Free Leena Krohn: Collected Fiction by Leena Krohn Page B

life.
    But tonight in the city the Fireflies were on the move once more, as many in number as flocks of birds in spring, more joyful and glimmering more strongly than ever before.

Their Mother’s Tears
    the fourth letter
    There are strange houses in one of the suburbs. They are like goblets, very narrow and high, and to a certain extent they recall piles of ashes; but their reddish walls are as strong as concrete. In them live a countless mass of inhabitants, small but very industrious folk, who are in constant motion. They all resemble each other so closely that I should never learn to recognise any of them. One, however, is an exception.
    It is already a long time since I asked Longhorn whether, one day, he would take me to one of those houses. ‘Why do they interest you?’ he asked. ‘Their architecture is so extraordinary,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you know someone there? Perhaps I could go there with you sometime?’
    ‘If you wish,’ said Longhorn; but he did not look particularly keen.
    Yesterday, at last, Longhorn took me to one of those dwellings. At the entrance was a doorman with whom he exchanged a few words and who set off to accompany me. ‘We shall meet this evening,’ shouted Longhorn, and disappeared into the gaudy bustle of Tainaron.
    I was led along dim and intricate corridors that opened on halls, warehouses and living spaces of different sizes. Past me rushed large numbers of people; all of them seemed to be in a hurry and in the midst of important tasks. But I was taken to the innermost room of the house, at whose door stood more guards. There was no window in the room, but it was nevertheless almost unbearably bright, although I could not see the source of the light.
    I certainly realised that there were other people in the room, but I could see only one. She was immeasurably larger than all the others, monumental, all the more so because she stayed in one place, unmoving. Her dimensions were enormous: her egg-shaped head grazed the roof of the vault and, in its half recumbent position, her breadth extended from the doorway to the back of the room. As I stepped inside and stood by the wall (there was hardly room anywhere else), there came from her mouth a creaking sound which I interpreted as a welcome.
    ‘Show respect for the queen,’ hissed my guide, and knelt down. Unaccustomed to such gestures, I felt embarrassed, but I followed his example.
    Some time passed before any attention was paid to me. By the walls of the room, around the queen, rushed creatures whose task was evidently to satisfy all her needs. I soon realised that they were necessary, for the queen was so formless that she herself could hardly take a step. And I concluded that she could not possibly have gone out through the door; she must live and die within these walls, without ever seeing even a flicker of sun. Her plight horrified me, and I wanted to leave the glowing cave quickly.
    At that moment the creaking voice startled me. I realised that the queen had turned her head a little so that she was now staring at me languidly, at the same time sipping a milky fluid from a goblet held under her infinitesimal jaw.
    The straw fell from her lip, and new croaks followed. With difficulty, I made out the following words: ‘I know what you’re thinking, you little smidgeon.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I stammered, and vexation made me flushed.
    ‘You think, don’t you, that I am some kind of individual, a person, admit it!’
    As she went on speaking, her voice grew deeper, and it was as if it began to buzz. It was a most extraordinary voice, for it seemed to be made up of the murmur of hundreds of voices.
    ‘Yes, indeed, I mean . . . ’ I grew completely confused for a moment and sat down on my heels, as kneeling on the hard floor was too tiring.
    ‘Quite so, of course,’ I said rapidly, completely puzzled.
    ‘Didn’t I guess?’ she said, and burst into laughter, which sometimes boomed, sometimes tinkled in the corridors so