The Reign of Brainwash: Dystopia Box Set. Эдгар Аллан По

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СКАЧАТЬ 'I thought that in the Other Place... I mean, Linda always said that nobody was ever alone there.'

      Bernard blushed uncomfortably. 'You see,' he said, mumbling and with averted eyes, 'I'm rather different from most people, I suppose. If one happens to be decanted different...'

      'Yes, that's just it.' The young man nodded. 'If one's different, one's bound to be lonely. They're beastly to one. Do you know, they shut me out of absolutely everything? When the other boys were sent out to spend the night on the mountains--you know, when you have to dream which your sacred animal is--they wouldn't let me go with the others; they wouldn't tell me any of the secrets. I did it by myself, though,' he added. 'Didn't eat anything for five days and then went out one night alone into those mountains there.' He pointed.

      Patronizingly, Bernard smiled. 'And did you dream of anything?' he asked.

      The other nodded. 'But I mustn't tell you what.' He was silent for a little; then, in a low voice, 'Once,' he went on, 'I did something that none of the others did: I stood against a rock in the middle of the day, in summer, with my arms out, like Jesus on the cross.'

      'What on earth for?'

      'I wanted to know what it was like being crucified. Hanging there in the sun...'

      'But why?'

      'Why? Well...' He hesitated. 'Because I felt I ought to. If Jesus could stand it. And then, if one has done something wrong... Besides, I was unhappy; that was another reason.'

      'It seems a funny way of curing your unhappiness,' said Bernard. But on second thoughts he decided that there was, after all, some sense in it. Better than taking soma....

      'I fainted after a time,' said the young man. 'Fell down on my face. Do you see the mark where I cut myself?' He lifted the thick yellow hair from his forehead. The scar showed, pale and puckered, on his right temple.

      Bernard looked, and then quickly, with a little shudder, averted his eyes. His conditioning had made him not so much pitiful as profoundly squeamish. The mere suggestion of illness or wounds was to him not only horrifying, but even repulsive and rather disgusting. Like dirt, or deformity, or old age. Hastily he changed the subject.

      'I wonder if you'd like to come back to London with us?' he asked, making the first move in a campaign whose strategy he had been secretly elaborating ever since, in the little house, he had realized who the 'father' of this young savage must be. 'Would you like that?'

      The young man's face lit up. 'Do you really mean it?'

      'Of course; if I can get permission, that is.'

      'Linda too?'

      'Well...' He hesitated doubtfully. That revolting creature! No, it was impossible. Unless, unless... It suddenly occurred to Bernard that her very revoltingness might prove an enormous asset. 'But of course!' he cried, making up for his first hesitations with an excess of noisy cordiality.

      The young man drew a deep breath. 'To think it should be coming true--what I've dreamt of all my life. Do you remember what Miranda says?'

      'Who's Miranda?'

      But the young man had evidently not heard the question. 'O wonder!' he was saying; and his eyes shone, his face was brightly flushed. 'How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is!' The flush suddenly deepened; he was thinking of Lenina, of an angel in bottle-green viscose, lustrous with youth and skin food, plump, benevolently smiling. His voice faltered. 'O brave new world,' he began, then suddenly interrupted himself; the blood had left his cheeks; he was as pale as paper. 'Are you married to her?' he asked.

      'Am I what?'

      'Married. You know--for ever. They say "for ever" in the Indian words; it can't be broken.'

      'Ford, no!' Bernard couldn't help laughing.

      John also laughed, but for another reason--laughed for pure joy.

      'O brave new world,' he repeated. 'O brave new world that has such people in it. Let's start at once.'

      'You have a most peculiar way of talking sometimes,' said Bernard, staring at the young man in perplexed astonishment. 'And, anyhow, hadn't you better wait till you actually see the new world?'

      Chapter IX

       Table of Contents

      Lenina felt herself entitled, after this day of queerness and horror, to a complete and absolute holiday. As soon as they got back to the rest-house, she swallowed six half-gramme tablets of soma, lay down on her bed, and within ten minutes had embarked for lunar eternity. It would be eighteen hours at the least before she was in time again.

      Bernard meanwhile lay pensive and wide-eyed in the dark. It was long after midnight before he fell asleep. Long after midnight; but his insomnia had not been fruitless; he had a plan.

      Punctually, on the following morning, at ten o'clock, the green-uniformed octoroon stepped out of his helicopter. Bernard was waiting for him among the agaves.

      'Miss Crowne's gone on soma-holiday,' he explained. 'Can hardly be back before five. Which leaves us seven hours.'

      He could fly to Santa Fé, do all the business he had to do, and be in Malpais again long before she woke up.

      'She'll be quite safe here by herself?'

      'Safe as helicopters,' the octoroon assured him.

      They climbed into the machine and started off at once. At ten thirty-four they landed on the roof of the Santa Fé Post Office; at ten thirty-seven Bernard had got through to the World Controller's Office in Whitehall; at ten thirty-nine he was speaking to his fordship's fourth personal secretary; at ten forty-four he was repeating his story to the first secretary, and at ten forty-seven and a half it was the deep, resonant voice of Mustapha Mond himself that sounded in his ears.

      'I ventured to think,' stammered Bernard, 'that your fordship might find the matter of sufficient scientific interest...'

      'Yes, I do find it of sufficient scientific interest,' said the deep voice. 'Bring these two individuals back to London with you.'

      'Your fordship is aware that I shall need a special permit...'

      'The necessary orders,' said Mustapha Mond, 'are being sent to the Warden of the Reservation at this moment. You will proceed at once to the Warden's Office. Good-morning, Mr. Marx.'

      There was silence. Bernard hung up the receiver and hurried up to the roof.

      'Warden's Office,' he said to the Gamma-green octoroon.

      At ten fifty-four Bernard was shaking hands with the Warden.

      'Delighted, Mr. Marx, delighted.' His boom was deferential. 'We have just received special orders...'

      'I know,' said Bernard, interrupting him. 'I was talking to his fordship on the phone a moment ago.' His bored tone implied that he was in the habit of talking to his fordship every day of the week. He dropped into a chair. 'If you'll kindly take all the necessary steps as soon as СКАЧАТЬ