The Birth of People's Republic of Antartica, стр. 13

the balcony next to Molly, Israel’s great love, whose affections Israel had finally secured exclusively for himself, though they had yet to marry. Molly was a bosomy red-haired woman, irrepressible and never anything but even-tempered, though she wrote dark verses; she held me bent forward to keep kissing me on the head, mussing my mane, which was then my vanity. It occurred to me to tell her that seventeen years old made me a man. I did not, accepting her pinching in silence, eating the cake with my fingers.

“What wish?” said Israel.

“I’m not telling,” I said.

“A lass to sport with for many a season?” said Thord.

“La femme! L’amour! La vie!” cried Guy.

“Certainly not,” I said.

“Aren’t we the serious one?” said Molly.

“How about two of them?” said Earle, stepping from the side to pull two squirming animals from his coat, handing them over. I squatted up to hold them, two eight-week-old husky puppies, both bitches, part Chinook and part wolf, with large floppy ears, ferocious tails, and soft tongues that attacked the sugar on my hands.

“The blonde is Goldberg,” said Earle, “and the white is Iceberg. Their momma is a sled dog. Their daddy is missing.”

“When did you name them that?” said Israel. “Whoever heard of a husky called Goldberg? Iceberg I rather like.”

“I like them both very much, thank you all,” I said, struggling with them. They had smelled the cake; Molly caught Iceberg as she dove for it. Goldberg yelped as I grabbed her hindquarters. We gorged ourselves, and Earle fed the pups so much cake that they overdosed on sugar and passed out in my lap.

By then, Israel had talked with Guy and Thord about Peregrine and Charity. Their faces were fixed with worry. If I had been bolder, I might have joined them, asked them what we could do to make Peregrine feel loved. But I did not press them, choosing to act. I jumped up with Goldberg and Iceberg tucked in my waistcoat and announced, “I’m going to show them to Father.”

“Not now,” said Israel. He might have elaborated on his intuition had not Rinse then appeared on the landing.

“Who are these people?” he shouted. “Guard!” he called, gesturing as if we were all assassins. The simpletons, whom we had won with the cake, tried to shout Rinse down. This made him crazier.

Deft Guy, whose craft it was to think in motion, advised a general retreat. Thord ignored Guy and tried to deal, taking some large bills from Orri (as a serious art connoisseur and cautious pirate, Thord never carried cash on his person) in order to bribe Rinse, which might have worked had several castle security men not then arrived to assert themselves officiously.

In the confusion, all the hired help, dressed in black, slipped unchallenged by the security men. Israel jerked his head at me, meaning I should follow along. I raced ahead, intending to get to Peregrine in the cloakroom. What I would do then, I did not think. My conduct was rash and clumsy. It was also decisive, for Earle had taught me to follow instinct first, never to stand still and risk being overrun. Ice hockey is not wisdom, of course; at seventeen it was half of all I knew (the rest being Beowulf and Norse lore). With my puppies against my breast and a stomach full of cake and worry, I pushed back into the Great Hall, heading as directly as I could for the staircase. I got full across the room before a woman’s strong voice from the dais distracted me.

“This wonderful night would not have been possible without the unquestioning love and selfless help of my family.” Charity Bentham was at the microphone. She was ringed by radiantly proud men and women, obviously her family, and by two in such ornamentation they had to be the King and the Queen of Sweden. On the dais behind them were other opulent dignitaries. All seemed exceedingly happy (that is, Good). At that moment, as I squeezed as close to the corner of the dais as possible, looking over the thousands of wealthy, well-informed, and well-pleased citizens of the most well-fixed nations of the world, I realized how intimidating property, class, blood, and knowledge can seem to those whose lives have been without such, or who have been excluded from such by accident or cruelty. I was a very young, very underinformed twentieth-century man, and I did not begin to understand how truly powerful those in that hall were. Yet even in my ignorance I was overwhelmed. Their smell, their hum, their bright eyes and vitality seemed to push me back against the wall, into the stone, out of the castle. I felt what it is to be a full-grown man and yet be insignificant—ineligible, as Israel had said. Perhaps I felt invisible, although not in the scientific sense. I mean invisible as Israel explained it to me, as how American Negroes, or European Jews, or any number of discarded, destitute, forgotten people have felt insignificant, ineligible, invisible in history. I felt as if I did not matter, did not exist, was not ever to be cared about, loved, respected, missed, mourned. It is a frightening thought, whenever you have it, whatever it is, and the more so if the first time is at the edge of a cavern filled with such visibility. I think what protected me from being crushed by the realization of my meaninglessness was my youth. At seventeen, robust and curious, one is, or should be, full of hope. That I was a penurious bastard, without mother, country, education, legal status, prospects of any reasonable sort, did not challenge me. There was something that did, and it also confounded me. It was their—I mean the assembly’s—apparent kindness, benevolence, sweetness. Those people were among the men and women who can be said to be the masters of the earth, and of mankind. They were power and authority. Yet they stood relaxed, amiable, polite, cheery. Their smiles were lovely, and