Record Forty

Daylight. It is clear. The barometer—760 mm. It is possible that I, D-503, really wrote these—pages? Is it possible that I ever felt, or imagined I felt all this?

Daylight. The sky is clear. The barometer reads 760 mm. Could I, D-503, really have written these pages? Could I ever have felt all this, or imagined I felt it?

The handwriting is mine. And what follows is all in my handwriting. Fortunately only the handwriting. No more delirium, no absurd metaphors, no feelings,—only facts. For I am healthy, perfectly, absolutely healthy.... I am smiling; I cannot help smiling; a splinter has been taken out of my head and I feel so light, so empty! To be more exact, not empty, but there is nothing foreign, nothing that prevents me from smiling. (Smiling is the normal state for a normal human being).

The handwriting is mine. And everything that follows is in my handwriting. Fortunately, only the handwriting is mine. No more delirium, no absurd metaphors, no feelings, only facts. Because I am healthy, perfectly, absolutely healthy.... I am smiling. I cannot help smiling. A splinter has been taken out of my head, and I feel so light, so empty! More precisely, not empty. But there is nothing foreign in my head, nothing that prevents me from smiling. (Smiling is the normal state for a normal human being).

The facts are as follows: That evening my neighbor who discovered the finiteness of the universe, and I, and all others who did not have a certificate showing that we had been operated on, all of us were taken to the nearest auditorium. (For some reason the number of the auditorium, 112, seemed familiar to me). There they tied us to the tables and performed the great operation. Next day, I, D-503, appeared before the Well-Doer and told him everything known to me about the enemies of happiness. Why before it seemed hard for me to go, I cannot understand. The only explanation seems to be my illness,—my soul.

The facts are these: That evening, my neighbor and I were taken to the nearest auditorium. He was the neighbor who discovered that the universe was finite. Everyone else without a certificate showing they had been operated on was taken there too. (For some reason, the auditorium number, 112, seemed familiar to me.) There, they tied us to tables and performed the great operation. The next day, I, D-503, appeared before the Well-Doer. I told him everything I knew about the enemies of happiness. I cannot understand why going to him had seemed hard before. The only explanation seems to be my illness, my soul.

The same evening, sitting at the same table with Him, with the Well-Doer, I saw for the first time in my life the famous Gas Chamber. They brought in that woman. She was to testify in my presence. That woman remained stubbornly silent and smiling. I noticed that she had sharp and very white teeth which were very pretty.

That same evening, I sat at the same table as Him, the Well-Doer. For the first time in my life, I saw the famous Gas Chamber. They brought in that woman. She was to testify in my presence. The woman stubbornly kept silent and smiled. I noticed that her teeth were sharp and very white. They were very pretty.

Then she was brought under the Bell. Her face became very white and as her eyes were large and dark,—all was very pretty. When they began pumping the air from under the Bell she threw her head back and half closed her eyes; her lips were pressed together. This reminded me of something. She looked at me, holding the arms of the chair firmly. She continued to look until her eyes closed. Then she was taken out and brought to by means of electrodes and again put under the Bell. The procedure was repeated three times, yet she did not utter a word.

Then she was brought under the Bell. Her face turned very white, and her eyes were large and dark. It was all very pretty. When they began pumping the air out from under the Bell, she threw her head back and half closed her eyes. Her lips were pressed together. This reminded me of something. She looked at me, gripping the arms of the chair. She kept looking at me until her eyes closed. Then they took her out, revived her with electrodes, and put her under the Bell again. They repeated the procedure three times, but she did not say a word.

The others who were brought in with that woman, proved to be more honest; many of them began to speak after the first trial. Tomorrow they will all ascend the steps to the Machine of the Well-Doer. No postponement is possible for there still is chaos, groaning, cadavers, beasts in the western section, and to our regret there are still quantities of Numbers who betrayed Reason.

The others brought in with that woman proved more honest. Many of them began to speak after the first trial. Tomorrow they will all climb the steps to the Machine of the Well-Doer. No postponement is possible. There is still chaos in the western section, with groaning, corpses, and beasts. And, to our regret, many Numbers have still betrayed Reason.

But on the transverse avenue Forty, we succeeded in establishing a temporary Wall of high voltage waves. And I hope we win. More than that; I am certain we shall win. For Reason must win.

But on transverse avenue Forty, we managed to set up a temporary Wall of high-voltage waves. I hope we win. More than that, I am certain we will win. Because Reason must win.

THE END

THE END