He suddenly gave off a smell of liquor and garlic sausage, his eyes came together over his nose.
"We'll get the engineer in, Brandskugel. My mon cher," he went on, clasping Pepper to his chest. "He can tell such a tale - you'll not need a bite to eat with it. Shall we?"
"Well, why not?" said Pepper. "But after all, I ..." "Well, what about you then?" "Monsieur Alas, I ..."
"Drop that! What sort of monsieur am I? Kamerad - see? Mio Caro!"
"I, Kamerad Alas, came to request you ..." "Ask aw-a-y! I shan't be mean! You want money? Take it! Somebody you don't like? Just say and we'll look into it! Well?"
"N-no. I just want to leave. I can't get away no matter what I try. I came here by accident. Permit me to leave. Nobody wants to help me, and I'm requesting you as director..."
Alas released Pepper, put his tie right, and smiled coldly.
"You're in error, Pepper," said he, "I'm not the director. I'm the director's personnel officer. Forgive me, I've delayed you somewhat. Please go through that door. The director will receive you."
He threw the door wide before Pepper at the far end of his bare office and made inviting gestures. Pepper coughed, nodded in restrained fashion, and leaned forward as he passed into the next room. As he did so he thought he was lightly struck on the rear. Probably his imagination, or perhaps Monsieur Alas was in some haste to close his door.
The room in which he found himself was a facsimile of the anteroom; even the secretary here was an exact copy of the first one. She was reading, however, a book entitled Sublimation of Genius. The same pale visitors were sitting in armchairs with newspapers and magazines. Professor Cockatoo was here, suffering severely from nervous itch as was Beatrice Vakh with her brown briefcase across her knees. True, all the others were unfamiliar. Under a copy of "Pathfinder Selivan's Exploit" a sign saying "Quiet!" regularly flared and dimmed. For this reason, nobody here talked. Pepper cautiously lowered himself onto the edge of a chair. Beatrice Vakh smiled at him - somewhat warily but welcoming on the whole.
After a minute of apprehensive silence the little bell rang and the secretary put aside her book. "The venerable Luke, go through." The venerable Luke was frightful to look upon and Pepper averted his gaze. Doesn't matter, he thought, closing his eyes. I can stand it. He remembered the rainy autumn evening when they had brought Esther into his flat, after she had been knifed by a drunken yob in the hallway, and the neighbors hanging onto him, and the glass shards in his mouth - he had chewed the glass when they brought him some water... Yes, he thought, the worst was past.
His attention was attracted by swift scratching sounds. He opened his eyes and looked about him. In the next chair but one. Professor Cockatoo was furiously scratching himself under the arms with both hands. Like a monkey.
"What do you think, should we separate the boys from the girls?" asked Beatrice in a trembling voice. "I don't know," Pepper said irritably. "Co-education has its advantages, of course," Beatrice went on, "but this is a special situation... Lord!" she said, suddenly lachrymose. "Surely he won't throw me out? Where could I go then? I've been thrown out everywhere, I haven't got a single pair of decent shoes left. All my tights are in holes, my powder's all lumpy..."
The secretary put aside Sublimation of Genius to say severely:
"Don't lose your concentration." Beatrice Vakh froze in terror. At once the small door opened and a completely shaven head was thrust into the waiting room.
"Is there a Pepper here?" it inquired in a stentorian voice.
"Yes," said Pepper, leaping to his feet. "To the outbound area with your stuff! Vehicle leaves in ten minutes. Jump to it!" "Vehicle where to? Why?" "You're Pepper?" "Yes..." "You wanted to leave or not?" "I wanted to, but ..."
"Well, just as you like," bellowed the shaven one angrily. "I'm just supposed to tell you."
He disappeared and the door slammed. Pepper rushed after him.
"Back," cried the secretary, and several hands clutched at his clothing. Pepper struggled desperately and heard his jacket rip.
"The vehicle is there!" he groaned. "You're off your head!" said the secretary peevishly.
"Where are you trying to get? The door marked 'Exit' is over there, where are you going?"
Horny hands propelled Pepper to the 'Exit' sign. Beyond the door lay a spacious polygonal hall, with a multiplicity of doors; Pepper rushed about opening one after the other.
Bright sunlight, sterile-white walls, people in white coats. A naked back, smeared with iodine. Smell of a chemist's shop. Not that one.
Blackness. Whirring of a cine-projector. On the screen, someone being pulled by the ears in all directions. White patches of displeased faces. A voice:
"Door! Shut the door!" Not that one either... Pepper crossed the hall, slipping on the parquet. Smell of a cake shop. A short line with bags. Behind the glass counter glint bottles of yogurt, cakes, and gateaux in colorful array.
"Gentlemen!" shouted Pepper. "Where is the exit?" "Exit out of where?" asked a plump assistant in a cook's hat.
"Out of here..." "It's the door you're standing in." "Don't listen to him," said a feeble old man in the line. "We've got a wise guy around here who just holds lines up... Keep serving, don't pay any attention."
"No, no, I'm not joking," said Pepper. "I've got a car, it'll go in a minute..."
"No, it's not him," said a fair-minded old man. "That bloke always asks where the toilet is. Where is the car you speak of, sir?" "In the street."
"What street?" asked the assistant. "There's plenty of streets."
"I don't care as long as it's outside!" "No," said the shrewd old man. "It's the same chap. He's just changed his program. Pay no attention to him."
Pepper looked around in despair, leaped back into the hall and pushed against the next door. It was locked. A testy voice inquired:
"Who's there?" "I have to get out!" shouted Pepper. "Where's the exit here?"
"Just a moment."
Behind the door came noises, the splash of water, the clatter of boxes being moved. The voice said:
"What do you want?"
"To get out! I must get out!"
"Right away."
A key scraped and the door opened. It was dark inside.
"Come through," said the voice.
It smelled of fumigation. Pepper put his hands up in front of him and essayed several uncertain steps.
"I can't see a thing," he said.
"You'll get used to it in a minute," the voice assured. "Well, come on, why've you stopped?"
Pepper was taken by the sleeve and led on.
"Sign here," said the voice.
A pencil appeared in Pepper's fingers. Now he perceived in the darkness the vague whiteness of paper.
"Have you signed?"
"No. What am I signing?"
"Don't you be afraid, it isn't a death sentence. Sign that you haven't seen anything."
Pepper signed anywhere. He was seized firmly by the sleeve again and propelled between some door curtains, then the voice asked:
"Are there a lot of you here?"
"Four," came from behind the door apparently.
"Is there a line formed? Bear in mind I'm opening the door now and letting a person out. Move up one, don't push and no funny remarks. That clear?" "All right. Not the first time." "Nobody's forgotten his clothes?" "Nobody, nobody. Let him out." The key scraped again. Pepper was almost blinded by the bright light and he was pushed out. Still not opening his eyes properly, he reeled down some steps and only then realized that he was in the Directorate's inner courtyard. Peevish voices were shouting:
"Come on now, Pepper! Get a move on! How long are we supposed to wait?"
In the middle of the yard stood a truck, packed with Scientific Security personnel. Kim was looking out of the cab and gesturing angrily. Pepper ran up to the truck and scrambled aboard, they tugged at him, lifted him and dumped him on the bottom of the truck. The vehicle revved up at once, gave a jerk, somebody stood on Pepper's hand, somebo
dy else gaily sat on him, everyone started up singing and laughing, and they set off.
"Peppy, here's your suitcase," said somebody. "Is it true you're leaving, Pepper?" "Care for a cigarette, Monsieur Pepper?" Pepper lit up, seated himself on his case and turned up his jacket collar. Someone gave him a raincoat;
Pepper smiled his thanks and wrapped himself up in it. The truck sped on faster and faster and although it was a hot day, the head wind seemed savagely penetrating. Pepper smoked, concealing the cigarette in his fist and gazed about him. I'm on my way, he thought, I'm on my way. This is the last time I'll see you, wall. Last time I'll see you, cottages. Good-bye scrap-heap, I left my galoshes here somewhere. Good-bye pool, good-bye chess, good-bye yogurt. It's so marvelous, so easy! I'll never drink yogurt in my life again. Never will I sit down to a chess board..."
The personnel, crowded up near the cab, clutching one another and huddling behind each other from the wind, conversed on abstract subjects.
"It's been worked out, and I've worked it out. If it goes on like this, in a hundred years there'll be ten scientists for every square yard, and the total mass will cause the cliff to collapse. So much transport for food and water delivery will be needed, they'll have to have a continuous transport service between the Mainland and the Directorate; the trucks will go at twenty-five miles an hour, one yard apart, and be unloaded on the move... No, I'm absolutely certain the top people are considering regulating the recruitment of new personnel. Well now, judge for yourselves: the hotel warden - you can't have the likes of that, seven and one more arriving. All healthy. Hausbotcher thinks something should be done about it. No, not sterilization, necessarily, as he suggests..."
"Hausbotcher is the last person who should suggest that."
"That's why I say, not necessarily sterilization."
"They say the annual holidays are being extended to six months."
They went by the park, and Pepper suddenly realized that the truck was going in the wrong direction. They'd be out of the gates soon and descend by way of the hairpins to the foot of the cliff.
"Here listen, where are we going?" he asked, alarmed.
"What d'you mean - where? To get paid."
"Not to the Mainland?"
"Why on earth should we? The cashier's arrived at the biostation."
"You mean you're going to the biostation, the forest."
"Well of course. We're Science Security and get paid at the biostation."
"And what about me?" asked Pepper in bewilderment.
"You'll be paid as well. You're due for a bonus... Incidentally, everybody got his papers?"
The men fussed about, extracting from their pockets stamped papers of assorted shapes and colors. These they examined intently.
"Pepper, did you fill the questionnaire in?"
"What questionnaire?"
"Pardon me, but what a question! Form number eighty-four."
"I didn't fill anything in," Pepper said.
"Dear sirs! What have we here? Pepper's got no papers."
"That doesn't matter. He's probably got a permit..."
"I haven't got a permit," said Pepper. "I haven't got anything. Only a suitcase and a raincoat... I didn't intend going into the forest, I wanted to get away altogether..."
"And the medical check? Inoculations?"
Pepper shook his head. The truck was already rolling down through the hairpins and Pepper took a detached look at the forest, at the level porous layers of it on the horizon, at its arrested storm-cloud seething, the clinging web of mist in the shade of the cliff.
"You can't get away with things like that," somebody said.
"Well now, there aren't any classified objects along the road."
"What about Hausbotcher?"
"Well what of him, if there's no classified objects?"
"Let's assume you don't know that. Nobody does. There now, last year Kandid flew out without documents and where's Kandid now, desperate lad?"
"In the first place it wasn't last year, it was long before that. Secondly, he was simply killed. At his post."
"Oh yes? Have you seen the directive?"
"That's true, there was no directive."
"So, there's nothing to argue about. Since they put him in the bunker at the checkpoint, he's been sitting filling in forms..."
"How did you not fill in the forms. Peppy? Maybe you've got a black mark against you?"
"One moment, gentlemen! This is a serious matter. I propose we investigate employee Pepper to be on the safe side. By democratic methods, so to speak. Who'll be secretary?"
"Hausbotcher for secretary!"
"Excellent suggestion. As honorary secretary we choose our much-respected Hausbotcher. I see by your faces - unanimous. And who will be the secretary's assistant?"
"Vanderbilt for secretary's assistant!"
"Vanderbilt? ... Well, why not... We have Vanderbilt proposed as secretary's assistant. Any other nominations? For? Against? Abstentions? Hm ... two abstainers. Why did you abstain?"
"Me?"
"Yes, yes, I mean you."
"I don't see the sense. Why torment a man? He's in a bad way as it is."
"All right. And you?"
"None of your damned business."
"As you wish... Secretary's assistant, note please, two abstentions. Let's begin. Who first? No takers? Then permit me. Employee Pepper answer the following question. What distances have we covered between years twenty-five and thirty; (a) on foot (b) by land transport (c) by air? Take your time, think. Here's paper and pencil."
Pepper took the paper and pencil obediently and set to work remembering. The truck shook. To start with everybody looked at him, but eventually they all got bored.
"I'm not afraid of overpopulation," mumbled somebody. "But have you seen how much hardware there is? On the empty lot behind the repair-shops - have you seen it? And what is it, d'you know? Of course it's in packing cases, nailed down. Nobody's got time to open it up and have a look. D'you know what I saw night before last over there? I'd stopped to have a smoke when I heard a sort of crash. I turn around and I see the side of one of the cases, the size of a house end, cracking open, and widening like a set of gates. Out of the case crawls a machine. I'm not going to describe it, you understand why. But what a sight... It stood there for a few seconds then threw up this long tube with a rotating thing on the end as if it were taking a look around, then it crawled back into the case and the lid shut. I felt bad then and couldn't believe what I'd seen. This morning I think: 'I'll have another look anyway.' I arrived and my skin crept, I can tell you. The packing case was perfectly all right, not a crack, but the side was nailed up from the inside! The nails stuck out as long as your finger, shiny and sharp. And now I'm thinking, why was it climbing out? Was it the only one? Maybe they come out every night and... have a look around. While we're getting over-populated they're organizing a Bartholomew massacre and our bones will go flying over the cliff - or what's left of them ... What? No thank you, friend, you tell the engineers if you want. After all I saw that machine and how do I know whether that's forbidden or not? There's no markings on the cases..." "All right, Pepper. You ready?" "No," Pepper said. "I can't remember anything. It was a long time ago."
"That's odd. I can remember perfectly, for example. Six thousand seven hundred and one kilometer by rail, seventeen thousand one hundred and fifty-three by air (out of that three thousand two hundred and fifteen for personal travel) and fifteen thousand and seven on foot. And I'm older than you. Strange, very strange, Pepper... W-e-ll all right. Let's try the next point. What toys were you specially fond of before you went to school?"
"Clockwork tanks," said Pepper, wiping sweat from his brow. "And armored cars."
"Aha! You remember! And yet it was before you went to school, times, so to speak, a great deal further removed. Though less care-laden, eh, Pepper? So then. Tanks and armored cars it is... Next. At what age did women, brackets, men become attractive to you? The expression in brackets is addressed as
a rule, to women. Go ahead and answer."
"A long time ago," said Pepper. "It was long, long ago."
"Exactly when?"
"What about you?" asked Pepper. "You say first, then I will."
The presider shrugged. "I've nothing to hide. The first time was when I was nine, when they bathed me and my female cousin together... Now you."
"I can't," said Pepper. "I don't wish to answer such questions."
"Idiot," somebody whispered in his ear. "Tell some lie with a straight face, and that's it. Why torment yourself? Who's going to check you?"
"All right," Pepper said submissively. "When I was ten. When they bathed me and Murka the dog together."
"Splendid!" exclaimed the presider. "Now list me all the diseases of the legs you've had."
"Rheumatism."
"What else?"
"Intermittent lameness."
"Very good. What else?"
"Cold," said Pepper.
"That's not a leg disease."
"I don't know. With you no, perhaps. With me it's the legs. My legs get wet - a cold."
"We-ll, let it pass. Anything else?"
"Isn't that enough?"
"As you wish. But I warn you: the more the better."
"Spontaneous gangrene," said Pepper. "Subsequent amputation. That was my last leg disease."
"That's enough then. Last question. Your world-view. Briefly."
"Materialist," Pepper said.
"What sort of a materialist exactly?"
"Emotional."
"I've no more questions. Any questions, gentlemen?"
There were no more questions. Some of the travelers were half-asleep, some were chatting with their backs to the presider. The truck was going slowly now. It was getting hot and the forest's damp and sharp unpleasant • smell was ever-present. The smell never reached the Directorate on normal days.
The truck rolled along with the engine switched off, and far far away could be heard the faint rumbling of a storm.
"I'm amazed, looking at you," said the secretary's assistant, also with his back to the presider. "It's unhealthy pessimism. Man is an optimist by nature, that's one thing. And the second and main thing is - surely you realize the director considers these matters as much as you do? It makes me laugh. In the last speech addressed to me, the director revealed majestic prospects. I caught my breath from sheer admiration, I'm not ashamed to admit. I always was an optimist, but that picture... If you want to know, everything's going to be cleared, all these rocks, cottages... Instead buildings of dazzling beauty will rise from transparent and semi-transparent materials, stadia, swimming-pools, aerial parks, crystal bars, and cafes. Stairways to the sky! Slender, swaying women with dark supple skin! Libraries! Muscles! Laboratories! Penetrated by sun and light! A free timetable! Cars, gliders, airships ... debates, hypnopaedia, stereo-cinema... After their working hours, the workers will sit in libraries, ponder, compose melodies, play guitars and other musical instruments, carve in wood, read poems to each other!"
Snail on the Slope Page 10
