Escolar Documentos
Profissional Documentos
Cultura Documentos
Golden Afternoon
Not to waste any of the strictly counted moments, of which such blissful
afternoons were normally made, I got to work. I wandered off towards the
forest, and entered it, ignoring the wooden sign: BEWARE OF THE
JABBERWOCK set on the roadside. Without rush, pernicious in such
situations, I found a tree meeting the artistic requirements and climbed
it. Then I made my choice of the right bough, using the theory of
revolutionibus orbium coelestium. Too complicated for you? I’ll put it
more simply then: I chose a bough on which the sun will be warming my fur
all afternoon.
The sun was shining, the bark left a faint scent, the birds and bugs were
singing their endless songs on many voices. I lied on the bough, let my
tail down in an artistic fashion, and I rested my chin on my paws. I was
just about to fall into the blissful lethargy, just about to present to
the world my endless disregard, when suddenly, high up in the sky, I
noticed a dark dot.
That dot was approaching fast. I lifted my head up to see. In normal
circumstances I wouldn’t bother direct my attention towards some dark
dots on the sky because in normal circumstances those dots normally
turned out to be just birds. But in the realm I was currently inhabiting
the circumstances weren’t normal. A dot flying across the sky might upon
closer recognition prove to be a piano. Statistics for yet another time
proved to be the mother of all sciences, however. The nearing dot was not
a bird in the regular meaning of the word, but nonetheless far from being
a piano. I sighed, as I would rather it was a piano. A piano, lest it
falls from the sky with a stool and a Mozart sitting on it, is a temporal
event that doesn’t tire your ears. Radetzky however – as it was Radetzky
flying down from the sky – was an event rather loud, obstinate, and
tiring. I’ll add not without malice: that was about everything Radetzky
could do.
- How rude, Chester. Haaa-haaa! Do cats eat bats?? Do cats eat bats? Do
cats eat bats?
Radetzky grabbed with his claws a branch above my bough; he hung head
down and folded his wings, taking a more pleasant to my eyes looks of a
mouse from antipodes.
- I know something! – He squealed in high pitch.
- No… - He replied with much less confidence, moving around his big ears
and his glittering nose oddly. – I didn’t see. But Johnny Caterpillar
told me about it.
* * *
- Good morning, Mister Cat. – she said and then bowed ungracefully.
- Never in my life – said the idiot with a shaky voice – have I seen a
cat who can smile. Not like that.
I moved my ear, as a sign that it’s nothing new to me.
- You are the guest here, little girl. You ought to introduce yourself
first.
- Excuse me. – She bowed with her head down. It was a shame, since her
eyes were dark, and quite pretty for a human. – It wasn’t very polite
indeed; I should have introduced myself first. My name is Alice. Alice
Liddell. I’m here because I entered the rabbit hole, following a white
rabbit with pink eyes wearing a vest on him. And a watch in the pocket of
the vest.
Inca. I thought. She speaks clearly, doesn’t spit, doesn’t have an
obsidian knife. But she’s still like Inca.
She spoke so oddly. And her clothes were even more odd, I just only
noticed! A fancy dress, a pinafore, collar with rounded ends, short
buffed gloves, stockings… Yes, god damn it, stockings! And small Mary
Janes on buckles. Fin de siecle, if I didn’t witness it. Narcotics and
alcohol should be excluded it seems. Unless her dress up was a costume.
She might have come to the realm straight from a school play, where she
played a Little Miss Muffet sitting on the sand next to the spider. Or
straight from a party at which a group of actors celebrated performance
success with handfuls of drugs. And that, after a moment of thought, I
took to be the most likely scenario.
- Never mind.
- I just mean for you to walk away, put some distance between us – I
explained. – Because when it comes to leaving the realm, futile effort,
Alice Liddell. You cannot leave this place.
- Excuse me?
- You cannot leave this realm, silly. You should have looked at the
reverse of the note on the bottle.
- That’s not true! – She yelled in denial. – I’ll walk here and there,
and then I’ll go back home. I have to. I’m going to school and I cannot
skip lessons. Besides, my mom would miss me. And Dina. Dina is my cat.
Have I told you? Goodbye, cat from Cheshire. Would you mind also telling
me where does this path lead to? Where will I arrive if I take it? Does
anyone live there?
- Dear child. – I said softly. – I’m not disappearing, your brain slowly
ceases to function, it loses even the ability to slumber deliriously.
Vital functions stop. In other words…
- I can see you again! – She called with triumph. – You’re here again.
Don’t do that any more. Don’t just disappear so suddenly. It’s scary.
Makes my head spin.
- I know.
I’ll go ahead and tell you. I didn’t slack off much more that day. Woken
up from my state, and pulled out of the lethargy I wasn’t able to regain
the mood. Where is this world heading to. Sleeping and resting cats get
no peace and no respect. Where are the times when prophet Muhammad,
wanting to get up and go to the mosque and not wanting to wake up the cat
that fell asleep inside his sleeve had cut the sleeve off with a knife?
None of you, I could bet any money on it, would do such a good deed. Thus
I assume, none of you will ever become a prophet, even if you were to run
from Mecca to Medina and back again all year long. Well, as Muhammad to
his cat, so the cat to his Muhammad. I haven’t taken more than an hour to
make my mind up. Then – bemused by my own actions – I got off the tree
and without haste I made my way down the path through the woods, towards
the house of Archibald Haigha, known as the March Hare. I could of course
appear at his house in a matter of seconds if I wanted, but I found that
to be a needless effort, possibly suggesting that I might care even the
slightest bit about anything. Maybe I did care, just a little bit, but I
wasn’t going to show it. The red roof tiles of March Hare’s house quickly
blended into the brown and yellow colour of the autumn leaves of the
trees around. And my ears caught an atmospheric music. Someone – or
something – quietly sang and played “Greensleeves”. A melody perfectly
fitting the time and place.
In the yard before the house a table had been set, with a fresh clean
tablecloth. On the table plates, cups, a teapot, and a bottle of whiskey
Chivas Regal were settled. Behind the table sat the host, the March Hare,
and his guests. The Hatter; being here nearly all the time, and Pierre
Dormousse; being here, or anywhere else, very rarely. At the end of the
table sat the dark-eyed Alicia Liddell, with a childlike impertinence
rested in a wicker chair and holding her cup with both hands. She seemed
ignorant of the fact that at a five o’clock whisky and tea she is
accompanied by a hare with badly kept whiskers, a midget in a ridiculous
cylinder hat, stiff collar and a bow tie in dots, and a chubby
spermophilus, sleeping, with its head on the table.
Archie, the March Hare, noticed me first.
- Look who is approaching! – And the sound of his voice gave away clearly
that Alice was the only person drinking tea around here. – Who comes
here? Do I see what I think I see? Would it be, as prophet Jeremiah said,
the most virtuous of animals, walking with grace and might?
- Somebody must have somewhere silently opened the seventh seal. – The
Hatter added, taking a sip out of his cup of something that surely wasn’t
tea. – Look though, it is a pale cat, and Hades follows it.
- Sit down Chester. – The March Hare said. – And pour some for yourself,
as you see, we have a guest. The guest was just entertaining us with her
stories, of how she got into our land. I bet you’d like to listen too.
Let me introduce you to...
- Of course we do. – Alice said, smiling nicely. – I know him. He’s the
one who showed me the way to your lovely house. It’s the cat of Cheshire.
- What bullshit have you told the kid, Chester? – Archie twitched his
whiskers. – You’ve been showing off with your eloquence to prove your
superiority over all other beings again? Huh? Cat?
- I have a cat. – Alice announced out of the blue. – Her name is Dina.
- You mentioned.
- Didn’t I tell you? – Archie lifted his head and his pointy ears up, on
which you could still find bits of wheat and grass. – He was showing off!
As usual!
- Shut up Dormousse. – The March Hare waved with his hand. – Sleep and
don’t interrupt.
– And you continue please, child. – The Hatter urged Alice. – We’d be
glad to hear more of your story, and the time is running.
- It’s Wednesday. – He said. – Mab and Les Coeurs are playing their
stupid croquet. I bet they still don’t know about our guest.
- You underestimate Radetzky.
Alice Liddell looked on all of us with a perplexed gaze of her dark eyes,
as if waiting for us to actually turn into ears.
- Where was I? – She pondered, not having witnessed any miraculous
metamorphosis. – Aha, I know. On the cookies. Those that had “eat me”
written on them nicely with blackberries on a yellow cream. Ah, how good
were those cookies! A truly magical taste! And they were magical, in
fact. As I ate a bit, I began growing in size. I got scared, you know...
Then I bit into another cookie, also as delicious, and then I began to
get smaller. Such magic it was, ha! I could be big or small. I could get
bigger, and shrink smaller, at will. You understand?
- As in any game – The Hatter retorted. – The funny thing is killing the
boredom.
- And the fact that someone might not be entertained by it does not imply
that the creature in question is a higher being. – Archie snarled. –
Don’t smile, Chester. You’ll not impress anyone here with that smile of
yours. When will you understand, that no matter how much of a smartass
you play to be nobody here will worship you like a god? We’re not in
Bubastis, but in the land...
- Land of magic? – Alice butted in, her gaze shifting from one of us to
another.
- Please continue, Alice. – The Hatter rushed the girl. – What was after
the cookies?
- I – The girl started while playing with the ear of her cup. – Really
wanted to find that rabbit, the one in a vest with that watch in his
pocket. I thought that maybe if I find him I can find the hole through
which I got there... And I’d be able to get back home through it.
We all remained silent. That fragment didn’t need any explanation. Each
of us knew what was and what symbolises a black hole, and a never-ending
fall. Each of us knew that there was nobody in whole of Wonderland who
could even from afar seem like a white rabbit in a vest with a pocket
watch.
- Despite what some cats think of it. – He announced, revealing his two
yellow teeth. – a mice’s tail is a phallic symbol. That is to explain,
the sudden fear cause in most females by the image of a mouse.
- You’re all mad. – Alice stated convinced. Nobody paid her any
attention.
- Damn straight! Freud and Bettelheim wrote about it. Bettelheim is the
most prominent example to be called for here, since he worked on child’s
psyche.
- We will not – The Hatter said repulsed, while pouring more whisky into
his cup. – call for Bettelheim. May Freud also requiescat in peace. This
bottle is just enough for the four of us, comme il faut, we don’t need
anyone else here. Go on, Alice.
- We are indeed. – Dormousse replied, lifting his head up from the table
and looking at her with his sleepy eyes. – Everybody knows that. Anyway,
she’s still here? They still didn’t come for her?
The Hatter, visibly preoccupied, looked at the forest, from which some
cracking and rustling noises came. I, being a cat, have noticed those
sounds a long time ago, before they even got close. It weren’t Les
Coeurs, but a bunch of mome raths, searching through the detritus for
food.
- Yes, yes, Archie. – I wasn’t going to calm the Hare, who could also
hear the noises and allowed his ears to fall free in fright. - You ought
to hurry with this psychoanalysis, or Mab will finish it for you.
- Then perhaps you will finish? – The March Hare made his whiskers
twitch. – You, as a higher being, are familiar with all the processes of
the human psyche. You surely know how a dying daughter of the dean of
Christ Church, instead of leaving the world in peace never to wake up,
ended up in our land?
- Eighteen sixty two – Archie growled. – The night between the seventh
and eight of July. Does it matter?
- Of course I do.
The Hatter poured more. Archie gulped it, once again looked at me in
triumph, he cleared his throat.
- What we have here – He started highly and with confidence. – is a
typical conflict of id, ego, and superego. As you all know, my friends,
in human psyche id is that which is subconscious, impulsive, dangerous
and hard to comprehend, what leads to unstoppable tendency to fulfil your
needs and pleasures. Such mindless following of impulses is what the
person, as we saw in this case, tries to explain and justify with
imaginary instructions such as “drink me” or “eat me”, which of course is
meant to mislead them to believe that id had been put under control of
the rational ego. Ego of the person, after all, is the taught Victorian
rules of reality, the need to be subject to rules and limitations. That
reality is the strict upbringing, strict, although seemingly colourful,
reality of “Young Misses Magazine”, the only thing this child ever
read...
- That's a lie! - Yelled Alice Liddell – I also read Robinson Crusoe! And
Sir Walter Scott!
- Above all which – The Hare didn't care about her yell – tries to take
control the immature and yet incomplete superego of the aforementioned
girl, sit licentia verbo, a conscious being. And superego, even
fragmentary, puts forward the ability to fantasise. Thus it tries to turn
the working processes into images and visions. Vivere cesse, imaginare
necesse est, if you don't mind, dear friends, a paraphrase...
- Because you're morons! - The Hare waved his paws. - I'm telling you,
aren't I? She's been brought here by her fantasy, fuelled with eroticism!
Her fears! Some secret and sleeping dreams, woken up by some drug...
He fell silent, his gaze froze on something behind my back. Now I also
heard the rustle of wings. I would have noticed it earlier, wasn't it for
his rambling.
On the table, exactly between the bottle, and the teapot, landed Edgar.
Edgar was a raven. Edgar flies a lot, and talks little. That's why in the
Wonderland he's used as a messenger. As he was this time, since he was
holding an envelope in his beak, it was rather large and adorned with
initials M and R divided by a crown.
- Is that for me? - Alice asked surprised. Edgar nodded with his head,
his beak, and the letter.
She took the letter, but Archie pulled it out of her hands with
disregard, and broke the seal.
- Her Majesty Mab, the Great Queen etc. etc. - He read. - Invites you to
take part in a game of cricket which will be held...
The Hatter cleared his throat loudly. Archie turned the letter in his
hand. Dormousse snored. Edgar kept silent, patting his feathers with his
beak.
- Keep her here for as long as you can. - I decided quickly and stood up.
- I'll be right back.
- Don't be a fool, Chester – Archie grumbled. - You can't help it, even
if you did get there now, which I doubt, it's too late already. Mab knows
about her, and she won't let her leave. You can't save her. There is no
way.
The wind of time and space kept ringing in my ears forcing my hair to
stand. And the ground, where I stood, just wouldn't stop shaking. Balance
and hard reality quickly and steadily managed to overcome horror vacui,
which accompanied me in the past few moments. Nausea, although
unwillingly and with some resistance, also gave away, as my eyes
readjusted to the euclidean geometry.
I looked around.
The garden I was in, was truly English, which of course means overgrown
with weed and bush like hell. I could smell a swamp somewhere on the
left, where I also heard a few quacks every now and then, thus I assumed
there also had to be a lake around. A bit further away, a façade of a
small two-storey house, all covered in ivy, glimmered with lights.
This time I was pretty sure I managed it right, I mean that I landed in
the right place, and the right time. But I preferred to make sure anyhow.
- Is there anyone here? God damn it. - I asked impatiently.
I didn't have to wait for long. Out from the dark came a reddish, and
side-stripped local. He didn't look like the owner of this garden,
although he tried hard. Apparently, he was not a fool either, and he had
some manners and savoir vivre poured into him as a kitten, because when
he saw me he greeted me politely, by sitting and curling his tail around
his feet. Ha, I'd like to see one of you, humans, reacting so calmly when
encountering a creature from your mythology. And demonology.
- With whom, have I the pleasure? - I asked flatly and without care.
- Obviously.
- Oxford?
- Indeed.
So I made it. The duck I heard, must have been swimming not in a lake,
but in River Thames, or River Cherwell. And the tower I saw when landing,
must have been the Carfax Tower, no doubt. The problem was, Carfax Tower
looked exactly the same as during my previous visit in Oxford, and that
was in 1645, shortly before the Battle of Naseby. There I tried to
convince King Charles to leave all that mess behind and run away to
France.
- Who's the ruler of Britain as of this day?
Score! Although that hag had been ruling for sixty four years, 1837-1901.
There was always a possibility that I've gone a few years ahead or
behind. I could simply ask the red cat what day it was, but that would be
simply improper, you see. He might assume I'm not all-knowing. Prestige,
as they say, uber alles.
- Who does this house belong to?
- Three daughters.
I'd let out a sigh of relief. So did the cat. He was convinced I wasn't
asking, but testing.
- I thank you for your time, Sir Russet. I wish you a good hunt.
He didn't wish me a good hunt back. He knew the legends. He knew, just
what sort of a hunt might my appearance in his world mean.
* * *
I went through the levee, the walls of the house finished with a
colourful flower-themed wallpaper, through molding, through furniture. I
went through the smell of dust, and medicines, apples, sherry, tobacco
and lavender. I went through voices, whispers, sighs and sobbing. I went
through a lighted living room, in which the Dean and his wife Liddell
talked to a thin slouching man with dark hair. I found the stairs. And at
the third bedroom I ran into a guardian.
- I mean you no harm. - I said quickly, backing away from the warning
hiss, claws, fangs, and mad devotion. - No harm!
Venera Whiteblack, settled on the doorstep, laid her ears flat, gave me
another wave of hatred and anger, after which she took up a classic
fighting stance.
- Hold it, cat!
- Apage! - She hissed without changing her position. - Out! No demon will
pass this doorstep while I guard it!
- Not even the one – I ran out of patience. - that calls you Dina?
- I wish to enter. Leave the doorstep. No, no, no, don't go away. Come
inside with me.
Inside the room, in accordance with the customs of that century, were as
many pieces of furniture as possible. Even here the walls had that
horrible flower-themed pattern. Above the small chest of drawers hang
some poorly done portrait of, as it said on it, some Mrs West playing the
role of Desdemona. And on the bed laid Alice Liddell, unconscious,
sweaty, and pale like a ghost. She was in delirium so deep I could almost
see the red roof tiles of the Hare's house, and hear “Greensleeves”
playing.
- They've been on a boat sailing in River Thames, her, her sisters, and
Mr Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. - Venera Whiteblack explained before I asked
the question. - Alice fell into the water, caught a cold and a fever.
Doctor came, prescribed her some medications, she was also being treated
with what the parents had at home. A bottle of Laudanum got into her
medicines by accident, and she drank it. She'd been unconscious ever
since.
I got consumed by thoughts.
- Indeed. She likes him, he likes her. He almost purrs when he looks at
her. He makes up stories to tell her. She loves it.
The cat narrowed her eyes and twitched her whiskers, which among us cats
indicates a state of utter surprise. She came to her senses soon enough,
but didn't say a thing. She knew that asking for the motives of this
decision of mine would have been plain rude. She also knew I would surely
not answer such a question. No cat ever answers a question like that. We
always do what we want to do, and we're not used to having to explain our
actions.
- It's your right, Your Grace. - She said softly. - I... I cannot thank
you enough... for the honour. I love that child.
- Me?! - She nearly jumped up in surprise. - You want me to heal her? But
that's forbidden to normal cats! I thought, that Your Grace would...
Besides, I wouldn't know how to...
- One, there are no “normal cats”. Second, I can break any rule. And so
I'm breaking that one. Now get to work.
- But... - Venera ditched her gaze in me. Her eyes suddenly showing fear.
- But... If I purr out that illness, then I will...
The door to the room opened quietly and in came the pale dark-haired man,
Charles Lutwidge, or Lutwidge Charles, I forgot already. He walked in
with his head down, all humble, full of guilt and sadness. He immediately
saw Venera Whiteblack on Alice's chest and he immediately thought there's
someone to blame.
He took two steps forward, looked at the chair I've been on. And he saw
me. Or maybe not as much me as my smile, floating in the air. I have no
idea how, but he saw it. And he went pale. He shook his head. Rubbed his
eyes. Licked his lips. And then he tried to reach out to me with his
hand.
- Touch me. - I said with the sweetest voice I could muster. - Touch me
one time, you filthy man, and you'll be wiping your arse with a
prosthesis.
- Possible, possible. - I assured him, still smiling with teeth white and
sharp. - Stand where you are, limit your activity to a minimum, and I'll
let you go unharmed. Parole d'honneur. You understood what I told you,
two-legged fool? The only thing you're allowed to move are eyes and
eyelids. I also allow steady inhales and exhales.
- But...
- I do not allow talking. Be still and silent as if your life was on the
line. Because in fact, it is.
He finally got it. He stood there, sweating in silence. He was looking at
me and thinking intensively. His thoughts were very messed up, yet
complex. I didn't expect such thoughts from a head of a maths lecturer.
Meanwhile Venera Whiteblack was doing her job, the air was almost
vibrating from all her purring. Alice moved, and moaned. The cat calmed
her, placing her paw on her face. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, I remembered
his name, moved seeing this.
- Likewise.
- I think that's it. - She started unsure. - I took it all out, the
poison, the illness, the fever. She also had something in her bone
marrow, I don't know what it was, but I took it out too, just to be on
the safe side.
- Your Grace?
- Yes?
- I am still alive.
I looked at him.
- Speak. - I gave him the permission in my graciousness. - Just try not
to stutter, please.
- I do not know, what ritual this was. - He started quietly. - But there
are things, on the earth and in heaven...
Ha. He was right. It seemed like the operation was successful, but only
for the doctors. Medicine, cura te ipsum, I thought. I hesitated before
saying anything, feeling the questioning gaze of the cat and the maths
lecturer. I considered many possibilities. One of these was just lifting
my tail up and leaving them standing there. But I've engaged into this
too much to pull back now. The bottle of whiskey that I'd bet the Hare
for was one thing, but prestige...
- And so am I. - I looked into his eyes. - But this is not the time for
theories. We need to bring her back before something happens that cannot
be reverted, Radetzky? Where is the girl right now?
- You're kidding me! - I laughed. - You don't know what you're talking
about.
* * *
The Hatter was right, and didn't exaggerate when calling the whole
hideous group a bunch of show-offs. They made everything to be
impressive, and for the impression. And so was the case this time.
- Oh, I'm sorry Chester. - She said coldly while twirling the ruffles on
the brim of Alice's dress with her hand, armed in numerous rings. - I'm
sorry but we already have a full set of players. Which is one of the
reasons why you didn't receive an invitation.
- And what is it to you, - Mab narrowed her eyes. - what we have and what
we don't?
- I'm afraid I must take Miss Liddell with me, I'm hoping it won't spoil
your fun.
- I already told you, I'm in no mood for discussion. Which also includes
answering questions. Alice, come to me.
- Don't you even dare to move, you snotty brat! - Mab locked her grip on
Alice's shoulder, and the girl's face paled in pain. Her dark eyes seemed
to show that she began to understand what this game was about.
- Your Highness. - I looked around and noticed that Les Coeurs began
surrounding me slowly. - Would you be so kind to remove your gentle hand
off of the child's shoulder. Immediately, if you please. Would Your
Highness also instruct her minions to back away a safe distance.
- Really? - Mab replied while demonstrating more teeth. - And what if I'd
rather not? Could you tell me what then?
- I could. Then, you filthy hag, I will also act improperly. And I'll rip
the guts of all your shit-worth bunch.
That's where talking ended. Les Coeurs simply jumped me, not even waiting
for Mab's command to sound and her hand to finish her ruling gesture.
They jumped at me as a whole, as many as there were, the whole bunch.
But I was ready. Fur came off their game card-decorated clothes. Fur went
off them, and me, but mainly them. I flipped on my back, it made me much
less mobile but I could attack with the use of all four of my legs. My
efforts began to pay off, as several Les Coeurs, marked with my claws and
teeth began to retreat, ignoring Mab's yells, who with very graphic and
unorthodox words told them what, and out of what, were they to rip from
me.
- Who even cares about you! - Alice suddenly yelled, adding some new
tunes to the ongoing symphony of chaos. - You're all just a bunch of
stupid game cards!
- Oh yeah!? - Mab roared, shaking the girl violently. – You don't say?
One of the Les Coeurs, with long curly hair and a black club sign on his
chest, grabbed my tail with both hands. I hate such forceful acquainting
so I ripped his head off. But others were already sitting on me, making a
use of their fists, heels, and cricket mallets, all while wheezing
loudly. Those bastards were damn obstinate. But so was I. After a while
it got a bit more loosely around me. I could switch from positional to
manoeuvre warfare. The lawn was almost all red by now, and damn slippery
to it.
Alice kicked Mab in the ankle with all her strength. Her Majesty cursed
horridly and whipped the girl's cheek with her palm. Alice fell down,
landing on one of the Les Coeurs, who just tried to get up. Before he
threw Alice off himself I scratched one of his eyes out. And the one who
tried to stop me got both eyes scratched out. The remaining two bailed,
and so I could stand up.
- So, dear Queen of Hearts? Perhaps we'll call it a day? - I Wheezed out,
licking blood off my nose and whiskers. - Maybe we can finish it later,
agreeing on the time and place beforehand?
Mab let out a triumphant roar. The bushes of acacia wandered apart all of
a sudden, like the Red Sea. And out from the green, cheered to battle by
the yells of Les Coeurs, came a Bandersnatch. More accurately it was a
big, well-grown specimen of a Bandersnatch. A tough and frumious
Bandersnatch.
- I'll make you into a nice hat, Chester! - Mab yelled out while pointing
me with her finger to instruct the Bandersnatch who he is to attack
first. - If there's enough fur left from you after this, I mean!
- But Alice Liddell didn't move an inch, petrified. I couldn't blame her.
The Bandersnatch scratched the lawn with his claws, as if trying to dig
up a subway station, or a tunnel under Mont Blanc. The dark-red fur stood
up on his back, which made him seem about twice the previous size, even
though he was sufficiently big to begin with. Muscles under his skin
played the Ninth Symphony, his eyes lit up with fire. He opened his jaw
in a way that flattered me greatly, and then he jumped at me.
I fought valiantly, I gave it all I had. But he was bigger, and bastardly
strong. By the time I managed to push him off me he'd already given me a
beating. I was barely standing.
Blood flew into my eyes and dried up on my sides, and the sharp end of
one of the broken ribs was determined to find something in my right lung.
Alice was yelling so loudly that my ears were ringing. And the
Bandersnatch just swept the grass with his balls, shook what remained of
his ears, and looked at me from under his mauled eyelids. His mouth
opened again, but then he suddenly closed it. Instead of jumping at me
again to finish me off he just stood there like an ass.
I looked behind me on reflex, and I'm telling you, last time I saw
something like this was in Griffith's Birth of a Nation. For there, out
from the forest Calvary was charging. But that wasn't US Calvary, or the
Ku-Klux-Klan. It was my acquaintance, the so-called Charles Lutwidge
Dodgson. He looked like Saint George straight off Carpaccio's painting,
and armed with a vorpal sword, shining in the light with brilliance.
You wouldn't believe it, but the Bandersnatch ran away first with tail
tucked between its legs. Les Coeurs saved themselves with retreat as
well, at least those who could still walk. And the last to leave the
battlefield was Mab, walking away hastily. But I saw all that like
through an aquarium filled with borscht. And a moment later...
I'm a cat. I always land on all fours. Even if I can't remember any of
it.
- Ah. - Charles Lutwidge Dodgson said suddenly, resting his elbow on the
wicker basket with sandwiches. - Do you know, cat of Cheshire, that sweet
feeling of sleepiness, which comes to you after awakening in a summer
morning, when the air rings with bird songs, a nice breeze comes through
the open window, and you, settled on the bed with your eyes half-closed,
watch the slowly moving green branches, and the surface of the water
rippled with golden waves like still in a dream? Ah, trust me cat, that
pleasing feeling borders deep sorrow, the amazing feeling which fills
your eyes with tears like an amazing painting or a magnificent poem...
You wouldn't believe it, he didn't stutter once.
The picnic went on as it was. Alice Liddel and her sisters were playing
noisily on the edge of River Thames, one by one going onto the boat at
the shore and jumping back off. Every time either of them happened to
fall into the shallow water they'd scream loudly and lift their skirts up
high. At those times Charles Lutwidge Dodgson sitting next to me would
pay more attention to them and blush slightly.
- Pardon?
- “Greensleeves” Nevermind that. You know what, dear Charles? You should
describe all of that. The story as it seems slowly grew and developed
into where we are now. It's time for you to write it down. Especially
since the beginning is already done.
He was silent. His gaze did not come off the happily yelling Alice
Liddell, lifting her skirt up so that her underwear was showing.
- I'd suggest prose. - I couldn't hold the sarcasm. - Poetry won't sell.
- Today, my dear Charles, I cannot deny you anything. Too big is my debt
to you.
- Let's not talk about that. - He said embarrassed and looked away. -
Anyone in my position... I couldn't let her... and you... get killed by
my own fantasy.
- And thank you for that. And while we're at it: where in the world did
you manage to get that shiny vorpal sword?
- Get what?
- You would. Your fantasy has a power that can break ribs.
- Hmm – He moved his hand as if trying to pat me, but he changed his mind
in time. - Hmm, who knows, maybe she... would like such a book? Besides,
the University doesn't pay much, it would be good to get some extra
money. Obviously, I'd have to publish it under a pseudonym. My job as a
teacher...
- You need a good nom de plume, Charles. - I yawned. - Not just because
of your job, your family name is no good for a cover. It sounds as if
someone dying of Pneumothorax was trying to spell his last will.
- Emily Brontë.
This time he fell silent, and remained so for a while. The Liddell ladies
found a duck mussel on the shore, the yells of joy were endless.
- Trying to.
- I'm lying on your sleeve. What will you do when you will want to get
up?
He smiled.
- I'll cut it off.
We remained silent a longer while, watching the river and the ducks
swimming in it.
- You mean the new game, invented by Luis Jasquess Monde Daguerre?
He blushed.
- I'm a cat.
I didn't reply.
* * *
The sign saying “BEWARE OF THE JABBERWOCK” had been broken off and left
in the bushes. Probably done by Jabberwock himself, because he tended to
do such things. He liked to surprise others, and a warning sign just
spoiled all the surprise.
My bough was right where I left it. I got on it and let my tail down in
an artistic fashion. I lied down, previously checking if Radetzky was
nowhere around.
The sun was warming me up. Borogoves happily wandered among the tumtums.
And the mome raths outgrabe. The slithy toves were doing something on a
tree nearby, but I didn't know what. It was too far away.
It was a golden aftrenoon.
„I now only remembered that I had a thread here. And since I've
translated this one a while ago and kept spreading it around lately to
allow people a contact with a foreign author, I might as well post it
here.
Ever imagined reading an old and known story from a completely different
perspective? This is it.
http://www.snafu-comics.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=7&t=36537#p3224387
i http://www.snafu-comics.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=7&t=36537&start=25