But I felt that my reserves of strength were nearly spent. If a huge golden hand did not reach down from the heavens at the last minute and end this wretched game, I was sure I was going to have a heart attack. As for the brothers running me down, the morning's sport apparently didn't bother them in the least, for the distance between them and me was decreasing visibly.
Eventually I reached the long side of the district. Luckily enough, from this point on the roof the landscape became pretty intricate because it no longer conformed to the monotonous gabled-roof architecture. The chaos of domes, sawtooth roofs, roof gardens, chimneys, stairway exits, and fire escapes made those good old jungle feelings flare up in me, and all I had to do was let myself be led by instinct. I was promptly successful, for my pursuers did indeed lose sight of me. But immediately, almost as if they had been exchanging telepathic signals, they came up with an age-old hunting trick. Fanning out, the group dispersed so that they could run me down individually in the rooftop wilderness.
Wedged in between four huge chimneys, I finally collapsed of exhaustion and breathed in great gasps. I couldn't talk myself out of the dreadful feeling that the pack had me surrounded. But I lacked the strength as well as the confidence to continue my flight.
Suddenly there was a creaking sound! I couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from, but was that so important? They had me now where they wanted me: in a trap! And they were going to kill me, as sure as Claudandus went to heaven. Scared stiff, I slowly stepped backwards—and onto something that gave way underneath me.
The skylight that my rear paw had touched swung down, and before I could even begin to be afraid, I fell like Alice in Wonderland into an unknown darkness. As you might expect, I fell on all four paws, but this good fortune didn't make me feel much better. Where the blazes was I now?
I looked around cautiously, and the more my eyes grew used to the changed light conditions, the surer I felt, because this cozy retreat was safe. The silken curtains were half pulled. Apart from the weakly glimmering glow of a log smoking in the open fireplace, it was dark in the room. The English antiques made me think an old man with a snow-white beard and red robe would walk in at any moment, take a seat on the comfortable rocking chair, and begin telling some fairy tale. But instead of Saint Nick, a Russian Blue sat on the rocking chair and stared at me with strangely glassy, yet radiant, green eyes.
She was a splendid specimen. Her fur was short, soft, silky, and rippled down her body like the coat of a beaver or seal; it was a medium-blue shade with just a tinge of silver, which made her glisten. She cocked her head slightly from side to side, as if she couldn't exactly tell where I was.
"You're new, aren't you?" she asked with a soft voice.
"Yes, my name is Francis. I've been living for the past week and a half a couple of houses down," I said.
"Friend or foe?"
"Friend!" I said enthusiastically. "A friend forever!"
"That's a great relief. It saves me a lot of trouble."
Her beguiling beauty made my heart pound and blood race; I stared up at her as if hypnotized. But there was something disconcerting about her, too: her eyes, her cold eyes reminded me of a frozen sea, for they had something uncanny, yes, even deathlike about them.
She got up to jump down from the rocking chair, but stopped before doing so, again turning her head from side to side. Only after this strange ritual did she descend, and slink up to me.
"My guests don't often fall from the sky. And if they do, most of the time they're up to something nasty."
"Not I," I replied. "And I didn't fall from the sky; the skylight gave way under me. I'm, hm, I'm a fugitive, so to speak."
"Really? From whom?"
"From some members of the Claudandus sect. Apparently, they seem to have objections to being observed at their merry little ceremony."
"That's just like those idiots."
She went slowly up to the window and looked down at the garden.
"Is it already light outside?"
"But don't you see …"
I stopped myself. Now, finally, the sad secret of her eyes was obvious. I went up to her and looked down awkwardly at my paws.
"You're blind," I said.
"I'm not blind. I just can't see!"
She turned away from the window and returned to the fireplace. I followed her. She looked dully at the glowing fire that was now gradually dying down. Although I already knew the answer, I asked her the question anyway.
"Do you always stay in this place, or do you go out sometimes?"
"No, there's too much trouble outside with our dear brothers and sisters. All they want to do is fight. All the whole world wants to do is fight. And yet, not a single day has gone by when I haven't wished to take a look, just one look, at this evil world."
I was heartbroken. A life in darkness, a life between walls, in a cave, in a labyrinth—in an invisible labyrinth that had no exit. A life in which there was constant guessing, groping, listening, smelling, but no seeing. She never saw the sky, the snow, never saw her own eyes reflected in shimmering water. Whether the sun shone, the flowers bloomed, whether the cranes flew south, it all made no difference: everything was black, blacker than
