Record Seven

Night. Green, orange, blue. The red royal instrument. The yellow dress. Then a brass Buddha. Suddenly it lifted the brass eyelids and sap began to flow from it, from Buddha. Sap also from the yellow dress. Even in the mirror,—drops of sap, and from the large bed and from the children’s bed and soon from myself.... It is horror, mortally sweet horror!...

Night. Green, orange, blue. The red royal instrument. The yellow dress. Then a brass Buddha. Suddenly, the Buddha lifted its brass eyelids, and sap began to flow from it. Sap flowed from the yellow dress too. Even in the mirror, there were drops of sap. Sap flowed from the large bed and the children’s bed, and soon from me.... It is horror, deadly sweet horror!...

I woke up. Soft blue light, the glass of the walls, of the chairs, of the table was glimmering. This calmed me. My heart stopped palpitating. Sap! Buddha! How absurd! I am sick, it is clear; I never saw dreams before. They say that to see dreams was a common normal thing with the ancients. Yes, after all, their life was a whirling carousel: green, orange, Buddha, sap,—but we, people of today, we know all too well that dreaming is a serious mental disease. I.... Is it possible that my brain, this precise, clean, glittering mechanism, like a chronometer without a speck of dust on it, is...? Yes it is, now. I really feel there in the brain some foreign body like an eyelash in the eye. One does not feel one’s whole body but this eye with a hair in it, one cannot forget it for a second....

I woke up. In the soft blue light, the glass walls, chairs, and table shimmered. The sight calmed me. My heart stopped pounding. Sap! Buddha! How absurd! I must be sick. I had never dreamed before. They say dreaming was common and normal among the ancients. Yes, their lives were a spinning carousel: green, orange, Buddha, sap. But we people of today know all too well that dreaming is a serious mental illness. I.... Could my brain be...? My brain, that precise, clean, glittering mechanism, like a clock without a speck of dust on it? Yes, it could. It is now. I can actually feel something foreign in my brain, like an eyelash in my eye. You no longer feel your whole body, only the eye with a hair in it. You can't forget it for a second....

The cheerful, crystalline sound of the bell at my head. Seven o’clock. Time to get up. To the right and to the left as in mirrors, to the right and to the left through the glass walls I see others like myself, other rooms like my own, other clothes like my own, movements like mine, duplicated thousands of times. This invigorates me; I see myself as a part of an enormous, vigorous, united body; and what precise beauty! Not a single superfluous gesture, or bow, or turn. Yes, this Taylor was undoubtedly the greatest genius of the ancients. True, he did not come to the idea of applying his method to the whole life, to every step throughout the twenty-four hours of the day; he was unable to integrate his system from one o’clock to twenty-four. I cannot understand the ancients. How could they write whole libraries about some Kant and take notice only slightly of Taylor, of this prophet who saw ten centuries ahead?

The bell by my head rings with a cheerful, crystal clear sound. Seven o’clock. Time to get up. Through the glass walls on either side, I see others like myself, as if in mirrors. I see rooms like mine, clothes like mine, and movements like mine, repeated thousands of times. The sight energizes me. I see myself as part of a huge, vigorous, united body. And what precise beauty! Not a single unnecessary gesture, bow, or turn. Yes, Taylor was undoubtedly the greatest genius of the ancients. True, he did not think to apply his method to all of life, to every step throughout the twenty-four-hour day. He could not extend his system to cover every hour, from one to twenty-four. I cannot understand the ancients. How could they write whole libraries about some Kant and pay so little attention to Taylor? He was a prophet who could see ten centuries into the future.

Breakfast was over. The hymn of the United State had been harmoniously sung; rhythmically, four abreast we walked to the elevators, the motors buzzed faintly and swiftly we went down—down—down, the heart sinking slightly. Again that stupid dream or some unknown function of that dream. Oh, yes! Yesterday in the aero, then down—down! Well, it is all over, anyhow. Period. It is very fortunate that I was so firm and brusque with her.

Breakfast was over. We had sung the anthem of the United State in harmony. We walked in rhythm to the elevators, four abreast. The motors hummed softly as we went swiftly down, down, down, our hearts sinking slightly. That stupid dream again, or some unknown function of that dream. Oh, yes! Yesterday in the aero, then down, down! Well, it is all over, anyway. Period. It is very fortunate that I was so firm and abrupt with her.

The car of the underground railway carried me swiftly to the place where the motionless, beautiful body of the Integral, not yet spiritualized by fire, was glittering in the docks in the sunshine. With closed eyes I dreamed in formulae. Again I calculated in my mind what was the initial velocity required to tear away the Integral from the earth. Every second the mass of the Integral would change because of the expenditure of the explosive fuel. The equation was very complex with transcendant figures. As in a dream I felt, right here in the firm calculated world, how someone sat down at my side, barely touching me and saying, “Pardon.” I opened my eyes. At first, apparently because of an association with the Integral, I saw something impetuously flying into the distance: a head; I saw pink wing-ears sticking out on the sides of it, then the curve of the overhanging back of the head, the double-curved letter S.

The underground train carried me swiftly to the docks. There, the still, beautiful body of the Integral glittered in the sunshine, not yet brought to life by fire. With my eyes closed, I dreamed in formulas. Once again, I calculated the initial velocity needed to pull the Integral away from the earth. Its mass would change every second as it used up its explosive fuel. The equation was very complex and involved transcendental numbers. As if in a dream, I sensed someone sit down beside me, right here in the solid, calculated world. The person barely touched me and said, “Pardon.” I opened my eyes. At first, apparently because I was thinking of the Integral, I saw something flying swiftly into the distance: a head. I saw pink, winglike ears sticking out on either side. Then I saw the curve of the overhanging back of the head, the double curve of the letter S.

Through the glass walls of my algebraic world, again I felt the eyelash in my eye. I felt something disagreeable, I felt that today I must....

Through the glass walls of my algebraic world, I felt the eyelash in my eye again. Something felt unpleasant. I felt that today I had to....

“Certainly, please,”—I smiled at my neighbor and bowed.

“Of course, please.” I smiled at my neighbor and bowed.

Number S-4711 I saw glittering on his golden badge (that is why I associated him with the letter S from the very first moment: an optical impression which remained unregistered by consciousness). His eyes sparkled, two sharp little drills; they were revolving swiftly, drilling in deeper and deeper. It seemed that in a moment they would drill in to the bottom and would see something that I do not even dare to confess to myself....

I saw the number S-4711 gleaming on his gold badge. (That was why I associated him with the letter S from the first moment: a visual impression my conscious mind had not registered.) His eyes sparkled like two sharp little drills. They spun quickly, drilling deeper and deeper. It seemed they would soon reach the bottom and see something I do not even dare admit to myself....

That bothersome eyelash became wholly clear to me. S- was one of them, one of the Guardians, and it would be the simplest thing immediately, without deferring to tell him everything!

That bothersome eyelash finally became clear to me. S- was one of them, one of the Guardians. And the simplest thing would be to tell him everything right away!

“I went yesterday to the Ancient House ...” my voice was strange, husky, flat,—I tried to cough.

“I went to the Ancient House yesterday ...” My voice sounded strange, husky, and flat. I tried to cough.

“That is good. It must have given you material for some instructive deductions.”

“That’s good. It must have given you something to draw some useful conclusions from.”

“Yes ... but ... You see, I was not alone; I was in the company of I-330, and then....”

“Yes ... but ... You see, I wasn’t alone. I was with I-330, and then....”

“I-330? You are fortunate. She is a very interesting, gifted woman; she has a host of admirers.”

“I-330? You’re lucky. She’s a very interesting, gifted woman. She has many admirers.”

But he too—then during the promenade.... Perhaps he is even assigned as her he-Number! No, it is impossible to tell him, unthinkable. This was perfectly clear.

But he too, back then during the promenade.... Perhaps he is even assigned as her he-Number! No, I can't tell him. It's unthinkable. That was perfectly clear.

“Yes, yes, certainly, very,” I smiled, broader and broader, more stupidly, and felt as if my smile made me look foolish, naked.

“Yes, yes, certainly, very.” I smiled more and more broadly, more and more stupidly. I felt as if my smile made me look foolish, naked.

The drills reached the bottom; revolving continually they screwed themselves back into his eyes. S- smiled double-curvedly, nodded and slid to the exit.

The drills reached the bottom. Still spinning, they screwed themselves back into his eyes. S- smiled in a double curve, nodded, and slid toward the exit.

I covered my face with the newspaper (I felt as if everybody were looking at me), and soon I forgot about the eyelash, about the little drills, about everything, I was so upset by what I read in the paper: “According to authentic information, traces of an organization which still remains out of reach, have again been discovered. This organization aims at liberation from the beneficial yoke of the State.”

I covered my face with the newspaper. I felt as if everyone were looking at me. Soon I forgot about the eyelash, the little drills, everything. I was so upset by what I read in the paper: “According to reliable information, traces of an organization that remains out of reach have again been discovered. This organization aims to free people from the beneficial yoke of the State.”

Liberation! It is remarkable how persistent human criminal instincts are! I use deliberately the word “criminal,” for freedom and crime are as closely related as—well, as the movement of an aero and its speed: if the speed of an aero equals zero, the aero is motionless; if human liberty is equal to zero, man does not commit any crime. That is clear. The way to rid man of criminality is to rid him of freedom. No sooner did we rid ourselves of freedom (in the cosmic sense centuries are only a “no sooner”), than suddenly some unknown pitiful degenerates.... No, I cannot understand why I did not go immediately yesterday to the Bureau of the Guardians. Today, after sixteen o’clock, I shall go there without fail.

Liberation! It is remarkable how persistent human criminal instincts are! I use the word “criminal” deliberately. Freedom and crime are as closely related as, well, an aero’s movement and its speed. If an aero’s speed is zero, the aero is motionless. If human freedom is zero, people commit no crimes. That is clear. To rid people of criminality, we must rid them of freedom. No sooner had we rid ourselves of freedom than suddenly some unknown, pitiful degenerates.... In cosmic terms, centuries are only a “no sooner.” No, I cannot understand why I did not go straight to the Bureau of the Guardians yesterday. Today, after sixteen o’clock, I will go there without fail.

At sixteen-ten I was in the street; at once I noticed O-90 at the corner; she was all rosy with delight at the encounter. She has a simple, round mind. A timely meeting; she would understand and lend me support. Or, ... no, I did not need any support; my decision was firm.

At 16:10, I was in the street. I immediately noticed O-90 at the corner. She was all rosy with delight at seeing me. She has a simple, round mind. We had met at just the right time. She would understand and support me. Or, ... no, I didn’t need any support. My decision was firm.

The pipes of the Musical Tower thundered out harmoniously the March—the same daily March. How wonderful the charm of this dailiness, of this constant repetition and mirror-like smoothness!

The pipes of the Musical Tower thundered out the March in harmony. It was the same March as every day. How wonderful this daily routine is, with its constant repetition and mirror-like smoothness!

“Out for a walk?” Her round blue eyes opened toward me widely, blue windows leading inside; I penetrate there unhindered; there is nothing in there, I mean nothing foreign, nothing superfluous.

“Out for a walk?” Her round blue eyes opened wide toward me, blue windows into her. I can look inside without any barriers. There is nothing there, I mean nothing foreign, nothing unnecessary.

“No, not for a walk. I must go.” I told her where. And to my astonishment I saw her rosy round mouth form a crescent with the horns downward as if she tasted something sour. This angered me.

“No, not for a walk. I have to go.” I told her where. To my surprise, her rosy, round mouth curved downward like a crescent, as if she had tasted something sour. Her reaction made me angry.

“You she-Numbers seem to be incurably eaten up by prejudices. You are absolutely unable to think abstractly. Forgive me the word but this I call bluntness of mind.”

“You she-Numbers seem to be hopelessly consumed by prejudices. You are completely unable to think abstractly. Forgive the expression, but I call that a dull mind.”

“You? ... to the spies? How ugly! And I went to the Botanical Garden and brought you a branch of lily-of-the-valley....”

“You? ... to the spies? How awful! And I went to the Botanical Garden and brought you a sprig of lily of the valley....”

“Why, ‘and I’? Why this ‘and’? Just like a woman!”

“Why ‘and I’? Why ‘and’? Just like a woman!”

Angrily (this I must confess), I snatched the flowers. “Here they are, your lilies-of-the-valley. Well, smell them! Good? Yes? Why not use a little bit of logic? The lilies-of-the-valley smell good; all right! But you cannot say about an odor, about the conception of an odor, that it is good or bad, can you? You can’t, can you? There is the smell of lilies-of-the-valley and there is the disagreeable smell of henbane. Both are odors. The ancient States had their spies; we have ours ... yes, spies! I am not afraid of words. But is it not clear to you that there the spies were henbane; here they are lilies-of-the-valley? Yes, lilies-of-the-valley, yes!”

Angrily (I must confess), I snatched the flowers. “Here are your lilies-of-the-valley. Go on, smell them! Good? Yes? Why not use a little logic? Lilies-of-the-valley smell good. Fine! But you can’t say that a smell, the idea of a smell, is good or bad, can you? You can’t, can you? There’s the smell of lilies-of-the-valley, and there’s the unpleasant smell of henbane. Both are smells. The ancient States had their spies, and we have ours ... yes, spies! I’m not afraid of words. But can’t you see that their spies were henbane, while ours are lilies-of-the-valley? Yes, lilies-of-the-valley, yes!”

The rosy crescent quivered. Now I understand that it was only my impression but at that moment I was certain she was going to laugh. I shouted still louder:

The rosy crescent trembled. I now understand that this was only my impression. But at that moment, I was sure she was going to laugh. I shouted even louder:

“Yes, lilies-of-the-valley! And there is nothing funny about it, nothing funny!”

“Yes, lilies-of-the-valley! And there’s nothing funny about it, nothing funny!”

The smooth round globes of heads passing by were turning towards us. O-90 gently took my hand.

The smooth, round heads passing by turned toward us. O-90 gently took my hand.

“You are so strange today ... are you ill?”

“You’re so strange today ... are you ill?”

My dream.... Yellow color.... Buddha.... It was at once born clearly upon me that I must go to the Medical Bureau.

My dream.... The color yellow.... Buddha.... I suddenly realized I had to go to the Medical Bureau.

“Yes, you are right, I am sick,” I said with joy (that seems to me an inexplicable contradiction; there was nothing to be joyful about).

“Yes, you’re right, I’m sick,” I said joyfully. (That seems like an inexplicable contradiction to me. There was nothing to be joyful about.)

“You must go at once to the doctor. You understand that; you are obliged to be healthy; it seems strange to have to prove it to you.”

“You must go to the doctor right away. You understand that you are required to be healthy. It seems strange that I have to prove this to you.”

“My dear O-, of course you are right. Absolutely right.”

“My dear O-, of course you’re right. Absolutely right.”

I did not go to the Bureau of the Guardians; I could not; I had to go to the Medical Bureau; they kept me there until seventeen o’clock.

I did not go to the Bureau of the Guardians. I could not. I had to go to the Medical Bureau. They kept me there until five in the afternoon.

In the evening (incidentally, the Bureau of Guardians is closed evenings)—in the evening O- came to see me. The curtains were not lowered. We busied ourselves with the arithmetical problems of an ancient text-book. This occupation always calms and purifies our thoughts. O- sat over her note book, her head slightly inclined to the left; she was so assiduous that she poked out her left cheek with the tongue from within. She looked so child-like, so charming.... I felt everything in me was pleasant, precise and simple.

In the evening, O- came to see me. (The Bureau of Guardians is closed in the evenings, incidentally.) The curtains were not lowered. We worked on arithmetic problems from an ancient textbook. This always calms and clears our minds. O- sat over her notebook, her head tilted slightly to the left. She was so absorbed that she pushed out her left cheek with her tongue. She looked so childlike, so charming.... Everything inside me felt pleasant, precise, and simple.

She left. I remained alone. I breathed deeply two times (it is very good exercise before retiring for the night). Suddenly,—an unexpected odor reminiscent of something very disagreeable! I soon found out what was the matter: a branch of lily-of-the-valley was hidden in my bed. Immediately everything was aroused again, came up from the bottom. Decidedly, it was tactless on her part surreptitiously to put these lilies-of-the-valley there. Well, true I did not go; I didn’t, but was it my fault that I felt indisposed?

She left, and I was alone. I took two deep breaths. (That is a very good exercise before going to bed.) Suddenly, I noticed a smell that reminded me of something very unpleasant! I soon found the source: a sprig of lily of the valley was hidden in my bed. At once, everything stirred again and rose from the depths. It was certainly tactless of her to sneak those lilies of the valley into my bed. Well, it’s true that I didn’t go. But was it my fault that I felt unwell?