Catlantis Read online

  THE NEW YORK REVIEW CHILDREN’S COLLECTION NEW YORK

  THIS IS A NEW YORK REVIEW BOOK

  PUBLISHED BY THE NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS

  435 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

  www.nyrb.com

  Original text © 2010 by Anna Starobinets

  English language translation © 2015 by Jane Bugaeva

  Illustrations © 2015 by Andrzej Klimowski

  First published in Russian as komлahmuдa

  This translation first published by Pushkin Press in 2015

  The publication of the book was negotiated through

  Banke, Goumen & Smirnova Literary Agency (www.bgs-agency.com)

  Published with the support of the

  Institute for Literary Translation, Russia.

  Cover design by Louise Fili Ltd.

  Cover illustrations by Andrzej Klimowski

  Text designed by Tetragon, London

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Starobinets, Anna, author. | Klimowski, Andrzej, illustrator. | Bugaeva, Jane, translator.

  Title: Catlantis / by Anna Starobinets ; illustrations by Andrzej Klimowski ; translated by Jane Bugaeva.

  Other titles: Kotlantida. English | New York Review children’s collection.

  Description: New York : New York Review Books, 2016. | Series: New York Review children’s collection

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016006943| ISBN 9781681370002 (alk. paper) | ISBN 9781681370026 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Cats—Juvenile fiction. | Time travel—Juvenile fiction.

  Classification: LCC PG3493.48.T369 K6813 2016 | DDC 891.73/5—dc23

  LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016006943

  ISBN 978-1-68137-002-6

  v1.0

  For a complete list of titles, visit www.nyrb.com or write to:

  Catalog Requests, NYRB, 435 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

  CONTENTS

  Biographical Notes

  Title Page

  Copyright and More Information

  Chapter 1: The Cat Everyone Respected

  Chapter 2: Love and Bars

  Chapter 3: The Engagement

  Chapter 4: The Feat

  Chapter 5: Disappearance

  Chapter 6: Rendezvous

  Chapter 7: The Oracle

  Chapter 8: The Legend, as Told by the Oracle

  Chapter 9: The Prediction

  Chapter 10: The Trash Man

  Chapter 11: The Eyes of Time

  Chapter 12: The Catlanteans

  Chapter 13: Panna Catta

  Chapter 14: The Loyal Cat

  Chapter 15: The Trial

  Chapter 16: The Oracle’s Mistake

  Chapter 17: Monsieur de Tutu

  Chapter 18: Lies

  Chapter 19: The Cactus

  Chapter 20: The Jump

  Chapter 21: Short and Sweet

  Chapter 22: More of an Afterword

  CHAPTER 1

  The Cat Everyone Respected

  Baguette the cat liked to lie in the window and watch the birds. The birds were not afraid of him. First off, they had bird brains and always forgot that cats could hunt. Second off, during their more enlightened moments, they knew that Baguette was looking on them not as prey, but more from a philosophical point of view. He did not intend to attack them because the Petrov family, and Baguette was a part of this very family, lived on the twelfth floor of an apartment building. And so, the window in which Baguette was lying was also on the twelfth floor. Baguette was a very smart cat and had no intentions of jumping out of something that high up.

  This particular double window had small square ventilation panes in its bottom right-hand corner. Mama liked to open them to let in the winter breeze, and it was precisely in this porthole that Baguette liked to lie. He always picked the most comfortable pose: his ginger tail hung inside the room, his whiskers poked outdoors and his downy belly was suspended in the six-inch gap between the two panes. So that he wouldn’t fall out, all twenty of his claws dug tightly into the window frame.

  “Oh, my!” Mama Petrov would yelp whenever she saw Baguette in this position. This time, she called out to her husband, “For God’s sake, you’ve just got to put a screen in that window. Yes, darling, for the health and safety of our cat.”

  “A screen!” said Papa Petrov. “What kind of screen?”

  “Oh, you know, the kind for flies and mosquitoes.”

  “For flies?” Papa frowned. “You mean the thin, synthetic kind . . . Am I understanding you correctly, darling?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Hmm, I’ll think about it . . . but first, have I understood you correctly? Do you have absolutely no respect for our cat?”

  Mama bit her lip. This was quite an accusation. The thing is, everyone in the Petrov family—Mama, Papa, both grandmothers and grandfathers, the little girl Polina, her older brother Vadik and even the dog Bonehead—had great respect for Baguette ever since his heroic feat.

  “You don’t respect the cat who risked his life for our family?” continued Papa. “The cat who traveled from the past into the future and ventured into the Land of Good Girls? The cat who courageously fought an army of chiming clocks and rescued our beloved daughter Polina from that world of the past? How can you disrespect such a cat?!” For emphasis Papa would point at Baguette, who continued to sit nonchalantly in the open window, keeping a philosophical eye on the birds and pretending not to hear a thing.

  “Why would you think that, darling?” Mama protested in a quivering voice. “I have the utmost respect for him.”

  “Well, then, explain to me how, my darling, how you can suggest this idea of a fly screen? How can you compare a cat to a fly?”

  “But I wasn’t—”

  “An intelligent cat with a simple-minded fly! Do you really think that some thin screen is a match for our Baguette? You think he won’t be able to tear it to pieces with his claws? Maybe you think he’s going to beat his wings against it and buzz?!”

  “You’re absolutely right, my darling,” Mama agreed. “A fly screen won’t do at all. But we must think of his safety! Well, then, how about bars?”

  “What?”

  “Bars.”

  “Bars?” asked Papa. “Did you say bars? The metal kind?” “Yes, darling, the metal kind. The kind you install for burglars and thieves.”

  “You mean like in prison?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s for his own good—for his health and safety!”

  “I don’t believe it!” Papa was now marching about the room. “So, you’re saying that we have so little respect for our cat that we’ll turn our house into a cat prison, for his own good? We’re to imprison a free animal! We’re to install the bars, humiliating this superhuman being in front of our neighbors, in front of his friends and acquaintances! Are you being serious?”

  Baguette nervously swung his tail to the rhythm of Papa’s speech. He was almost positive that the Petrovs would not install bars on the windows. Nonetheless, the possibility worried him, and even the smallest worry about this topic was enough to disturb his mental equilibrium. His fur would start molting then and there, and he would even feel the need to jump down from the window. In this state of imbalance, the cat had no business lying in an open window on the twelfth floor.

  “Bars! Humiliating our cat in front of his beloved!” continued Papa.

  “He’s too young, he doesn’t have a beloved,” said Mama with little conviction.

  “Well, I’m pretty sure he does,” maintained Papa. “You still think of him as a kitten, but he’s been a man for quite some time.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Love and Bars

  Papa was right: Baguette was in love. Her name was Purriana. She was slender and st
riped, her nose was as pink as a rosebud, her whiskers as white as snow on New Year’s Day, and her coat shone like a diamond necklace. Every night Baguette would purrenade her from his window. Purriana loved the purrenades and she loved Baguette and . . . and . . . and she was a stray.

  Which explains why Baguette was always so distressed when the Petrovs discussed window bars. There is nothing more embarrassing to an indoor house cat than to purrenade his beloved stray from behind bars!

  “Who cares?” Bonehead the dog was surprised. “Bars or no bars, isn’t it all the same? If she loves you, she won’t even notice the bars.”

  “You’re the only one who doesn’t notice bars, Bonehead!” Baguette involuntarily let out his claws. “You don’t even notice your own collar!”

  “Hey, what’s wrong with my collar?” Bonehead began twisting around trying to see his collar and its shortcomings.

  “What’s wrong with it?!” protested Baguette. “Why, if they tried to put a collar on me, I’d . . . well, I wouldn’t allow that kind of embarrassment. I’d borrow your leash and do myself in straight away—with that very collar!”

  “Why?”

  “Because nothing matters more than freedom. I’m a free cat and—”

  “If you’re free, why don’t you go outside, my friend?” Bonehead wondered. “Why do you stay here in captivity, eating our bread and—”

  “I don’t eat bread.”

  “You eat our fish and our chicken, you sleep in a human bed, you warm yourself by the radiator, you beg everyone to pet you—”

  “I don’t beg!”

  “You let people scratch you behind your ears. Is that what you call freedom?”

  “Yes, this is my kind of freedom,” said Baguette with a frown. “A household freedom. But I won’t allow it to be restricted by bars. If Purriana sees bars, she’ll surely stop loving me. You have to understand, Bonehead, that it’s all a question of status. Without bars you’re a free house cat. You can purrenade your beloved through an open window and in doing so you offer her everything you enjoy yourself: the comfort of home, central heating, three daily meals, professional behind-the-ear massage, a clean litter box, clean sheets, vitamins for your fur, veterinary services—in a word, stability. But when you sing to her from behind bars you’re offering her . . . well, you aren’t offering her anything. She sees that you have no say in your own life and she chooses the street, she chooses the alley, she leaves. She leaves with the black cat Noir.”

  The black cat Noir was also a stray. He lived by the dumpster in the alley, hunted pigeons and ate scraps. Once he even ate a parakeet who stupidly flew out the window of a nearby apartment. Another time he caught and ate the neighbor’s hamster—and both crimes remained unpunished. Everyone avoided Noir; they preferred to keep their distance from his dumpster. The fact of the matter was that Noir was not just a black cat, he was completely black, extremely black, as black as coal, there was not a single spot on his body that was not black—and cats like that were bad news.

  “Polina, dear, please take out the trash. But don’t go to the dumpster nearby, go to the other one,” Mama would warn.

  “But why?” Polina would ask. “The one nearby is nearby . . .”

  “Yes, dear,” Mama nodded sadly, “but there’s a black cat there and he might cross your path!”

  “So? Let him cross my path, I don’t mind.”

  “No! It’s bad luck if a black cat crosses your path.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s an omen.”

  “What’s an omen?”

  “Ah, an omen is a kind of law. A magical law.”

  “Well, then, why doesn’t our president outlaw this silly law?”

  “The president can’t outlaw magical laws. He must obey them like everyone else.”

  “So the president is scared of black cats too?”

  “Of course,” nodded Mama. “Of course he is.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The Engagement

  Only extremely courageous people such as Papa Petrov dared to take the trash to the dumpster where Noir lived. Actually, even brave Papa Petrov only went there when accompanied by Bonehead. It usually went like this: Bonehead would growl to scare away Noir, Papa would quickly throw out the trash and the two of them would hurriedly flee this dangerous dumpster realm.

  When they got back to their apartment building, they were greeted by Baguette’s beloved Purriana. Bonehead never growled at her, but that’s not to say he liked her. To tell the truth, Bonehead did not share Baguette’s tastes—Purriana seemed too spindly and secretive. No, he preferred Natasha, the neighbor’s bulldog. She had a sturdy build and wore her heart on her sleeve. But Bonehead would never think to growl at his friend’s beloved—he had too much respect for Baguette. So anytime he saw Purriana, he would politely wag his tail. Also, he helped the lovers communicate by passing notes between them. After all, how else can two cats in love communicate, when one is an indoor house cat and the other a stray street cat, if not by billets-doux.

  Baguette’s handwriting was large and masculine:

  Precious Petite Purriana,

  My love for you grows from day to day—it knows no bounds. Thus, I am unable to express my true feelings in prose and can do so only in poetry. To you, O Breathtaking Cat, I dedicate these lines:

  I love you more than fish and even kitty chow.

  I long to nuzzle the tip of your tail.

  Without you my life is empty and dull.

  Love comforteth, and love is all I hope for now.

  Yours,

  Baguette.

  “Purr, purr, purr,” answered Purriana in her elegant, fluttery handwriting. “Purr, purr, purr, purr, purr.”

  Near the end of winter, Baguette wrote to Purriana once more:

  I love you more than life itself. I offer you my paw and heart. Be my wife.

  Then followed these lines of poetry:

  I love you more than chicken, more than trout.

  I yearn to touch your tail, its playful tip,

  I yearn to kiss your lovely whiskered lips,

  And hour by hour my desire mounts.

  Purriana responded that very day:

  Meow. I want you to know, my ginger darling, that you are not the first cat to offer me your paw and heart. Just yesterday, the black cat Noir asked me to be his wife.

  After this letter Baguette had a sleepless night (although he never really slept at night) and in the early morning he asked Bonehead to pass along this note:

  Purriana, you’re killing me! That black creature wants to marry you?! I can’t even bear to hear his name! It makes my fur stand on end! Just the thought of him coming near you makes me spit and hiss. If you have agreed to marry him, know this: either he or I shall soon be fit for taxidermy, for I will challenge him to a duel! My piercy claws will . . . My claws will piercingly . . . Either my claws will pierce his black heart or his claws will be the death of me. Period.

  Her response was reassuring:

  How jealous you are, my ginger darling! How suspicious! How daring! I beg of you, do not torture yourself in vain—I have refused Noir. I coldly refused him. You, Baguette, are my only beloved this moment . . . this month . . . from now until forever. I will marry only you.

  The cat wedding was scheduled for the middle of spring.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Feat

  According to the most ancient feline tradition, a male cat who intends to marry must, in honor of his beloved, accomplish a heroic feat.

  At one time everyone took this tradition very seriously: cats would risk their lives to accomplish these lovers’ feats. They would venture to the edge of the world, battle armies of plague-infested rats, journey across turbulent seas in the hulls of pirate ships, clamber up impossibly high cliffs, stir up revolutions, throw themselves into fires . . . but as centuries passed the feats grew more and more modest, the rats became healthier, the oceans less deep, the pirate ships more comfortable and the cliffs less steep. The tradition con
tinued to weaken, until it became a mere formality. Nowadays it was enough for the groom to catch a small bird or mouse . . .

  But for an indoor house cat even that could be a real challenge. What is a cat to do, unless his apartment is infested with mice and birds? Should he eat a pet hamster, who is actually a stand-up guy? Or better a parakeet, who is such a pleasure to chat with on long winter evenings? Hopeless situations like this are exactly what lead lovers to make rash decisions: cats jump from windows after sparrows, try to catch already poisoned cockroaches, fall into aquariums filled with goldfish . . .

  Baguette did nothing of the sort. He sat in the open window, watched the birds with a philosophic eye and calmly awaited his wedding day.

  “Hey lover-boy!” Noir yelled loudly from the street. “I hope you haven’t forgotten about your feat! No feat—no Purriana! And she’ll be all mine!”

  Baguette wiggled his whiskers dismissively and said nothing.

  Noir continued, laughing: “What’re you even good for? A feat—as if! You’re just a house cat. You’re no better than a Pekinese . . . After all, you can’t even catch a bird. Hey, Purriana, come here! Your beloved can’t even catch a bird!”

  “Oh, please,” Baguette laughed into his whiskers. “What kind of idiot does he think I am? Does he think I’m going to jump to my death out of this twelfth-floor window? So that he can marry my Purriana? Wish on!”

  “Go ahead, jump! Jump!” Noir didn’t stop. “What about that feat! Look, a pigeon, a nice juicy pigeon! Can you catch him? You can’t? Watch this then . . .” Noir jumped up and immediately caught the fat pigeon.

  “Purriana!” he yelled in triumph, his black paw on the pigeon’s carcass. “Purriana, the cat of my dreams! Look, I just caught you a bird!”

  Purriana, who was sitting nearby, gazed thoughtfully at Noir and his prey for a long time but stayed silent.