III

Lanzerotti was zipping open a bottle-container. "Well, Robert

Murrayovich, first impressions."

"About what I would have expected from a regime founded on the ideas of

Tolstoi," said Heidekopfer, "and a rather screwy set-up. But my general

impression was not unfavorable. They seem to be running the place with

a decent respect for human values and each other."

"'The will of all is the will of one,'" quoted Lanzerotti. "Did they

say that to you, too?" He took a couple of bottles of champagne from

the container. "I'm going to give our hosts a treat. It never hurts in

opening diplomatic negotiations. I suppose it's too early to ask yet,

but you didn't run onto anything that might be a clue to why we aren't

getting the castaways back?"

"Nothing that you'd call a clue, but something that might have

a connection. Our guide told us that Tolstoia had attained the

brotherhood of man a hundred thirty-one Venus years ago. That's

eighty-one earth years, and strikes awful close to the date when

Unterbaum said the disappearances began."

"Even so," said Ann, "I can't see a whole group of people who have been

brought up in civilization giving it up for this." She swept her hand

around the room, which was as bare as the others. "Especially that

dancer he mentioned."

"A point," conceded Lanzerotti. "Shall we go?"

He led the way back to the main hall. The door from which Samsonov had

emerged stood open, and there was a wide table in the room beyond, laid

with an array of dishes which held any number of hors d'oeuvres, while

eight or nine men and women were gathered about Samsonov. "You know

your Russian customs, all right," Heidekopfer murmured to Lanzerotti as

the patriarch came forward.

He explained that these were the central committee of the Supreme

Soviet; there were introductions and Lanzerotti presented his

champagne, which Heidekopfer had to open because none of the Tolstoians

seemed to know how.

Vikhranov said admiringly, "How beautiful is the play of bubbles in

this beverage!" as the ambassador lifted his glass, saying, "To the

future of Tolstoia!" bowed to Samsonov and drank.

The patriarch's return bow was a trifle stiff, but he sipped--and

immediately appeared to become the victim of a revolution, spitting the

champagne on the floor and coughing with bulging eyes, while the others

gathered round him with expressions of sympathy. After a moment of

gasping recovery, he pushed them aside and said to Lanzerotti, "I taste

alcohol! Is it not so?"

"To be sure," said the ambassador. "You can't very well make champagne

without it. Please accept my sincerest apologies for offering it to you

if it offends you, however."

"We have a law against it in Tolstoia! The drinking of alcohol leads to

failure to recognize the brotherhood of man!"

Heidekopfer said to Ann, "They had a law against alcohol in America

once, too, but as far as I can remember, it didn't keep people from

drinking."

"Hush," she said, "I like to watch the way he holds his head."

* * * * *

Her eyes were fixed on Samsonov, who was returning the glance with

interest as he talked to the ambassador. Heidekopfer growled, helped

himself to some of the _zakuski_ (which seemed to consist largely of

various kinds of pickled fish and vegetables, with some of the soft

Venusian _kara_ nuts) and moved over to join the group around Rosa

Lanzerotti. Kazetzky was just saying, "It would pleasure me greatly,

little mother, if it is your will to allow me to show you some of the

natural beauty of happy Tolstoia tomorrow, while the others are making

their official observations."

"Thank you," she said, "but I usually go with my husband on inspection

trips, when there are any, and I think I'd rather like to--" She broke

off suddenly with a frown between her brows, and Heidekopfer noticed

that the others in the group were staring at her with a quite peculiar

intensity. Kazetzky was swinging in his fingers some kind of little

bright ornament that he wore on a chain around his neck.

Rosa Lanzerotti said slowly, "I think it would be very nice. You'll

have to call for me, though. I have no idea of what hours you keep in

Tolstoia."

Kazetzky's lugubrious countenance took on an expression that was almost

a smile. "It shall be as you desire, little mother. The will of one is

the will of all."

The group seemed to split apart, and Vikhranov's voice said in

Heidekopfer's ear, "Will you try some of our Tolstoian beer, Robert

Murrayovich?"

"I thought you had a law against alcohol," said Heidekopfer, accepting

the proffered mug.

"But beer is not alcohol. No one could become drunken from it. Besides,

we have a law against becoming drunken, too."

The hell you say, thought Heidekopfer privately, and quaffed. It was

about as he suspected; the beer was certainly not 3.2. He said, "What's

the official schedule for us tomorrow?"

"In the morning we visit a school and see how children are educated in

happy Tolstoia. If there is time we will also visit the grave of the

Patriarch Ilarion Triunfovich. In the afternoon, you will see one of

our collective farms. On the following day a picnic has been arranged.

It will last all day in accordance with our custom."

Heidekopfer frowned. "The school may be some help, and I don't doubt

that the farm will be. But in the nature of the report we have to make,

a visit to one of your law courts would be a lot more interesting than

a picnic, and a sitting of your Supreme Soviet more interesting still."

Vikhranov's flat face showed disapproval. "The sittings of the Supreme

Soviet are in secret by law," he said. "We would have to pass a special

law admitting you, and I am not sure but it would be concisionary."

"Excuse me. You seem to have developed a term there I have not heard

before. What does 'concisionary' mean?"

The guide's disapproval surprisingly became sullenness. "Am I to blame

if you cannot understand good Russian?"

"We went to some trouble to learn it, even getting records of Russian

as it was spoken at the time Tolstoia was founded, and I'm sorry if

I've given offense. But my friend, I'd have you remember that we're

here to do you a favor, not the other way round. Have you got a

dictionary?"

"We have no need of dictionaries in happy Tolstoia. They are a part

of culture and culture is fatal to happiness. It is set down in the

Master's own words."

* * * * *

It was saved from developing into a hassle as someone touched

Heidekopfer's arm to present him to Anna Golyevna Samsonova, a small

woman with dark hair, high cheek-bones and a mouth that seemed set

in a perpetual mysterious smile. She said, "Have you been in holy

Rrrrrussia, on earth, Robert Murrayovich?"

"No, I haven't had that pleasure," he said, and added gallantly, "But

I'm sure this is better. You have made life so much simpler."

"Yes, that is true. Here in happy Tolstoia the will of all is the will

of one, and the will of all is toward the good of all. All are happy."

Her eyes darted past him, and he half-turned in time to see that

Samsonov was certainly displaying indisputable signs of happiness as

he talked to Ann, and what was a good deal worse, the girl was showing

no signs of unhappiness. Rather hastily, he said, "Don't you ever have

disagreements?"

"Oh, yes. But they do not last long. And if one is not attuned, then he

takes the cure."

"I see," said Heidekopfer, although he was reasonably sure he did not,

and was saved from more of this disjointed conversation by the ringing

of a bell, which Mrs. Samsonov said announced dinner. She led the way

through the side door to another large room, where there was a table

laid for dinner with steaming dishes already in place. Heidekopfer

noticed that the plates were of wood, and of the flatware beside them

only the knife-blades were metal. Everyone seemed to seat him or

herself where they pleased and fell to work at once on the food without

ceremony.

Mrs. Samsonov said, "You may find our food difficult. People who come

here often do at first. But we have a law against eating meat except

while taking the cure."

Difficult was the word for it, reflected Heidekopfer, munching away

at something that appeared to be a combination of cabbage and boiled

nuts with a sour sauce. He said, "You seem to have laws about almost

everything. Clothes, too?"

She surveyed him with an air of puzzlement, and he noticed that in the

candlelight her eyes had a singularly deep quality. "Of course. How

would we know how to act without laws?"

"Tell me, what does 'concisionary' mean?"

"It means--" she gave him that glance again "--I don't quite know how

to define it, but something against the will of all. As you stay in

happy Tolstoia, you will understand." For a moment, looking into her

eyes, it seemed to Heidekopfer that he almost did understand. Then she

said, "Alexei Ivanovich is concisionary."

"Who?"

"Alexei Ivanovich Dubrassov. The traditionalist. He wished to become

patriarch when Pitrim Androvich did, but he would have led Tolstoia

back to the days before the brotherhood of man was achieved." She

looked around the table and clapped her hands as a signal that the meal

was over, and a couple of girls came hurrying in to gather the plates.

Heidekopfer said, "Pardon me, but didn't someone tell me that you had a

law against serving one another?"

"It is the will of all that the patriarch be served," she said. Nobody

seemed to be leaving the table and the reason became apparent when two

men with goose-necked stringed instruments came in, accompanied by a

girl who began to sing as they played. The music had certain haunting

strains, but was so disjointed that Heidekopfer decided he didn't like

it, and looked down the table to see how the others were taking it. He

got a shock. Samsonov, seated between Rosa Lanzerotti and Ann, had his

arm around the latter's shoulders, and she was leaning back with her

eyes half-closed and the smile of a smug kitten.