that took in the crowd, the magnificent dome of the feeder, and the distant, barely visible Wall of the World.

“I see.  And where would you go for a better deal?”

“That's the problem.  There's nowhere to go.  That's the tragedy!” Hermit cried mournfully.  “Do you think I'd be discussing life here with you if I had someplace better to go?”

“Your friend shares in your views, I suppose,” said the voice.  “Find something interesting on the ground there, sport?”

Six Toes, who was staring at his feet because that minimized his participation in the scene, looked up and saw the voice's master.  The person had a flabby, well-fed face; the act of speaking brought out the details of his throat's anatomy.  Six Toes knew right away that he was looking at one of the Twenty Closest Ones, the veritable conscience of the age.  The Closest One must have been keeping with the practice of issuing clarifications to the people when the duo showed up.

“All this bellyaching, fellas,” said Fat Face in an unexpectedly friendly tone, “comes from not preparing for the decisive stage with the rest of us.  You'd have no time for foolishness if you kept busy.  Sometimes even I get such dreadful nonsense into my head—  And would you believe it, my work snaps me right out of it.”

Then, without changing his tone, he added: “Seize them.”

The crowd rippled and Six Toes and Hermit found themselves at once restrained on all sides.

“To hell with you,” Hermit said just as amicably.  “What are you gonna do?  Banish us again?  Can't toss us over the Wall of the World, as they say…”

At this Hermit's face assumed the expression of sudden alarm as Fat Face's eyebrows rose.  Their eyes met.

“Now that is an interesting thought.  I don't believe we've done that before.  We do have that saying, but the will of the people trumps words.”

The idea seemed to delight Fat Face beyond words.  He turned around and commanded:

“Attention!  Everyone fall in!  We're going to carry out a spontaneous undertaking.”

Shortly thereafter a procession dragging Hermit and Six Toes in its middle approached the Wall of the World.

It was quite an imposing show.  Fat Face led, followed by a couple of appointed wailing old mothers (no one, Fat Face included, knew exactly what that was, but traditions had to be kept).  The mothers screamed insults at Hermit and Six Toes through their tears, mourning and cursing them at the same time.  Behind the mothers came the two criminals.  Finally in the rear of the procession, the masses marched.

“And now,” Fat Face said when they came to a stop, “comes the dreadful moment of retribution.  I think, homies, that we shall all close our eyes as these two renegades disappear into oblivion, eh?  Let this exhilarating event serve as a beautiful lesson to all of us, the people.  Wail louder, mothers!”

The old mothers fell to the ground and bawled so vigorously that many present started to choke up and look away.  From writhing in the tear-sprinkled dust the mothers would occasionally spring up, eyes flashing, and  hurl irrefutable, terrible accusations at Hermit and Six Toes, then fall exhausted down again.

“Now then,” said Fat Face at last.  “Do you repent?  Have you been shamed by the tears of the mothers?”

“Sure we have,” agreed Hermit.  His eyes darted anxiously between the ceremonial spectacle and some celestial bodies.  “What's your plan for tossing us over?”

Fat Face stopped to think.  The wailing mothers quieted down; one of them rose from the dust, shook it off and suggested:

“A heap.”

“You'd spend five eclipses making a heap tall enough,” protested Hermit.  “We simply can't wait that long to conceal our exposed disgrace in the void.”

Fat Face looked at him with an ironic squint and nodded approvingly.

“They get it,” he remarked to someone else in his party.  “They're just pretending.  Ask them what they think; perhaps they'll suggest something?”

In several minutes a living pyramid reared up almost to the brim of the Wall of the World.  Those at the top kept their eyes shut and faces hidden lest they catch a glimpse of the place where everything ends.

“Climb,” someone ordered, and they started to climb towards the distant brim, supporting each other, scaling the tottering steps of shoulders and backs.

From the height one could observe the entire socium; they looked subdued but followed the unfolding events avidly.  One could also discern certain previously unseen features in the sky and the thick hose that descended to the feeder out of infinity.  Somehow, up close the hose appeared much less grand than from the ground.

Hermit gracefully hopped onto the lip of the Wall of the World as if it were a tussock.  He helped Six Toes scramble up to his side and shouted to those below:  “Done!”

His shout made somebody in the living pyramid lose balance.  The structure faltered, swayed and collapsed, the bodies falling down to the foot of the wall.  Fortunately, no one was hurt.

Six Toes clung to the cold tin plates of the edge and surveyed the tiny upturned faces and the greyish-brown expanses of his home land; he peered at the corner where the Wall of the World sported a big green spot, where he had passed his childhood.  “This is the last time I see this,” he thought and while he felt no particular desire the see his land again, his eyes misted up.  He clutched a clump of earth with a piece of straw stuck to it and reflected on the sharp, irrevocable turns his life had taken.

“Farewell, dear children!” the mothers cried down below, gave them a low bow and began to bombard them with heavy pieces of turf.

Hermit rose on tiptoes and declaimed loudly:

I have always known
that I shall depart
from this merciless world—

A big chunk of turf sent him tumbling off the Wall, limbs flailing.  Six Toes took one last look at the country below and noticed somebody waving farewell at him from the distant crowd.  He waved back, closed his eyes and stepped off the Wall.

He tumbled through the void for several seconds; then he landed on something painfully firm and opened his eyes.  He was lying on a black shiny surface made of unknown material.  The Wall of the World rose above him, the same as on the other side.  Hermit stood nearby, hand outstretched towards the Wall, completing his recitation:

But I have never thought
it would happen thus…

He turned to Six Toes and gestured sharply for him to get up.

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