Amberville - By Tim Davys Page 0,6
store. He pretended not to recognize me. I thought it was a frigging joke, I thought…I called him a few times, but he never answered.”
“Snake will join in,” Eric assured him.
“You guarantee?”
“I guarantee.”
“I’ll be damned,” said Tom-Tom.
The crow became absorbed in thought.
“Economically you’ll be set for the rest of your life,” Eric interjected without having any idea of how he could fulfill that promise.
“You say so?”
“I say so.”
“And if it goes to hell?” asked Tom-Tom, wise from experience.
“Then it goes to hell,” confirmed Eric.
The crow nodded as though something profound had been said, and sank into reflection. When Eric started to doubt whether Tom-Tom even recalled what he was thinking about, the crow got up from the stool. It was a slow movement, not hesitant but not aggressive either.
“What the hell,” he said. “Let’s go, then.”
“Good,” answered Eric without sounding surprised.
Tom-Tom undid the apron which everyone in the sewing notions department was forced to wear. He folded it up neatly and placed it next to the needles.
“Nadine,” he called to the nearest sow. “Nadine, you’ll have to sort the needles. I’m quitting.”
Nadine looked confused. She must have quickly found herself, however, for as Eric and Tom-Tom reached the escalators on the fifth floor their way was obstructed by a stern walrus. It was the department head. He riveted his gray eyes on the crow and asked what was going on.
“I’m quitting now,” Tom-Tom answered amiably.
“I don’t think so,” the walrus hissed authoritatively. “You can’t just leave your job like that. There is something called notice. There is something called responsibility.”
This self-importance caused both Eric and Tom-Tom to break into a smile. The memories of youthful adventures returned to them both, of days that would never come back and that the Vaseline-coated lens of time had made infinitely lovely.
“Toss him,” said Eric.
“You think so?” asked Tom-Tom.
“I think so,” Eric nodded.
Whereupon Tom-Tom took a step forward, pressed his claws down into the parquet floor to get a solid stance, and then lifted the walrus from the floor and heaved him off into the bed department, where he landed on a pile of mattresses that fell over with a leisurely crash.
“Just like before, eh?” laughed Tom-Tom, proceeding calmly to the escalators.
Eric Bear didn’t dare admit even to himself how bubblingly, inappropriately happy he felt.
“Do we have time to swing by the employee lunchroom before we take off?” asked Tom-Tom. “It would be a shame to miss out on that frigging vegetable soup.”
TWILIGHT, 1
He stood in his tower, looking out over Mollisan Town in the twilight. Deep within his small, cold eyes there burned a fire, a white fire of unshakable will. He revealed this will to no one; he understood that it would frighten any stuffed animal who saw it. And he could keep it concealed, because he never lost control. If you couldn’t control yourself, it was impossible to control others. And from his perspective, control was equivalent to power. That was how he lived his life. He seized power, and he administered it. In the shimmering orb of his eye a smile glistened fleetingly, but this smile was impossible to see. It was the smile of power, self-satisfied and terrified at the same time.
He was standing in the darkness. Down below his lookout point the two rectilinear avenues divided the city into four districts. His city, a world of objects and desire. He stood completely still, observing how the cars skidded around like fox fire on ingeniously labyrinthine streets. Every street in the city had its own characteristic color. Every important building was painted, from foundation to roof—including doors and windowsills, roof tiles, and chimneys—one of the rainbow’s many shades. From his tower, Mollisan Town was an explosion of colors during the daytime, but after darkness set in, it was the neon lights instead that gave life and personality to asphalt, brick, and cement. He loved this city.
Mollisan Town was a few kilometers from the coast. To the west was the great sea and Hillevie, the resort town for the well-to-do. Otherwise they were surrounded by deep forests to the north as well as to the south and east. And the city was growing: at its edges trees and brush were being shoved aside to establish heavy industries. With each century the stuffed animals had conquered a few kilometers of the forest in every direction. Yet the forests were endless; no one had ever succeeded in exploring or mapping them in their insurveyable immensity, despite attempts being made.
The stuffed animals were