Record Nineteen

There in the strange corridor lighted by the dotted line of dim little electric lamps ... or no, no, later, when we had already reached one of the nooks in the courtyard of the Ancient House, she said, “Day-after-tomorrow.” That “day-after-tomorrow” is today. And everything seems to have wings and to fly; the day flies; and our Integral too already has wings. We finished placing the motor and tried it out today, without switching it in. What magnificent, powerful salvos! Each of them sounded for me like a salute in honor of her, the only one,—in honor of today!

There in the strange corridor, lit by a dotted line of dim little electric lamps ... no, no, it was later. We had already reached one of the nooks in the courtyard of the Ancient House. She said, “The day after tomorrow.” That “day after tomorrow” is today. And everything seems to have wings and to fly. The day flies, and our Integral has wings now too. Today we finished installing the motor and tested it without connecting it. What magnificent, powerful blasts! Each one sounded to me like a salute in honor of her, the only one, in honor of today!

At the time of the first explosion about a dozen loafing Numbers from the docks stood near the main tube—and nothing was left of them save a few crumbs and a little soot. With pride I write down now that this occurrence did not disturb the rhythm of our work even for a second. Not a man shrank. We and our lathes continued our rectilinear or curved motions with the same sparkling and polished precision as before, as if nothing had happened. As a matter of fact, what did happen? A dozen Numbers represent hardly one hundred millionth part of the United State. For practical consideration, that is but an infinitesimal of the third order. That pity, a result of arithmetical ignorance, was known to the ancients; to us it seems absurd.

When the first explosion occurred, about a dozen Numbers from the docks were standing idle near the main tube. Nothing was left of them but a few crumbs and a little soot. I am proud to write that the explosion did not disturb the rhythm of our work for even a second. Not a man flinched. We and our lathes continued our straight or curved motions with the same shining, polished precision as before. It was as if nothing had happened. In fact, what had happened? A dozen Numbers make up hardly one hundred millionth of the United State. For practical purposes, that is only an infinitesimal of the third order. The ancients knew pity, which comes from not understanding arithmetic. To us, it seems absurd.

It seems droll to me also, that yesterday I was thinking, even relating in these pages about a gray blot! All that was only the “softening of the surface” which is normally as hard as diamond, like our walls. (There is an ancient saying: “Shooting beans at a stone wall—”)

It also seems funny that yesterday I was thinking about a gray blot and even writing about it here! All that was just the “softening of the surface.” The surface is normally as hard as a diamond, like our walls. (There is an old saying: “Shooting beans at a stone wall...”)

Sixteen o’clock. I did not go for the supplementary walk; who knows, she might come now, when the sun is so noisily bright.

Sixteen o’clock. I skipped the extra walk. Who knows, she might come now, while the sun is so noisily bright.

I am almost the only one in his room. Through the walls full of sunshine I see for a distance to the right and to the left and below strings of other rooms, repeating each other as if in a mirror, hanging in the air and empty. Only on the bluish stairway, striped by the golden ink of the sun, is seen rising a thin, gray shadow. Already I hear steps, and I see through the door and I feel a smile pasted to my face like a plaster. But it passed to another stairway and down. The click of the switchboard! I threw myself to that little white slit and ... an unfamiliar male Number! (A consonant means a male Number.)

I am almost alone in his room. Through the sunlit walls, I can see rows of other rooms to the right, left, and below. They hang empty in the air, repeating each other as if reflected in a mirror. Only on the bluish stairway, striped with the sun’s golden ink, a thin gray shadow rises. I hear footsteps now and look through the door. I feel a smile stuck to my face like a bandage. But the shadow moved to another stairway and went down. The switchboard clicks! I rush to the little white slit and ... an unfamiliar male Number! (A consonant means a male Number.)

The elevator groaned and stopped. A big, slovenly, slanting forehead stood before me, and the eyes ... They impressed me strangely; it seemed as if the man talked with his eyes which were deep under the forehead.

The elevator groaned and stopped. In front of me was a large, slovenly, sloping forehead, and the eyes ... The eyes struck me as strange. They were set deep beneath the forehead, and it seemed as if the man spoke with them.

“Here is a letter from her, for you.” (From under the awning of that forehead.) “She asked that everything ... as requested in the letter ... without fail.” This too, from under the forehead, from under the awning, and he turned, looked about.

“Here’s a letter from her for you.” (From under the awning of that forehead.) “She asked that everything ... as requested in the letter ... without fail.” These words, too, came from under the forehead, from under the awning. He turned and looked around.

“No, there is nobody, nobody. Quickly! the letter!”

“No, there’s nobody, nobody. Quick! The letter!”

He put the letter in my hand and went out without a word.

He put the letter in my hand and left without a word.

A pink check fell out of the envelope. It was hers, her check! Her tender perfume! I felt like running to catch up with that wonderful under-the-forehead one. A tiny note followed the check from the envelope; three lines: “The check ... Lower the curtains without fail, as if I were actually with you. It is necessary that they should think that I ... I am very, very sorry.”

A pink check fell out of the envelope. It was hers, her check! Her delicate perfume! I wanted to run after that wonderful person with the eyes beneath her forehead. A tiny note followed the check out of the envelope. It had three lines: “The check ... Make sure you lower the curtains, as if I were really with you. They must think that I ... I am very, very sorry.”

I tore the note into small bits. A glance at the mirror revealed my distorted, broken eyebrows. I took the check and was ready to do with it as I had done with the note. “She asked that everything ... as requested in the letter ... without fail.” My arms weakened and the hands loosened. The check was back on the table. She is stronger than I, stronger than I. It seemed as though I were going to act as she wished. Besides ... however, it is a long time before evening.

I tore the note into small pieces. A glance in the mirror showed my eyebrows twisted and uneven. I picked up the check and was ready to tear it up too. “She asked that everything ... as requested in the letter ... without fail.” My arms went weak, and my hands loosened their grip. The check was back on the table. She is stronger than I am, stronger than I am. It seemed I would do as she wished. Besides ... but there is still a long time before evening.

The check remained on the table. In the mirror—my distorted, broken eyebrows. Oh, why did I not have a doctor’s certificate for today? I should like to go and walk, walk without end around the Green Wall and then to fall on my bed ... to the bottom of.... Yet I had to go to Auditorium No. 13, and I should have to grip myself, so as to bear up for two hours! Two hours without motion, at a time when I wanted to scream and stamp my feet!

The check was still on the table. In the mirror, my eyebrows looked distorted and broken. Oh, why didn’t I have a doctor’s certificate for today? I wanted to walk endlessly around the Green Wall, then fall onto my bed ... to the bottom of.... But I had to go to Auditorium No. 13. I would have to hold myself together for two hours! Two hours without moving, when I wanted to scream and stamp my feet!

The lecture was on. It was very strange to hear from the sparkling tube of the phono-lecturer not the usual metallic voice but a soft, velvety, mossy one. It was a woman’s voice and I seemed to have a vision of the woman: a little hook-like old woman, like the one of the Ancient House.

The lecture was underway. It was strange to hear a soft, velvety, mossy voice coming from the sparkling tube of the phono-lecturer. Usually, the voice was metallic. This was a woman’s voice, and I seemed to see her: a little, hook-shaped old woman like the one from the Ancient House.

The Ancient House! Suddenly from within me a powerful fountain of.... I had to use all my strength to control myself, so as not to fill the auditorium with screams. The soft mossy words were piercing me, yet only empty words about children and child-production reached my ear. I was like a photographic plate: everything was making its imprint with a strange, senseless precision on me; the golden scythe which was nothing more than the reflection of light from the megaphone of the lecture apparatus, under the megaphone a child, a living illustration. It was leaning toward the megaphone, the angle of its infinitesimal unif in its mouth, its little fist clenched firmly, its thumb squeezed into the fist, a light fluffy pleat of skin at the wrist. Like a photographic plate I was taking the impression of all this. Now I saw how its naked leg hung over the edge of the platform, the pink fan of its finger waved in the air.... One minute more, one second and the child would be on the floor!

The Ancient House! Suddenly, a powerful fountain erupted inside me.... I had to use all my strength to keep from filling the auditorium with screams. The soft, mossy words pierced me, yet all I heard were empty words about children and child production. I was like a photographic plate. Everything left an imprint on me with strange, senseless precision. There was a golden scythe that was nothing more than light reflected from the lecture apparatus’s megaphone. Beneath the megaphone was a child, a living illustration. The child leaned toward the megaphone, with the corner of its tiny unif in its mouth. Its little fist was clenched tight, its thumb tucked inside, and a soft, fluffy fold of skin showed at its wrist. Like a photographic plate, I took in all of this. Now I saw the child’s bare leg hanging over the edge of the platform. The pink fan of its fingers waved in the air.... One more minute, one more second, and the child would be on the floor!

A female’s scream, a wave of translucent wings, her unif on the platform! She caught the child, her lips clung to the fluffy pleat of the baby’s wrist; she moved the child to the middle of the table and left the platform. The imprints were registering in me: a pink crescent of a mouth, the horns downward! Eyes like small blue saucers filled with liquid! It was O-90. And as if reading a consequential formula, I suddenly felt the necessity, the naturalness of that insignificant occurrence.

A woman’s scream, a wave of translucent wings, her unif on the platform! She caught the child and pressed her lips to a soft fold of the baby’s wrist. She moved the child to the middle of the table and left the platform. The images registered in my mind: a pink crescent of a mouth, its points turned downward! Eyes like small blue saucers filled with liquid! It was O-90. And as if reading a formula that followed logically from what came before, I suddenly felt how necessary, how natural, that insignificant event was.

She sat down behind me, somewhat to my left. I looked back. She quietly removed her gaze from the table and the child and looked straight into me. Within again: She, I, the table on the platform,—three points: and through those three points lines were drawn, a projection of some as yet unforeseen events!

She sat down behind me, a little to my left. I looked back. She quietly turned her gaze from the table and the child and looked straight into me. Again, inside me: she, I, and the table on the platform formed three points. Lines ran through those three points, a projection of events still unforeseen!

Then I went home through the green dusky street which seemed many-eyed because of the electric lights. I heard myself tick-tocking like a clock. And the hands of that clock seemed to be about to pass a figure: I was going to do something, something that would cut off every way of retreat. She wants somebody, whom I do not know, to think she is with me. I want her; what do I care what she wants? I do not want to be alone behind the curtains and that is all there is to it!

Then I went home through the dim green street. The electric lights made it look as if it had many eyes. I heard myself ticking like a clock. The hands of that clock seemed about to pass a number. I was going to do something that would leave me no way back. She wants someone I don't know to think she's with me. I want her. Why should I care what she wants? I don't want to be alone behind the curtains, and that's all there is to it!

From behind came sounds of a familiar gait, like splashing in a ditch. I did not need to look back, I knew it was S-. He would follow me to the very door, probably. Then he would stay below on the sidewalk, and he would try to drill upward into my room with his boring eyes, until the curtains would fall, concealing something criminal.

Behind me, I heard familiar footsteps, splashing like someone walking through a ditch. I didn’t need to look back. I knew it was S-. He would probably follow me all the way to my door. Then he would stay on the sidewalk below and try to drill up into my room with his piercing eyes. He would keep watching until the curtains fell, hiding something criminal.

Was he my Guardian-Angel? No! My decision was made.

Was he my Guardian-Angel? No! I had made my decision.

When I came into my room and turned on the light, I could not believe my eyes! O-90 stood at my table, or to be more exact, she was hanging like a creased empty dress. She seemed to have no tensity, no spring beneath the dress; her arms and legs were springless, her voice was hanging and springless.

When I entered my room and turned on the light, I could hardly believe my eyes! O-90 stood at my table. Or, more precisely, she hung there like a crumpled, empty dress. She seemed to have no tension, no spring beneath her dress. Her arms and legs were limp, and her voice was flat and lifeless.

“About my letter, did you receive it? Yes? I must know your answer, I must—today.”

“Did you receive my letter? Yes? I need to know your answer. I need to know today.”

I shrugged my shoulders. I enjoyed looking into her blue eyes which were filled with tears as if she were the guilty one. I lingered over my answer. With pleasure I pricked her:

I shrugged. I enjoyed looking into her blue eyes, which were full of tears as if she were the guilty one. I took my time answering. I took pleasure in hurting her:

“Answer? Well.... You are right. Undoubtedly. In everything.”

“Answer? Well.... You’re right. Absolutely. About everything.”

“Then ...” (She tried to cover the minute tremor with a smile but it did not escape me.) “Well, all right. I shall ... I shall leave you at once.”

“Then ...” (She tried to hide the slight tremor with a smile, but I noticed it.) “Well, all right. I’ll ... I’ll leave you right away.”

Yet she remained drooping over the table. Drooping eyelids, drooping arms and legs. The pink check of the other was still on the table. I quickly opened this manuscript, “WE,” and with its pages I covered the check, trying to hide it from myself, rather than from O-.

Yet she still slumped over the table. Her eyelids drooped, as did her arms and legs. The other woman's pink check was still on the table. I quickly opened this manuscript, “WE,” and covered the check with its pages. I was trying to hide the check from myself, rather than from O-.

“See, here, I am still busy writing. Already 101 pages! Something quite unexpected comes out in this writing.”

“Look, I’m still writing. Already 101 pages! Something completely unexpected is coming out in my writing.”

In a voice, in a shadow of a voice, “And do you remember ... how the other day I ... on the seventh page ... and it dropped....”

In a voice, barely more than a whisper, “And do you remember ... the other day, how I ... on the seventh page ... and it fell....”

The tiny blue saucers filled to the borders; silently and rapidly the tears ran down her cheeks. And suddenly, like the dropping of the tears,—rushing forth,—words:

The tiny blue saucers filled to the brim. Tears ran silently and quickly down her cheeks. Suddenly, words rushed out like the falling tears:

“I cannot ... I shall leave you in a moment. I shall never again ... and I don’t care.... Only I want, I must have a child! From you! Give me a child and I will leave. I will!”

“I can’t ... I’ll leave you in a moment. I’ll never again ... and I don’t care.... I just want, I must have a child! With you! Give me a child and I’ll leave. I will!”

I saw she was trembling all over beneath her unif, and I felt ... I too, would soon ... would.... I put my hands behind my back and smiled.

I saw her trembling all over beneath her unif, and I felt ... I too would soon ... would.... I put my hands behind my back and smiled.

“What? You desire to go under the Machine of the Well-Doer?”

“What? Do you want to go under the Well-Doer's Machine?”

Like a stream her words ran over the dam.

Her words flowed over the dam like a stream.

“I don’t care. I shall feel it for a while within me. I want to see, to see only once the little fold of skin here at the wrist, like that one on the table in the Auditorium. Only for one day!”

“I don’t care. I’ll feel it inside me for a while. I want to see that little fold of skin at the wrist, just once. Like the one on the table in the Auditorium. Just for one day!”

Three points: she, I and a little fist with a fluffy fold of skin there on the table!

Three points: she, I, and a little fist with a soft fold of skin, there on the table!

I remember how once when I was a child they took me up on the Accumulating Tower. At the very top I bent over the glass railing of an opening in the Tower. Below people seemed like dots; my heart contracted sweetly. “What if....” On that occasion I only clenched my hands around the railing; now I jumped over.

I remember being taken up the Accumulating Tower as a child. At the very top, I leaned over the glass railing around an opening in the Tower. The people below looked like dots. My heart tightened with a sweet thrill. “What if....” That time, I only gripped the railing. Now I jumped over it.

“So you desire ... being perfectly aware that ...”

“So you want ... knowing full well that ...”

Her eyes were closed as if the sun were beating straight into her face. A wet, shining smile!

Her eyes were closed as if the sun were shining straight into her face. A wet, shining smile!

“Yes, yes! I want it!”

“Yes, yes! I want it!”

Quickly I took out the pink check of the other from under the manuscript and down I went to the controller on duty. O-90 caught my hand, screamed out something, but what it was I understood only later, when I returned.

I quickly pulled the other person’s pink check from under the manuscript and went down to the controller on duty. O-90 grabbed my hand and screamed something. But I only understood what she had said when I returned.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands firmly clasped about the knees.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly around her knees.

“Is it, is it her check?”

“Is it, is it her check?”

“What does it matter? Well, it is hers, yes.”

“What does it matter? Well, yes, it’s hers.”

Something cracked. It must have been the springs of the bed, for O-90 made a slight motion only. She remained sitting, her hands upon her knees.

Something cracked. It must have been the bed springs, because O-90 had barely moved. She stayed seated, her hands on her knees.

“Well, quick....” I roughly pressed her hand. A red spot was left on her wrist (tomorrow it would become purple), where the fluffy, infantile fold.... It was the last.... I turned the switch, my thoughts went out with the light. Darkness, a spark! and I had jumped over the railing, down....

“Well, quickly....” I gripped her hand roughly. I left a red mark on her wrist (tomorrow it would turn purple), where the soft, babyish fold.... It was the last.... I flipped the switch. My thoughts went out with the light. Darkness, a spark! And I had jumped over the railing, down....