Record Four

Until today everything in life seemed to me clear (that is why, I think, I always had a sort of partiality toward the word “clear”), but today ... I don’t understand. First, I really was assigned to auditorium 112 as she said, although the probability was as 500:10,000,000 or 1:20,000. (500 is the number of auditoriums and there are 10,000,000 Numbers.) And second ... but let me relate things in successive order. The auditorium: an enormous half-globe of glass with the sun piercing through. The circular rows of noble, globe-like, closely-shaven heads. With joy in my heart I looked around. I believe I was looking in the hope of seeing the rose-colored scythe, the dear lips of O-, somewhere among the blue waves of the unifs. Then I saw extraordinarily white, sharp teeth like the.... But no! Tonight at twenty-one o’clock O- was to come to me; therefore my desire to see her was quite natural. The bell. We stood up, sang the Hymn of the United State, and our clever phono-lecturer appeared on the platform with a sparkling golden megaphone.

Until today, everything in life seemed clear to me. I think that is why I have always been rather fond of the word “clear.” But today ... I don’t understand. First, I really was assigned to auditorium 112, just as she said. The odds were 500:10,000,000, or 1:20,000. There are 500 auditoriums and 10,000,000 Numbers. And second ... but let me tell things in order. The auditorium was a huge half-sphere of glass, with sunlight streaming through it. Circular rows of noble, round, closely shaved heads filled the room. I looked around with joy in my heart. I believe I hoped to see the rose-colored scythe, O-’s dear lips, somewhere among the blue waves of unifs. Then I saw extraordinarily white, sharp teeth like the.... But no! O- was coming to me tonight at twenty-one o’clock, so it was perfectly natural to want to see her. The bell rang. We stood up and sang the Hymn of the United State. Then our clever phono-lecturer appeared on the platform with a sparkling golden megaphone.

“Respected Numbers, not so long ago our archaeologists dug up a book written in the twentieth century. In this book the ironical author tells about a Wild Man and a barometer. The Wild Man noticed that every time the barometer’s hand stopped on the word ‘rain,’ it actually rained. And as the Wild Man craved rain, he let out as much mercury as was necessary to put it at the level of the word ‘rain’ (on the screen a Wild Man with feathers, letting out the mercury. Laughter).

“Respected Numbers, not long ago our archaeologists dug up a book written in the twentieth century. In it, an ironic author tells a story about a Wild Man and a barometer. The Wild Man noticed that whenever the barometer’s hand stopped at ‘rain,’ it actually rained. The Wild Man wanted rain, so he let out enough mercury to bring it down to the level of ‘rain.’ (On the screen, a Wild Man with feathers lets out the mercury. Laughter).

“You are laughing at him, but don’t you think the ‘European’ of that age deserves more to be laughed at? He, like the Wild Man, wanted rain,—rain with a little r, an algebraic rain; but he remained standing before the barometer like a wet hen. The Wild Man at least had more courage and energy and logic, although primitive logic. The Wild Man showed the ability to establish a connection between cause and effect: by letting out the mercury he made the first step on the path which....”

“You’re laughing at him, but don’t you think the ‘European’ of that age deserves even more ridicule? Like the Wild Man, he wanted rain, rain with a little r, an algebraic rain. But he just stood in front of the barometer like a wet hen. The Wild Man at least had more courage, energy, and logic, although his logic was primitive. He showed that he could connect cause and effect. By letting out the mercury, he took the first step on the path that....”

Here (I repeat, I am not concealing anything, I am setting down everything) I suddenly became impermeable to the quickening currents coming from the megaphone. I suddenly felt I had come here in vain (why in vain and how could I not have come here, where I was assigned?). Everything seemed to me empty like a shell. I succeeded with difficulty in switching my attention in again when the phono-lecturer came to the main theme of the evening,—to our music as a mathematical composition (mathematics is the cause, music the effect). The phono-lecturer began the description of the recently invented musicometer.

Here, I suddenly became immune to the energizing currents coming from the megaphone. (I repeat, I am hiding nothing. I am recording everything.) I suddenly felt I had come here for nothing. (Why for nothing? And how could I have stayed away when I had been assigned here?) Everything seemed empty, like a shell. I struggled to focus again when the phono-lecturer came to the evening’s main subject: our music as a mathematical composition. (Mathematics is the cause, music the effect.) The phono-lecturer began describing the recently invented musicometer.

“... By merely rotating this handle any one is enabled to produce about three sonatas per hour. What difficulties our predecessors had in making music! They were able to compose only by bringing themselves to strokes of inspiration,—an extinct form of epilepsy. Here you have an amusing illustration of their achievements: the music of Scriabin, twentieth century. This black box,” (a curtain parted on the platform, and we saw an ancient instrument) “this box they called the ‘Royal Grand.’ They attached to this the idea of regality, which also goes to prove how their music....”

“... Just by turning this handle, anyone can produce about three sonatas an hour. Our predecessors had such a hard time making music! They could compose only by working themselves into fits of inspiration, an extinct form of epilepsy. Here is an amusing example of what they achieved: the music of Scriabin, twentieth century. This black box,” (a curtain parted on the platform, and we saw an old instrument) “was called the ‘Royal Grand.’ They associated it with regality, which also goes to show how their music....”

And I don’t remember anything further. Very possibly because ... I’ll tell you frankly, because she, I-330, came to the “Royal” box. Probably I was simply startled by her unexpected appearance on the platform.

And I don’t remember anything after that. Very possibly because ... I’ll be honest, because she, I-330, came to the “Royal” box. I was probably just startled to see her appear unexpectedly on the platform.

She was dressed in a fantastic dress of the ancient time, a black dress closely fitting the body, sharply delimiting the white of her shoulders and breast and that warm shadow waving with her breath between.... And the dazzling, almost angry teeth. A smile, a bite, directed downward. She took her seat; she began to play something wild, convulsive, loud like all their life then,—not a shadow of rational mechanism. Of course all those around me were right; they were laughing. Only a few ... but why is it that I too, I...?

She wore a fantastic dress from ancient times, a black dress that clung to her body. It sharply framed the white of her shoulders and breasts and the warm shadow between them, shifting with her breath.... And those dazzling, almost angry teeth. A smile, a bite, aimed downward. She sat down and began to play something wild and convulsive, loud like everything in their lives back then. There was not a trace of rational mechanism. Of course, everyone around me was right. They were laughing. Only a few ... but why is it that I too, I...?

Yes, epilepsy, a mental disease, a pain. A slow, sweet pain, bite, and it goes deeper and becomes sharper. And then, slowly, sunshine,—not our sunshine, not crystalline, bluish and soft, coming through the glass bricks. No, a wild sunshine, rushing and burning, tearing everything into small bits....

Yes, epilepsy, a mental illness, a pain. A slow, sweet pain, a bite that goes deeper and grows sharper. Then, slowly, sunlight. Not our sunlight, crystalline, blue and soft, coming through the glass bricks. No, wild sunlight, rushing and burning, tearing everything into tiny pieces....

The Number at my left glanced at me and chuckled. I don’t know why but I remember exactly how a microscopic saliva bubble appeared on his lips and burst. That bubble brought me back to myself. I was again I.

The Number to my left glanced at me and chuckled. I don’t know why, but I remember exactly how a tiny bubble of saliva appeared on his lips and burst. That bubble brought me back to myself. I was myself again.

Like all the other Numbers I heard now only the senseless, disorderly cracking of the chords. I laughed; I felt so light and simple. The gifted phono-lecturer represented to us only too well that wild epoch. And that was all.

Like all the other Numbers, I now heard only the senseless, disorderly clashing of the chords. I laughed. I felt so light and simple. The gifted phono-lecturer had portrayed that wild era only too well. And that was all.

With what a joy I listened afterward to our contemporary music. It was demonstrated to us at the end of the lecture for the sake of contrast. Crystalline, chromatic scales converging and diverging into endless series; and synthetic harmony of the formulae of Taylor and McLauren, wholesome, square and massive like the “trousers of Pythagoras.” Sad melodies dying away in waving movements. The beautiful texture of the spectrum of planets, dissected by Frauenhofer lines ... what magnificent, what perfect regularity! How pitiful the wilful music of the ancients, not limited except by the scope of their wild imaginations!

What joy I felt afterward, listening to our contemporary music! It was played for us at the end of the lecture for contrast. Crystalline chromatic scales converged and diverged in endless series. The formulas of Taylor and McLauren produced a synthetic harmony, wholesome, square, and massive like the “trousers of Pythagoras.” Sad melodies faded away in wave-like movements. The beautiful texture of the planetary spectrum, dissected by Frauenhofer lines ... what magnificent, perfect regularity! How pitiful the willful music of the ancients seemed, limited only by the scope of their wild imaginations!

As usual in good order, four abreast, all of us left the auditorium. The familiar double-curved figure passed swiftly by. I respectfully bowed.

As usual, we all left the auditorium in orderly rows of four. The familiar double-curved figure passed quickly by. I bowed respectfully.

Dear O- was to come in an hour. I felt agitated,—agreeably and usefully. Home at last! I rushed to the house-office, handed over to the controller on duty my pink ticket and received a certificate permitting the use of the curtains. This right exists in our State only for the sexual days. Normally we live surrounded by transparent walls which seem to be knitted of sparkling air; we live beneath the eye of everyone, always bathed in light. We have nothing to conceal from one another; besides, this mode of living makes the difficult and exalted task of the Guardians much easier. Without it many bad things might happen. It is possible that the strange opaque dwellings of the ancients were responsible for their pitiful cellish psychology. “My (sic!) home is my fortress!” How did they manage to think of such things?

Dear O- was due in an hour. I felt pleasantly and usefully agitated. Home at last! I rushed to the house office and gave my pink ticket to the controller on duty. In return, I received a certificate allowing me to use the curtains. In our State, we have this right only on sexual days. Normally, we live surrounded by transparent walls that seem woven from sparkling air. We live in full view of everyone, always bathed in light. We have nothing to hide from one another. Besides, living this way makes the Guardians’ difficult and exalted task much easier. Without this way of living, many bad things might happen. Perhaps the strange, opaque homes of the ancients were responsible for their pitiful, cell-like psychology. “My (sic!) home is my fortress!” How did they ever think of such things?

At twenty-two o’clock I lowered the curtain and at the same second O- came in smiling, slightly out of breath. She extended to me her rosy lips and her pink ticket. I tore off the stub but I could not tear myself away from the rosy lips up to the last moment,—twenty-two-fifteen.

At 22:00, I lowered the curtain. At that very moment, O- came in smiling and slightly out of breath. She offered me her rosy lips and her pink ticket. I tore off the stub, but I couldn’t pull myself away from her rosy lips until the last moment, 22:15.

Then I showed her my diary and I talked; I think I talked very well on the beauty of a square, a cube, a straight line. At first she listened so charmingly, she was so rosy, when suddenly a tear appeared in her blue eyes, then another, and a third fell straight on the open page (page 7). The ink blurred; well, I shall have to copy it again.

Then I showed her my diary and talked. I think I spoke very well about the beauty of a square, a cube, and a straight line. At first she listened so charmingly, and she was so rosy. Then suddenly a tear appeared in her blue eyes, then another. A third fell directly onto the open page (page 7). The ink blurred. Well, I’ll have to copy it again.

“My dear O-, if only you, if....”

“My dear O-, if only you, if....”

“What if? If what?”

“What if? If what?”

Again the old lament about a child or perhaps something new regarding, regarding ... the other one? Although it seems as though some ... but that would be too absurd!

The same old complaint about a child again, or perhaps something new about, about ... the other one? Although it seems as if some ... but that would be too absurd!