Amberville - By Tim Davys Page 0,13

for grants had been reduced by a six-figure amount. Snake had made himself known as a reflective authority, cautious with the taxpayers’ money.

All, of course, in accord with The Plan.

Only extremely deserving poets, prose writers, musicians, and artists were awarded grants nowadays. The ones whom the reviewers in the daily papers scarcely dared judge. The ones who were introverted and self-referential and impossible to have in a furnished room. Snake knew their secrets. They were all drug-abusers, psychopaths, and obsessive-compulsives.

And this, all while Snake Marek’s own artistic production of easily accessible books, songs, and paintings simply grew and grew at home in his dark apartment.

It had been a long time since a young, promising novelist had the economic opportunity to grow into a great body of work. No popular poetry was being created, because the poets were forced to work as dishwashers and language teachers and were completely spent in the evenings when they came home. The authorities seemed only to encourage navel-gazing and experimentation, and soon there was nothing else.

But all this would be transformed.

Soon the city’s yearning cultural consumers would have their fill of Snake Marek’s collected works. In one stroke he would then become the leader in every art form.

It was therefore not strange that Snake Marek reacted coldly to Eric Bear’s proposal of a leave of absence; Marek had things to do.

In the afternoon after Eric Bear had met Snake at the Office of Grants, the bear went straight to his childhood home on Hillville Road. As always in the middle of the day the house on the peaceful light-flame-yellow street was empty. Father was at school, Mother was at the ministry.

In the secretaire in his parents’ joint office on the second floor, Rhinoceros Edda kept everything she needed to carry on her correspondence. Among other things, official Environmental Ministry stationery, watermarked with her own monogram. Eric Bear used this paper to write—in Rhinoceros Edda’s name—a brief message, addressed to Snake Marek.

At the Environmental Ministry, wrote Eric, a document was circulating at the present time that dealt with gambling and alcohol abuse. In one of the addenda, which discussed the problem from a historical perspective, Snake Marek was mentioned. It would be unfortunate, wrote Eric, if Snake’s past were to make his political future impossible. If Snake took an immediate leave of absence, then Rhinoceros Edda would see to it that the document in its present form would not be distributed.

Edda was doing this for the sake of her cub, wrote Eric, because she knew that Eric needed Snake’s immediate assistance.

After that, Eric signed with his mother’s signature, which he’d learned to copy in his early teens, and sent the letter by courier to the Office of Grants. It would reach Snake Marek before the end of the business day.

TEDDY BEAR, 1

In a way my twin brother Eric and I are married to the same she.

But she doesn’t know it.

It’s a complicated situation.

But love is a world unto itself.

The crooked path that led me to love: How did it happen? Emma Rabbit was an angel, I an ordinary bear. She both was and is worthy of someone better. And yet she chose me. The ways of love are unfathomable.

Love is lethal for a bear who has consecrated his life to goodness. Love is the victory of feeling over reason. Is that why my thoughts become cloudy when I think about Emma and what led up to our wedding?

Is Emma good? Could I be married to someone who isn’t good? Could I be married to someone who doesn’t strive for the same goodness as I myself do?

I’m no missionary. I’m no hypocrite, either. But I was in love with Emma even before I met her. Paradoxically enough, the fact that Eric had my job at the advertising agency Wolle & Wolle made the decision easier.

Emma Rabbit was the most beautiful bride I’d ever seen.

Around her head, where the fur was combed so it looked like the softest lamb’s wool, rested a garland of fresh dandelion leaves and pink roses. I had braided the garland for her that same morning, according to tradition. A sheer bridal veil of silk brocade fell across her slender back and drew attention to her sweet face where her nose glistened moistly and her cheeks were glowing with expectation, anxiety, and happiness. But it was her gaze that bewitched me. The solitude in her large peppercorn eyes that had enticed me to tenderness and affection was temporarily gone, replaced by conviction.

She was strong