The Malacia Tapestry. Brian Aldiss

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СКАЧАТЬ into day. Only a year back I had a man to carry the frame, and a good man he was. Now I must hump the frame everywhere myself.’

      ‘Times have been easier.’

      ‘We used to do great business with evening soirées. That’s all but gone now. I’ve had the honour of appearing at the Renardo Palace more than once, before the young duke, and before foreign emissaries in the Blue Hall of the Palace of the Bishops Elect – very proper, and no seduction scenes there, though they applauded the Execution and insisted on an encore. I’ve been paid in ten or more currencies. But the demand’s dropped away now, truly, and I shall go somewhere else where the fantoccini art is still appreciated.’

      ‘Byzantium?’

      ‘No, Byzantium’s a dust-heap now, they say, the streets are paved with the bones of old fantoccini men – and of course the Ottoman at the gate, as ever, I’ll go to Tuscady, or far Igara where they say there’s gold and style and enthusiasm. Why not come with me? It could be the ideal place for out-of-work actors.’

      ‘All too busy, Pete. I’ve only just come from Kemperer’s – you know he makes you sweat – and now I must hurry to see Master Bengtsohn, who beseeches something from me.’

      Piebald Pete dropped one of his eyebrows by several centimetres, lowered his voice by about the same amount, and said, ‘If I was you, Master Perian, I’d stay clear of Otto Bengtsohn, who’s a troublemaker, as you may well know.’

      I could not help laughing at his expression. ‘I swear I am innocent!’

      ‘None of us is innocent if someone thinks us guilty. Poor men should be grateful for what they get from the rich, and not go abusing them or plotting their destruction.’

      ‘You’re saying that Bengtsohn –’

      ‘I’m not saying anything, am I?’ Looking round, he raised his voice again as if he hoped the whole bubbling market would hear it. ‘What I’m saying is that we owe a lot to the rich of the state, us poor ones. They could do without us, but we could hardly do without them, could we?’

      The subject plainly made Pete and everyone nearby uncomfortable; I moved on. Perhaps I would visit Bengtsohn.

      As I walked down a side-alley towards Exhibition Street, I recalled that Piebald Pete had performed in my father’s house on one occasion, long ago. My mother had been alive then, and my sister Katarina and I little children.

      The show had enchanted us. Afterwards, when the magic frame was folded and gone, my father had said, ‘There you have observed the Traditional in operation. Your delight was because the fantoccini man did not deviate from comedic forms laid down many generations earlier. In the same way, the happiness of all who live in our little utopian state of Malacia depends on preserving the laws which the founders laid down long, long ago.’

      I slipped through a muddy by-lane, where a few market-stalls straggled on, becoming poorer as they led away from the central magnet of St Marco, towards the sign of the Dark Eye. At the entrance to the court stood the Leather-Teeth Tavern, its doors choked with red-faced countrymen, drinking with a variety of noise, enjoyment, and facial expression. Fringing the drinkers were whores, wives, donkeys, and children, who were being serenaded by a man with a hurdy-gurdy. His mistress went round the crowd with a cap, sporting on a lead a red-scaled chick-snake which waltzed on its hind legs like a dancing dog.

      Beside the tavern, stalls of fresh herrings had been set up. I tucked my coat-tails under my armpits to get by. Beyond, a couple of bumpkins were urinating and vomiting turn and turn about against a wall. The overhanging storeys of the buildings and their sweeping eaves made the court dark but, as I got towards the back of it, I came on Otto Bengtsohn washing his hands at a pump, still clad in his mangy fur jacket.

      His arms were pale, hairless, corded with veins; ugly but useful things. He splashed his face, then wiped his hands on his jacket as he turned to examine me. Beyond him, lolling in a doorway, were two young fellows who also gave me an inspection.

      ‘So you altered your mind to come after all! What a cheek you have also! Well, you’re only once young.’

      ‘I happened to be passing this way.’

      He nodded. ‘All-People was right.’ He stood contemplating me, rubbing his hands up and down his jacket until I grew uncomfortable.

      ‘What’s this zahnoscope of yours?’

      ‘Business later, my young friend. First, I must have something for to eat, if you don’t mind. I’m on the way to the Leather-Teeth, and perhaps you’ll join me for some bite.’

      ‘It would be a pleasure.’ There was merit in the old man after all. ‘I am feeling peckish.’

      ‘Even the poor have to eat. Those of us what are going to change the world must keep ourselves fed up … We aren’t supposed to think about change in Malacia, are we? Still, we’ll see …’ He grinned at me in a sly way. He pointed up at the leather-toothed ancestral depicted on the tavern sign, its segmented wings outspread. ‘You have to have jaws like that creature to eat here. Do you mind visiting our slum, de Chirolo?’

      We pushed into the tavern.

      There, Bengtsohn was known and respected. In short order, a grimy girl placed soup, bread and meat balls with chillies and a pitcher of ale before us, and we set to, ignoring the jostling bodies at our elbows. I ate heartily.

      Sighing after a while, and resigning myself to his pouring me more ale, I said, ‘It’s good to feel the stomach full at midday for a change.’ There I checked myself. ‘Why should I say “for a change”? Everyone today seems to have been talking about change – it must be because the Council’s meeting.’

      ‘Well, talk, yes, but talk’s nothing – foam off from the sea. Malacia never changes, hasn’t done for thousands of years, never will. Even the conversations about change don’t change.’

      ‘Aren’t you introducing change with your – zahnoscope?’

      He dropped his fork, waved his hands, shssh’d me, leant forward, shook his head all at the same time, so that I found my face peppered with half-chomped meat ball. ‘Remember that whereas talking about change is proper and fit, anyone who makes bold as to implement change IN THIS DEAR OLD STABLE CITY OF OURS’ (said loud for effect as he groped with his fork) ‘is liable to finish up in the Toi with his throat cut to shreds …’

      Silence while we ate. Then he said, in a tone of voice suggesting that the statement might be of particular interest to any eavesdroppers in the vicinity, ‘I work in the field of art, that’s all what interests me. Happily, art is a central interest of this dear city, like religion. Art’s safe. Not a better place in the world for to pursue art, though heaven knows it don’t pay all that much, even here. But of course I don’t complain of that. How I’ll go through next winter with a greedy wife … Come on, mop down your platter with the crust and let’s get back at the workshop. Work’s the thing, if it earns fair pay.’

      Back through the court we went, and into the workshop, which was a dim and dirty place, cluttered with all manner of objects. Bengtsohn waved his hand in a vaguely descriptive way which took in a number of apprentices at benches, some munching hunks of bread.

      ‘You have a busy place.’

      ‘I don’t have it. It isn’t mine. I can be booted out from here tomorrow, СКАЧАТЬ