Record Two

Spring. From behind the Green Wall from some unknown plains the wind brings to us the yellow honeyed pollen of flowers. One’s lips are dry from this sweet dust. Every moment one passes one’s tongue over them. Probably, all women whom I meet in the street (and men certainly also), have today sweet lips. This disturbs somewhat my logical thinking. But the sky! The sky is blue. Its limpidness is not marred by a single cloud. (How primitive was the taste of the ancients, since their poets were always inspired by these senseless, formless, stupidly rushing accumulations of steam!) I love, I am sure it will not be an error if I say we love, only such a sky—a sterile, faultless sky. On such days the whole universe seems to be moulded of the same eternal glass, like the Green Wall, and like all our buildings. On such days one sees into the very blue depth of things. One sees their wonderful equations, hitherto unknown. One sees them in everything, even in the most ordinary everyday things.

Spring. The wind brings us the yellow, honeyed pollen of flowers from unknown plains beyond the Green Wall. My lips are dry from the sweet dust. I keep running my tongue over them. Probably all the women I meet in the street have sweet lips today. The men certainly do too. This disturbs my logical thinking a little. But the sky! The sky is blue. Not a single cloud spoils its clarity. (How primitive the taste of the ancients was! Their poets were always inspired by those senseless, shapeless masses of steam rushing stupidly about!) I love only a sky like this, a sterile, flawless sky. I am sure I would not be wrong to say we love it. On days like this, the whole universe seems molded from the same eternal glass as the Green Wall and all our buildings. On days like this, you can see into the blue depths of things. You can see their wonderful equations, unknown until now. You can see them in everything, even the most ordinary things.

Here is an example: this morning I was on the dock where the Integral is being built, and I saw the lathes; blindly, with abandon, the balls of the regulators were rotating; the cranks were swinging from side to side with a glimmer; the working-beam proudly swung its shoulder; and the mechanical chisels were dancing to the melody of an unheard Tarantella. I suddenly perceived all the music, all the beauty, of this colossal, of this mechanical ballet, illumined by light blue rays of sunshine. Then the thought came: why beautiful? Why is a dance beautiful? Answer: because it is an unfree movement. Because the deep meaning of the dance is contained in its absolute, ecstatic submission, in the ideal non-freedom. If it is true that our ancestors would abandon themselves in dancing at the most inspired moments of their lives (religious mysteries, military parades) then it means only one thing: the instinct of non-freedom has been characteristic of human nature from ancient times, and we in our life of today, we are only consciously—

Here is an example: this morning I was at the dock where the Integral is being built. I saw the lathes. The regulators’ balls were spinning blindly and freely. The cranks gleamed as they swung from side to side. The working beam proudly swung its shoulder. The mechanical chisels danced to the melody of an unheard Tarantella. Suddenly, I saw all the music, all the beauty of this colossal mechanical ballet, lit by pale blue sunlight. Then I thought: why is it beautiful? Why is a dance beautiful? The answer: because it is an unfree movement. The deep meaning of dance lies in its absolute, ecstatic submission, in ideal non-freedom. If our ancestors really did give themselves over to dancing at the most inspired moments of their lives (religious mysteries, military parades), then this means only one thing: the instinct for non-freedom has been part of human nature since ancient times. And in our lives today, we are only consciously...

I was interrupted. The switchboard clicked. I raised my eyes,—O-90, of course! In half a minute she herself will be here to take me for the walk.

I was interrupted. The switchboard clicked. I looked up. O-90, of course! In half a minute, she would be here to take me for the walk.

Dear O—! She always seems to me to look like her name, O—. She is approximately ten centimeters shorter than the required Maternal Norm. Therefore she appears all round; the rose-colored O of her lips is open to meet every word of mine. She has a round soft dimple on her wrist. Children have such dimples. As she came in, the logical fly-wheel was still buzzing in my head, and following its inertia, I began to tell her about my new formula which embraced the machines and the dancers and all of us.

Dear O-! She always seems to look like her name, O-. She is about ten centimeters shorter than the required Maternal Norm. So she looks round all over. The rose-colored O of her lips is open to receive every word I say. She has a soft, round dimple on her wrist. Children have dimples like that. When she came in, the logical flywheel was still buzzing in my head. Carried along by its momentum, I began telling her about my new formula. It included the machines, the dancers, and all of us.

“Wonderful, isn’t it!” I asked.

“Wonderful, isn’t it!” I asked.

“Yes, wonderful ... Spring!” she replied, with a rosy smile.

“Yes, wonderful ... Spring!” she said, with a rosy smile.

You see? Spring! She talks about Spring! Females!... I became silent.

See? Spring! She's talking about spring! Women!... I fell silent.

We were down in the street. The avenue was crowded. On days when the weather is so beautiful the afternoon personal hour is usually the hour of the supplementary walk. As always the big Musical Tower was playing with all its pipes, the March of the United State. The Numbers, hundreds, thousands of Numbers in light blue unifs (probably a derivative of the ancient uniform) with golden badges on the chest,—the State number of each one, male or female,—the Numbers were walking slowly, four abreast, exaltedly keeping the step. I, we four, were but one of the innumerable waves of a powerful torrent. To my left, O-90 (if one of my long-haired ancestors were writing this a thousand years ago, he would probably call her by that funny word, mine), to my right, two unknown Numbers, a she-Number and a he-Number.

We were down in the street. The avenue was crowded. On days when the weather is so beautiful, the afternoon personal hour is usually the hour for the supplementary walk. As always, the big Musical Tower was playing the March of the United State on all its pipes. Hundreds, thousands of Numbers walked slowly, four abreast, keeping step in a state of exaltation. They wore light blue unifs (probably derived from the ancient word uniform). Each male or female Number wore a golden badge on the chest, showing their State number. Our group of four was just one of the countless waves in a powerful torrent. To my left was O-90. If one of my long-haired ancestors were writing this a thousand years ago, he would probably call her by that funny word, mine. To my right were two unknown Numbers, a she-Number and a he-Number.

Blue sky, tiny baby suns in each one of our badges; our faces are unclouded by the insanity of thoughts. Rays.... Do you picture it? Everything seems to be made of a kind of smiling, a ray-like matter. And the brass measures: Tra-ta-ta-tam.... Tra-ta-ta-tam ... stamping on the brassy steps which sparkle in the sun; with every step you rise higher and higher into the dizzy blue heights.... Then, as this morning on the dock, again I saw as if for the first time in my life, the impeccably straight streets, the glistening glass of the pavement, the divine parallelopipeds of the transparent dwellings, the square harmony of the grayish-blue rows of Numbers. And it seemed to me that not past generations, but I myself, had won a victory over the old god and the old life, that I myself had created all this. I felt like a tower: I was afraid to move my elbow, lest the walls, the cupola and the machines should fall to pieces.

Blue sky, tiny baby suns in each of our badges. Our faces are unclouded by the madness of thought. Rays.... Can you picture it? Everything seems to be made of a smiling, ray-like substance. And the brass beats: Tra-ta-ta-tam.... Tra-ta-ta-tam ... stamping on the brass steps that sparkle in the sun. With every step, you rise higher and higher into the dizzying blue heights.... Then, just as I had that morning on the dock, I saw everything again, as if for the first time. The perfectly straight streets, the gleaming glass pavement, the divine glass blocks of the transparent dwellings, the square harmony of the grayish-blue rows of Numbers. It seemed to me that I myself, not past generations, had defeated the old god and the old life. I felt that I myself had created all this. I felt like a tower. I was afraid to move my elbow, for fear that the walls, the dome, and the machines would fall apart.

Then without warning—a jump through centuries: I remembered (apparently through an association by contrast) a picture in the museum, a picture of an avenue of the twentieth century, a thundering many-colored confusion of men, wheels, animals, bill-boards, trees, colors, and birds.... They say all this once actually existed!

Then, without warning, I jumped through the centuries. I remembered a picture in the museum, apparently because it was so different. It showed a twentieth-century avenue, a thundering, multicolored jumble of people, wheels, animals, billboards, trees, colors, and birds.... They say all of this really existed once!

It seemed to me so incredible, so absurd, that I lost control of myself and laughed aloud. A laugh, as if an echo of mine, reached my ear from the right. I turned. I saw white, very white, sharp teeth, and an unfamiliar female face.

It seemed so incredible, so absurd, that I lost control and laughed out loud. A laugh came from my right, as if echoing mine. I turned and saw an unfamiliar woman’s face and her sharp, very white teeth.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, “but you looked about you like an inspired mythological god on the seventh day of creation. You look as though you are sure that I, too, was created by you, by no one but you. It is very flattering.”

“Sorry,” she said, “but you were looking around like an inspired mythical god on the seventh day of creation. You look as if you’re sure that you created me too, and that no one else did. It’s very flattering.”

All this without a smile, even with a certain degree of respect—(she may know that I am the builder of the Integral). In her eyes nevertheless, in her brows, there was a strange irritating X, and I was unable to grasp it, to find an arithmetical expression for it. Somehow I was confused; with a somewhat hazy mind, I tried logically to motivate my laughter.

She did all this without smiling, even with a certain degree of respect. (She may know that I am the builder of the Integral.) Still, there was a strange, irritating X in her eyes and brows. I couldn’t grasp it or express it in numbers. Somehow I was confused. My mind was a little hazy, and I tried to find a logical reason for my laughter.

“It was absolutely clear that this contrast, this impassable abyss, between the things of today and of years ago—”

“It was absolutely clear that this contrast, this impossible gap between things today and things years ago…”

“But why impassable?” (What bright, sharp teeth!) “One might throw a bridge over that abyss. Please imagine: a drum battalion, rows,—all this existed before and consequently—”

“But why can't it be crossed?” (What bright, sharp teeth!) “You could build a bridge over that abyss. Just imagine: a drum battalion, rows, all this existed before, and so...”

“Oh, yes, it is clear,” I exclaimed.

“Oh, yes, it’s clear,” I exclaimed.

It was a remarkable intersection of thoughts. She said almost in the same words the things I wrote down before the walk! Do you understand? Even the thoughts! It is because nobody is one, but one of. We are all so much alike—

It was a remarkable meeting of minds. She said almost exactly what I had written down before the walk! Do you understand? Even our thoughts were alike! That is because nobody is one, but one of. We are all so much alike.

“Are you sure?” I noticed her brows which rose to the temples in an acute angle,—like the sharp corners of an X. Again I was confused, casting a glance to the right, then to the left. To my right—she, slender, abrupt, resistantly flexible like a whip, I-330 (I saw her number now). To my left, O-, totally different, made all of circles with a child-like dimple on her wrist; and at the very end of our row, an unknown he-Number, double-curved like the letter S. We were all so different from one another....

“Are you sure?” I noticed her eyebrows rose toward her temples at sharp angles, like the corners of an X. Again I felt confused and glanced to my right, then to my left. To my right was I-330, slender, angular, and springy like a whip. I could see her number now. To my left was O-, completely different, made entirely of circles, with a childlike dimple on her wrist. At the far end of our row was an unknown male Number, curved twice like the letter S. We were all so different from one another....

The one to my right, I-330, apparently caught my confused eye, for she said with a sigh, “Yes, alas!”

I-330, the woman to my right, apparently saw my confused look, because she sighed and said, “Yes, sadly!”

I don’t deny that this exclamation was quite in place, but again there was something in her face or in her voice....

I admit the exclamation was appropriate, but again there was something in her face or her voice....

With an abruptness unusual for me, I said, “Why ‘alas’? Science is developing and if not now, then within fifty or one hundred years—”

More abruptly than usual, I said, “Why ‘alas’? Science is advancing. If not now, then in fifty or a hundred years...”

“Even the noses will—”

“Even the noses will...”

“Yes, noses!” This time I almost shouted, “Since there is still a reason, no matter what, for envy.... Since my nose is button-like and someone else’s is—”

“Yes, noses!” This time I almost shouted, “Because there is still some reason for envy, no matter what.... Because my nose is like a button and someone else’s is...”

“Well your nose is rather classic, as they would say in the ancient days, although your hands—No, no, show me your hands!”

“Well, your nose is rather classic, as people would have said in ancient times, although your hands... No, no, show me your hands!”

I hate to have anyone look at my hands; they are covered with long hair,—a stupid atavism. I stretched out my hand and said as indifferently as I could, “Ape-like.”

I hate having anyone look at my hands. They are covered with long hair, a stupid throwback to my ancestors. I held out my hand and said as casually as I could, “Ape-like.”

She glanced at my hand, then at my face.

She glanced at my hand, then at my face.

“No, a very curious harmony.”

“No, a very strange harmony.”

She weighed me with her eyes as though with scales. The little horns again appeared at the corners of her brows.

She looked me over as if weighing me on a scale. The little horns appeared again at the corners of her eyebrows.

“He is registered in my name,” exclaimed O-90 with a rosy smile.

“He’s registered in my name!” O-90 said with a rosy smile.

I made a grimace. Strictly speaking, she was out of order. This dear O-, how shall I say it? the speed of her tongue is not correctly calculated; the speed per second of her tongue should be slightly less than the speed per second of her thoughts,—at any rate not the reverse.

I grimaced. Strictly speaking, she was out of order. Dear O-, how can I put it? The speed of her tongue is not correctly calculated. Her tongue should move slightly slower per second than her thoughts. At any rate, it should not be the other way around.

At the end of the avenue the big bell of the Accumulating Tower resounded seventeen. The personal hour was at an end. I-330 was leaving us with that S-like he-Number. He has such a respectable, and I noticed then, such a familiar face. I must have met him somewhere, but where I could not remember. Upon leaving me I-330 said with the same X-like smile:

At the end of the avenue, the great bell of the Accumulating Tower struck seventeen. The personal hour was over. I-330 was leaving us with that S-like he-Number. He had such a respectable face. I noticed then that it was familiar, too. I must have met him somewhere, but I couldn't remember where. As I-330 left me, she said with the same X-like smile:

“Drop in day after tomorrow at auditorium 112.”

“Stop by auditorium 112 the day after tomorrow.”

I shrugged my shoulders: “If I am assigned to the auditorium you just named—”

I shrugged. “If I’m assigned to the auditorium you just mentioned...”

She, with a peculiar, incomprehensible certainty: “You will.”

She said with a strange certainty I couldn’t understand: “You will.”

The woman had upon me a disagreeable effect, like an irrational component of an equation which you cannot eliminate. I was glad to remain alone with dear O-, at least for a short while. Hand in hand with her, I passed four lines of avenues; at the next corner she went to the right, I to the left. O- timidly raised her round blue crystalline eyes:

The woman made me uncomfortable, like an irrational term in an equation that cannot be eliminated. I was glad to be alone with dear O-, at least for a little while. We walked hand in hand for four blocks. At the next corner, she went right and I went left. O- timidly raised her round, crystal-blue eyes:

“I would like so much to come to you today and pull down the curtains, especially today, right now....”

“I really want to come to you today and pull down the curtains, especially today, right now....”

How funny she is. But what could I say to her? She was with me only yesterday and she knows as well as I that our next sexual day is day-after-tomorrow. It is merely another case in which her thoughts are too far ahead. It sometimes happens that the spark comes too early to the motor.

How funny she is. But what could I say to her? She was with me only yesterday. She knows as well as I do that our next sexual day is the day after tomorrow. Her thoughts are simply running ahead again. Sometimes the spark reaches the motor too early.

At parting I kissed her twice—no, I shall be exact, three times, on her wonderful blue eyes, such clear, unclouded eyes.

As we parted, I kissed her twice. No, to be exact, I kissed her three times on her wonderful blue eyes, so clear and unclouded.