The Council passed the Diver’s decision, although – for the first time ever – not unanimously. Five voted. Three ‘for’, two ‘against’.
‘You got lucky, you son of a bitch,’ the Servant had said then, as he brought him into the Residence. ‘One more vote against and I wouldn’t have been taking you here, but for a pause. Now take a look at this…’ From under his clothes the Servant pulled out a sheaf of papers covered in large round handwriting. ‘Recognise these?’
‘Yes. They’re my letters to myself.’
‘We’re going to set up a cell for you at Renaissance Bank,’ the Servant said. ‘We will put your diary in there, the one you left behind in the House of Correction. And we’ll put these letters of yours in there too. All of them except…’ – the Servant pulled a piece of paper from the pile – ‘…except this one. “The Miracle”.’ He shook the paper in the air irritatedly, like it was a slimy pet and it was attempting to wriggle free from his fingers. ‘“…I died and rose again, in accordance with a precise plan. In accordance with my friend Cracker…” We’re going to destroy this letter of yours, you and me. Too many details, explanations… There’s no need for them. We’ll just content ourselves with the “miracle”. You died and rose again. Full stop.’
The Servant tore the letter up into tiny pieces. To Zero the sound of ripping paper seemed deafening.
‘You died and rose again to take up the high office of the Wise One. Repeat after me.’
‘I died and rose again to take up the high office of the Wise One,’ Zero responded obediently, not hearing his own voice. The words dropped from his lips like empty, rustling husks. There was no meaning in them. There was nothing in them.
Zero thought that from the outside the Residence seemed horribly reminiscent of the Farm.
The same four-metre concrete fence. The same blue glow from the electromagnetic barrier. But there, beyond the fence, things were completely different. It did not smell of fear there, but jasmine, mint and citrus fruits from the Available Garden. The main building in the Residence – an opulent palace of coloured stone, glass and wood – was drowning in flowers.
and forgive him his trespasses, for he is as a child
This building was like the castle from his childhood dreams. The castle which he had always wanted to build for Hanna… Zero smiled and followed the Servant inside. Snatches of phrases swirled and rattled in his head like a confused whirlwind – … you will be held captive, but the Servant will elevate you…
He will give you the wisdom of a child… the ray has revealed your great future… – they swirled and swirled until only one was left. You died and rose again, repeat. You died and rose again, repeat. You died and rose again, repeat…
…When he left his post as the Wise One, the Diver left his cell behind. His successor was given apartments next it, and for thirty whole days, as he walked past it down the corridor, Zero would stop to stare at the still, serene face of his predecessor. Today, on the day when he was presenting his first piece of legislation and his report on the ‘dissident problem’, the Wise One stood in front of the cell for an especially long time. The Diver sat there, slumped feebly to one side; his slender, dried-out neck could not support the weight of his head.
Zero pressed his forehead against the cold blue glass.
‘There is no death, Diver,’ he whispered. ‘I know that you can hear me. You are like Cracker. You hold all layers, you just don’t want to waste your energy… Today is a special day. My first conference. Before it begins I would like to say… I would like to thank you for all you have done for me. Wasn’t it you who sent me that anonymous letter? I know it was you. I remember it off by heart. “Don’t believe the lies. The Leo-Lot ray has revealed your great future. But they have taken away your future, they destroyed the discovery, they forced the scientists to keep silent, just so you would remain a nobody. So that you might not become he who you must be, for the greater glory of the Living…” Glap, you helped me get my future back! What do you expect from me now? What do you think my service to the Living can be? What should I say today to the members of the Council? I hope I will do everything right, and you’ll never have to regret your decision… You know, I didn’t sleep all night. I was writing the First Speech for my presentation… Why don’t I read it to you now? It’s short, smin, it won’t take a lot of your time…’
The Wise One looked at the Diver’s half-open rolled eyes, and it seemed to him as if the narrow stripes of the pupils flashed slightly. That must mean he was still interested. The Wise One cleared his throat and started talking quietly, almost touching the glass with his lips; his words sprawled over the blue wall of the cell in warm, smoky patches:
‘Eighth, the Wise One, welcomes all members of the Council. Unfortunately, I am still not connected to socio and must address you in first layer; however, I hope that by the time of the next session this problem will have been resolved… My friends! I am grateful for the trust you have shown me. And, smin, I’ll do everything in my power to justify it. However terrible the mistakes I’ve made are, I swear, that all my short life I have dreamed of becoming a fully fledged part of the Living. Now my dream is destined to come true. Today, friends, I will share with you my thoughts regarding the “dissident problem”. I’m not going to abuse your attention and will get straight down to business. To solve any problem you must first of all establish the reason for its emergence. To cure a patient, you must diagnose the illness and not just try and nullify the symptoms. I am sure that the appearance of the Dissidents is only a symptom of the fact that the Living is suffering. So what is the cause of this “illness”? My friends! I have been thinking about this every day for the thirty days I have spent within the hospitable walls of the Residence. I had probably thought about this before – subconsciously, instinctively – in my previous life, before I was resurrected. In the House of Correction. And this is what I’ve realised: the Living is suffering…’
The Puppet
‘…from a lack of love. Even though we say that the Living is full of love and every part of him loves every other, in practice it is not like that at all… so then… there is no point in supp… what’s this word? I can’t make it out… ah! in suppressing the instinctive attachment… Hey, lad, give me that magnifying glass!… that biological Darlings have for each other… love between a man and a woman… revive ancient family values… institution of marriage… hmm!… bla bla bla… and fofs! reform of the Houses of Correction… responsibility for pre-pause crimes seems…heh-hem!… doubtful…’ Second put down the magnifying glass and the piece of paper covered in the Wise One’s writing. ‘I haven’t read in first layer for a hundred years, goodness me, my eyesight has really gone… Well, what can I say? It’s fantastic!’
Second flopped back in his chair and was about to burst out laughing, but instead launched into a wet and crunchy cough – as if inside his chest someone was kneading half-melted snow covered in a brown crust. ‘He’s so old,’ Zero thought, ‘unnaturally old; the body of the Living shouldn’t have to support guys as old as him, and definitely not in the leadership, in the, “brains”, so to speak…’ But out loud he said:
‘So, do you like my speech?’
‘Of course I like it!’ Second pressed a napkin to his beard and hawked up the remnants of laughter and coughing. ‘It reads like a treatment for a fantasy show…’
The Wise One was seeing the old man for the third time in his life. Their first meeting had taken place a month ago, on the day Zero had been brought to the Residence. Back then he had been shocked by how incredibly dilapidated the old man’s body was (Second did not just look old, he looked unliving) in comparison with how absolutely sharp his mind was. Second was gentle with him, like a father, and congratulated him sincerely on his appointment and even extended his freckled and wrinkled hand in its contact glove, which was lined with swollen veins, in order to perform the ancient rite of the handshake. When he heard that the Wise One liked the scent of first-layer flow
ers and herbs, Second immediately arranged for him to be given apartments with windows facing the garden… You couldn’t really call the second meeting a meeting – after a few days the old man had collapsed with pneumonia and Zero had gone round to visit him – Second was lying with his eyes wide open and whistling and squawking as he breathed; he didn’t notice his guest – he was probably resting from his suffering in deep layers… ‘He’s not going to come out of it,’ Zero thought then. ‘It’s cruel to torture him like this, he should be given a mercy pause…’
But the old man was stubborn. And today, on the day of the conference of the Council of Eight, he had found the strength to get up and go through to the conference hall. However, his thoughts were obviously getting confused this time:
‘…If you like, I’ll send this text to Fifth’s deputy so that he can forward it to his guy in the Association of Screenwriters, it’s a brilliant idea, they should take it up, they’re going through a bit of a drought over there…’
‘He’s just blathering away,’ Zero realised with sadness. ‘Old age has, finally, taken its toll. Or perhaps he’s delirious from his fever. Like Ef, back in the zoo…’ The Wise One frowned and chased the thought away. He had died and risen again. The planetman, raving in his orang-utan cage, was from another, previous life. Now everything was different. He has died and risen again. He is a member of the Council of Eight. He is as a child, and all has been forgiven…
‘What have screenwriters got to do with anything…?’ Zero looked meaningfully at the Servant of Order, as if to say, it’s not looking good.
The Servant was silent. Somehow strangely silent.
‘I think there is something you have not quite understood,’ the Wise One tried to speak loudly and clearly, so that his words would break through the crust of senile confusion. ‘This is not an idea for a show. This is the text for my first speech at the conference of the Council of Eight. It’s starting in fifteen minutes. With a live feed from here, from the first-layer conference…’
‘Gopz,’ Second said sharply; behind his white beard his face went crimson with coughing and fury. ‘I know what is starting and where and when. But there is something which you have really not understood, sonny. This thing here…’ – Second grabbed the piece of paper with the Wise One’s speech on it from the table and shook it in the air – ‘…there’s only one thing the members of the Council of Eight might need this for: wiping their behinds. Now listen to me very carefully. Listen carefully…’ Second suddenly realised that he had lost his train of thought. ‘Listen up and memorize this in that first-layer brain of yours…’
‘Father!’ The Servant of Order shook his head reproachfully.
servant: you’re going too far!! you’d do better to behave politely and properly!
second: gopz
Second closed his eyes a little – his short grey eyelashes drowned in his swollen eyelids – and created a new document on his desktop. It is easier to formulate your thoughts in socio than straightaway out loud. He saved the document under the name ‘0’ and punched in there, point by point, everything that he wanted to say to this idiot. Then he read out loud:
‘Right then, number one. You will never be connected to socio. You have been brought in as a professional first-layerer – and you will stay a first-layerer forever. So please don’t go pestering either the sysadmins or the members of the Council. You will use an external socio slot with a monitor through which you will be able to send and receive certain messages. That will suffice. Number two. You have not been brought in to share your crazy ideas with members of the Council. Seeing as it is now…’ – Second jabbed Zero’s speech in irritation – ‘… absolutely clear to me that you are not capable of offering anything practical, henceforth at conferences of the Council of Eight you will read out the text I give you…’
‘With all due respect… what are you… how dare you?!’ The Wise One physically sensed the anger flood into his head and face in hot, pulsing waves, and then subside along with his seething blood, leaving behind only a sonorous silence.
‘The Diver appointed me to the Council of Eight,’ Zero said with white lips. ‘Second, you have no right either to take that tone with me or to lord it over me. I am the Wise One. My ideas…’
‘You are a big fat nothing!’ Second started coughing, whooping like a crow.
servant: father, stop it! there’s no need to provoke him!
second: gopz! i don’t have time to be messing around with this little prick. can’t you see my pause is coming any minute now!
servant: all the more reason to be careful
second: with this nobody?! he’s so stupid he doesn’t even realise why he’s here. fofs! he’s got IDEAS!!!!
servant: he is not a nobody. we ourselves have elevated him to a level where he can cause problems. so you should just stroke his fur. say you’re sorry, say that you overreacted. we don’t need this conflict over nothing
‘I outrank you, you have to treat me with respect,’ Zero mumbled and shuddered with self-disgust. His voice sounded quiet and somehow begging, as if he were scrounging seconds of lunch in the House dining hall.
Second grunted – something between a cough and a laugh – but said nothing.
‘I am Eighth and the Wise One,’ Zero tried to give his voice a hardness. ‘I was appointed by the Diver. To take his place.’
servant: just don’t say anything unnecessary
‘…And your job is to be a puppet, just like him.’
servant: just shut up will you!!
‘Father, you have a fever,’ the Servant said out loud. ‘You are insulting the Wise One and the Diver. You don’t know what you are saying. I am afraid it’s not worth you participating in the conference today.’
‘What does that mean, “puppet”? What is he trying to say?’ the Wise One asked in an alien, somehow mosquito-like voice. ‘I will make what you have said public at the conference of the Council…’
servant: see what you have done you old fool move to plan b
Second opened his mouth slightly – a small dark hole in the grey curls of his beard – and broke down in a coughing fit. His whitish tongue would poke out for a moment, like a curious worm from its hole, and then hide back inside.
‘He’s just delirious.’ The Servant of Order patted Second on the back sympathetically. ‘He’s still not well, I shouldn’t have got him out of bed…’
‘Gopz,’ the old man jerked his shoulders in disgust to make the Servant take his hand away.
The coughing fit passed, but Second was breathing heavily. The pinkish-white worm crawled out of its hole again and rubbed up against the old man’s parched lips, leaving a sticky, slimy trail on them.
‘Hey, sonny…’ Second looked at Zero, and the Wise One noticed that his eyes had cleared. ‘It was wrong of me to be so rude to you. Forgive an old man. Sickness and worry are eating me up from the inside, like unfed pets. That’s why I lose control sometimes and can be slightly… out of sorts. So… can I count on your magnanimous forgiveness, Wise One?’
‘Of course,’ Zero replied crisply and without colour. Like a puppet. Like a mechanical talking puppet…
With great effort the old man pulled himself up and extended a shaking, bony hand towards Zero. ‘Just like that, no glove. Very touching,’ Zero thought, just as mechanically, and shook the proffered hand. It was dry and hot.
Overcoming his disgust, Second held the Wise One’s icy hand in his. His son was right. Rude, but right. There was no need to lose his temper.
‘Well, no harm done,’ he said. ‘Now take this.’ Second opened a desk drawer and pulled out a dirty, well-thumbed piece of paper, covered on both sides in crooked scribbles. ‘Sorry about the handwriting,’ the old man hunched over apologetically. ‘I don’t get any practice in first layer… Not like you, Wise One.’
‘What is this?’ the Wise One asked for some reason, even though he knew perfectly well what.
‘It’s my version of your First Speec
h,’ Second replied.
‘I’m not planning on…’
‘I’m begging you…’ The old man raised his hand in conciliation. ‘First just read it. If you don’t agree with my version, well then, propose yours to the Council of Eight. Although, in my opinion, that would be a huge mistake.’
‘Alright.’ Zero picked up the paper and ran his eyes over the text crossly.
‘Eighth, the Wise One, welcomes all members of the Council. Friends! I am very worried and will get straight down to business…’
‘Out loud if possible,’ the Servant asked and rocked back in his chair, crossing his arms comfily across his stomach and half-closing his eyes, as if getting ready to hear his nightly lullaby. ‘I’d also like to find out what’s in there.’
…The Dissidents present a direct first-layer threat to the Living. It is our sacred duty to fight this attack in all its forms. Practically all categories of dissident are extremely dangerous:
Antivectorites (who disagree with the dictates of their invector) threaten the Living’s principle of professional continuity.
Old-Livings (who disagree with age limits for each specific reproduction) threaten the Living’s health and youth.
Precautioners (women who disagree with the necessity for compulsory conception after copulation) – perhaps the most dangerous category, they threaten the very principle of the Living’s reproduction.
The Living Page 23
