Chapter Two
Two, The Worm-Gut Factory
When Budori started awake, an unpleasantly disinterested voice said from somewhere over his head. “Oh, you’re finally awake. Still planning on starving? Why don’t you get up and give me a hand?” Budori saw a man with a brown, mushroom-shaped hat on his head and a white shirt just beneath his overcoat. He had a dangling, wire object with him.
“The famine’s already over? Help? Help with what?” asked Budori.
“Net-hanging.”
“You’re going to hang nets here?”
“I am.”
“What will you do after hanging the nets?”
“I plan to raise worm-gut.
Sure enough, in the chestnut tree just before him, Budori saw two men set up a ladder, climb it, and though they looked as if they were working diligently to cast something netlike and spread it out, Budori saw neither net nor string.
“You can raise worm-gut with those?”
“Of course. You’re a mouthy little runt. Look, those aren’t just good luck charms. Why would I bother building a worm-gut factory where you can’t raise worm-gut? And you can raise it here! A lot of folks besides me make a living doing just that!”
“Oh…I see.” Budori finally managed, his voice cracking a bit.
“And well, as I’ve bought this whole forest and everything in it, you’d do well to help me out. If not, I’d have you go somewhere else. Though, if you did end up going, I doubt you’d find anything to eat.”
Budori felt like crying, but he overcame the urge and managed, “If that’s how it is, I’ll help you. But why do you hang nets?”
“I’ll teach you, of course! Everything you need to know.”
The man took the wiry weave he was holding and spread it out with both hands.
“Get it? Set it up like so and it becomes a ladder.”
He strode over to the chestnut tree and hitched it to the lowest branch.
“Okay, now you’ll take this net and climb up top. Come on; see if you can get up there.”
The man gave Budori an odd, ball-like object. Out of options, Budori accepted it and started to climb the ladder, but the rungs were so thin that they threatened to cut into his hands and feet and tear them to bits.
“Climb up more! More! More, I said! Then give that ball a good heave! Make sure it gets over the chestnut tree! Throw that one up in the air. What? Are you shaking? What a chicken. Just throw it! Throw it! Right up in the air! Throw it already!”
Just as Budori thought he threw that ball as hard as he could up toward the blue sky, the sun went black and he fell headfirst out of the tree. Some seconds later, the man caught him. Fuming, the man lowered him to the ground.
“You’ve got no guts at all! You’re completely spineless! You head would be split wide open if I hadn’t caught you just now. I saved your life! From now on, there’ll be no more disrespect. Speaking of which, come on and climb that tree over there. A little more work and I’ll give you a proper meal.”
The man handed Budori a new ball. Budori took the ladder to the next tree and threw the ball.
“Hey, you’re getting good at that! Well, there are a lot of balls yet. Don’t muck about. Chestnut tree, regular tree-either is fine, really.”
The man drew ten or so balls from his pocket, handed then to Budori, and then walked briskly off. Even though he had only thrown three more of the balls, Budori found himself wheezing to catch his breath. His body felt unbearably heavy. He thought to head home and when he did, he was astonished to see that there was now a red clay smokestack attached to the side of the house and a sign that read, “Ihatovo Worm-Gut Factory” hanging in the doorway. The man from before came out, puffing away at a cigarette.
“Well, my boy, I brought some food for you. Eat this and go earn yourself some more while it’s still light out.”
“I hate this job. I’m going home.”
“You call that your home? That’s not your home, boy. That’s my worm-gut factory! I bought that house and all the forest around it, so it all belongs to me now.”
Desperate, Budori fell silent as he ate the steamed bun the man had given him and headed out once more where he managed to throw a full ten or so more balls.
That evening, Budori curled up to sleep in a corner of his former home, the building that had now become the worm-gut factory. The man from before and three or four other strangers lit a fire in the hearth and sat around until late talking and drinking something. Early the next morning, Budori went out into the forest and worked as he had the day before.
A month went by and as soon as a net hung from every chestnut tree in the forest, the worm-gut breeder hung from each five to six planks to which clung many little, bubble-like growths. About that time, the trees were beginning to bud and the forest was flourishing. As it did, hundreds of tiny, pale-colored bugs began to emerge from the planks hanging on each tree, forming a creeping procession along the threads of each net and heading up into the branches. Budori and the other workers were now forced to work everyday collecting firewood. The firewood piled up like a small mountain around the house. As the chestnut trees began to put out from every branch their pale flowers that resemble fuzzy strands of yarn, the bugs which had crept out of the planks took on the same color and shape as the flowers. Subsequently, the chestnut leaves throughout the forest lost any and all shape, torn to pieces by the bugs. Shortly thereafter, the worms wove large, yellow cocoons across the eyes of the nets.
The worm-gut breeder went mad, shouting furiously at Budori and the workers to collect the cocoons in baskets. They threw basketful after basketful into a large pot and, after boiling them vigorously, used a hand-operated spinning wheel to draw string from them. Day and night they worked endlessly at three clattering wheels, spinning thread. When the yellow thread they had made such had filled roughly half the house, large, white moths slowly began to emerge fluttering from the yellow cocoons that had been set outside. With a look rivaling a devil’s in fury, the worm-gut breeder began spinning thread himself and brought four extra workers in from the fields, setting them to work as well. Nevertheless, as more moths emerged day after day, the forest came to look as if snow was blowing about. Then one day, six or seven carts drawn by horses arrived. Everyone loaded on the string they had made and returned to their homes in town. One by on everyone climbed on a cart and left. As the last cart made ready to leave, the worm-gut breeder said to Budori,
“Listen here, I’m going to put enough food in that house to last you until next spring, okay? You’re to stay here and look after the forest and factory until then.” And, with a strange smirk, hopped on to the last cart and made a hasty retreat.
Budori, stunned by what had just come to pass, stayed behind. The inside of the house was filthy and looked like a storm had hit, while the forest was utterly bare as if it had fallen victim to a brushfire. The next day, as Budori began cleaning up in and around the house, he found where the worm-gut breeder always used to sit an old, cardboard box. Ten or so books were packed tightly inside. There were completely illegible books filled with diagrams of the silkworms or of various machines, as well as books filled with the names and pictures of all kinds of plants and trees. Budori spent the winter studiously imitating the books, writing letters, and copying the diagrams.
When spring came, the man returned, bringing with him six or seven new minions and making a magnificent hullabaloo. The following day, work began perfectly as it had the year before. Everybody set up the nets, planks were hung, the bugs began their ascent, and Budori and the workers collected firewood yet again.
One day, as Budori was making firewood, the earth growled and suddenly began to shake. A booming rumble echoed far and wide. After a short while, the sun became mysteriously dark and a great amount of fine ash began to fall, blanketing the forest in white. Budori and the other workers, in their shock, had gathered to squat under a tree when the worm-gut breeder came over in a panic.
“Listen up, everyone! It’s all over. It’s an eruption. There’s been an eruption! The all the worms have suffocated from the ash. Get out of here, all of you! Budori, if you want to stay here, fine, but I’m not leaving you any food this time. Besides, it’s downright dangerous here, so you’d do well to look for work in the fields like the rest of us.” He had seemed to say, but he had already run quite far. When Budori went to look in the factory, there wasn’t a single soul left. Dejected, Budori followed the footsteps everyone had left behind and headed in the direction of the plains.
When Budori started awake, an unpleasantly disinterested voice said from somewhere over his head. “Oh, you’re finally awake. Still planning on starving? Why don’t you get up and give me a hand?” Budori saw a man with a brown, mushroom-shaped hat on his head and a white shirt just beneath his overcoat. He had a dangling, wire object with him.
“The famine’s already over? Help? Help with what?” asked Budori.
“Net-hanging.”
“You’re going to hang nets here?”
“I am.”
“What will you do after hanging the nets?”
“I plan to raise worm-gut.
Sure enough, in the chestnut tree just before him, Budori saw two men set up a ladder, climb it, and though they looked as if they were working diligently to cast something netlike and spread it out, Budori saw neither net nor string.
“You can raise worm-gut with those?”
“Of course. You’re a mouthy little runt. Look, those aren’t just good luck charms. Why would I bother building a worm-gut factory where you can’t raise worm-gut? And you can raise it here! A lot of folks besides me make a living doing just that!”
“Oh…I see.” Budori finally managed, his voice cracking a bit.
“And well, as I’ve bought this whole forest and everything in it, you’d do well to help me out. If not, I’d have you go somewhere else. Though, if you did end up going, I doubt you’d find anything to eat.”
Budori felt like crying, but he overcame the urge and managed, “If that’s how it is, I’ll help you. But why do you hang nets?”
“I’ll teach you, of course! Everything you need to know.”
The man took the wiry weave he was holding and spread it out with both hands.
“Get it? Set it up like so and it becomes a ladder.”
He strode over to the chestnut tree and hitched it to the lowest branch.
“Okay, now you’ll take this net and climb up top. Come on; see if you can get up there.”
The man gave Budori an odd, ball-like object. Out of options, Budori accepted it and started to climb the ladder, but the rungs were so thin that they threatened to cut into his hands and feet and tear them to bits.
“Climb up more! More! More, I said! Then give that ball a good heave! Make sure it gets over the chestnut tree! Throw that one up in the air. What? Are you shaking? What a chicken. Just throw it! Throw it! Right up in the air! Throw it already!”
Just as Budori thought he threw that ball as hard as he could up toward the blue sky, the sun went black and he fell headfirst out of the tree. Some seconds later, the man caught him. Fuming, the man lowered him to the ground.
“You’ve got no guts at all! You’re completely spineless! You head would be split wide open if I hadn’t caught you just now. I saved your life! From now on, there’ll be no more disrespect. Speaking of which, come on and climb that tree over there. A little more work and I’ll give you a proper meal.”
The man handed Budori a new ball. Budori took the ladder to the next tree and threw the ball.
“Hey, you’re getting good at that! Well, there are a lot of balls yet. Don’t muck about. Chestnut tree, regular tree-either is fine, really.”
The man drew ten or so balls from his pocket, handed then to Budori, and then walked briskly off. Even though he had only thrown three more of the balls, Budori found himself wheezing to catch his breath. His body felt unbearably heavy. He thought to head home and when he did, he was astonished to see that there was now a red clay smokestack attached to the side of the house and a sign that read, “Ihatovo Worm-Gut Factory” hanging in the doorway. The man from before came out, puffing away at a cigarette.
“Well, my boy, I brought some food for you. Eat this and go earn yourself some more while it’s still light out.”
“I hate this job. I’m going home.”
“You call that your home? That’s not your home, boy. That’s my worm-gut factory! I bought that house and all the forest around it, so it all belongs to me now.”
Desperate, Budori fell silent as he ate the steamed bun the man had given him and headed out once more where he managed to throw a full ten or so more balls.
That evening, Budori curled up to sleep in a corner of his former home, the building that had now become the worm-gut factory. The man from before and three or four other strangers lit a fire in the hearth and sat around until late talking and drinking something. Early the next morning, Budori went out into the forest and worked as he had the day before.
A month went by and as soon as a net hung from every chestnut tree in the forest, the worm-gut breeder hung from each five to six planks to which clung many little, bubble-like growths. About that time, the trees were beginning to bud and the forest was flourishing. As it did, hundreds of tiny, pale-colored bugs began to emerge from the planks hanging on each tree, forming a creeping procession along the threads of each net and heading up into the branches. Budori and the other workers were now forced to work everyday collecting firewood. The firewood piled up like a small mountain around the house. As the chestnut trees began to put out from every branch their pale flowers that resemble fuzzy strands of yarn, the bugs which had crept out of the planks took on the same color and shape as the flowers. Subsequently, the chestnut leaves throughout the forest lost any and all shape, torn to pieces by the bugs. Shortly thereafter, the worms wove large, yellow cocoons across the eyes of the nets.
The worm-gut breeder went mad, shouting furiously at Budori and the workers to collect the cocoons in baskets. They threw basketful after basketful into a large pot and, after boiling them vigorously, used a hand-operated spinning wheel to draw string from them. Day and night they worked endlessly at three clattering wheels, spinning thread. When the yellow thread they had made such had filled roughly half the house, large, white moths slowly began to emerge fluttering from the yellow cocoons that had been set outside. With a look rivaling a devil’s in fury, the worm-gut breeder began spinning thread himself and brought four extra workers in from the fields, setting them to work as well. Nevertheless, as more moths emerged day after day, the forest came to look as if snow was blowing about. Then one day, six or seven carts drawn by horses arrived. Everyone loaded on the string they had made and returned to their homes in town. One by on everyone climbed on a cart and left. As the last cart made ready to leave, the worm-gut breeder said to Budori,
“Listen here, I’m going to put enough food in that house to last you until next spring, okay? You’re to stay here and look after the forest and factory until then.” And, with a strange smirk, hopped on to the last cart and made a hasty retreat.
Budori, stunned by what had just come to pass, stayed behind. The inside of the house was filthy and looked like a storm had hit, while the forest was utterly bare as if it had fallen victim to a brushfire. The next day, as Budori began cleaning up in and around the house, he found where the worm-gut breeder always used to sit an old, cardboard box. Ten or so books were packed tightly inside. There were completely illegible books filled with diagrams of the silkworms or of various machines, as well as books filled with the names and pictures of all kinds of plants and trees. Budori spent the winter studiously imitating the books, writing letters, and copying the diagrams.
When spring came, the man returned, bringing with him six or seven new minions and making a magnificent hullabaloo. The following day, work began perfectly as it had the year before. Everybody set up the nets, planks were hung, the bugs began their ascent, and Budori and the workers collected firewood yet again.
One day, as Budori was making firewood, the earth growled and suddenly began to shake. A booming rumble echoed far and wide. After a short while, the sun became mysteriously dark and a great amount of fine ash began to fall, blanketing the forest in white. Budori and the other workers, in their shock, had gathered to squat under a tree when the worm-gut breeder came over in a panic.
“Listen up, everyone! It’s all over. It’s an eruption. There’s been an eruption! The all the worms have suffocated from the ash. Get out of here, all of you! Budori, if you want to stay here, fine, but I’m not leaving you any food this time. Besides, it’s downright dangerous here, so you’d do well to look for work in the fields like the rest of us.” He had seemed to say, but he had already run quite far. When Budori went to look in the factory, there wasn’t a single soul left. Dejected, Budori followed the footsteps everyone had left behind and headed in the direction of the plains.