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completely
forgotten Rumata's presence. He kept pacing faster and faster,
twirling the
arrow in the air like a baton. Then, abruptly, he stopped in his
tracks by
the table, threw the arrow away, sat down gingerly, his face suddenly
lit up
by a smile, and said:
"Well, what do you say to that? Neither of them even put up
a good
fight. I don't think we'd get away as easily as that with you."
"Ye-e-es ...," said Rumata slowly, thoughtfully.
"All right then. Now let's have a talk, Don Rumata. Or is it
maybe not
even Rumata? And perhaps not even a don? How about it?"
Rumata remained silent and examined him interestedly. Don
Reba was
pale, and little red veins showed on his nose. He was nearly
shaking with
excitement, as if he were about to clap his hands in glee and scream
out: "I
knew it! I knew it!"--You know nothing at all, you dog, he thought.
And even
if you should find out, you would not believe it anyhow. Go ahead,
speak,
I'm listening.
"I'm listening," said Rumata.
"You are not Don Rumata," explained Don Reba. "You are an
usurper." He
looked seriously into Rumata's eyes. "Rumata of Estoria died five
years ago
and is entombed in the family crypt of his ancestors. And the
saints have
long since quieted his rebellious and--excuse me--none too pure soul.
So? Do
you confess or do you need some prompting?"
"I confess," said Rumata. "I am called Rumata of Estoria, and I
am not
accustomed to people doubting my words."
Let me annoy you a bit, thought Rumata. Look out, here we go.
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
"I can see well have to continue this talk somewhere else,"
said Don
Reba in an ominous tone.
Remarkable changes came over Don Reba's face. The
pleasant smile
disappeared, his lips narrowed to a thin line. It was odd, almost
to the
point of eeriness: even the skin on his forehead started to
twitch. Yes,
thought Rumata, a man like that can be frightened. "You do have
hemorrhoids,
don't you?" he asked solicitously.
Something flashed in the comers of Don Reba's eyes but he did
not bat
an eyelid. He acted as if he had not heard.
"You treated Budach very badly," said Rumata. "He is an
excellent
physician. That is to say, he was . . . ," he added significantly.
For another moment, Don Reba's eyes flashed again. Aha, thought
Rumata.
Budach is presumably still alive ... He settled more comfortably
in his
chair, clasped his hands around his knees.
"You refuse to confess," said Don Reba.
"What?"
"That you are an usurper!"
"My most honorable Don Reba," said Rumata with the
intonation of a
schoolmaster. "Such accusations usually ought to be solidly
backed by
concrete proof. You insult me!"
Don Reba's face assumed an expression of utter sweetness.
"My dear Don Rumata," he said. "Forgive me if I continue to
use that
name for the time being. I am not usually in the habit of proving
anything.
The proof comes over there, in the Tower of Joy. For this purpose I
have at
my service experienced, well-paid specialists who work with the meat
grinder
of our Holy Mickey, with the weapons of the sole divine force, the
gloves of
the holy martyr Tata, or, for instance, with the seating
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
accommodation--oh,
pardon me, with the iron chair of Totz, the fighter. They can prove
anything
they please with these implements. That God exists or that He
does not
exist. That human beings walk on their hands or even on their sides.
Do you
understand me? You are perhaps unaware of it but we have an entire
science
devoted to obtaining confessions. Just think for a moment:
Why should I try to prove what I already know? And what's more,
no harm
will befall you after you have confessed . .."
"I am not threatened by any harm, but you are," interrupted
Rumata.
Don Reba pondered for a while.
"All right," he said finally. "Apparently I will have to
make a
beginning. Let's examine in what way Rumata of Estoria has
distinguished
himself during the five years of his stay in the kingdom of
Arkanar. And
then you will explain the meaning of it all. Agreed?"
"I won't make any rash promises," said Rumata. "But I am
interested in
listening to what you have to say."
Don Reba started to rummage in his writing desk, took out a
thick pile
of square papers and skimmed them with raised eyebrows.
"You are probably aware of the fact," he started with a pleasant
smile,
"that in my capacity as Minister of Internal Security I have
undertaken some
steps--for the protection of the Crown--against the so-called
bookworms,
scholars and other elements that are useless and harmful for the
State.
These actions encountered strange resistance. At the same time as the
entire
population helped me in a unanimous wave of
patriotism and
loyalty--denouncing hidden criminals, organizing trials on the spot,
giving
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Arkadi and Boris Strugatski. Hard to be a god
useful hints as to who the suspicious characters were that had
escaped my
attention--just at that time some unknown but extremely energetic
person
snatched away from right under my nose all the most important,
incorrigible
and detestable criminals and abducted them across the border. This
way many
have gotten away, as for instance the godless astrologer Bagir
Kissenski;
the criminal alchemist Synda, who, it has been definitely proven,
was in
alliance with the devil's brood as well as with the Irukanian
potentates;
the vile pamphleteer and disturber of the peace, Zuren; and several
others
of low rank. And the mad magician and mechanic Kabani has slunk away
and is
hiding in some hole somewhere. Some unknown person has distributed
enormous
sums of gold in order to prevent the people from venting their
righteous
anger on those blasphemous spies and poisoners, the former
personal
physicians of His Majesty. Someone liberated Arata, the hunchback,
under the
most fantastic circumstances which once more lead us to suspect the
unknown
to be in league with ungodly forces--Arata, a regular demon of
depravity,
who seditiously poisons the nation's soul, the instigator and
leader of
peasants' revolts ..."
Don Reba stopped, wrinkled his forehead and regarded Rumata
with a
meaningful glance. Rumata turned his eyes up to the ceiling and
smiled
dreamily. True, he had kidnapped Arata, the hunchback, yes, indeed--
with a
helicopter at that. It had made a tremendous impression on Arata's
guards.
On Arata, too, by the way. I'm quite a guy, I must admit, he
thought. That
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