Record Fifteen

I was walking upon the dock where the Integral is being built, when the Second Builder came to meet me. His face as usual was round and white,—a porcelain plate. When he speaks it seems as though he serves you a plate of something unbearably tasty.

I was walking along the dock where the Integral was being built when the Second Builder came to meet me. As usual, his face was round and white, like a porcelain plate. When he speaks, it seems as if he is serving you a plate of something unbearably delicious.

“You chose to be ill, and without the Chief we had an accident, as it were, yesterday.”

“You chose to be sick, and without the Chief, we had something like an accident yesterday.”

“An accident?”

“An accident?”

“Yes, sir. We finished the bell and started to let it down, and imagine! the men caught a male without a number. How he got in, I cannot make out. They took him to the Operation Department. Oh, they’ll draw the mystery out of the fellow there; ‘why’ and ‘how,’ etc....” He smiled delightedly.

“Yes, sir. We finished the bell and started lowering it. And imagine this! The men caught a man without a number. I can’t figure out how he got in. They took him to the Operation Department. Oh, they’ll get the mystery out of him there: ‘why’ and ‘how,’ and so on....” He smiled delightedly.

Our best and most experienced physicians work in the Operation Department under the direct supervision of the Well-Doer himself. They have all kinds of instruments, but the best of all is the Gas Bell. The procedure is taken from an ancient experiment of elementary physics: they used to put a rat under a gas bell and gradually pump out the air; the air becomes more and more rarified, and ... you know the rest.

Our best and most experienced doctors work in the Operation Department, directly supervised by the Well-Doer himself. They have all kinds of instruments, but the best is the Gas Bell. The procedure comes from an old elementary physics experiment. They would put a rat under a gas bell and gradually pump out the air. The air becomes thinner and thinner, and ... you know the rest.

But our Gas Bell is certainly a more perfect apparatus and it is used in combination with different gasses. Furthermore, we don’t torture a defenseless animal as the ancients did; we use it for a higher purpose: to guard the security of the United State, in other words, the happiness of millions. About five centuries ago when the work of the Operation Department was only beginning, there were yet to be found some fools who compared our Operation Department with the ancient Inquisition. But this is as absurd as to compare a surgeon performing a tracheotomy with a highway cut-throat. Both use a knife, perhaps the same kind of a knife, both do the same thing, viz., cut the throat of a living man, yet one is a well-doer, the other is a murderer; one is marked plus, the other minus.... All this becomes perfectly clear in one second, in one turn of our logical wheel, the teeth of which engage that minus, turn it upward and thus change its aspect. That other matter is somewhat different; the ring in the door was still oscillating, apparently the door had just closed, yet she, I-330, had disappeared; she was not there! The logical wheel could not turn this fact. A dream? But even now I feel still in my right shoulder that incomprehensible sweet pain of I-330 near me in the fog, pressing herself against me. “Thou lovest fog?” Yes, I love the fog too. I love everything and everything appears to me wonderful, new, tense; everything is so good!...

But our Gas Bell is certainly a more advanced device, and it is used with different gases. Also, unlike the ancients, we do not torture a defenseless animal. We use the Gas Bell for a higher purpose: to protect the security of the United State. In other words, we use it to protect the happiness of millions. About five centuries ago, when the Operation Department was just beginning its work, some fools still compared it to the ancient Inquisition. But that is as absurd as comparing a surgeon performing a tracheotomy to a highway murderer. Both use a knife, perhaps even the same kind of knife. Both do the same thing: they cut the throat of a living man. Yet one does good, while the other is a murderer. One is marked plus, the other minus.... All this becomes perfectly clear in a second, with one turn of our logical wheel. Its teeth catch that minus and turn it upward, changing how it looks. That other matter is somewhat different. The ring in the door was still swinging. Apparently, the door had just closed, yet she, I-330, had disappeared. She was not there! The logical wheel could not turn this fact. A dream? But even now I still feel that incomprehensible, sweet pain in my right shoulder, where I-330 pressed against me in the fog. “Do you love fog?” Yes, I love the fog too. I love everything, and everything seems wonderful, new, intense. Everything is so good!...

“So good,” I said aloud.

“So good,” I said aloud.

“Good?” The porcelain eyes bulged out. “What good do you find in that? If that man without a number contrived to sneak in, it means that there are others around here, everywhere, all the time, here around the Integral, they—”

“Good?” The porcelain eyes bulged. “What good do you see in that? If that man without a number managed to sneak in, there must be others around here. They’re everywhere, all the time, here around the Integral. They…”

“Whom do you mean by ‘they’?”

“Who do you mean by ‘they’?”

“How do I know who? But I sense them, all the time.”

“How would I know who? But I sense them all the time.”

“Have you heard about the new operation which has been invented? I mean the surgical removal of fancy?” (There really were rumors of late about something of the sort.)

“Have you heard about the new operation they’ve invented? I mean the surgical removal of imagination?” (There really had been rumors lately about something like that.)

“No, I haven’t. What has that to do with it?”

“No, I haven’t. What does that have to do with it?”

“Merely this: if I were you, I should go and ask to have this operation performed upon me.”

“Just this: if I were you, I would go and ask to have this operation.”

The plate expressed distinctly something lemon-like, sour. Poor fellow! He took offence if one even hinted that he might possess imagination. Well, a week ago I too should have taken offence at such a hint. Not so now, for I know that I have imagination, that is what my illness consists in, and more than that: I know that it is a wonderful illness,—one does not want to be cured, simply does not want to!

The plate had a distinctly lemon-like, sour expression. Poor fellow! He took offense if anyone even hinted that he might have an imagination. Well, a week ago, I would have taken offense at the same hint. But not now. I know I have an imagination. That is what my illness consists of. And more than that, I know it is a wonderful illness. You don't want to be cured, you simply don't want to!

We ascended the glass steps; the world spread itself below us like the palm of a hand.

We climbed the glass steps. The world spread out below us like the palm of a hand.

You, readers of these records, whoever you be, you have the sun above you. And if you ever were ill, as I am now, then you know what kind of a sun there is or may be in the morning; you know that pinkish, lucid, warm gold; the air itself looks a little pinkish; everything seems permeated by the tender blood of the sun; everything is alive; the stones seem soft and living; iron living and warm; people all full of life and smiles. It may be that in a short while all this will disappear, that in an hour the pinkish blood of the sun will be drained out, but in the meantime everything is alive. And I see how something flows and pulsates in the sides of the Integral; I see the Integral think of its great and lofty future, of the heavy load of inevitable happiness which it is to carry up there into the heights, to you, unseen ones, to you who seek eternally and who never find. You shall find! You shall be happy! You must be happy, and you have now not very long to wait!

You who read these records, whoever you are, have the sun above you. And if you have ever been ill, as I am now, you know what the morning sun can be like. You know that pinkish, clear, warm gold. The air itself looks a little pink. Everything seems filled with the sun’s tender blood. Everything is alive. The stones seem soft and alive. Iron seems alive and warm. People are all full of life and smiles. Perhaps all this will disappear soon. Perhaps in an hour the sun’s pinkish blood will drain away. But for now, everything is alive. And I see something flowing and pulsing in the sides of the Integral. I see the Integral think of its great and glorious future. It thinks of the heavy load of inevitable happiness it will carry up into the heights. It will carry that happiness to you, unseen ones, who search forever and never find. You will find! You will be happy! You must be happy, and you do not have much longer to wait!

The body of the Integral is almost ready; it is an exquisite, oblong ellipsoid, made of our glass, which is everlasting like gold and flexible like steel. I watched them within, fixing its transverse ribs and its longitudinal stringers; in the stern they were erecting the base of the gigantic motor. Every three seconds the powerful tail of the Integral will eject flame and gasses into the universal space, and the Integral will soar forward and higher,—like a flaming Tamerlane of happiness! I watched how the workers, true to the Taylor system, would bend down, then unbend and turn around swiftly and rhythmically like levers of an enormous engine. In their hands they held glittering glass pipes which emitted bluish streaks of flame; the glass walls were being cut into with flame; with flame there were being welded the angles, the ribs, the bars. I watched the monstrous glass cranes easily rolling over the glass rails; like the workers themselves they would obediently turn, bend down and bring their loads inward into the bowels of the Integral. All seemed one, humanized machine and mechanized humans. It was the most magnificent, the most stirring beauty, harmony, music!

The body of the Integral is almost ready. It is a beautiful, elongated ellipsoid, made of our glass, which lasts forever like gold and is flexible like steel. I watched workers inside installing its crosswise ribs and lengthwise supports. At the stern, they were building the base for the gigantic motor. Every three seconds, the powerful tail of the Integral will send flames and gases into space. The Integral will soar forward and higher, like a flaming Tamerlane of happiness! I watched the workers follow the Taylor system. They bent down, straightened up, and turned swiftly and rhythmically, like levers in an enormous engine. They held gleaming glass pipes that emitted blue streaks of flame. The flames cut into the glass walls and welded the angles, ribs, and bars. I watched the monstrous glass cranes roll easily along the glass rails. Like the workers, the cranes obediently turned, bent down, and carried their loads into the depths of the Integral. Everything seemed to be one, a humanized machine and mechanized humans. It was the most magnificent, the most stirring beauty, harmony, music!

Quick! Down! To them, and with them! And I descended and mingled with them, fused with their mass, caught in the rhythm of steel and glass. Their movements were measured, tense and round. Their cheeks were colored with health, their mirror-like foreheads not clouded by the insanity of thinking. I was floating upon a mirror-like sea. I was reposing.... Suddenly one of them turned toward me his care-free face.

Quick! Down! To them, and with them! I went down and joined them, merging with the crowd, caught in the rhythm of steel and glass. Their movements were measured, tense, and rounded. Their cheeks glowed with health. Their mirror-like foreheads were unclouded by the madness of thinking. I was floating on a mirror-like sea. I was at rest.... Suddenly, one of them turned his carefree face toward me.

“Well, better today?”

“Well, better today?”

“What better?”

“What’s better?”

“You were not here yesterday. And we thought something serious....” His forehead was shining; a childish and innocent smile.

“You weren’t here yesterday. And we thought something serious....” His forehead shone, and he smiled with childlike innocence.

My blood rushed to my face. No, I could not lie, facing those eyes. I remained silent; I was drowning.... Above, the shiny round white porcelain face appeared in the hatchway.

Blood rushed to my face. No, I could not lie while looking into those eyes. I said nothing. I was drowning.... Above me, the shiny, round, white porcelain face appeared in the hatchway.

“Eh! D-503! Come up here! Something is wrong with a frame and brackets here, and ...”

“Hey! D-503! Come up here! Something is wrong with a frame and brackets here, and ...”

Not waiting until he had finished, I rushed to him, upstairs; I was shamefully saving myself by flight. I had not the power to raise my eyes. I was dazed by the sparkling glass steps under my feet, and with every step I made I felt more and more hopeless. I, a corrupted man, a criminal, was out of place here. No, I shall probably never again be able to fuse myself into this mechanical rhythm, nor to float over this mirror-like, untroubled sea. I am to burn eternally from now on, running from place to place, seeking a nook where I may hide my eyes, eternally, until I.... A spark cold as ice pierced me: “I myself, I matter little, but is it necessary that she also...? I must see that she ...”

Before he finished, I rushed upstairs to him. I was saving myself by shamefully running away. I couldn’t raise my eyes. The sparkling glass steps beneath my feet dazed me. With every step, I felt more hopeless. I was a corrupted man, a criminal. I didn’t belong here. No, I will probably never again be able to merge with this mechanical rhythm or float over this calm, mirror-like sea. From now on, I must burn forever, running from place to place, looking for a corner where I can hide my eyes. Forever, until I.... An ice-cold spark pierced me: “I matter little, but must she also...? I must make sure that she ...”

I crawled through the hatchway to the deck and stood there; where was I to go now? I did not know what I had come for! I looked aloft. The midday sun exhausted by its march, was fuming dimly. Below was the Integral, a gray mass of glass,—dead. The pink blood was drained out! It was clear to me that all this was my imagination and that everything remained as before, yet it was also clear to me that ...

I crawled through the hatchway onto the deck and stood there. Where was I supposed to go now? I didn't know what I had come for! I looked up. The midday sun, exhausted by its journey, glowed dimly through a haze. Below was the Integral, a gray mass of glass, dead. Its pink blood had been drained away! I knew all this was my imagination and that everything was still as it had been. Yet I also knew that ...

“What is the matter with you, D-503? Are you deaf? I call you and call.... What is the matter with you?” It was the Second Builder yelling directly into my ear; he must have been yelling that way for quite a while.

“What’s wrong with you, D-503? Are you deaf? I keep calling you.... What’s wrong with you?” The Second Builder was yelling directly into my ear. He must have been yelling like that for quite a while.

What was the matter with me? I had lost my rudder, the motor was groaning as before, the aero was quivering and rushing on but it had no rudder. I did not even know where I was rushing, down to the earth or up to the sun, to its flame....

What was wrong with me? I had lost my rudder. The motor was groaning as before, and the aero was shaking and racing onward, but it had no rudder. I didn't even know where I was going, down to the earth or up to the sun and its flames....