The House of a Thousand Floors (CEU Press Classics)

by Jan Weiss

  XXXI

  Petr Brok is telling lies · ...I don't have a face yet... · Muller reminds Petr about the 354th floor · "... I'm waiting for you... "

  Their hands found each other again and so did their lips. The princess was whispering: "Who are you? Who are you?"

  Brok continued to kiss her without replying. "Tell me, are you the god that has been protecting me?"

  "God," said Brok like a coward, afraid he might lose his quarry.

  "God," the princess repeated, — "But what kind of

  god?"

  "A good one," Brok wrote on her lips, thinking that he had found the right word.

  "I know that you are good," the princess put a distance between their lips again. "But are you young?"

  "Young," said Brok, who was not sure himself and was to be tested now. This was the moment of truth. But he sensed that he was going to win. He was convinced of it; every vein in his body knew it.

  "Young," repeated the princess... "and handsome?"

  "That I don't know," Brok admitted.

  The princess's fingers ran across his face. First they discovered a nose, then a mouth, eyes. but how can you ascertain youth and beauty? If she were blind, she might have been able to see with her hands, but since her eyes could not see him, her fingers were unable to recreate his image.

  "I want to see you! I want you with my eyes!" she insisted. "Show me your face!"

  "I don't have a face yet. I came to deal with Muller..."

  "Quiet! Quiet!" the princess whispered anxiously and covered his mouth with hers.

  "What are you afraid of, Tamara?"

  "He — he can hear everything! His eye above us may be covered up but his ears listen through every crack and cranny!"

  "Let him listen! — I'm here to protect you, Princess!"

  She smiled at a memory: "The first time you came to me was when I was about to lose consciousness because of the black fragrance in the velvet hall. I could see the steam; I could hear it hissing out of a metal pipe. Unbearable purple light illuminated the pleading hands, the masks of mortal terror and the collapsing bodies. When I myself fell, I found myself in someone's arms. Someone held me and carried me to the stars. It was you. The second time was when I was standing by the wall. You said, 'Don't be afraid! Don't ask any questions! — It's me!' — What happened to the rest of the women who had been left behind?"

  "There's a large furnace where they burn human limbs and hearts and mouths and eyes down to a small pile of grey ashes that are thrown into the wind from one of the floors of Mullerdom to disperse in space. They say that that's where they also make powder from human bones."

  "How foolish I was, wanting to escape to one of the stars." the princess whispered and the light in her eyes suddenly dimmed. "At first, I thought that you came to me from the Swan Star. This is where I used to get love letters from when I was still with my father in the Kingdom of Moravia. But there is no Swan Star, no Dwarf Galaxy."

  "It's all a fraud! All of Mullerdom is a fraud, from top to bottom; if there is a top at all. It's run by international slave traders and cremators of dead bodies."

  "Then where did you come from?"

  And again she touched his face, felt his skin and measured his mouth with hers.

  All of a sudden, Petr Brok felt that he himself was a fraud. Here he was, pretending to be a god to win her love! His passion had long subsided and all that remained was gratitude for each kiss.

  "I am no god," he confessed at last, "I am a mere human being, a man!"

  She stroked his hair. "Isn't a young mortal better than an old god? — Prove your youth to me! Prove it! Your eyes lie at the bottom of deep valleys and above them your brows are like mountain scrub above an abyss. You are hideous! I might die of terror if I could see you!

  And yet, and yet! You have a strong square jaw, a solid, broad nose. The bold arc of your forehead! Thick, pliable hair — this is youth, rebellious, long-haired, and reckless!

  I want to see you!

  Your massive neck excites my blood! Your giant shoulders could smother me and yet I don't feel your weight at all.

  Give me your face!

  Descend with your body into my pupils!

  You are not a man! You have only taken on a human form, for I can feel you embracing me and kissing me with your mouth. But why can't I see you? I know what I will do! I will make a gypsum mask of our face because it is impossible to love like this. impossible!"

  "Be patient, Tamara! — Wait, you'll soon be able to see me. Once I fulfil my mission, I'll become a man again. Tonight I have to go to number 99 Alice Moore Street on the 354th floor. But I've lost track of time... there are no nights or days for me. When was it that Muller told me to come today? It seems that a long time has passed since then! Have I perhaps missed the meeting?

  Tell me, my little girl, is it day or night?

  Is there no other world than Mullerdom?

  Tell me — is the real sun still alive? Can the moon still shine above Mullerdom?

  Thirty days.

  Which floor am I on? How shall I find Muller?

  — How will I kill him?" Then, a voice came from above:

  "Petr Brok!

  The 354th floor!

  Number 99!

  I am waiting for you!"

  Brok started. He looked up. The "eye of god" in the ceiling was again rid of the cloudy membrane and stared at him maliciously. Of course! There are millions of eyes and ears on all the thousand floors! But his mouth — does even his mouth reach the princess's bedroom? Does he know that I'm here by her bed? Or does his voice sound through the thousand floors of Mullerdom? .. .Brok shivered.

  "Can you hear, Princess? He's calling me! I think my time has come. You stay here!" "I'll come with you!"

  She leapt out of bed and started dressing with shaking hands.

  "No, no, stay here! — Once I've talked to him, I'll come back!"

  "You won't ! — He'll kill you! There are a million tricks and traps waiting for you in room 99!"

  "I know his tricks by now! The hall of hollow mirrors! And a trap door behind it! — I'll negotiate with him — in the middle of all the hollow mirrors."

  "How will you get there? Do you know your way to the 354th floor? — You don't. See, you're helpless without me! What kind of a god are you? .My invisible stranger! Come on! I'll take you to the lift."

  "Lead me, Tamara! Show me the way before it's too late. Keeping one's word is a sign of strength."

  They went out holding hands.

  XXXII

  Doors white and black · Hall of the hollow mirrors · Electric signals · Filigree of infinity · Blissful vertigo

  The glass street ended with a wire mesh wall reaching to the ceiling. A small door in it bore the sign:

  The princess opened it by pressing the dot over the letter

  They stepped into a square cabin with the walls, ceiling and floor upholstered in leather. On one of the walls was a set of numbers with a thousand white buttons.

  "These are the floors, each number is one floor. I fled through here when I still believed in stars."

  Brok gratefully stroked her hand.

  "For me this is a great discovery! At last I will be able to travel through the entire Mullerdom. But, above all, I will be able to keep the word I gave Muller."

  He pressed the button marked 354. The lift didn't move; only the silver hand under the glass shot down to number 354.

  "We are there," said the princess.

  "Now you go back. No-one must find you on this floor!"

  They quickly embraced and parted.

  "If I don't return."

  "I'll come looking for you!"

  The door opened and Petr Brok stepped into a white deserted corridor so straight and long that the walls, ceiling and tiled floor met in the distance at one single point.

  There were doors on both sides. Rows of shiny white doors like those found in lunatic asylums or hospitals. Door after door. All pale, all the same size,
equally mysterious; standing there in stubborn silence, offering their handles, with no numbers, no signs.

  How will I find the right door? Room number 99?

  Brok gently tried the first handle.

  Locked!

  The second one Locked!

  My God, where do they all lead? What am I going to do with them? What's hiding behind them? Rooms leading to more rooms?

  What did Muller have in mind when he sent me here,

  into this alley of white doors? What purpose did they serve? Who lived behind them? There's no-one behind them, no sound, and the sepulchral corridor runs as far as the eye can see. How long will I need to try all the doors?

  Locked. Locked. Locked.

  Yes — with every door I become weaker.

  Brok followed the line of the corridor — it had to end somewhere! He ran ahead but the point where the walls met would move away from him just as fast. He felt his powerlessness in front of this enemy called multitude.

  Then he stopped short. A black door! So sudden, it struck him like a blow. A single black door among thousands of white ones! And on it, scribbled with white chalk, number 99.

  Nothing else.

  Well, he had finally reached his destination.

  Destination? A new trap more likely! A snare — and you, like a fool, will step right in, looking for Ohisver Muller, the bait prepared for you — and then — snap!

  Yes, I know all this; I know there's a trap door waiting but tasty bait is sometimes stronger than the threat of death if you look at it intently on an empty stomach. But I'm a mouse that can squeeze even through the wires of a trap cage, Mr Muller!

  Brok looks around cautiously. There's no-one, not a soul. He gently presses down the handle, the door opens a crack and Brok slips through. He intends to explore this room before he comes face to face with the mysterious Muller.

  A greenish hemisphere opens up above him, reaching all the way down to the ground. More than a hemisphere: it's the inside of a glass balloon pressed to the ground, without a single edge or a single fold. Is it a mirror?

  An enormous hollow mirror, swallowing Brok from all sides? But how could he tell whether it was a mirror? There was nothing it could reflect — except its own empty interior! Brok quickly turned around towards the door and he froze with horror: it had disappeared behind him! Dissolved into a greenish nothingness.

  He felt the walls with his hands. They were all in one piece, ceiling, walls and floor merged into one uninterrupted globe! And although Brok couldn't see himself, it was a mirror all the same! — The smooth inside of the globe reflected its own depths into an incredible distance, multiplying them indefinitely.

  This deceptive, detailed infinity is enclosed in a single solid circle which continues as the surface of the floor. And even this floor is an enormous green abyss that reflects and repeats the mute distance of a light green dome arching above it.

  And the door, the door has disappeared.

  But where did the light come from in this enclosed hollow globe? There was no light source — or did the mirrors themselves cast light? Was the light emanating from them?

  And what would it look like if. if I were visible?

  Brok stands here suddenly overwhelmed with astonishment, somewhere in the centre of an enormous globe. and what an indescribable blissful vertigo, when you don't know whether you are flying or falling, when you are caught in the middle of an emptiness without direction, feeling your own equilibrium as you are drawn into all directions of the world at the same time by forces of attraction and repulsion!

  Petr Brok staggered in this vertigo. And as soon as he took a step onto the smooth surface of the mirror, the sharp whistle of an electric alarm sounded from under his foot. — Petr Brok jumped and another alarm sounded as if he had pressed a button on the wall... Brok moves slowly, cautiously, as if walking on treacherous sharp pieces of glass. But in vain! Each step sounds a signal. The entire floor is covered with hidden alarm buttons. Each spot he touches is immediately betrayed by an ear-piercing shriek.

  Brok jumps about a little longer but then he understands that it is in vain, that he's caught in a trap, trap number 99, prepared for him by Ohisver Muller, where there's nothing to hold on to, nowhere to hide.

  XXXIII

  A million giants... · Crazy chase inside the globe · The captured nothing · A small window on top of the globe · "Is he alive?" · What's important to remember...

  And all of a sudden, a small door opens. Not one, but a multitude of doors appear in the globe, densely placed in endless rows. From each door emerges a half-naked giant with a red sash around his waist. They all look alike. A small head on top of a hairy torso, a net thrown over a bare shoulder. A million giants approaching, as if from the depths of the sea.

  Brok leaps towards one of the doors followed by a piercing screech of the alarm, but what he finds is a smooth curved surface. Then, all at once, the doors disappear and the giants step into the globe, swirling the nets above their heads. Their movements are monstrously distorted, their faces warped and elongated in endless chains. A million nets reach for him from all sides. A crazy chase breaks out inside the globe. Brok flees, slides, dodges and skips, bumps into walls. And each of his steps is immediately betrayed to an army of hellishly deformed monsters.

  But without the illusion of manifold images, it is just a single man dancing in the restricted space with his net. The accursed alarm system under Brok's feet screams: here I am, here I am! And the sound of the alarm guides the giant towards his prey. The net flies above Brok's head and trails closer and closer at his heels. There's no escape! But he's not going to give himself up so easily! A blow aimed at the chest or face, a kick in the belly. but Brok's foot bounces off the giant's body like a ball thrown against a wall.

  In the end, Brok is hunted down and collapses in the centre of the globe. The wide net covers him and tightens around him, his legs and hands are tied behind his body, his eyelids close under the pressure of the ropes. Darkness falls on his eyes.

  The last thing Brok sees is a small window opening in the ceiling of the globe. A face appears in it, a repulsive yellow face with a red goatee parted in the middle, two black holes between the cheeks instead of a nose and the lower lip black and parched, hanging down, as if putrefying.

  "Is he alive?" a voice is heard.

  "He's alive," gasps the giant upwards, wiping sweat off his forehead. But these two voices sound as if they are from his old dream. Two men are bending over him dressed in yellow gowns sweetly smelling of disinfectant. One of them touches the small grey pile with his shoe, and then gingerly removes the cloak covering his face.

  "He's alive," repeats a disappointed, impatient voice. — Brok forces his eyes open so as to convince someone terribly healthy and powerful that he is not dead yet.

  He sees a small yellow light through the veil of rank air. It's suspended somewhere between the heavy beams supporting this dome of death. Two men smelling of frost and good health load something heavy onto a stretcher. Their arms flexed, they start marching in step, one — two — one — two through the aisle between bunk beds. Only their disappearing feet are visible.

  It is all so surprising, so incomprehensible and yet so incredibly simple! It's enough to cover your face with the collar of your cloak and everything disappears and ends. Only the collar of the cloak! You have to remember this!

  XXXIV

  "... afraid of a captured devil!" How Petr Brok appeared under the lenses of blind Orsag · "What shamelessness!" · "Is he handsome?"

  When Petr Brok woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he was still wrapped up in the net but the ropes were much looser. The curled-up knot of his body had uncoiled. He was in a dilapidated empty kitchen. A half-collapsed stove was stranded in the corner. White squares on the walls where pictures once used to hang. In another corner, there was a pile of pots and plates.

  A crowd of unknown faces surround him. Eyes popping out, nerves thrilled with curiosity. And yet th
e knees of the closest gawkers are a good three steps away from the edge of the net, a distance negligible enough to show their bravery and considerable enough to satisfy their cowardice.

  And the net is quite peculiar. Not limp as you would expect. If you don't catch a fish, you are unlikely to fill a net with thin air! It falls flat, its strings crumple shape-lessly in a small pile. — But this net is firmly stretched, enclosing an oval-shaped empty space, a solidly specific nothing. No-one dares to touch this trembling living nothing!

  "Ah, you brave knights! Scared of a captured devil!" A young female in a short colourful skirt pushes her way forward.

  "Let me get closer! I'm not scared! — I want to touch it with the tip of my little finger!"

  "Let her! She's not satisfied with what her eyes can see. Let her touch! Salmon the banker also sacrificed his finger!"

  "Who says she'll put her finger right in its maw? Perhaps she'll touch another place at the opposite end, hee, hee, hee!"

  "He won't escape the punishing hand of Lord Muller, after all!" says a little old man with a beard, nodding his small worried head.

  "The evil god has been caught in a net!"

  "What's he going to do with him?"

  "Drown him!"

  "Hang him!"

  "Strangle him!"

  "Are you going to give advice to the Almighty?"

  It was the giant who had captured Brok who spoke now. His monumental rock-like chest was puffed up with pride. He jealously circled his prey, keeping an eye out, ready to pounce the moment something moved.

  Then the colourful crowd parted, opening a corridor leading from the net all the way to the door. Two men came in. The first was a tall elderly gentleman with a handsome smooth face, well-preserved by wealth. His hawk's nose and cruel blue eyes make him look like a general in civilian clothes. All eyes are on him, all mouths are whispering... And behind him — oh, woe! — Blind Orsag with lenses on his temples.