{"id":10384,"date":"2025-12-01T16:28:14","date_gmt":"2025-12-01T16:28:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/vidgop.co.il\/?page_id=10384"},"modified":"2025-12-25T10:39:02","modified_gmt":"2025-12-25T10:39:02","slug":"war","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/vidgop.co.il\/en\/books-2\/war\/","title":{"rendered":"War"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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War<\/h3>\n

Translated by Leo Shtutin; Published in Kaidankai<\/strong>, Kitaab<\/strong>\u00a0and\u00a0Egophobia<\/strong><\/p>\nMy room is very small. I can traverse it in five steps, turn right or left, depending on what wall I\u2019m walking along, and take three further steps. My room thus resembles a Christian coffin or an antique pencil box with a fitted wooden lid. But my door is reinforced with iron, and floating fish-like in the little porthole cut into its centre is the great eye of some unknown warden. A repulsive oily colour covers the walls\u2014a colour to which the grey fur of my little friends stands in most agreeable contrast.\n\nThere are five of them, my interlocutors. The trouble is that we\u2019re all of us intelligible only to ourselves. Their shrill, scarcely audible squeaking is incomprehensible to me\u2014I cannot so much as discern modulations in it; and my speech, for them, is but a dull drone. My grey friends began putting in appearances recently, when I realized that my stay here has no time limit.\n\nIn the middle of the night I awoke on the cement floor, swaddled in my loose mackintosh, and saw a pair of little sparks ablaze in the half-dark. A pair: another: yet another: still yet another: five pairs of eyes, regarding me intently. Abrim with all manner of prejudice, I leapt to my feet in a trice and pressed myself against the wall. The rats shrank back, too, then froze stock-still.\n\nOur natural state is war. Though why this became the case is beyond anyone\u2019s ken. Recalling legends that tell of rat-devoured babies, I aimed a blow with my foot. But the creatures did not stir. It was only later that they repaired to a corner, unhurried, quiet, self-assured, and vanished into it, one after the other. I waited a long time that night for the reappearance of tiny blazing eyes. But they did not show themselves. Nor did they do so the following night. They materialized only when I stopped waiting for them.\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Lining up unhurriedly along the wall, they fixed their gazes on me once again. We passed two hours or so in silent face-off. Then the neat little rat-column vanished into the corner.\n\nWhy are people afraid of rats? Why are rats afraid of people? In rats\u2019 eyes, no doubt, people are repulsive and hideous. Grotesque two-legged creatures who\u2019ve sworn to eradicate them. Why are we enemies? The rats have done nothing to me that would cause me to kill them.\n\nThey\u2019ve started to come every night. I know everything about them. They\u2019re old as the world. They almost triumphed in a great battle under the banner of the plague. They were forced back into the cellars. They survived. They multiplied. And now they\u2019re biding their time. Memories of how they advanced down cobbled town streets in living grey masses, filling those streets to the very brim, disturb them. The burden of heady victory, frenzied feasting and erstwhile greatness has been handed down to them by their forefathers. But new generations have risen in the interim. Should they join battle?\n\nThey materialize before me: five warriors. I\u2019m more cowardly than they. They\u2019re confident and calm; I\u2019m short on sleep and short on patience. Panicked now, I lunge at them, aiming clumsy kicks in their direction. They\u2019re more agile than I am, and dodge my feeble attacks without any trouble. And now they\u2019re behind me, stock-still once again, save for their long, whip-like, madly writhing tails. All five eye me with dispassionate gaze.\n\nStrength sapped, I sink to the cement. Their nerves are stronger than mine. Well, let them attack. I cover my face with my hand\u2014only for them to withdraw with a haughty swish of their whips.\n\nI\u2019ve heard it said that rats are unusually intelligent. Indeed they are: they could have attacked me, but they did not. They find me interesting. We scrutinize each other assiduously. I think they\u2019re wiser than I am.\n\nI try to corner them. The creatures grumble with displeasure. Were someone to attack me<\/em>, I\u2019d grumble too. Like them, I\u2019m hungry all day long. Our diets differ, but we\u2019re on the same page. Perhaps the fact I have a god sets me apart from them? But who says they don\u2019t have a god themselves?\n\nI awake once more. Sat in a semi-circle, they\u2019re watching me intently. And now they rear onto their hind legs and stand unmoving, supported by their sturdy tails. Would boots and leather sword-belts complete with countless narrow straps look good on them? No. They\u2019re just animals, soft and silky of fur. Quietly, lined up in their usual column, they vanish.\n\nBreaking off a hefty chunk of plaster from high up on the wall, I find their hole and drive in the chunk. Farewell, friends: I\u2019m frightened to be in your presence. I hear a quiet rustle behind my back. They\u2019re sitting in their semi-circle. They\u2019ve tricked me\u2014slipped imperceptibly out of their hole while I was breaking off the plaster. Which I\u2019ve driven into the hole with my boot. Wedged it firmly in place. And trapped us all in this room.\n\nI share my meagre victuals with them. I eat in great haste, swallowing down mouthfuls. Unlike me, and contrary to legend, none of them pounce on the food with a vengeance. Their white teeth work at it patiently.\n\nPerhaps I could tame them? Just, of course, as they could me. I can tell them apart now. No doubt they all have names of their own, though I shall never know them. Could they be new wardens, come to watch over me? Or chroniclers, perhaps?\n\nWe don\u2019t discommode one another. I fear them no more. They\u2019ve done me no evil this entire time. I think they\u2019re as harmless as I am.\n\nSitting circlewise, they converse amongst themselves. The screak of their voices sounds like far-off, ill-tuned violins. I address them. They turn quizzically towards me. It\u2019s true: I\u2019ve disrupted their conversation. What can I tell them? They know it all without my saying a word.\n\nBeyond the bounds of my room, autumn has been and gone. The cold seeps through the walls, and my mackintosh can no longer shield me against it. The cement floor is worse than ice. It sucks the warmth out of my body. Every night finds the creatures lying beside me, their little bodies nestled into mine. Are they feeling the cold? Or are they doing this specially to keep me warm? As we lie unmoving in the dark, I feel the hot coursing of their blood, feel it pulsing warmth into my core. We lie there like six warriors on some unknown battlefield.\n\nBefore long it\u2019ll be difficult for me to imagine life without these quiet, severe creatures. I don\u2019t feel like I\u2019m their leader. We\u2019re equals. How good it is, when you\u2019re half aslumber, when it\u2019s deadly cold beyond the walls, to feel a warm, grey little body against your bare hand. How swift their breathing as they press their whiskered muzzles to my shoulder; \u00a0how deft and noiseless their movements as they scuttle up my neck. Their teeth are so sharp that their bites hurt me not at all. My only displeasure is the hot stickiness of my own blood. But they work at me with such diligence that I soon cease to feel its flow.\n\nI do not open my eyes: I\u2019m sure they\u2019ll perform the deed well. They\u2019re no stranger to it. We are, after all, but warriors of opposing armies who have encountered and recognized one another.\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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\u00a9 Jonathan Vidgop\u00a0 | Artist A. Gorenstein<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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