Record Twenty-Two

Please imagine that you stand at the seashore. The waves go rhythmically up, down, up.... Suddenly when they have risen they remain in that position, benumbed, torpid! It was just as weird and unnatural when everything became confused and our regular walk which is prescribed by the Tables, suddenly came to an end. The last time such a thing happened was 119 years ago, when according to our historians a meteorite fell hissing and fuming into the very midst of the marchers. We were walking yesterday as usual, that is like warriors on the Assyrian monuments, a thousand heads and two composite, integrated legs and two swinging integrated arms. At the end of the avenue where the Accumulating Tower was formidably resounding, a quadrangle appeared: on the sides, in front and behind—guards; in the centre three Numbers. Their unifs were already stripped of the golden State badges; everything was painfully clear. The enormous dial on the top of the Tower looked like a face; it bent down from the clouds and spitting down its seconds, it waited with indifference. It showed six minutes past thirteen exactly. There was some confusion in the quadrangle. I was very close and I saw the most minute details. I clearly remember a thin, long neck and on the temple a confused net of small blue veins like rivers on the map of a small unfamiliar world, and that unknown world was apparently still a very young man. He evidently noticed someone in our ranks; he stopped, rose upon his tip-toes and stretched his neck. One of the guards snapped his back with the bluish spark of the electric whip—he squealed in a thin voice like a puppy. The distinct snaps followed each other at intervals of approximately two seconds; a snap and a squeal, a snap and a squeal.... We continued to walk as usual, rhythmically, in our Assyrian manner. I watched the graceful zigzags of the electric sparks and thought: “Human society is constantly improving, as it should. How ugly a tool was the ancient whip and how much beauty there is—”

Imagine standing on the seashore. The waves rise and fall, rise and fall, in a steady rhythm.... Suddenly, they rise and stay there, frozen and motionless! It was just as strange and unnatural when everything fell into confusion and our regular walk, prescribed by the Tables, suddenly ended. The last time anything like this happened was 119 years ago. According to our historians, a meteorite fell, hissing and smoking, right into the middle of the marchers. Yesterday, we were walking as usual, like warriors on Assyrian monuments. We had a thousand heads, two shared, unified legs, and two shared, swinging arms. At the end of the avenue, where the Accumulating Tower was booming ominously, a formation appeared. Guards stood on the sides, in front, and behind. Three Numbers were in the center. The golden State badges had already been stripped from their unifs. Everything was painfully clear. The enormous dial atop the Tower looked like a face. It leaned down from the clouds, spitting out seconds, and waited without concern. It showed exactly six minutes past thirteen. There was some confusion in the formation. I was very close and saw the smallest details. I clearly remember a long, thin neck and a tangled network of small blue veins on one temple. They looked like rivers on a map of a small, unfamiliar world. And that unknown world was apparently still a very young man. He seemed to notice someone in our ranks. He stopped, rose on his toes, and stretched his neck. One of the guards struck his back with the bluish spark of an electric whip. He squealed in a thin voice, like a puppy. The sharp snaps followed one another about two seconds apart. A snap and a squeal, a snap and a squeal.... We continued walking as usual, in our rhythmic Assyrian manner. I watched the graceful zigzags of the electric sparks and thought: “Human society is always improving, as it should. What an ugly tool the old whip was, and how much beauty there is...”

At that moment, like a nut flying from a wheel revolving at full speed, a female Number, thin, flexible and tense, tore herself from our rows, and with a cry, “Enough! Don’t you dare!” she threw herself straight into the quadrangle. It was like the meteorite of 119 years ago; our march came to a standstill and our rows appeared like the gray crests of waves frozen by sudden cold. For a second I looked at that woman’s figure with the eye of a stranger as all the others did. She was no Number any longer; she was only a human being and she existed for us only as a substantiation of the insult which she cast upon the United State. But a motion of hers, her bending while twisting to the left upon her hips, revealed to me clearly who she was. I knew, I knew that body, flexible as a whip! My eyes, my lips, my hands knew it; at that moment I was absolutely certain.... Two of the guards dashed to catch her. One more moment and that limpid mirror-like point on the pavement would have become the point of meeting of their trajectories, and she would have been caught! My heart fell, stopped. Without thinking whether it was permissible or not, whether it was reasonable or absurd, I threw myself straight to that point.

At that moment, a female Number broke from our rows like a nut flying off a wheel spinning at full speed. She was thin, flexible, and tense. With a cry of “Enough! Don’t you dare!” she rushed straight into the quadrangle. It was like the meteorite of 119 years ago. Our march stopped, and our rows looked like the gray crests of waves frozen by a sudden cold. For a second, I looked at the woman as a stranger, just as everyone else did. She was no longer a Number. She was only a human being, and to us she existed only as proof of the insult she had hurled at the United State. But then she bent and twisted to the left at the hips, and I saw clearly who she was. I knew, I knew that body, flexible as a whip! My eyes, my lips, my hands knew it. At that moment I was absolutely certain.... Two guards rushed to catch her. One moment more, and their paths would have met at that clear, mirrorlike point on the pavement. She would have been caught! My heart sank and stopped. I did not think about whether it was permitted or forbidden, reasonable or absurd. I threw myself straight toward that point.

I felt thousands of eyes bulging with horror fixed upon me but that only added a sort of desperately joyful power to that wild being with hairy paws which arose in me and ran faster and faster. Two more steps—she turned around—

I felt thousands of eyes bulging with horror, fixed on me. But that only gave a kind of desperate, joyful power to the wild creature rising inside me. It had hairy paws and ran faster and faster. Two more steps. She turned around.

I saw a quivering face covered with freckles, red eyebrows.... It was not she! Not I-330!

I saw a trembling face covered in freckles, with red eyebrows.... It wasn't her! Not I-330!

A rabid, quivering joy took hold of me. I wanted to shout something like: “Catch her! Get her, that—” But I heard only my whisper. A heavy hand was already upon my shoulder; I was caught and led away. I tried to explain to them:

A wild, trembling joy seized me. I wanted to shout something like: “Catch her! Get her, that...” But I heard only my own whisper. A heavy hand was already on my shoulder. I was caught and led away. I tried to explain to them:

“But listen, you must understand that I thought that....”

“But listen, you have to understand that I thought that....”

But could I explain even to myself all the sickness which I have described in these pages? My light went out; I waited obediently. As a leaf that is torn from its branch by a sudden gust of wind falls humbly, but on its way down turns and tries to catch every little branch, every fork, every knot; so I tried to catch every one of the silent, globe-like heads, or the transparent ice of the walls, or the blue needle of the Accumulating Tower which seemed to pierce the clouds.

But could I explain even to myself all the sickness I have described in these pages? My light went out, and I waited obediently. A sudden gust of wind tears a leaf from its branch, and the leaf falls humbly. But as it falls, it turns and tries to catch every little branch, every fork, every knot. In the same way, I tried to catch every silent, globe-like head, the transparent ice of the walls, or the blue needle of the Accumulating Tower, which seemed to pierce the clouds.

At that moment, when a heavy curtain was about to separate from me this beautiful world, I noticed not far away a familiar, enormous head gliding over the mirror surface of the pavement and wagging its wing-like ears. I heard a familiar, flat voice:

Just as a heavy curtain was about to separate me from this beautiful world, I noticed a familiar, enormous head nearby. It was gliding over the mirror-like pavement, its wing-like ears wagging. I heard a familiar, flat voice:

“I deem it my duty to testify that Number D-503 is ill and is unable to regulate his emotions. Moreover, I am sure that he was led by natural indignation—”

“I believe it is my duty to testify that Number D-503 is ill and cannot control his emotions. Moreover, I am sure he was driven by natural indignation...”

“Yes! Yes!” I exclaimed, “I even shouted ‘catch her!’”

“Yes! Yes!” I said. “I even shouted ‘catch her!’”

From behind me: “You did not shout anything.”

From behind me: “You didn’t shout anything.”

“No, but I wanted to. I swear by the Well-Doer, I wanted to!”

“No, but I wanted to. I swear by the Well-Doer, I wanted to!”

For a second I was bored through by the gray, cold, drill-eyes. I don’t know whether he believed that what I said was the truth (almost!), or whether he had some secret reason for sparing me for a while, but he wrote a short note, handed it to one of those who had held me and again I was free. That is, I was again included in the orderly, endless, Assyrian rows of Numbers.

For a second, his cold, gray eyes bored into me like drills. I don’t know whether he believed I was telling the truth (almost!). Or perhaps he had some secret reason for sparing me for a while. But he wrote a short note and handed it to one of the people who had held me. Then I was free again. That is, I was back in the orderly, endless, Assyrian rows of Numbers.

The quadrangle, the freckled face and the temple with the map of blue veinlets disappeared forever around the corner. We walked again—a million-headed body; and in each one of us resided that humble joyfulness with which in all probability molecules, atoms and phagocytes live.

The quadrangle, the freckled face, and the temple with its map of tiny blue veins disappeared around the corner forever. We walked on again, a body with a million heads. Each of us felt the humble joy that molecules, atoms, and phagocytes probably feel as they live.

In the ancient days the Christians understood this feeling; they are our only (though very imperfect) direct forerunners. The greatness of the “Church of the United Flock” was known to them. They knew that resignation is virtue, and pride—a vice; that “We” is from God, “I” from the devil.

In ancient times, Christians understood this feeling. They are our only direct forerunners, though very imperfect ones. They knew the greatness of the “Church of the United Flock”. They knew that submission is a virtue and pride is a vice. They knew that “We” comes from God and “I” from the devil.

I was walking, keeping step with the others yet separated from them. I was still trembling from the emotion just felt, like a bridge over which a thundering ancient steel train has passed a moment before. I felt myself. To feel one’s self, to be conscious of one’s personality, is the lot of an eye inflamed by a cinder, or an infected finger, or a bad tooth. A healthy eye, or finger, or tooth is not felt; it is non-existent as it were. Is it not clear then, that consciousness of oneself is a sickness?

I walked in step with the others, yet I was separate from them. I was still trembling from the emotion I had just felt. I was like a bridge moments after a thundering old steel train has passed over it. I felt myself. Feeling yourself, being aware of your own personality, is like an eye irritated by a cinder, an infected finger, or a bad tooth. You don’t feel a healthy eye, finger, or tooth. It’s as if it doesn’t exist. Isn’t it clear, then, that being aware of yourself is a sickness?

Apparently I am no longer a phagocyte which quietly, in a business-like way devours microbes (microbes with freckled faces and blue temples); apparently I am myself a microbe, and she too, I-330, is a microbe, a wonderful, diabolic microbe! It is quite possible that there are already thousands of such microbes among us, still pretending to be phagocytes, as I pretend. What if today’s accident, although in itself not important, is only a beginning, only the first meteorite of a shower of burning and thundering stones which the infinite may have poured out upon our glass paradise?

Apparently, I am no longer a phagocyte, quietly and efficiently devouring microbes (microbes with freckled faces and blue temples). Apparently, I am a microbe myself. And she, I-330, is a microbe too, a wonderful, diabolical microbe! There may already be thousands of such microbes among us, still pretending to be phagocytes, as I do. What if today’s accident, though unimportant in itself, is only the beginning? What if it is only the first meteorite in a shower of burning, thundering stones that the infinite may have poured out on our glass paradise?