TVERDO

Father-in-law sat down right next to him again, opened his mouth, and asked: "Haven't been having any bad thoughts, have you?"

Benedikt answered boldly: "Yep. I have."

Father-in-law was overjoyed. "Come on, come on, let's hear them!"

"What sort of book did you show me a long time ago? When I came courting?"

"How do you know it's a book?"

"I just know."

"Where from? Someone showed you one?"

"Maybe someone did."

"Who was it?"

"What sort of book was it?"

"No, who showed you?"

Benedikt thought about telling him, but thought better of it: who knows what…

"Don't ask a lot of questions, just let me read it."

"Then you tell me who showed it to you."

"We had one at our house," said Benedikt, and he wasn't even lying.

"Where is it?"

"They burned it. My old man burned it."

"Why?"

"So no one would get the Illness, knock on wood."

Father-in-law thought for a moment, his eyes blazed, and his feet scraped. "You people are so backward. A backward people…"

"Why are we backward?… We obey the Decrees. We adopt all the scientific achievements: the yoke, the sun clock. Nails."

"You're backward because you can't see past your own noses," Father-in-law explained, "and you don't understand the governmental approach to social questions."

Benedikt's spirits fell. It was true, he had a hard time with the governmental approach to things. Until the explanations came in Decrees, he didn't get the governmental, state approach, he understood things the simple way. When they'd explained it all, then, of course, he understood. But the governmental approach was never straightforward. You think this is the way things should go, but no, it's like this, not like that. No way you could guess for yourself.

"Take Illness," continued Father-in-law, "the view you hold is incorrect."

"I heard it's tradition," said Benedikt carefully.

"What tradition?"

"To treat people. That there used to be radiation from books, and they treated the ones who had books. But now two hundred years have gone by and it doesn't matter. That's the tradition. That's what I heard."

Father-in-law's eyes gave off a strong light. He scratched the floor, almost ripping out the floorboards.

"Benediiiikt! Come heeeere, let's make love!" Olenka called from the next room.

"Lie down and wait!" cried Father-in-law. "We're having a governmental conversation! About worldviews! So now, this is the way things go: Illness isn't in books, my dear boy, it's in people's heads."

"Like a cold?"

"Worse. Now, you talk about nails. All right. We didn't use to know about nails, right?"

"That's right."

"And was it better when there weren't any nails, what do you think?"

Benedikt thought a moment. "It was worse."

"That's right. So. Things used to be worse. And now they're better. You get my drift."

"I think I get your drift."

"And before that, they were even worse. And before everything-well, there was the Blast. Was that a good thing, what do you think?"

"Heavens no!"

"That's right. So, which way do we need to go? Forward, of course. When you're walking down the street, would you start stepping in place? No. You go straight on ahead. Why are our eyes on our forehead and not on our rear ends, right? Nature is giving us directions."

"That's true," Benedikt admitted.

"Only forward, no other way. So, for instance, since I'm Head Saniturion, I am going to light the way." And he gave off rays as bright as full-moon light. "Do you follow me now?"

"No," said Benedikt.

"No again. Well, what can you do… All right, then. There's a lot of backwardness in society," Father-in-law explained. "And all people are brothers. Now then, can a brother refuse help to his brother? What would he be if he did that? A bad guy, a sleazeball. Helping and fixing come first. But how do some people think? 'Oh, it's none of my beeswax.' Is that good?"

"It's kind of bad. That's not more-alls."

"Right. And how to help?"

"I don't know."

"Think about it."

"Well… I don't know… Feed someone?"

"Ha! You call that thinking! If you feed and feed and feed people, and keep on feeding them, they'll stop working. You'll be the only one sweating, all for them. How're you gonna come up with all that food? Where are you gonna get new food? Where's the food coming from if no one's working? No. Think again."

Benedikt thought about how to help his brother. True, he didn't have a brother, and thinking was uncomfortable. He imagined someone tall, lanky, and irksome: he sat on a stool and whined: "Brooother… He-e-1-l-p me… Pleeease help me, brooother…" And you don't feel like it, so you whack him on the head.

"Maybe by keeping a lookout while he's off?"

"Sure. You stand there like a pillar all day long. And he's out chasing skirts."

Benedikt got mad at this brother: What a bastard! What more did he need?

"You give up," Father-in-law said, shaking his head. "Well, all right. Let's think it through together. You ever planted turnips?"

"Yes."

"You've planted them. Good. So you know how it works: you plant the turnip and you wait. You're waiting for a turnip-but who knows what will sprout up? Maybe half turnips, half weeds. You ever weeded grass?"

"Yes."

"Good. So you know. What's left to explain? If you don't weed the turnip in time, the whole field will be covered in weeds. And the turnip won't be able to push through the weeds. Isn't that right? And there won't be anything to eat, or to guard. So there you have it!"

"True," Benedikt admitted.

"Of course it's true. Now, follow me. You read the story 'The Turnip'? Copied it?"

"The story? I read it: Grandpa planted a turnip. The turnip grew and grew and grew till it couldn't grow anymore."

"Right. Only it's not a story. It's a fable."

"What's a fable?"

"A fable is a directive rendered in a simplified form for popular consumption."

"And which direction do they cook the turnip in?" asked Benedikt in surprise.

"And you call yourself a careful reader, do you? Grandpa pulls and pulls on the turnip, but he can't pull it out. He calls Grandmother. They pull and pull and pull, but they can't pull it out. Then they call a lot of others. No go. Then they call in a mouse-and they pull the turnip out. How do we interpret this? I'll tell you how. It means we can't do without mice. Mice Are Our Mainstay."

And it was true! As soon as Father-in-law explained it that way, it was suddenly all clear, it all fit together. What a smart man.

"So, in general, and all in all," concluded Father-in-law, "this is the picture: the collective depends on the mouse, because the mouse, you see, it's the cornerstone of our happy existence. I'm explaining social science to you, don't turn your head away. This way, leaning against the cornerstone, people grab what they can and pull. If you get a turnip, fine. If there's no turnips, then horsetail, or rusht at worst."

"You're right there. It's true. Last year someone grabbed all the rusht in my pantry. I got home-the door was open, they'd pulled everything out!"

"Good. You've finally started to think. So then, how do you see your job?"

"Which one?"

"Which?! Weeding!"

Benedikt thought hard. "Weeding? Hmm… Do you have to weed? Aha! You mean catch thieves?"

"What thieves!… Figure it out! Who are the thieves?"

"Thieves? Thieves are the ones who steal."

"Well, and who steals?"

"Who steals… who steals… Well, everyone steals."

"That's the whole point," said Father-in-law with a laugh. "Everybody steals! So who are you gonna catch? Your own self? My, my, my, you're so funny."

Father-in-law opened his mouth and laughed hard. Benedikt turned his head: a really foul smell came from Father-in-law's mouth.