No, I Can't; Let It Be without Headings!
Evening. It is somewhat foggy. The sky is covered with a
milky-golden tissue, and one cannot see what is there, beyond,
on the heights. The ancients "knew" that the greatest, bored
skeptic--their God, lived there. We know that crystalline, blue,
naked, indecent Nothing is there. _I_ do not know any more what
_is_ there. I have learned too many things of late. Knowledge,
self-confident knowledge which is sure that it is faultless, is
faith. I had firm faith in myself; I believed that I knew all about
myself. But then.... I look in the mirror. And for the first time
in my life, yes, _for the first time in my life_, I see clearly,
precisely, consciously and with surprise, I see myself as some
"him!" I am "he." Frowning, black, straight brows; between them
like a scar, there is a vertical wrinkle. (Was there that wrinkle
before?) Steel gray eyes encircled by the shadow of a sleepless
night. And behind that steel ... I understand; I never before knew
what there was behind that steel. From there (this "there" is at
once so near and so infinitely distant!) I look at myself--at "him."
And I know surely that "he" with his straight brows is a stranger,
that I meet him here for the first time in my life. The real I is
_not_ he.
No. Period. All this is nonsense. And all these foolish emotions are
only delirium, the result of last night's poisoning.... Poisoning
with what? With a sip of that green poison or with her? It matters
little. I write all this merely in order to demonstrate how
strangely the precise and sharp human reason may become confused.
This reason, strong enough to make infinity which the ancients
feared so much, understandable by means of.... The switch buzzes,
"Number R-13." Well, I am even glad; alone I should....
_Twenty minutes later_:
On the plane of this paper, in a world of two dimensions, these
lines follow each other, but in another world they.... I am losing
the sense for figures.... Twenty minutes! Perhaps two hundred or two
hundred thousand!...
It seems so strange, quietly, deliberately, measuring every word,
to write down my adventure with R-. Imagine yourself sitting down
at your own bed, crossing your legs, watching curiously how you
yourself shrivel in the very same bed. My mental state is similar to
that.
When R-13 came in I was perfectly quiet and normal. I began with
sincere admiration to tell him how wonderfully he succeeded in
versifying the death sentence of that insane man, and that his
poem more than anything else had smothered and annihilated the
transgressor of the law.
"More than that," I said, "if I were ordered to prepare a
mathematical draught of the Machine of the Well-Doer, I should
undoubtedly,--undoubtedly, put on that draught some of your
verses!"--Suddenly I saw R-'s eyes becoming more and more opaque,
his lips acquiring a gray tint.
"What is the matter?"
"What?--Well.... Merely that I am dead sick of it; everybody keeps
on: 'the death-sentence, the death-sentence!' I want to hear no more
of it! You understand? I do not want...." He became serious, rubbing
his neck--that little valise filled with luggage which I cannot
understand. A silence. There! He found something in that little
valise of his, removed it, unwrapped it, spread it out; his eyes
became covered with the varnish of laughter. He began:
"I am writing something for your _Integral_. Yes.... I am!" He was
himself again; bubbling, sprinkling lips; words splashing like a
fountain.
"You see, it is the ancient legend of paradise." ("p" like a
fountain.) "That legend referred to us of today, did it not? Yes.
Only think of it, think of it a moment! There were two in paradise
and the choice was offered to them: happiness without freedom, or
freedom without happiness. No other choice. _Tertium non datur_.
They, fools that they were, chose freedom. Naturally, they longed
for centuries afterwards for fetters, for the fetters of yore.
This was the meaning of their world-weariness, _Weltschmerz_. For
centuries! And only we found a way to regain happiness.... No,
listen, follow me! The ancient god and we, side by side at the
same table! Yes, we helped god definitely and finally to defeat
the devil. It was he, the devil, who lead people to transgression,
to taste pernicious freedom, he the cunning serpent? And we came
along, planted a boot on his head and ... squash! Done with him!
Paradise again! We returned to the simple-mindedness and innocence
of Adam and Eve. No more meddling with good and evil and all
that; everything is simple again, heavenly, childishly simple!
The Well-Doer, The Machine, The Cube, the giant Gas Bell, The
Guardians,--all these are good. All this is magnificent, beautiful,
noble, lofty, crystalline, pure. For all this preserves our
non-freedom, that is, our happiness. In our place those ancients
would indulge in discussions, deliberations, etc. They would break
their heads trying to make out what was moral or unmoral. But we....
Well, in short, these are the highlights of my little paradise
poem. What do you think of it? And above all the style is most
solemn, pious. Understand me? Nice little idea, is it not? Do you
understand?"
Of course I understood. I remember my thoughts at that moment: "his
appearance is nonsensical and lacking in symmetry, yet what an
orderly-working mind he has!" This made him dear to me, that is to
the real _me_. (I still insist that _I_ of before is the real one;
my I of late is, certainly, only an illness.)
Apparently R- read my thought in my face; he put his hand on my
shoulders and laughed: "Oh you!... Adam! By the way, about Eve...."
He searched for something in his pockets, took out a little book,
turned over a few leaves and said, "For the day-after-tomorrow,--oh,
no, two days from now,--O-90 has a pink check on you. How about
it?... As before?... You want her to?"
"Of course, of course!"
"All right then, I'll tell her. You see she herself is very
bashful.... What a funny story! You see, for me she has only a
pink-check affection, but for you!... And you, you did not even come
to tell us how a fourth member sneaked into our triangle! Who is it?
Repent, sinner! Come on!"
A curtain rose inside me; rustle of silk, green bottle, lips....
Without any reason whatever I exclaimed (oh, why didn't I restrain
myself at that moment?), "Tell me, R-, did you ever have the
opportunity to try nicotine or alcohol?"
R- sucked in his lips, looked at me from under his brows. I
distinctly heard his thoughts: "Friend though he is, yet...." And he
answered:
"What shall I say? Strictly speaking, no. But I know a woman...."
"I-330?" I cried.
"What! You? You too?" R- was full of laughter; he chuckled, ready to
splash over.
My mirror was hanging in such a way that in order to see R- clearly
I had to turn and look across the table. From my armchair I could
see now only my own forehead and eyebrows. Then I, the real I,
suddenly saw in the mirror a broken, quivering line of brow; I, the
real I, heard suddenly a wild disgusting cry: "What? What does that
'also' mean? What does that 'also' mean? I demand...."
Widely parted negro lips.... Eyes bulging. I (the real I) grasped my
other wild, hairy, heavily breathing self forcibly. I (the real I)
said to him, to R-, "In the name of the Well-Doer, please forgive
me. I am very sick; I don't sleep; I do not know what is the matter
with me."
A swiftly passing smile appeared on the thick lips.
"Yes, yes, I understand, I understand. I am familiar with all this,
theoretically, of course. Good-bye."
At the door he turned around like a little black ball, came back to
the table and put a book upon it. "This is my latest book. I came to
bring it to you. Almost forgot. Good-bye." ("b" like a splash.) The
little ball rolled out.
I am alone. Or, to be more exact, I am _tête-à-tête_ with that
other self. I sit in the armchair and having crossed my legs, I
watch curiously from some indefinite "there," how I (myself) am
shrivelling in my bed!
Why, oh, why is it, that for three years R-, O-, and I were so
friendly together and now suddenly--one word only about that other
female, about I-330, and.... Is it possible that that insanity
called love and jealousy does exist not only in the idiotic books of
the ancients? What seems most strange is that I, I!... Equations,
formulae, figures, and suddenly this! I can't understand it, I
can't! Tomorrow I shall go to R- and tell him.... No, it isn't
true; I shall not go; neither tomorrow nor day after tomorrow, nor
ever.... I can't, I do not want to see him. This is the end. Our
triangle is broken up.
I am alone. It is evening. There is a light fog. The sky is covered
by a thin milky-golden tissue. If I only knew what is there--higher.
If I only knew who I am. Which I am I?