The Zoo

This bloody, unheard-of event fell upon the life of the great city without warning and lasted a single day and night — twenty-four hours, or one thousand four hundred and forty minutes — and raised an uproar not only in every corner of the metropolis but thousands of leagues beyond it. And most of the inhabitants understood that the world of today is a very fragile thing, and that in one instant it can fall into a ruin full of tragedy…

The air was dark; thick black clouds had covered the whole face of the sky.

And suddenly a strange sight appeared.

From the south-west of the great city an uncountable, clamouring host of crows came flying over at an even pace, as though drawn up in ranks. And this though the sweet season of spring had only just taken hold. Thousands upon thousands of crows were singing a song of dread. Meanwhile hundreds of the city's people, as if they were deaf or blind, went about their coming and going without a care and did not so much as lift their heads towards the sky.

One young man was the exception. His curiosity roused, he stopped to watch. And watching with keen attention, he saw that against that host — against its own kind — a single crow was beating its wings, twisting and turning, searching between its own fellows, in the middle of that powerful swell, for a way in the other direction; and, remarkably, without striking a single one of them, it was making its way forward little by little, with great difficulty. But its kin were beyond counting…

Poor crow! Why do you strain so uselessly? What you are doing is like making a picture on the face of water. It is not easy to stand up straight against a multitude, the young man thought. At the same time he saluted the daring and the steadfastness of that lone and stubborn crow.

He wanted to see how the crow's labour and its flight would end. But the wave of the host of crows would not come to an end, so that the stubborn, brave, unyielding crow might reach open sky.

His eyes grew tired.

God keep you, lone crow!

And the young man went off after his other thoughts…

He was still unmarried and was passing through his twenty-seventh spring; he had been born in, and still lived in, a metropolis that was not so very large — a city whose population is a little over five million — and beyond that he could speak and write several languages freely and well, and had gone many times on business to other countries of the world, even to the far side of the ocean; now and then he would call to mind, in broken pieces, a strange tale he had heard from his grandfather in his boyhood…

Once there was, once there was not: in a far-off time, in a prosperous land, there lived a padishah. One day his wife fell ill, and before long, by the decree of fate, she died. The king and his son were left alone. Years went by, and the Shadow of God took a wife again, and after nine months, nine days, nine hours and nine minutes his wife gave birth to a girl.

Thanks to his alertness and his eye for things, the king's son came to know his sister's secret, and the astrologers of the court and the wise men shook their heads in astonishment and regret and dread, and said:

— This child will bring great misfortunes upon our land; her step is unblessed and she herself is without mercy, for she comes of the line of the blood-drinking demons…

The stepmother flew into a rage and drove the boy from the court; the father, though his heart burned, did not dare stand in her way for fear of his young wife. In that time the daughter of the Shadow of God came of age, and the prophecy of the astrologers and the wise men and the seers proved true. The demon-born girl first swallowed down, one by one, all the animals of the household. Then her father and mother, then the rest of her kin. After some little while there was not one living creature left in that happy country. The son who had been driven from the court passed through many things; among them, in the forest, he bound a thread of friendship with two orphaned lion cubs; and in the end that girl of demon stock, who meant to eat the king's son as well, was torn raw and rent to pieces by those lions who in their day had known his kindness — yet they would not so much as put their noses to her flesh…

The lion, king of the beasts, looked at the figure carved into the stone, in which a man with powerful arms was tearing open a lion's jaws, and said: — If lions had the gift of carving, you would have seen the man under the lion's paws…

One of the rarest and most sightly finds of the metropolis was, beyond doubt, this same zoo. It stood almost in the centre, on an island of more than twenty hectares in all, and on two sides the water of the river went past it lapping, breathing heavily, flowing on without a care. From the two banks, where tall blocks of flats, broad avenues and squares full of flowers and shrubs had been built, six footbridges and two vehicle roads — by which, every other day, tonne upon tonne of food was brought in for the animals — joined the zoo to the metropolis. All round the island runs an iron railing on a thick foundation, five or six metres high, and for that reason the place came through the floods unharmed. Inside, woodland and meadow adorned the ground, and up in the branches dozens of kinds of small birds sang as though in contest, from the false dawn until the coming of dusk. Over the open ground outside, hundreds of hedgehogs and tortoises crept about in the evenings or in the early mornings. In spring and summer, and until the autumn rains began, one night a week, when all the gates of the zoo were shut to visitors, thousands of well-fed animals of every kind were let out into the woodland, so that they might feel themselves a little free of the confinement of the great cages and leap and run about at their ease. At night powerful floodlights kept the woodland lit. And a strange scene it made.

Once a director from a geographical television channel, who turned out to be a shrewd and observant man, obtained the right to film on the promise of taking ordinary footage of the zoo animals walking about in the woodland. His crew worked until the small hours, or more often simply waited. Later it came out that the sharp-witted director had been sitting in wait for the moments when the lions and tigers, the wolves and the deer and the other creatures mated. Out of this he made a popular-science documentary of great appeal, with all its intimate particulars, and through the advertising market and the sale of disc after disc — though such violent couplings are common enough in the real forest and the open plain — he came into a great deal of money. One scene in particular, in which a male lion dragged a young lioness under him with his powerful forepaws and forced her without pause for fifteen or eighteen minutes, set alight the animal instinct that lies hidden in the natures of a certain sort of weak-willed people. And people saw plainly what a surge of passion and turmoil ran through that woodland inside the zoo's grounds when the beasts of prey and the grazing animals and the creeping things caught the scent of freedom. Thousands demanded through the networks that the zoo open its gates at night as well to those who wished to come. But the management of the place did not think it permissible…

That folk tale, spun and made up as such tales are, is naturally an old memory; but just now the interest of the young man — who lived in a five-room flat on the twenty-seventh floor, and lived apart from his father and mother besides — was held by an altogether different tale, a modern one. It astonished him deeply. He could not believe his eyes and ears: how was it that people of different languages and nations, of different ages and sexes, and on top of that inhabitants of different countries and even different continents, should all at the same moment be stirred in almost the same way and think the same thoughts. At that moment it seemed altogether impossible to grasp how they — acquaintances of the young man though they were — standing thousands upon thousands of leagues apart and knowing nothing of one another, could be united around a single unfamiliar feeling? Was it chance, perhaps? No: some invisible thread had bound every one of them tightly together. Of that there was no doubt. Then again, the young man, who was standing now at his kitchen window and trying to understand, had met them in past years at various points on the planet and had come to know them; but what of them — they did not know each other at all?!

On the screen of his own computer he brought up a great many photographs. He looked into them more closely now than he had before. Eyes and eyes and eyes: the gaze of the deer and the camel, the wolf and the tiger, the monkey and the lion, the eagle and the vulture, the bear and the argali, the fox and the jackal, the peacock and the snakes… They had seemed ordinary to him. But when, a month before, he had photographed each of them — he did not himself understand with what idea in mind — it had evidently seemed to him a creative find, and a strange one. So, as was his habit, he sent them to his friends' electronic addresses. He had done the like before: he would send out this or that opinion of his about the events of the world, so that they would respond and an exchange of views would come about. A kind of social tie.

But this time the thing took on quite another colour: all his companions, the far ones and the near, were asking him to open his mail and read what they had concluded. Their voices sounded troubled, as though they meant to raise an alarm. Inwardly the young man was astonished beyond measure, and grew somewhat uneasy. What was it, which animal's gaze had stirred them — and, more to the point, why?..

"Shervon, my friend, look deeper — the eyes of the animals in your city's zoo are ter-ri-fi-ed!!!" wrote a friend his own age from New Zealand.

"Look more carefully: someone or something, some creature, has put your animals in fear" — this was the view sent by his acquaintance from the city of Izmir in Turkey.

His American acquaintance from New York, where the young man had spent some time improving his English and had lived on the seventy-fourth floor in Manhattan, put it more strangely still: "Shervon! Take note, every inhabitant of that zoo is waiting for some unhappy event, perhaps a terrible one! SOS!"

"Has someone cast them into a whirlpool of sorcery?!" his Chinese classmate demanded.

"This is the first time I have seen such eyes, a look so full of terror. Is it possible the animals have all caught some plague?" reasoned his German friend from Berlin. Shervon had been a student there for more than a year, at the University of Management and New Technologies.

"Someone, or some creature, is leading them astray! All your animals stand between water and fire… — wrote his acquaintance from Tokyo. — Take care they do not all kill themselves at once!.."

At first Shervon took it all for nonsense. A little later his mind was in a ferment and he did not feel the ground beneath his feet. Come what may, he said, and opened one of the photographs: the eyes of the bear. Perhaps this is the look people call bloodshot, or blood-steeped? the young man thought. What a coincidence?! It was the very bear that he and his grandfather had saved from dying, or from being killed, when he was a boy…

The crane, who had only just drawn the splinter of bone out of the wolf's throat with its long beak, saw the threat of the greedy wolf and thought to itself that never again should one come to the help of ungrateful creatures…

In the middle of a small meadow in a hollow, which lies a little above the woodland path along the skirts of the mountain, a great trap had been set, and a big brown she-bear was caught fast in its hard teeth. The helpless bear, whose heart was being torn to shreds by the loss of her freedom, was crying out in her agony. Her moaning raised an uproar all around. Once or twice she twisted and dragged at the chain of the trap, but what use was it — though she put out the strength of a thousand, she could not get free. Her two cubs, altogether small, ran back and forth around her and had neither the power nor the means to help their captured mother.

A while later a band of boys of ten or twelve appeared from somewhere. First they stood at the top of the hollow, whose wall the rain had washed away, and watched. Then one of them said:

— A bear's liver and gall bladder are a good cure for certain illnesses!

Another said:

— And the fat, are you forgetting that? It can be sold for good money.

A third said in bewilderment:

— The bear is alive; how are we to take her fat and her liver and her gall bladder?

— We have a knife. We shall skin her…

A moment of silence fell.

— I know! — shouted the tall boy, from whose eyes fire seemed to leap. — We shall stone her! The bear is fettered, she can find no way to escape. We shall beat her and beat her until she is dead, and then we shall skin her.

And he himself took up a stone bigger than his fist and sent it flying at the bear. His example and his daring put heart into the others of his age, and an uproar rose like the Day of Judgement.

They all followed him. Upon the she-bear's head it was as though bullets were pouring down out of the sky. Along with this the shouting and the whooping, the cries of "ooh", "nearly got her", "what a blow!", "take aim!" wound about one another and mingled and roused the eagerness and the appetite of the crowd.

The she-bear groaned under the blow of every stone, but alas, if she got clear of one stone she was struck by the next. More and more tired and spent, she ran this way and that; the chain of the trap drew taut and would not let her go far.

Hundreds of stones struck her thick-furred body and rolled away below. The meadow was turning into a field of stones. Some sharp-edged stone must have torn open the skin of her body, for blood ran.

— Hit her with sharp stones!

The pitiless crowd, clamouring, searched out sharp-edged stones and sent them flying at the she-bear like arrows.

— Hit her harder, she will go down soon, it will be easier to take aim.

If anyone with something of an eye had looked at that moment into the faces of those ill-starred, baseborn boys, he would have seen plainly that fire and blood were leaping now from their eyes.

At last the she-bear fell headlong, and still she moved her paws and shook her head. From her jaws a bloody foam welled up and ran down. The creature was losing consciousness. Fallen on her side, she no longer had the strength to escape the blows of the stones.

At that moment the grandson and his grandfather came up to the field of the disaster. The she-bear, rasping, was still breathing, barely, barely, heavily, in short, short breaths. They stood over the half-living body of the she-bear, and the grandfather did not know how to swallow down his anger.

— A pity, we came too late — he said to his grandson, and, casting his eye over the hundreds of stones great and small, most of them steeped in blood, he grasped what savagery had taken place here. — Filthy, baseborn creatures!

The cubs, whimpering, would not go away from the she-bear. It was as though they understood that the grandfather and the grandson — their backers and their protectors — had come. To all appearance the fear had gone out of their eyes, and by instinct they rubbed themselves against their mother's belly and her back. The grandson noticed that the she-bear would not take her eyes off his grandfather. And that creature of God, her mind at rest, it seemed, that her children would not be left henceforth to wander homeless, quietly and without a sound gave up her soul to the Almighty.

From above, along the narrow path, those two-legged creatures in the shape of men came down one by one. The grandfather and the grandson paid them no attention.

— We shall take the cubs to the city; there is a big zoo there, we shall sell them, they will pay good money — said that same tall boy.

— Will you not sell them to me? — asked the grandfather, his eyes fixed on the cubs.

He was a little over sixty; the hair on his head was thick and pepper-and-salt, his shoulders broad, his fists strong and his look keen.

— How much will you give? — asked the boy, growing a little excited.

— Whatever is in my pocket; if enough is left for a taxi, that will do.

He drew the money out of his pocket and laid it on the blood-steeped stones of the meadow.

— You have no rope, though?

— What would it be needed for? — the grandfather asked.

— How will you take the cubs? Driving them, or dragging them along? — the greedy boy went on prying.

— I shall put them under a spell; you will see for yourselves — said the grandfather.

— How?

— Simply. I shall say a prayer into their ears.

— And then? They will understand you?

— Of course! — the grandfather did not give ground.

— Strange…

The grandfather knelt down beside the cubs. He stroked the back of one of them with his palm. Then he put his mouth softly to its ear and for a minute or two said something in a whisper that he alone knew, and God, and that orphaned cub. After that, without hurrying, he put the second cub under a spell as well.

— Well then, we are going — said the grandfather. And he walked off in front. His grandson behind him…

What a wonder it was! The cubs put the dead she-bear out of their minds and all at once took the road behind the grandfather and the grandson.

The murderers stood dumbfounded and could not find the strength to open their mouths.

The grandfather and the grandson and the cubs were far off by now. The tall youth came to himself and, bending slowly, picked up from the stone the money that was blood-stained here and there…

The grandfather and the grandson were eating their midday meal in the open-air restaurant on the roof terrace of the twelfth floor of a forty-two-storey building. This custom, which is kept on a fixed day every week, had long been established between them.

— The mobile telephone, by which we see each other's faces and hold a conversation at whatever moment the heart draws us to it, is a good thing. But to meet, to sit face to face, to look into each other's eyes and talk — that is another matter altogether — said the grandfather. — And thank you for finding the time for me.

— I miss you too; sometimes my heart misses a beat — the grandson added, agreeing with what his grandfather had said.

— Look at this river: with dignity and forbearance, taking the island in its arms, its water runs on without stopping. So it is with life; the span of a man passes quickly…

— My father and mother telephoned. They said to send their greetings to your grandfather.

— May they keep well. How are they? Are they meaning to come our way or not?

— Their affairs are going well. The time of their leave has come round. They found the time and the opportunity, and they have set off with my little sister to see the cities of Prague and Paris, Rome and Vienna.

— To go about the world is a fine thing, and much to be wished for. And how is your little sister? It is a long while since I heard her voice.

— You know how it is yourself. To study at a European university is no easy business. Every hour of her life is counted. All the same, I shall ask her to find the time and telephone you now and then.

— Blessings on you, my dear boy! Do not trouble yourself; only tell her that she must on no account forget her mother tongue…

— No, she will not forget it.

— Are you quite sure?

— Yes. I have told my little sister that historic story.

— Which historic story? — asked the grandfather, his interest roused.

— You remember, you kept insisting that alongside knowing English and Russian and German or French I was not to let my mother tongue out of my sight…

— Yes, and you showed yourself stubborn. "When I know the languages of the world well and speak them freely, what need have I of my mother tongue?" — that is what you used to say.

— True. Then, about ten years ago, when I was a student in my second year, foreigners came looking for an interpreter and held a competition. For every hour of guiding and interpreting they promised a good sum. I put my name down.

— Yes, it comes back to me now. You had your doubts: the English of the others of your age was of a high standard, and your winning seemed unlikely…

— And then it turned out that those young men did not know our mother tongue at all, and so they chose me, because I spoke the mother tongue a little better.

— And afterwards you were persuaded that life is itself a teacher and a great school, and that it can bring changes into a man's thinking and his convictions. And that competition was a good lesson for you.

— In short, set your heart at rest: my little sister will never forget the language of her grandfather and her grandmother and of her forefathers.

— So be it; I hope so too…

— My dear grandmother — may the Lord have received her into His presence, and may her place be paradise — whenever she gave her blessing would say, "My children, wherever you may be, whatever your lot, only be safe and well, and may the Provider keep you in His shelter." Perhaps it is God's will that we have all grown used to living far, far from one another. Though long live Skype!

— My dear grandmother!.. How sweetly it sounds from your tongue. On the morning you came into the world, all night long the prayer and the wish that your mother's eye might be brightened in safety and health was on her lips without ceasing. In her joy she could find no place to sit, saying over and over, "A new guest — may his life be long." Early in the morning she cooked chicken broth and went to visit your mother…

— Yes, my mother used to tell of it sometimes.

— A pity that your dear grandmother left this world so early. She was a woman of paradise…

— Do you call her to mind, grandfather?

— Your dear grandmother?

— Yes.

— No.

— Why?

— Because your dear grandmother, her clear face, her gentle smile, her winning words, are always breathing at my side. There is no need to call her to mind…

— Strange…

— By the way, you hinted over the telephone that there was something you wanted to ask my advice about?..

Shervon, caught up in some thought, took out his laptop and switched it on, opened the photographs of the eyes of the lion and the tiger and the bear, the monkey and the wolf and the fox and other creatures of that kind, and gestured to his grandfather:

— Come, look over these gazes of the animals carefully. Perhaps some thought or supposition will come into your head too, grandfather.

The grandfather examined each photograph in turn, closely. To all appearance he could come to no conclusion at all.

— It is hard to say offhand what these looks express. What is it that has astonished you? — he asked Shervon, at a loss.

— Not me! — answered the grandson. — Some while ago, out of interest, I took these photographs and put them on my blog. A number of my friends, who live in different countries of the world, without any word of one another, assert that the eyes of every one of these creatures are terrified. Someone or something, some man or some jinn, has thrown them into a panic. And most of them mean to warn me that they may raise up some calamity… And so I too, to tell the truth, fell to wondering what secret, what riddle lies hidden here.

— I do not know what to say. Can animals that live in the strong cages of a zoo raise up some disaster of their own accord? Is a joke on the part of your foreign friends out of the question?

— No, they cannot all of them be joking at once, at the same moment and to the same purpose!

The old man looked once more into the eyes of the animals. But he found no thread by which this knot might be untied.

— Well then, I shall go face to face with the animals themselves. Perhaps I shall find out something from the way they behave…

And so the grandfather and the grandson took each other in their arms and said their farewells.

Before going down, the old man cast his eye once more towards the island, to the place where the zoo stands. And what can be seen from a distance? To all appearance everything looked calm and at peace…

Because of the sorcery of man, whose harm fell upon a sheep, and the sheep was torn raw and devoured by greedy wolves, the wolves howl in seven voices to this day.

Once there was, once there was not: in a certain time — a far and unknown past, or rather our own day — in a country of the African continent there lived a tribe. Their way of living is plain and simple; they live inside huts of clay with roofs thatched with straw. That is to say, that society differed little from the primitive age, for their chief occupation was the keeping of cattle. As soon as the boys reach the age of seven, the duty of herding the cows is laid upon their shoulders. Of the existence of electricity, of books, of school, of transport, of television or the computer and the internet, not one of that tribe has any notion.

Among them there is one unshakeable tradition: every young man who reaches the age of maturity must prove the fullness of his manhood. For centuries no one has had the power to set it aside. And for that reason every boy from his early youth prepares himself to meet the demand of the tradition of his forefathers. In spirit and in body alike. More exactly: before they will give him leave and blessing to take a wife, every young man must come face to face with a lion — yes, yes, with a lion, the king of the jungle — and must come off the victor over the beast; that is, by whatever means, must kill the lion.

This deed is reckoned the token of the courage and the strength and the honour of every young man of the tribe. When he comes back with the lion he has killed carried on his back or loaded across his neck, young and old of the tribe raise cries of gladness and of pride. For the chief condition of setting up a household has been fulfilled.

Little by little the breed of the lion in that country grows fewer. The men of government, against the will of the tribe, enter the lion in the red book and declare the killing of it forbidden.

But what use is it! The tradition, the putting of the lion to death, goes on without a break. The young men of the tribe, after killing the beast, put forward their plea: "I am not to blame; while I was out walking, or gathering fruit, the lion set upon me of its own accord. And I was forced to rise up in defence of my life…"

A dead lion has no tongue with which to confirm whether the plea is true or false.

Poor lions! Some take the bride in their arms and give themselves up to pleasure and delight, and others give up their lives…

In the evening, while the sun had still not gone down, before the old man (the management and the staff of the zoo called him so among themselves, because thanks to his service in the ranks of the armed forces, and afterwards in a rapid-response brigade, in which he had seen fighting even outside the country, his body had been tempered for a lifetime, so that although out of habit he covered ten kilometres on foot every day no weariness was ever to be felt in him, and besides he ate little and spoke little and slept little) had so much as entered his office, the general director telephoned:

— Old man, greetings! Where are you?

— On the threshold of my office…

— I beg you, come and help — the chief's voice sounded troubled.

— What is the matter? Is all quiet in the world?

— Quiet and safe. Only the lions are roaring without pause and the tigers snarling… The bears are twisting and turning, and the monkeys, as though they had taken counsel together, have set up a clamour. The other creatures too seem uneasy…

— But yesterday evening they were all of them calm and at peace!

— Today they are badly out of order, and so put your other business aside at once and see how the animals are. They may raise up some calamity. I beg of you…

— I am on my way… — and with a troubled face he walked off towards the numberless rows of great iron cages, the dwelling place of the animals.

When he saw with his own eyes, there on the spot, the state and the bearing of the beasts of prey, he was struck dumb: they had in truth fallen into a frenzy. Now he understood that someone or something had put them in terror. He grasped it at once. For he had learned the nature and the habits of animals well in his hunting days, when, after taking a heavy wound in one of the military operations and going into retirement, he wandered the mountains and the forest at that pursuit. Those who knew about such matters, and those with an eye for things, held to the opinion that the old man had mastered the fine points of the language of every creature, and knew how to set up a "conversation" and how to find a "tongue" in common with the tongueless animals.

And in truth this supposition and opinion of theirs, hard as it is to believe, was not without foundation. This time too the old man cast fear and agitation out of his heart and went in among the cages, and one by one, looking straight into their eyes, he "talked" with the lions and the tigers, the monkeys and the wolves and the bears. Chance onlookers were astonished that this man should find the daring to go in among those beasts of prey in their frenzy, and wondered what on earth he was saying to them. It seemed to them altogether strange and marvellous, and they bit the finger of wonder that at some word or sign of the old man's those animals should leave off, one after another, from their crying and their clamour…

At that same moment they grew quiet, and some troubled thought bored its way into the old man's brain; as the saying goes, wolves tore at his heart and scattered his mind. All at once he remembered something…

— No — said the dragon, the beast that gave the old man two small dishes of gold every day in exchange for his cow's milk — since every time you look at me you call to mind your son, whom I tore and swallowed down, and at that same moment I bring before my own eyes my tail, which your son, meaning to kill me, cut through with his sword; therefore our friendship is at an end — and it vanished.

Years ago, in the days when he was Minister of Economy and Finance, the Prime Minister had a friend who was an inveterate hunter. It was through this same pursuit that they had grown close, and from time to time they would go after game for two days together, sometimes for three.

Once they came upon a wolf's den. A few paces away from it a she-wolf and a he-wolf and two cubs were leaping about the meadow without a care in the world.

The he-wolf, seasoned and weathered, caught the scent of horse and man and the smell of weapons and shot before the hunters had come near.

— Look — said the Minister of Economy and Finance, pointing towards the wolves — beasts of prey though they are, how free and glad and merry and fortunate they seem.

— A wolf is a wolf! — laughed his friend, and added: — The whelp of a wolf comes to be a wolf in the end…

And he took aim at the she-wolf and fired. When the wolf twisted for an instant and fell from her feet, he cried out:

— A hole clean through her forehead!

The he-wolf rose to her defence. Running forward, his eyes full of hatred, he snarled. The inveterate hunter, warming to it, loosed the next shot at the beast. This time his shot went wide. The wolf threw himself back.

— We shall not be rid of this wolf now that his anger is up — said the Minister of Economy and Finance in a pitying tone.

— Let him do as he likes! If her hour of dying had come, is that any fault of mine?!

And he set about taking aim.

The cubs, who knew nothing of the disasters of life, had found no chance to take shelter inside their den, and, trying to wake the lifeless body of the she-wolf, were putting their paws to her body and whining. But alas!..

— Come, let us not take their blood upon us!

But the warning of the Minister of Economy and Finance hung suspended in the air, and the shots, one after another, laid the two innocent cubs on the earth, drenched in blood.

The he-wolf, seeing this, snarled the harder, and going still further off, raised a howl that tore at the soul.

— Strange — said the inveterate hunter, coming to himself. — Until this moment I had never heard howling of that kind. Perhaps no creature feels its pain so deeply and so burningly as the wolf…

— I have not much experience, but it seems to me that he was crying out towards the sky, and that at the same time his howling was a kind of threat to us. Come, let us get away from here the sooner.

The inveterate hunter paid no attention to these words, but threw the body of the she-wolf and the cubs into two sacks and flung them over his saddle.

They took the road towards the village. Their horses walked with their heads hanging.

— These same wolves — said the inveterate hunter aloud, seeking to comfort himself — if they find a man alone on the plain or on the skirts of the mountains, will fall upon him with the whole pack; and, watching for their moment, they will tear open the bellies of the sheep of the flock by night…

The Minister of Economy and Finance saw all at once that the he-wolf, weaving and turning, was coming along behind them. His heart turned over.

"God grant that it end well," he thought. "Why in the world did I come out hunting with this man today? Ever since morning my left eye has been twitching."

Two hours later they came to the bank of a little river. He looked back. The he-wolf was nowhere to be seen.

— There, we have reached the village. Now we shall wash our hands and faces and eat — said the inveterate hunter, opening his mouth for the first time in all that homeward journey.

— My thanks, of course. But I must be going.

The little river, its water clear and lively, striking from stone to stone, ran in haste and in ripples towards the valley. Its song rang out all around.

— When I get home, once I have seen you off, I shall put the knife to the whetstone and skin these wolves. Their meat I shall give to my dogs. Their hides I shall salt and hang up in the shade. Their fur is worth money…

It seemed to his companion that the wolf was close at hand and howling. He fixed his eyes carefully on the road behind. The poor wolf, who in a single instant had been left alone, was nowhere to be seen…

About ten days later the newspapers printed a piece about an unheard-of event. The Minister of Economy and Finance read it and did not believe it. Since they had been acquainted for years and had shared bread and salt, he took a gift with him and went to visit the inveterate hunter. The moment he came, together with his driver, into the courtyard of that stubborn friend of his, he did not hear, as he was accustomed to hear, the barking of the two fearsome chained sheepdogs. Before he had time to be astonished, his eye fell upon his hunter friend. He was lying on his side upon a bed, drowsing.

— Salom alaykum! — said the minister, coming in to ask how he did.

The hunter did not stir from his place. Nor did he make a sound. Only with his great numbed eyes, as though he were blind, he looked at his guest without blinking. In place of an answer to the greeting he laughed.

At this point his wife came out from inside the house. She had the look of one in mourning. After a somewhat cold exchange of greetings she brought out a chair and invited her husband's friend to sit.

— His state is nothing but laughing or keeping silent. I do not know when he will come back to himself.

— What happened? — asked the minister.

The woman ran her eyes once over her husband and fell for a moment into thought.

— That night a very hard wind was blowing. The trunks of the trees bent and straightened and cracked. The boys were sleeping in their own room, my husband and I in ours, and my little daughter was with us in her cradle. Towards morning I woke. I felt about me, and I was struck dumb: the cradle was empty; I lit the lamp and searched the bedding, and I did not find the child. Raising a cry and a wailing, I woke my husband from his sleep.

At that moment the howl of a wolf reached our ears. We were both of us struck numb. We looked out through the window. The wolf was standing in the middle of the yard. To all appearance it was waiting for us to come out. My husband took up the hunting rifle and ran out. I after him… O God! What a fearful sight lay open before our eyes: the wolf had set its left paw on the belly of the swaddled infant and, showing its teeth, was snarling. At first we were both of us struck numb. Then my husband, hoping to frighten the wolf, fired a shot into the air. The wolf was not so much as startled; it did not even stir from where it stood. Our little daughter was not crying, she was not making the least sound, so that we might know whether she was dead or alive. Then all at once the wolf lifted its paw from the child's body, sat back on its hind legs and howled long and long, and at last snarled once more and, past all expectation, went out of the yard. Slowly, slowly, as though in pride, as though for show… I ran quickly to my little daughter and lifted her from the ground, and I understood that she was asleep, that she was breathing; and I sprinkled water on her face at once, in case she had taken fright…

My husband hurled the rifle with all his strength out into the sown field and cried out:

— I am the beast! The wolf is more of a man…

And he sat down upon the ground and laughed.

From that moment on he has not brought a single word to his tongue. It is as though the lesson the wolf gave him had left him dumb and speechless…

The minister rose from his seat.

— Did the sheepdogs not attack the wolf? — he asked.

— Afterwards, when we had come to ourselves and the child was safe, we noticed that the wolf had chewed through the throats of both dogs…

The woman cast a wholly despairing look towards her husband.

— God willing, he will be healed — he said.

And he went out. His head bowed.

The minister reckoned himself one of the guilty in this tragedy — the tragedy of the wolf and of the inveterate hunter…

Then the old man himself fell into a fierce whirlpool of dread. Caught between water and fire, he did not know what remedy to seek, whom to call to his help, or of whom to ask advice. He walked without ceasing this way and that inside his office, thinking. He could not understand at all what unheard-of event it was that might come to pass. Nor where the matter would lead in the end. Like a snake fallen into a burning flame he writhed and twisted within himself. He felt that some calamity or some tragedy was drawing near, and that he could find no means of standing in its way. He could not make out what might be the cause of it. Or who?..

At that moment his telephone rang.

He recognised the numbers — his grandson was calling. "Thank goodness!" the old man thought.

— Hello! Grandfather, greetings! — Shervon's voice sounded troubled to him.

— Here I am, my dear boy! — he answered, taking himself in hand, for some hope of deliverance from this closed and bolted situation had found its way into his mind.

— Are you well, and is your work going well?

— Thank you! Where are you just now?

— I? At home; I am resting.

— But it is a working day…

— Foreign organisations go about their business according to the calendar of their own countries.

— If that is so, can you come to me?

— If it is needful, why not. I shall be with you in about forty minutes.

— Very good. Thank you, my dear boy!

— It is nothing. Has something happened?

— No, not yet… The rest we shall talk of face to face…

— Well then, until we meet! — and the connection was broken.

Now the old man, eating his own blood within himself, reproached himself. For the plain reason that he had shown himself short-sighted and was drawing his grandson Shervon into this unknown current that had neither head nor end. Some calamity might yet come down upon the boy's head. The Lord is bountiful in His grace — God grant that He keep him unharmed in His shelter!..

He went outside. He saw that along the six footbridges from the two banks, which join the island to the metropolis, the coming and going of hundreds of people, and above all of boys and young people, did not break off. Of course it was not to be compared with that throng of people which pours down upon the zoo on Saturdays and Sundays. For some moments he listened towards the cages. No, he heard the voice of not one animal.

He decided that he would wait for his grandson outside the island, at the side of the road, and that afterwards they would go and sit at the water's edge, where there is a coffee house.

— In any case, the further from calamity the better — the old man whispered.

And he could not even imagine what it was that he meant by "calamity", nor, if the witness of his own heart should prove true, from where that calamity would come — whether it would rise up out of the depths of the earth or come down out of the sky…

— You did not wish to marry the princess and be padishah, you drew back from being son-in-law to the gardener, who grew rich through you, and your wit did not stretch so far as to take the precious diamond out of the fish's throat; so I shall not find in all the world a man more foolish than you! — and the lion, whose cure for the pain in his head was to eat the brain of a slow-wit, tore the farmer apart alive and was healed…

Once there was, once there was not: in a certain place in this country, a little way beyond the metropolis, there lived a bear-keeper, a man of easy living and given to hard work. That man loved this speechless creature exceedingly, since years before it had come down to him as an inheritance from his father, God rest him.

The bear too, in all that time, had grown attached to the man and never set a foot outside the line he had drawn. Let him say Sit, and it sat; let him give the gentle command Up, and it rose from its place; let him bid it Stand straight, and it stood upright upon two legs; let him say Turn about, and it wheeled round with eagerness and delight; let him bring the word Clap to his tongue, and it beat its paws together, and it danced as well; in short, they understood one another by a sign or by particular words.

Sometimes they would go out into the neighbourhood, into the squares and the avenues, and set up a programme before spectators of every age, and show their art. At the end the people would acknowledge the bear's intelligence, and out of kindness and courtesy and gratitude would bestow upon them coins and paper money. The man went away pleased, and the bear content.

The two of them were famous to such a degree that their photographs were printed again and again in the newspapers and the magazines, and some would ask them to a wedding feast or to the circumcision feast of their little sons, so that they might set their skill before the guests. By this means the man provided for his household, and he reckoned the bear a member of the family with full rights.

Once the man and his gifted bear, which had grown accustomed to the gazing nature of human beings, were showing their art at the feast for a poor man's seven-year-old child. Eyes small and great, from seven years old to seventy, seeing the bear's skill, flashed and came into eagerness and delight. The joy of the master of the gathering, that he had been able to bring together the people of his whole neighbourhood, had neither bound nor limit, and he took pride in this state of things.

At that moment another man came, a little tipsy. Before he had so much as opened his mouth, the master of the feast drew the bear's owner aside and warned him:

— Have a care: that man is a vile and evil drunkard, a gambler through and through, and his pride and self-conceit are great.

The bear-keeper let nothing show; with a motion of his head he said "It is well", and smiled. When he came back, the man, on account of their having broken off a conversation that had not yet begun, made his proposal with a certain bitterness:

— On such and such a day I too am holding a gathering. I want you to show your art.

— On such and such a day I cannot, for I shall be engaged at another feast; I gave my promise long before.

The answer did not please the drunken man.

— I shall give twice the sum for it! Agree.

— It is not possible. To spoil another man's feast, let him be poor, and to wound his heart, is a fault and a sin. He too invited us to his house in hope.

— Agree; I shall pay three times the wage of your labour, I shall lay a groaning dastarkhan for you and your bear apart, I shall give you gifts! — still he pressed on.

— No, I cannot.

— Why? Does a great deal of money not please you?

— Your nature did not please me.

— What business have you with my nature? You are a buffoon, a servant, a donkey forever saying "Here I am"! Nothing else! You are of no worth! If I wish it, at one motion of my finger they will load you and your bear up in chains and bring you to me, and the two of you will dance, dying as you dance! Do you understand?!

— Do not frighten me, and do not bluster and threaten either. Come, it is better that we ask the bear whether he agrees or not. If he says "yes", we shall find some way. And if not…

— The bear? This animal here?

— This animal is my friend, and a friend without self-interest.

— Have you eaten your own wits, that you take counsel with an animal?!

— If you do not wish it, it is as you please.

— Very well, the devil take you and your tawny bear. Ask! Come, let us see what sound comes out.

The bear-keeper saw that the people round about, the guests of that humble feast, were watching with the keenest interest the dispute and the struggle between himself and the tipsy man, and now the bear as well. He, who had fallen into situations of this kind many times in his life, was not at all put out. He knew the nature of his bear well and exactly.

— Dear friend! Do you wish to go to this man's feast and serve there?

For some moments the bear looked towards the challenger, as though examining him closely. But it stood silent.

— Answer, I beg you! Do not be ashamed, be bold!

— You are mad, by God, you are mad! — said the tipsy man.

At this the bear beat its paw upon the ground several times, then gave a short and wrathful growl, and at last with a motion of its head said, as it were, "No, I do not wish it!"

At this the people clapped. Some cried out joyfully, "Well done!" The wrath of the drunken man, who had grown altogether sober, rose up.

— A curse upon the father of a bear like you! You and your master do not know me, and you have not yet washed your clothes with my soap!..

The threat had not come to its end before the bear growled the louder. The man, thrown into confusion and reckoning himself insulted, went out of the circle grumbling… The master threw a head of sugar into the bear's mouth.

In the meanwhile some time went by. Whenever the bear-keeper chanced to call to mind that conversation with the tipsy man, he felt himself ill at ease. And more than a year passed, and the man's face and figure and his threats too were wiped away. Only he did not know that the unpleasing countenance of that noble personage, who mixed wine and gambling together and reckoned himself fortunate upon the road of life, had remained for a lifetime upon the tablet of the quick-witted bear's memory…

But contrary to all expectation that tipsy man and his two cup-companions and fellow gamblers came suddenly. He opened with a kick the gate of the bear-keeper's courtyard, whose chain hung loose. The wife of the master of the house, who was busying herself under the verandah, started up. And seeing the uninvited guests she fell into astonishment.

— Where is the bear? — asked the man, drunk even now, without greeting.

The quick-witted woman saw that blood had taken hold of the man's eyes and that his intent was unblessed; for all that, she did not lose her head:

— There, chained under the walnut tree…

The bear's master, hearing the man's voice, came out himself.

— Well then — said he. — What do you want?

His old adversary, dead drunk, suddenly drew a pistol from under his arm.

— Now you shall see! — he threatened. And he laughed aloud. — I shall shoot you through the mouth; you will find no more time to take counsel with your bear, and the two of you will not laugh at my state again. In any case I give you leave to say the kalima and to make your repentance.

He brought the barrel of the weapon up straight to the face of the bear's master.

At this the bear growled.

— Do not bring down the wrath of God! — the master of the courtyard warned him boldly.

The bear's growling sounded louder.

— An animal, and yet it smells the death of its master, eh? — he looked towards his two companions. — You saw what a voice it gives out. And you doubted, when we laid our wager, how it could be that a bear understands the speech of a man!

— We have believed what you said; come, leave it, friend, lest you raise up some misfortune upon our heads — one of his companions made to stand in his way.

— No! I made a wager with you that I would bring it down with a single shot! I do not go back on my word. Come, bear-keeper, show your art! Set the bear free of its chain! All its life long it has been fettered for the sake of your appetite; let it at least feel itself in freedom before it dies…

— Do not bring down the wrath of God, I tell you!

— Leave God quietly to one side! Come, go on ahead!

The man, having no choice, walked towards the old walnut tree. Against an armed and drunken man he did not know what remedy to seek. He took the ring of the chain from the bear's throat. The creature raised its head and fixed its eyes upon its master; to all appearance it had fallen into astonishment. Then with its right forepaw it scratched at the ground several times.

— Look at that! It is digging its own grave! — laughed the drunken man. — Stand aside! — he cried out towards the bear's master. — And watch your four-footed friend die at a single shot! It is well that we did not kill you first.

And going down upon his knees he took aim at the bear's forehead. The bear looked straight and without fear at the pistol. All at once it rose upright upon its two hind legs.

The drunken man fired. Either out of fear, or out of the intention of bringing the creature down at a single shot. And his hand must have trembled, for his shot went wide. The bear, coming into a rage, at one spring tore open the drunkard's throat with that same right forepaw. The blood spurted up. The bear-keeper and his wife, so suddenly had the tragedy come to pass, were struck dumb and found no strength to raise a cry.

The wine-worshipper and inveterate gambler, drowned in blood, lay rattling in his throat and giving up his life.

The bear's master saw that of those two companions of his there was left neither track nor trace…

Before long a police investigator and two other officers came. First they took photographs in detail. Then they searched the gambler's pocket. Two bundles of money came out.

— This is yours — said the investigator, holding one bundle of money out towards the bear's master.

— For what? — he was astonished.

— Take it, take it; the compensation for threat and violence.

— No! — was the answer he heard. — What need have I of his unlawful money? If it is of no use to you, give it to his household…

The "Emergency Aid" arrived as well.

— Take the body to the mortuary! — the investigator commanded…

The son of Adam, inside the forest, by cunning made the lion, king of the beasts, a prisoner of the cage, and the lion roared with all his might, but not one of the creatures hastened to his help…

The grandfather and the grandson, the wits of both of them scattered, greeted one another briefly and took the road towards the bank in silence. Neither of them, going as they went in the grip of gloomy imaginings, found the courage to bring a word to his tongue along the way. It was as though they feared that if they opened their mouths, that very instant all the inhabitants of the metropolis would rise up in tumult and the river, which flows at its own even pace, would change its course all at once. Or, worse than that, the sky would come down upon the earth and the Day of Judgement would rise up…

They came up to the coffee house on the bank. The old man chose a far corner where there were few people, and the grandson set his steps after his grandfather. They sat down at a table and ordered coffee. When the waiter brought the coffee, the old man paid for it in advance, so that their conversation might take its course at ease and undisturbed.

From the bank of the river the island and the zoo stood open before their eyes. The old man looked that way.

— Well, grandfather, what conclusion have you come to? — at last the cup of the grandson's patience brimmed over, and he opened the talk.

— None! — said the grandfather, and he told the tale of the conversation he had held that morning with the lions and the wolves and the tigers, the foxes and the monkeys and the leopards and the jackals and the other creatures.

And again for a moment he remained drowned in silence.

— The animals have left off their crying and their agitation, so where is the room for anxiety? — asked the grandson, and then, as though he had been asleep and had woken, he cried out, suddenly even for himself: — Grandfather! Only now has it come into my head! Do you really know and understand the language of those creatures, and are they too acquainted with your language?

The old man went on keeping silent; to all appearance he was watching for his moment, that a fit occasion might come and he might disclose his chief matter.

— Or are you telling me a fairy tale, grandfather? — the grandson must have felt his hesitation, for he probed further.

— No, my dear boy, no! Would that it were a fairy tale, and that you and I were sitting here now wholly without a care, taking our pleasure in the song of the river, casting the sense of danger far from us, and not going about in dread with the thought of what may come upon our heads tomorrow or the day after.

— Your words seem exceedingly full of riddles, grandfather! — said Shervon.

— You understand, to tell the truth, I am afraid to open my mouth.

— Why? In these parts no one hears our conversation. Let your mind be at rest.

— When our talk inside the cages had, as the saying goes, come to its ripeness, and the animals had chosen silence, I went over into the woodland of the zoo, to quiet a little the tumult of my heart and my brain and to take myself in hand. At the same time some unseen power was pushing me in that direction. I took a tree in my arms, so that my body and my soul might find a fresh spirit…

The old man, as though to confirm the truth of his tale, fixed his gaze towards the woodland of the zoo. The grandson, deep in thought, could not tear his eyes from his grandfather.

— At that moment a sound reached my ear from the branch of the tree. I saw two owls sitting side by side, and, knowing nothing of my presence, complaining of me — more exactly, laughing at my state.

— Am I asleep or awake, grandfather?

— Would that you were asleep, my dear boy! Now, hear the rest of the owls' conversation. One of the owls said: "What a dull and witless man, a simpleton and a fool, this man has turned out to be!" The other added: "If he were not a slow-wit, would he have believed the words of the beasts and let himself be deceived?" The first owl added further: "These animals, to all appearance beasts of prey and in truth terrified, did not open the secret of their hearts; they kept silent, and for that reason the ignorant man lost his way." The second owl said: "If eight or ten ogres, thick of body and tall of stature, their arms strong, their bodies shaggy from head to foot, were to come to you too every dark and pitch-black midnight and shoot fire from their eyes and raise up terror, your tongue would be struck dumb, or you would go speechless!" The first owl brought the talk to its end: "So it is: the man, knowing nothing of the ogres' invasion, went out from the cage assured in his heart. Whereas the ogres will come again this very dawn, and will open the doors of the cages and go in…" This they said, and the birds shut their lips…

Out of measureless astonishment Shervon did not blink, his eyes standing open; he found no word to bring to his lips. What owls? What ogres? Why had they been threatening the animals? And in general, where do those ogres come from? Are they phantoms, or spirits?..

— I do not know who they are, what they are, or where they are from…

— God forgive us! O God! Can you, grandfather, read or hear my thoughts as well, that is, the thoughts of people? If yes…

— No, my dear boy, how should I? Wholly by chance…

— What shall we do now?

— I do not know. I stand suspended in the middle of a crossroads.

— Perhaps we should give word to the head of the zoo…

— Hmm… He will laugh at our state. He will reckon my supposition to be nonsense.

— Let us write to the mayor of the city, or higher still, to the Prime Minister… Suppose those ogres do in truth exist and have taken up some evil intent. What then?

— Then the mayor of the city and the Prime Minister will take you and me for madmen.

— But we must take some step!

— No!

— Why, grandfather?

And the grandfather and the grandson looked towards the river. But they had no hope at all that the running water would hear the sigh of their hearts and wash away the dust from their souls.

The cockerel crowed, and the lion, gathered for the spring, fled; and the donkey, who was in the company of the king of the hens, took courage and ran after the king of the forest… a little later the lion turned back and fell upon the donkey…

Once there was, once there was not — and in all likelihood it is true — that for years within the grounds of the Great Circus there lived a dog, an ordinary sheepdog. The creature, reckoning itself master of the inside of the building and the outside of it, went about this way and that without hindrance. Kindly people brought bones and leftover scraps of meat from their houses for this quiet and harmless dog. Which is to say that its belly was always full. For that reason it would meet most of the circus workers of a morning with its tail wagging. They were glad of it, and at the same time the dog was easy in its mind.

No one remembers how the dog appeared in this place, or from where, or who brought it. For all that, small and great had grown used to the creature.

From time to time the dog would go into the circus menagerie, and from behind the bars would raise its voice in barking towards the bears and the wolves and the lions and the tigers, boldly enough to all appearance. Not one of these creatures paid the dog's clamour any attention.

Little by little it grew attached to the tiger alone. From then on it would go straight to the tiger's barred house. And they would fall to talking, for they understood one another's language.

— What a great idle lump of a creature you are! — the dog jeered one day. — Whenever I come, I find you stretched out asleep, or given over to keeping silent…

— And with what would you have me busy myself? — asked the tiger.

— How should I know? After all, you are a tiger. Draw your frame up straight, give yourself a shake.

— And after that?

The dog brought no further word to its lips. It looked at its friend in bewilderment.

— There was a time when I was truly a tiger. My terribleness, my roar, set everything round about trembling. You cannot imagine how eagerly the people clapped at my art. When I leapt, when I flew through the middle of a burning hoop, or climbed up on the great ball and set it turning round beneath me…

— And why do you not go out on the stage now? — asked the dog.

— Who would let me through, slow-wit? My former tamer does not so much as come near me. More exactly, he has forgotten me altogether.

— Do not be sad…

— Where is the room for complaint? I have grown old. Old and decrepit! Several of my own young do not ask after me either. Their whole business is the care of the stage and of leaping and springing. They are drunk on fame!

— Your belly is full and your sorrow far off, after all? Or do you sit hungry?

— No, thanks be, from time to time they throw me the meat of one dead creature or another.

— Yes, it is well if you are not left craving a single mouthful — said the dog.

— What other remedy is there… I wait.

— This is a circus, friend. Tiger though you be, stand and wait.

— Wait for what?

— Wait for death!

— Death?

— Yes, friend. The moment you have died your unclean death, they will pack your hide with straw and set your effigy up in the museum. Your meat they will give to the other animals. Such is the world of the circus. Do not you be sad…

There was a time when within the bounds of the metropolis there existed hundreds of libraries and splendid bookshops. Slowly, slowly the people turned their faces away from this rare social find, calling it "useless leavings"; their surroundings compelled them to it, and a certain number, having no choice, read the "electronic book". Others handed over thousands of copies of their own wealth as so much waste paper and took coppers for it. And they were pleased to be rid of the surplus burden of their houses.

The good fortune, or the ill fortune, of this sort of people consisted in this, that they suddenly discovered: even without reading a book it was possible to become the owner of grand motorcars, of bundle upon bundle of money got without pain, of many-storeyed palaces full of pomp, and of high office. Here is where the pleasure and the sweetness of life lay hidden, and we, simple souls, went about knowing nothing of it! And they reckoned themselves the pillar of the world…

In the place of the libraries modern supermarkets and hypermarkets raised up their stature. Of the book a memory remained, and that was all!

A teacher of a hundred and twenty-five years did not go after the demands and the fashion of the age. He bought up ancient books and manuscripts and kept them safe. In the course of time his airy library in a far-off province turned into a place worth seeing, into what might be called a museum of the book. To the boys and the young people who now and then showed some interest, and who came in the main to kill time, he told his tales with the fullest eagerness and delight. Whenever he took this or that rare book into his hand, his hand trembled from excitement.

Those chance visitors laughed at the wretched state of the old teacher and went out of his museum. The owner of the books would quiet his heart, saying, "In any case a few came, and learned that the book exists; that in itself is a great matter", and would go across to his dwelling, which stood next to the museum of the book.

The old teacher had a donkey. Its colour was ash-grey. The creature, whose labour is lawful and whose own flesh is unlawful, lived all its life out of doors. It feared neither the sun nor the snow and the rain.

It happened that a pack of hungry wolves fell upon the teacher's neighbourhood and tore and ate the people's donkeys and cows and sheep. And the people were thrown into a panic. They applied to the police. The police said that they had to do with people, not with animals.

For that reason the teacher, having no byre, was obliged to bring his donkey inside at night, into the middle of the museum of the book, and tie it up there, lest it become the prey of the wolves.

One day among days a party of foreign guests was brought to see the museum of the book. Since it had been forgotten to give the old man warning, or they had not thought it needful, the door of the museum was under lock. And the old teacher, who from time to time was troubled by the sickness of forgetfulness, put the presence of the donkey inside out of his mind and lets the guests and the hosts go in ahead of him. The foreigners, who were seeing a donkey for the first time with their own eyes, paid it no attention. But the chief of the hosts gave the donkey such a juicy insult that everyone heard it.

The donkey laughed aloud.

— Get this witless long-ears out of here!

The donkey came all at once to speech:

— I can neither read a book nor do I eat paper. What then is my sin, that you should reproach me?

The hosts were struck numb.

The old teacher came near to losing his senses. For he had been the owner of the donkey for years and had had no notion that the long-ears spoke in the tongue of men.

The foreigners, who had plainly heard the donkey's question, fell into a measureless astonishment, and each of them had his photograph taken together with the donkey.

— You see the honour they do me! — the donkey cried out proudly. — And still you call me a witless long-ears…

In the metropolis of the young man, whose stature was tall, whose face was somewhat round, whose eyes were black, whose gaze was clear and always serious, whose frame was full and his muscles well exercised, life at night, unlike the great cities of the world, went on in perfect quiet, and after the hour of eleven all the shops and the great trading centres and the splendid restaurants were shut, and the countless five-star, many-storeyed, sky-brushing hotels closed their glass and transparent doors from within, and the watchmen stood until dawn expecting the rare arrival of foreign guests, and in the streets the coming and going of people broke off, and now and then this or that motorcar moved one way or the other at great speed, since the roads and the highways and the avenues stayed empty, and the night lights of the tall buildings, if you looked from far off or from above, you would see, winked without ceasing, as though giving notice that the city was alive and breathed at an even rate, only that it had gone to sleep.

On that night at the end of the season of spring, when the fruit-bearing trees of the woodland and of the orchards on the far edge of the city had let their blossom fall and set their green fruit, a heaving mass of black cloud pressed down all at once upon the clear and unclouded and star-filled sky, and the city, its squares and streets and the windows of its buildings ablaze with light, went dark…

Upon the main highway, which began at that edge of the metropolis and passed through the middle of the city and at the last over a bridge two kilometres in length, there had suddenly appeared a sight most rare and unheard-of, or fabulous and casting terror. Thousands upon thousands of snakes, small and great, thick and thin, colour upon colour, venomous and without venom, long and short, like a single family whose generations are past counting and given over to obedience, set to crawling in haste, in one strong and steadfast order, towards the east and the south.

The King of the Snakes, with majesty and splendour and thought, raised his stature a little. The Snake-Queen too, falling into agitation, drew herself up at her husband's side.

— I feel the pulse and the rebellious surge of all the creatures of the zoo; do you hear it? — said the King of the Snakes, not staying his motion.

— Yes! — the Snake-Queen confirmed.

— Their blood is coming to the boil; some jinn or some man is raising up dread in their hearts and their eyes, and sedition among them — the King of the Snakes set forth his thought in the language of snakes.

— All the animals are shut fast inside iron cages… what then brings them into this agitation? — the Snake-Queen spoke her doubt.

— For all that, you feel it: the air of the river, the wave of its water, is taking on another tone. Perhaps the water of the river too feels the danger and the tragedy that is about to fall? — asked the King of the Snakes.

— Perhaps we might find some means and give word to the people? — said the Snake-Queen.

— No; just now they are all asleep and without a care, and afterwards it will have no meaning.

— Why? — the Snake-Queen was astonished.

— What a simpleton you are! Because they do not understand our language. Once the city has woken, once the people have come to themselves, they will surely feel it of themselves. They are not deaf or blind from head to foot… Let us crawl the faster! — the King of the Snakes commanded all the people of his kindred.

When the throng of snakes reached the top of the metropolis's famous bridge, another strange and mysterious thing came to pass — every one of them, those in front and those behind, threw itself down into the river… The whole of it had the likeness of a mirage and a dream.

The next day an uproar rose from one end of the metropolis to the other, and dread took hold of the people, although perhaps one or two million did not believe in that night march of the snakes and reckoned it an idle rumour. But in several streets motorcars were found that seemed to have been struck numb, and beneath their wheels several snakes of different kinds lay crushed flat. The most astonishing thing of all was this, that every driver and every passenger inside those vehicles had lost his life, and their eyes had remained open. In the evening it was given out that those people had died from a fear and a dread that cast down terror…

They accepted the monkey as sultan of the beasts, and the sense of envy rose up in the fox, and on the pretext of a hidden treasure he led the monkey to a snare and dropped him into the snare. The monkey reproached him bitterly. The fox said:

— O monkey, you who cannot tell a treasure from a snare, how then can you be sultan of the beasts?

That same evening the old man went carefully over the grounds of the zoo until late, and to his mind he found, or took note of, no ground and no proof at all that might be a cause for anxiety. For that reason he did not find the courage in himself, nor did he think it needful, to trouble the general director for nothing. In truth, who believes in a man's own suppositions and in the likelihood of some calamity breaking out, if we may reckon it permissible to speak so? The old man's vain and idle imaginings they would take for nothing more than drivel. In any case he gave the order that this night and tomorrow as well the animals were not to be let out into the wooded grounds. They asked: "Why?" He said: "I do not know." He came near to saying, "My heart bears me such witness." It was well that he did not raise the dust before the herd, for otherwise a rumour and an outcry would have come into being among his fellow workers that the old man had gone out of his mind… In the end, saying "Come what may!" and at the same time "God forgive me!", he went home a prisoner of thoughts that had no bottom.

If he had come out a little earlier, he would certainly have met his grandson by the main entrance on the right bank of the zoo. Shervon had no intention of seeing his grandfather; on the contrary he took pains that as few people as possible, and above all as few of the zoo's workers, should see him coming into the grounds. The viewing hour was drawing to its end as well, and now and then people passed hurriedly by the cages of the animals. Shervon lost himself unnoticed among the spectators, and a little later took cover towards the yard that was thick with boughs and trees. Knowing nothing of the fact that this evening the animals would not be let out, he wished to climb one of the leafy, well-branched trees he had marked out some days before, and to wait in the fork of it, which was convenient for sitting or for leaning back. Although at that time he had not the least notion, nor could he foresee, whom or what he would be waiting for. And that until dawn. He could make nothing of it, but it was to be felt that some power was pushing him to lay his hand to this undertaking. So strong was his resolve that he put into his modern rucksack water and bread and sausage and garlic, apples and tomatoes and cucumbers, so that in the long night, if he should stand watching to no purpose, the torment of hunger should not come upon him…

In the meanwhile darkness took hold of everything round about; now no one was to be seen, and only here and there the lamps of the walkways, and by the guardhouse at the entrances, burned dimly. Just so, for show…

In this way the night passed its middle. Everywhere was still and quiet; only from time to time the cry or the roar of this or that creature disturbed the air. For all that, drowsiness kept taking the old man's grandson. He looked at the sky. It was wholly clear and unclouded, and the stars too seemed to be keeping silence. "They too, like me, are by the look of it uneasy, and are afraid even to twinkle, or find no chance to," Shervon thought.

At that moment the water at the river's edge slapped, although on that night no wind was blowing. For that reason he paid it no attention. But the water of the river came a second time to a stronger seething. And, O God, Shervon saw with difficulty in the half-darkness that some creatures were coming up out of the water. He blinked once or twice, he pinched his elbow — no, it was not a dream, he was awake. The creatures, plainly visible now, came out of the water and hurried headlong towards the entrance of the zoo. Shervon set about filming with his tablet, which he had in any case put ready beforehand. Those creatures, which had the likeness of exceedingly tall, coal-black men, opened at a single wrench the doors of the guardhouses at all three entrances of the zoo, and one of them, taking a sleeping watchman up in one hand as though he were picking up a cat smeared with stew, hurled him mercilessly out into the air. Another creature raised a watchman freely in both hands, as though he were a dry stick, and beat his back across the knee it had straightened out. Not one of the three watchmen found so much as the chance to cry out.

Shervon, although terror had found its way into his heart, took himself in hand and climbed to a higher branch of the tree. And he cast a look towards the entrance on the left bank. On that side too creatures of the same kind are astir. Not for a moment did he leave off filming.

And so those ogres, of whose existence the owls had given his grandfather word, and of whose existence there now remained no doubt in Shervon's heart either, ran towards the cages of the animals. The false dawn had come on, and the stars of the sky were vanishing from sight one by one. The old man's grandson saw that from all four sides the ogres were opening the doors of the cages easily, at a single pull, and going in to the animals…

In the countless streets and avenues of the metropolis, life woke every day at five in the morning, and moment by moment its current rose to its height. The ogres perhaps knew nothing of this particularity, but with the breaking of dawn the sound of the roaring and the growling of tens, of hundreds of the zoo's animals rose up all at once in a tumult, and they poured down into the streets and the avenues and the squares of the great city, which was drowsy still.

Dread pressed down upon Shervon, who stood upright and numb at the top of the tree with the tablet in his hand and had been left utterly dumbfounded by what he had seen. In spite of the unheard-of event which had come to pass before his eyes, and of which he was witness with the eyes in his head, he did not lose his reason or his power of understanding, and he called his grandfather:

— Grandfather, I know that you wake early; your supposition and mine has proved true, the ogres have driven all the animals of the zoo out to the four quarters of the metropolis.

— From whom did you get word of it?! And where are you now? — past all expectation he heard the old man's cold-blooded voice.

— I? Up a tree in the garden and grounds of the zoo. I mean to throw the footage I have taken onto the internet.

— No, do not be in haste yet. Wait for me. Do you understand? I shall be there quickly. We shall see about the rest of it…

The Prime Minister, who over several years had studied in good time the many consequences of fires and floods and earthquakes and gas explosions and the accidents of motorcars and trains and aeroplanes and the like, in the course of studying the experience of other metropolises, upon hearing that the animals had taken possession of the city remained for some moments astonished and struck numb. Such an event was in truth unheard-of.

His aide gave him half a glass of spring water. He drank it and came to himself. He gave the order that the emergency headquarters be declared active and its members summoned.

— At once! — he cried out, and pressed the point. — Today is Saturday, a day of rest, therefore find them though it be from under the earth. Let them present themselves quickly!

The aide went out of the office at a run.

The secretary gave word by the internal line that the mayor of the metropolis wished to speak with Mr Prime Minister.

— Mr Prime Minister! A very bad state of affairs, a tragic one even, has come about.

— Your proposal, mayor?

— This very moment, if you permit me, let me declare a state of emergency within the bounds of the metropolis…

— Let the police furnish every kindergarten and school and college, every gymnasium and hospital, with armed guards. Better still if the inhabitants keep their children at home. Rouse up all the relevant structures. Let them report to you and to me every half hour. Go round the city yourself, its chief centres, and make yourself acquainted with it, that is, see it with your own eyes, so that we may understand what the matter is and how things stand. Then, straight to me! The emergency headquarters is active!.. May success be your friend! And take care of yourself!

— Thank you, Mr Prime Minister! — and with that the conversation was broken off.

At that moment, without permission, the aide came in with a powerful military field glass in his hand.

The Prime Minister looked into his face as if to say, what is it?

— I have conveyed your instruction to all the ministers. I pressed upon them that they should first take measures according to circumstances and afterwards present themselves at the emergency headquarters. From the roof of our building — the fifteenth floor — most of the avenues and squares of the city show as though upon the palm of the hand. I thought that in any case you might look for yourself at the quarters of the city. A general impression might, perhaps, be got.

Lions, kings of the forests, according to the traditions have fled from the hand of man into the realm of the desert, empty and with a heat past all enduring!..

About an hour later the Prime Minister came into the hall of the emergency headquarters. The people of the hall rose from their places.

— Sit down! Let your telephones stay live! Whatever news comes in, give me word of it at once! — he commanded, and turned to his press secretary: — What do you say?

— Mr Prime Minister! All our channels, and several of the world's media, have put out reports and footage. Which is to say that the whole world knows. But as to the cause of the event's breaking out there is no definite analysis at all.

— The Minister of Internal Affairs! — said the Prime Minister shortly.

— The event came to pass suddenly. No one was expecting it. Under the requirements of the state of emergency, hundreds of police officers have placed all the administrative and state buildings, the twenty television channels, all the great bridges, the ministries and the universities and the schools and the kindergartens under guard and supervision.

— Do you suppose the animals mean to make a revolution? — asked the Prime Minister with a sneer.

— No, I am acting according to the regulations… The helicopters are studying the state of the metropolis and filming it at the same time.

— The mayor of the city!

— Mr Prime Minister! The situation is in truth exceedingly strained. When the animals came out into the squares and the avenues, it was the very hour when people go to their work. It is natural that, seeing beasts of prey before them, people who were without a care and knew nothing of the event raised an uproar and flung themselves in all four directions in search of shelter.

— Has any beast of prey, tell me, fallen upon people or not? — the Prime Minister asked.

— Yes — answered the Minister of Internal Affairs. — I received word of it this very moment. When a pair of lions came out onto a highway along which the traffic of cars runs fast, the drivers were thrown into confusion and tens of cars fell into collisions. Several people, unhappily, have died, and some have taken wounds. Taking the state of things into account, a policeman shoots the lion with his pistol. The lioness for her part fell upon him and chewed through his neck… And she fled…

— Who gave the order to shoot the animals?

— No one! To all appearance out of fear, and with the intention of bringing the situation back into order.

— Warn every last policeman once again, lest any of them shoot at his own pleasure whatever animal comes in his way.

— Has the general director of the zoo been summoned?

— No — said the assistant. — He is not a member of the headquarters. This is our fault; forgive us, we shall put it right at once.

— There is no need — answered the Minister of Internal Affairs. — We arrested him at his house this morning.

— For what fault of his? — asked the Prime Minister.

— He has word of his own dying, but of the rebellion or the flight of the zoo's animals — none! They thought he would run. They detained him against any eventuality. I have given the order; they will bring him presently.

— I beg your pardon, Mr Prime Minister! — the Minister of Health rose from his place. — The "Emergency Aid" vehicles have brought to the hospitals nearly a hundred people who, in the struggle for their lives, had fallen and been injured in rising again.

The Prime Minister said nothing. Downcast in heart, he wished to digest the several pieces of information he had heard up to this moment and to understand the true state of things. To grasp and to picture how a great, quiet and untroubled city had in the space of one moment been turned into a place of terror — the seeing of it aside, at the mere hearing of it a man's body raises gooseflesh and shudders — seemed a hard thing. From what those in charge said, it was to be supposed that a demon-whirlwind had taken hold of the metropolis from end to end, and, according to reports from other sources, some people of weak will, or ailing in body, had fallen dead where they stood as though struck by lightning.

— Mr Prime Minister! — the mayor of the city rose from his place. — A crowd of monkeys, small and great, has fallen upon the northern market and scattered the buyers and the sellers. The owner of the banana-sellers' row put a knife into a monkey's belly, and the creature lies wounded and covered in blood. The other monkeys have taken that man under their feet, and…

— Why have you fallen silent? — asked the Prime Minister, growing impatient.

— It is not known whether he is alive or dead. Not one of the people who took shelter inside the shops has the courage to go near. They say that the monkeys are leaping and springing and rejoicing over the poor man's body and about it, as though they were dancing. And then, all of them coming into a rage, our ancient forefathers have scattered upon the ground all the goods of the market, which have been left without an owner…

— This is no zoo, but a court that breeds calamity! Is it possible that animals too should raise a rebellion? All the evildoers who set the beasts of prey free and let them loose into the streets must be seized — said someone.

— First they must be found — another threw in.

No one paid these voices any attention.

His own snow-white telephone gave voice. The Prime Minister ran his eye for a moment over its lit screen. Only ten or fifteen people in all have the right to call this telephone of his, and that only in cases of emergency. But the owner of the number at the other end was a stranger — for that reason he did not answer. Besides this, his aide gave word that they had brought the general director of the zoo.

— Call him in! — he commanded, still with his temper burnt.

The director was a tall and serious man, who had the look of one in fear. He brought out a greeting with difficulty and stood waiting with his head bowed.

At that moment the press secretary rose from his place and asked leave to turn on the television. He never laid his hand to any undertaking for nothing. For that reason the Prime Minister made a sign of consent.

— The head of the worldwide channel has given word that his journalists have prepared a strange piece and that it goes out this very moment.

Everyone turned towards the large screen.

— Concerning the madman! — said the announcer.

— A madman was the one thing wanting to us just now! — the Prime Minister added in astonishment.

— He is no madman of the common run, but a preaching madman. Every day early in the morning, after his old habit, he comes to the great fountain in the square of misfortune, and it makes no difference, winter or summer, snow or rain, he preaches. It always seems to him that thousands of people are listening to his discourse, all ears and attention. Once his heart is quieted, he goes home again in gladness. The people who live about that square know this well.

The piece was in truth arresting.

That thin-framed man, whose trousers and jacket were old and worn through, was speaking with eagerness and delight, whispering under his breath. And… lions and wolves and bears and a leopard, a monkey or two, an ostrich, had wound themselves in a ring about the madman and, sitting quite still, were listening to his "reflections". Strange it was, that in the man's gaze not a particle of fear or dread was to be felt. It was as though the madman and those creatures had been attached to one another for years past… and the journalists interpreted this piece of theirs as the riddle of the tragedy that had come to pass…

The Prime Minister, as though he had only now found the thread of that riddle, turned to the general director of the zoo.

— Your face and your countenance call to mind a fowl fallen into water. Come, tell me, what do you suppose has happened? — asked the Prime Minister.

— I do not know… Nor can I explain it. Yesterday evening tens of the creatures raised a great crying. Inside their cages. I understood nothing at all of the cause of it. Then I gave the old man the order to go and find out how things stood. A little later all the animals grew quiet.

— What old man?

— A worker of the zoo.

— What is he, a tamer, that at a single sign from him all the animals that had raised the clamour grew quiet? — asked the Prime Minister.

— It is hard to say anything exactly… But…

— Forgive me, Mr Prime Minister — the Minister of Internal Affairs rose from his place. — For fear that the wolves would fall upon them, two students threw themselves into the water from the top of the bridge over the river. Knowing nothing of the fact that great concrete slabs have been laid down beneath, and that the water of the river barely buries them. Both have met their death…

— How long shall we go on hearing news that brings grief? Will this business ever come to an end or not? Has the Day of Reckoning come upon us? We have become a thing for people to point at with the finger; the peoples of the world are laughing that we cannot take four beasts by the bridle.

— Not four, Mr Prime Minister, but a good many more — the general director of the zoo said, chewing his tongue.

— In fact, how many creatures have escaped?

— The whole zoo, save for the small young of the beasts of prey and of the grazing animals, which have been left bewildered inside the small cages, three hundred and sixty-seven head in all… Twenty-three brown bears, thirty-two monkeys, twelve pairs of lions, two elephants, seven pairs of ostriches, five pairs of mountain goats, nine tigers…

— Enough! — the Prime Minister cried out. — Knowing as much as all that, would it have killed you to keep the animals under watch?! Through the calamity of a chief like you, the metropolis has today become an open and unhindered arena, a parade ground for the strolling and the wilfulness of beasts of prey. Do you take it in at all?

The general director of the zoo stood with his head bowed and speechless from fear and shame…

— A creature whose wits have taken hold, and who has marked the stone a man keeps under his arm, can save itself even from the death-dealing blow! — said the long-tailed magpie, and she left her grown young alone and took wing and flew away…

The Prime Minister's private telephone gave voice again. That same unknown person was insisting upon his request for a conversation. "In a strait and helpless situation like this, who is it that shows such impudence?" However hard he strove to call it to mind, it did not come. The Prime Minister had turned all the numbers that commonly reached him directly into the names or the surnames of their owners. But this number was a stranger's…

— Forgive me, Mr Prime Minister! — the Minister of Internal Affairs rose from his place again in alarm. — Two or three wolves and tigers and jackals have broken into the meat combine. By the look of it they caught the smell of the blood of the slaughtered beasts.

— Does the smell of blood and meat spread out into the open air, then? Why has it reached no one's nostrils until this moment? — the Prime Minister asked. — Who will answer?

— I do not know; it may be that beasts of prey catch the smell of blood from a great distance…

— Have they done people any harm or not? — the Prime Minister asked in alarm.

— No — said the minister. — They all ran and hid themselves. The animals have fastened upon the bodies of the cows and the sheep, skinned and hanging on the wires. That is to say, they are filling their bellies. The workers of that great shop counted the moment a godsend and got outside. Strange it is, that at the sight of the meat the beasts of prey paid not a particle of attention to the people fleeing this way and that…

The round-the-clock worldwide channel put out two pieces one after the other.

…Seven or eight packs of stray dogs of every breed are running free about the streets and squares of the metropolis. Their growling and their barking stirred dread in the hearts of the occasional passers-by…

…The other showed footage to the effect that hundreds of bare horses, that is to say unsaddled ones, from the stud-breeding combine had poured down into the avenues of the city. Drunk with themselves and free, at full gallop, they had trampled tens of hectares of sown ground — the lands of the metropolis's province — and had come as far as the avenues of the city…

— The impression is formed that the metropolis has been left without a master — the commentator concluded…

Every new report bearing upon the events of the streets stirred a kind of terror in the hearts of those present, but the Prime Minister remained as cold as before. He listened attentively to the others, now and then gave an answer, put a question. But one corner of his brain, or perhaps particular cells of it, was seeking by instinct a remedy for what had happened, was searching out the way of deliverance. It was hard to come to any final conclusion. Should they give the marksmen the order to shoot the animals down one by one? How? In broad daylight, and before the eyes of the people besides? It is certain that all the journalists of the world's famous channels stand ready, watching for their moment to see what this tragedy will come to. And then, where shall we find so many marksmen? Or shall we make use of the military officers? No, that, certainly, is out of the question! If such a thing should come to pass, the peoples of the world will hold us guilty of cruelty and of incompetence. If it were condemned men escaping from prison, that would be another matter. As it is, when the talk is of speechless four-footed beasts, let them be masterless ones, to put them openly to death is cruelty. Some other remedy must be found…

— Mr Prime Minister! — the mayor of the metropolis straightened up the instant he broke off his telephone conversation. — A pair of wounded elephants are turning every car that comes their way upside down and right side up again with their trunks… O God, it is hard to imagine which idiot of a policeman opened fire at one of the elephants and brought their rage and their fury down upon us. Already, in the words of the chief of police, tens of cars, new and old, have been battered out of shape. They are asking leave to kill the animals.

— No! — the Prime Minister rose from his place. — We have no right to such a step. Up to now not one creature has of its own will done harm to any of the people!

— Perhaps — the mayor brought forward his proposal, his eyes shining, as though he had made some discovery — we might bring the creatures down with special stupefying darts and drag them as far as their cages?

— A magnificent idea! — the Prime Minister rejected it with a sneer. — At one wave of a magic wand the beasts of prey will gather into the square from the four quarters of the city and draw themselves up straight in a rank. And they will stand waiting for the moment when you take your aim at your ease and shoot the stupefying dart into their bodies!..

The mayor, abashed, said nothing and sat down in his place.

The Minister of Security, who had been talking almost without cease by his telephones and giving orders, rose from his place. Before he had yet opened his mouth:

— Some further unwelcome and unheard-of piece of news? — asked the Prime Minister.

— At one and the same time three goldsmiths' shops have been plundered together.

— The beasts of prey?!

— No, of course not, Mr Prime Minister — said the Minister of Security. — Three unidentified criminal groups.

For a moment silence took hold of the hall.

— Mr Prime Minister! — the Minister of Internal Affairs rose from his place.

— Some further unwelcome news?

— Yes. But my tongue will not turn to…

— Once the water has gone over your head…

— This time three armed monkeys came riding in a car, shot the guards of the foreign investment bank and carried off in plunder all the bank's ready money. Some millions…

— Armed monkeys?

— Yes… From the footage they have established that they were exceedingly quick and practised in the work…

— And they will have vanished from the place of the event as well?

— You have found it exactly… A criminal case has been opened. The investigation has begun. They say that they spoke in the language of monkeys, but it was plainly seen that their cheeks were stiff and did not move.

— Which is to say that some band of robbers and plunderers has struck its fist into the darkness…

— By the look of it, just so.

— When will this tragedy come to its end? Has no one any definite proposal? Do you grasp that in the eyes of the world this event puts the level of your professional standing and mine, and our fitness for the work, wholly under doubt?

— On the internet they have written this same opinion! — the press secretary raised his voice on the sudden. It appeared that, by confirming what the Prime Minister had said, he meant to make himself sweet.

— What have they written?

— They reproach us that the day is half gone and tens of incidents have broken out, but the government of Prime Minister So-and-so shows itself short of hand and powerless…

The private telephone suddenly gave voice. That same unknown number again. This time the Prime Minister let no thought find its way into his head, and answered:

— Hello! I am listening!

— Thank goodness! Greetings, Mr Prime Minister!

— Greetings! Who is speaking?

— I am that same hunter who was your guide some years ago when you were out hunting. Has it come back to you?

— Yes — he said without concern — but I am at an emergency session just now — he wished to cut the talk short.

— I have word of who it was that let the beasts of prey of the zoo loose into the city.

— Do you say so in earnest? Where are you?

— For more than an hour now I have been at the entrance of your palace. The guards will not let me in. I called several times, alas… to no result…

— Wait one moment — and the Prime Minister lifted the receiver of the direct desk telephone, gave an order to the chief of the guards and turned towards those present: — In a few minutes we shall learn who was the means of the creatures' escape! And how all the locks of the great iron cages came open of themselves in a single instant.

This news of the Prime Minister's brought them all into astonishment.

And the door opened and the old man came in.

The Prime Minister knew him now.

— There! There! — the general director of the zoo, hopeless and downcast, cried out all at once. — There is the very man I had in mind. There is talk that he knows and understands the language of the animals. Who knows, perhaps he has had a hand in the breaking out of this event…

The Prime Minister smiled. And, as a close and intimate acquaintance, he drew the old man into an embrace and asked how he did.

On the sudden the Prime Minister brought before his eyes the old man's skill and nimbleness, his alertness and his quickness of wit; he knew that in the company of this practised hunter, walking about in the mountains and the forest, there was no danger at all, even at the moment of coming face to face with a bear or a lion or a tiger.

— First tell me, my chivalrous friend, what have you yourself to do with the zoo and with all this tragedy?

— In essence nothing. I am an ordinary worker of the zoo.

— Since when?

— It is about three years now.

— Well then, what mystery is there here?

— No one would believe it. But here — the old man took a flash drive out of the inner pocket of his jacket. — By chance footage was taken.

The Prime Minister fixed his eyes for a moment on the flash drive. He wished to ask a question, but turned aside from his purpose. He looked at the press secretary. The man came to him at once, took the flash drive and connected it to the large television.

— Shall we watch? — asked the aide.

— Certainly! — the Prime Minister gave leave. — And immediately! This very moment!

Bears, who were once human beings, on account of their ingratitude and through the working of the curse of the fabulous trees — the pines — were turned into bears and became dwellers of the forest…

After watching the footage the Prime Minister, who had been standing upright, was struck dumb and sat down in his place. He had been expecting everything, but not the existence of ogres.

— Are those creatures in truth ogres, or ill-intentioned men with the faces of divs who have changed their clothing? Can any one of you explain it?

Not one of them found the courage to draw breath. The doings of the ogres appeared to lie beyond the grasp of the human mind.

— Where did the ogres appear from?

— From inside the water — said one.

— I understood that, I saw it myself, but from where — from the bottom of the river, or from the other bank? Or did they come down from the sky?

— That is not in the footage — the same man threw in.

— While no greater tragedy has come to pass, and while it is not known where the ogres have vanished to, nor what further unclean purpose they hold, come, let us think. Our metropolis has been turned into a spectacle for the world. Everyone is waiting to see how this event will end! Well, the day is half gone; what definite proposals are there?

— I have received information, Mr Prime Minister — said the Minister of Internal Affairs. — The Supreme Court has not given leave to shoot the creatures that have poured down upon the city. We applied to them this morning against any eventuality.

— Officially? — the Prime Minister wished to make it exact.

— Yes! In writing!

— Perhaps the soldiers might take them one by one with strong nets? — said the Minister of Defence.

— All the creatures are spread and scattered in the various corners and edges of the metropolis. To my mind it appears impossible. But consider it in any case. Who knows, if we should be compelled…

The Prime Minister was seeking a way.

And the old man too.

— You, foolish wolf, are caught fast in the trap! — laughed the cunning fox. — Before you die, say your prayers and ask of God forgiveness for your countless sins! — and he ate the fat from the snare and fled away, wagging his tail.

At last the old man, for here he and the general director of the zoo were present unofficially, raised his hand.

— My chivalrous friend! If you please; perhaps some workable proposal will sound from your tongue.

The old man rose from his place in thought and came forward.

— In essence, these creatures, which through the will of some sudden and unknown power are today wandering lost and bewildered about the streets and the avenues and the squares, are harmless creatures. Most of them, after all, were born inside a cage and grew to their growth there. They supposed that this is what life is. Only some few of them remember the free element of the forest and the mountain and the valley and the desert, and that is all…

— Do not spin the talk out; while you go on saying shaf-shaf the day will turn to evening — someone cut his words short, unexpectedly and out of season.

— I do not know who you may be, sage of the age, but I have never taken the scissors to the middle of anyone's speech. And it is not with you but with the Prime Minister that I am speaking.

— You have given a worthy answer, my chivalrous friend! There is no need of any objection from me. Continue what you were saying. Our ear is towards you. Forgive us!..

— My opinion is this, that those animals, though most of them are beasts of prey, bear no guilt. Someone or something — you saw it yourselves — pushed them to this step. And then, every one of these creatures has grown used to people. Because every day thousands of them, small and great, used to come to the zoo.

Now, if the aim is to bring these creatures back to their homes, there is one way. In any case it must be tried and seen; it may be that it will serve the business and give a result. You know, at the zoo we sometimes used to let the animals out into the free space of the yard around it. And it would so happen that for a long while the creatures would be stubborn and would not go into their cages. To tell the truth, we suffered for it. On the advice of a friend of mine — the old man, for whatever reason, did not wish to say the advice of my grandson Shervon — we recorded and played back the calling and the crying, or the wailing and the shrieking, of the small young of the lions and wolves, the tigers and jackals, the foxes and wild boars, the elephants and bears and leopards, in short of every creature. Can you imagine it, the thing worked — the creatures, as though they had not seen their young for weeks and were pining for them, came running desperately towards the cages…

The old man fell silent.

— Is that all? — the Prime Minister asked, with a kind of astonishment.

— Yes — he heard by way of a short confirmation.

— Those recordings, that is to say the voices of the animals' young, where are they kept? — the Prime Minister, having caught his chivalrous friend's drift, grew curious.

— Here, on this flash drive! If you wish, listen to it. It has been recorded with great artistry and to great effect.

And in truth it was so. While the clamouring voices of the young of the various animals were heard, each one of them rising up on its own, not a soul said a syllable.

— This very moment make copies of the material; let them broadcast it through the special monitors set up in the squares and the streets and the avenues of the metropolis, let it sound out. It may be the animals will see and hear and… God grant it find its way into their hearts. Minister of Internal Affairs and Minister of Defence, you are answerable! Give your assistance!

The old man felt that the Prime Minister, when the place for it came and it was needed, could speak and give orders with the utmost decision.

— The roads back to the zoo must be clear. See to it that they leave the doors of the cages open. Everyone about the carrying out of the order! If it is needed, you will be summoned. May the Lord be friend and guide! — to all appearance the Prime Minister set a full stop to the discussion.

— I have one more request — said the old man.

The Prime Minister, who now wished to give himself to other business, stopped and turned to his friend.

— Give the order, since time is short, that they bring that true and inveterate hunter here by helicopter.

— Is there a need for it?

— Yes, Mr Prime Minister. He too can, up to a point, hold converse with every beast of prey and every creeping thing. From the trumpeter, one puff! It may be it will give a result.

— Is it not dangerous to be left alone face to face with beasts of prey that have tasted the savour of freedom?

— We must make use of the smallest possibility — the old man stood firm by his proposal. — Here is the address of the place where he lives.

— Give it to the Minister of Internal Affairs. Let them send a helicopter.

— At your command! — the minister cried out.

— Thank you, my chivalrous friend! — the Prime Minister pressed the old man's hand…

When they had all gone hurriedly out, the Prime Minister was left alone. He called his aide:

— Thanks to the animals I forgot my breakfast this morning as well. Is there to be found in this court at least some tea or coffee, bread and sausage and cheese?

— Of course, Mr Prime Minister! With this urgent session it has gone three in the afternoon and we have put eating out of our minds — the aide answered.

— God grant that my chivalrous friend's experience be of help. Otherwise not even water will pass down my throat. Once we have put this business behind us, on some day of rest I shall certainly go hunting with him!.. Certainly!

— I, who have no learning to speak of, why did I try to read the secret of the golden seal upon the colt's hoof — the ignorant and foolish wolf reproached himself…

Evening was coming on.

When tens of lions and tigers, bears and wolves, monkeys and ostriches, foxes and jackals, in short all the creatures that had to all appearance taken the city under their possession, heard and saw through the countless monitors of the streets and the avenues that their young, from the fire at the zoo, were flinging themselves in the throes of death from one corner of the iron cage to the other, they first fell into astonishment, and then, as though they had grasped the outcome of the danger that had come down upon the heads of their own flesh and blood, to all appearance under a single command every one of them ran towards the island. They ran blindly; they wished to reach that burning place the sooner and to save their own dear offspring.

The people who chanced to meet them on their way, knowing nothing of the true state of things, fled in all four directions, and some watched from the side, from the balconies of their many-storeyed houses, in agitation and in fear and dread. They could make nothing at all of why these masterless animals were making their way at speed in one direction.

The whole territory of the metropolis had fallen into this same state, and to the eye it appeared a riddle.

The lamps upon the city's handsome, modern posts came alight.

People supposed that from now on it might be like this every day. The creatures could gallop where they wished and when they wished, and disturb society and throw it into a scramble.

Simple and credulous people grow used easily to this or that occurrence and put their trust in it; and if they do not put their trust in it, they remain indifferent and detached, and saying "It is committed to God!" go about their daily work and business.

The creatures of the zoo knew nothing of this; they were in grief for the safety of their young from the fire, and one thought alone tormented them — whether they could bring a particle of help towards the deliverance of their helpless flesh and blood, fallen into the maw of the fire, or not!

They ran on desperately without cease. Not one creature paid any attention to another, for they were all of them prisoners of one calamity that breeds disaster.

At the moment when, panting, one after another, they came in through the four walkways and gates into the bounds of the zoo, they could not believe their own eyes: round about it there was no sign of any flame of fire. For all that they flung themselves at the cages, and inside the small cages beside their own they saw their young unharmed, quiet and at peace; their hearts fell back into their places, and slowly, slowly their pulse came into its natural rhythm.

Only they noticed that the doors of their cages, which had stood open the whole day long, closed fast with a loud clang, as though at a sign from some creature. Although this action had no need or meaning in it at all, for they had no desire to go out again and busy themselves with wilfulness…

…The young man was taking the whole of this scene down on film; his mind was somewhat set at rest that in any case the creatures had returned to their own dwelling. But he felt some unseen danger.

At that moment his telephone trembled. On the screen his grandfather's face appeared.

— Where are you? Are you well and whole?

— Yes. I am in the square… — shame took hold of him at the lie he had brought to his tongue. — What has become of the animals' fate?

— They have all come back. The zoo is full of creatures once more…

— Well, may the end of it be good. Take care of yourself. The doors of the cages…

— You understand, the strange thing is that those same ogres shut the doors of the cages fast one by one; they made my work easy.

— Where are those ogres now? Lest they do you some harm…

— No, do not be anxious. Just as they appeared unseen, so they vanished, as though they had gone head first down into the depths of the earth.

— Strange…

— I am astonished myself. There is no one at the zoo with whom I might exchange what I have observed and how things stand…

— You go home too. Tomorrow there will surely be some word.

— Let me go round the zoo once, and then I shall think about it.

— Keep yourself far from calamity, grandfather. Please, go home, for…

— Set beside the calamity that rose up today and stirred the whole city into an outcry, when hundreds of people died through the ruin of the animals' rebellion, is it possible for it to grow worse still?..

— Who knows? The situation appears unquiet still. The city's agitation has not settled.

— Come what may, my dear boy!

— May the Lord be your keeper!..

The young man, up on the artificial watch-post he had set up in the tree in the wooded grounds of the zoo, put the military field glass to his eye and fell to watching again: every creature stood upright, as though it had gone rigid and taken the form of a statue.

He let the field glass down from his hand… And on the sudden, as though something that had escaped his notice had come back to him, he put it to his eye again.

The whole space of the zoo showed green and lit. All at once it came to his eye that some creature was crawling towards the gate. He cast a look towards the other gates: there too they were crawling, one apiece.

The young man began to film. He did not imagine what event was coming to pass. To his mind, they were those same ogres that had shown themselves to his grandfather's eye, and perhaps they would open the doors of the cages once more.

But alas, they were not ogres but men whose clothing was black and who wore masks, exceedingly nimble, with silenced weapons in their hands. Past all expectation they did not open the doors of the iron cages; they went close, and from the four sides began to shoot down one by one those creatures that had come back to their permanent dwelling for the deliverance of their young…

O God! What cold-bloodedness! He was recording how skilfully, with eagerness and relish, they fired at the heads and the necks of the animals, and how those creatures, knowing nothing of the game of man and of the world and of fate, fell from their feet and, looking with astonished eyes at the clear sky, gave up their lives, gave up their lives…

At the same time some of them, with their souls upon their lips, saw that the men were levelling the barrels of their silenced pistols at the heads of those young inside the neighbouring cages as well; and the poor little things, which had not once yet come out of the cage into freedom and did not know what freedom is, under the soul-wasting blow of the bullets fell over thud upon thud and died kicking their legs…

The young man did not leave off filming.

Some vein and sinew of his body was sending him unseen word that this was not the end of the tragedy…

But the black-clad, masked men vanished unseen from the place of the event, and a moment later two or three others of their likeness appeared from somewhere with weapons resembling automatic rifles in their hands. Were they going to shoot the bodies of the dead creatures?

From the tips of the barrels of their automatics in that dark night (for the city's electrical network had suddenly stopped working) it was not bullets at all but fire that rained down.

The body of every creature burned. Black smoke coiled up into the sky…

The young man broke off his filming.

He called his grandfather.

His grandfather's telephone did not answer.

The sound of the ringing breached the heart of the night. But the grandfather too, who lay face up to the sky in the row of the lifeless creatures of the zoo, had no means of answering.

The city had turned into a deaf and dumb and blind creature.

The riches of the zoo were going down into the maw of the fire, and it was as though no one but the young man saw the flame of it. And no one's heart burned for it.

At midnight the young man went alone deeper into the grounds of the zoo; groping and groping over every span of its ground in the darkness, he found the shot and burned body of his grandfather, wept bitterly, bitterly, and in a corner farthest from the water gave him over to the earth in his grief.

The false dawn was breaking.

He sent up a prayer for his pure soul.

Let no one know, not even my father and mother and sister; let them suppose that grandfather went off hunting and was lost without trace. Their pain will lessen the sooner.

When Man first saw the camel he took fright and fled; then he grew used to its gentle nature, and when he understood that it was an altogether harmless animal he took courage, put a halter into the creature's mouth, mounted his child upon it and set it on the road…

The next day an official report was published in all the news media, and on the internet networks as well. From it the people learned that in the night, for reasons as yet unknown, the zoo had caught fire and all the creatures had been burned. And that the relevant authorities are investigating the causes of this event's breaking out…

They gave word likewise that the heads of the zoological garden had been arrested and would answer before the law.

And that was all!

Before the eye of day had yet opened, Shervon came to his grandfather's dwelling. All the furnishing of the house had its own particular order and arrangement. In the middle of the large table, rounded at both its ends, the old man had set a family photograph in a gilded frame. In it the grandfather, the grandmother, their son, Shervon and his little sister had been caught. The grandfather, with that same grave dignity of his, was smiling a little…

And beside it a large envelope… Shervon opened it. He read the old man's testament. For the first time in his life he felt himself alone, utterly alone. He brought his grandfather's face before his eyes. Then he washed himself and went to work…

If Man were able, he would turn all the other creatures too, along with the horse and the cow, the camel and the dog, the cat and the sheep, into domestic animals, and would destroy the balance of nature from end to end…

An hour later the true record of the bloody and tragic event at the zoo — the merciless killing of the creatures and the burning of their bodies — appeared on the world's news networks. This cruelty set everyone in every corner and edge of the planet trembling. The country's Prime Minister, explaining the situation, laid the fault and the guilt upon the necks of the ogres who had come down from behind the fabulous mountain of Qaf: that is to say, they had first made common tongue with the animals and brought them all out into the streets, and had then shot them and burned them without mercy…

The years 2015–2016