"Mine"
Impossible
A Cold Floor
I shall continue to relate my adventures of yesterday. I was busy
during the personal hour before retiring to bed, and thus I was
unable to record everything last night. But everything is graven in
me; especially, for some reason, and apparently forever, I shall
remember that unbearably cold floor....
I was expecting O-90 last evening as it was her regular day. I
went downstairs to the controller on duty to get a permit for the
lowering of my curtains.
"What is the matter with you?" asked the controller. "You seem so
peculiar tonight."
"I ... I am sick."
Strictly speaking, I told her the truth. I certainly am sick.
All this _is_ an illness. Presently I remembered; of course, my
certificate! I touched it in my pocket. Yes, there it was, rustling.
Then all this did happen! It did actually happen!
I held out the paper to the controller. As I did so, I felt the
blood rushing to my cheeks. Without looking directly at her, I
noticed with what an expression of surprise she gazed at me.
Then at twenty-one-thirty o'clock.... In the room to the left the
curtains were lowered, and in the room to the right my neighbor
was sitting over a book. His head is bald and covered with bulging
lumps. His forehead is enormous--a yellow parabola. I was walking up
and down the room--suffering. How could I meet her, after all that
happened! O-90, I mean. I felt plainly to my right, how the eyes of
my neighbor were staring at me. I clearly saw the wrinkles on his
forehead like a row of yellow, illegible lines; and for some reason
I was certain that those lines dealt with me.
A quarter of an hour before twenty-two, the cheerful, rosy whirlwind
was in my room; the firm ring of her rosy arms closed about my neck.
Then I felt how that ring grew weaker and weaker, and then it broke
and her arms dropped....
"You are not the same, not the same man! You are no longer mine!"
"What curious terminology: 'mine.' I never belonged--" I faltered.
It suddenly occurred to me: true, I belonged to no one before, but
now--Is it not clear that now I do not live any more in our rational
world but in the ancient delirious world, in a world of square-root
of minus one?
The curtains fell. There to my right my neighbor let his book drop
at that moment from the table to the floor. And through the last
narrow space between the curtain and the floor I saw a yellow hand
pick up the book. Within I felt: "Only to seize that hand with all
my power."
"I thought ... I wanted to meet you during the hour for the walk. I
wanted ... I must talk to you about so many things, so many...."
Poor, dear, O-90. Her rosy mouth was a crescent with its horns
downward. But I could not tell her everything, could I, if for no
other reason than that it would make her an accomplice of my crimes?
I knew that she would not have the courage to report me to the
Bureau of Guardians, consequently....
"My dear O-, I am sick, I am exhausted. I went again today to the
Medical Bureau; but it is nothing, it will pass. But let us not talk
about it;--let us forget it."
O-90 was lying down. I kissed her gently. I kissed that childish,
fluffy fold at her wrist. Her blue eyes were closed. The pink
crescent of her lips was slowly blooming, more and more like a
flower. I kissed her....
Suddenly I clearly realized how empty I was, how I had given
away.... No, I could not--impossible! I knew I must ... but
no--impossible! I ought ... but no--impossible! My lips cooled at
once. The rosy crescent trembled, darkened, drew together. O-90
covered herself with the bedspread, her face hidden in the pillow.
I was sitting near the bed, on the floor. What a desperately cold
floor! I sat there in silence. The terrible cold from the floor
rose higher and higher. There in the blue, silent space among the
planets, there probably it is as cold.
"Please understand, dear; I did not mean..." I muttered, "With all
my heart, I ..."
It was the truth. I, my real self did not mean.-- ... Yet how could
I express it in words? How could I explain to her that the piece of
iron did not want to.... But that the law is precise, inevitable!
O-90 lifted her face from the pillow and without opening her eyes
she said, "Go away." But because she was crying she pronounced it
"Oo aaa-ay." For some reason this absurd detail will not leave my
memory.
Penetrated by the cold and torpid, I went out into the hall. I
pressed my forehead against the cold glass. Outside a thin, almost
imperceptible film of haze was spread. "Towards night," I thought,
"it will descend again and drown the world. How sad a night it will
be!"
O-90 passed swiftly by, going toward the elevator. The door slammed.
"Wait a minute!" I screamed. I was frightened.
But the elevator was already groaning, going down--down--down....
"She robbed me of R-, she robbed me of O-90, yet, yet ...
nevertheless...."