hands on the edge of the desk and slowly, very slowly pushed myself with my chair away from him. Then instantly gathering myself into my own hands, I dashed madly out, past loud voices, past steps and mouths....
I do not remember how I got into one of the public rest-rooms at a station of the Underground Railway. Above, everything was perishing; the greatest civilization, the most rational in human history was crumbling,—but here, by some irony everything remained as before, beautiful. The walls shone; water murmured cosily and like the water,—the unseen, transparent music.... Only think of it! All this is doomed; all this will be covered with grass, some day; only myths will remain....
I moaned aloud. At the same instant I felt someone gently patting my knee. It was from the left; it was my neighbor who occupied a seat on my left,—an enormous forehead, a bald parabola, yellow unintelligible lines of wrinkles on his forehead, those lines about me.
“I understand you. I understand completely,” he said. “Yet you must calm yourself. You must. It will return. It will inevitably return. It is only important that everybody should learn of my discovery. You are the first to whom I talk about it. I have calculated that there is no infinity! No!”
I looked at him wildly.
“Yes, yes, I tell you so. There is no infinity. If the universe is infinite, then the average density of matter must equal zero, but as it is not zero, we know, consequently the universe is finite; it is spherical in form and the square of its radius—R2—is equal to the average density multiplied by.... The only thing left is to calculate the numerical coefficient and then.... Do you realize what it means? It means that everything is final, everything is simple.... But you, my honored sir, you disturb me, you prevent my finishing my calculations by your yelling!”
I do not know which shattered me more, his discovery, or his positiveness at that apocalyptic hour. I only then noticed that he had a notebook in his hands and a logarithmic dial. I understood then that even if everything was perishing it was my duty (before you, my unknown and beloved) to leave these records in a finished form.
I asked him to give me some paper, and here in the rest-room to the accompaniment of the quiet music, transparent like water, I wrote down these last lines.
I was about to put down a period as the ancients would put a cross over the caves into which they used to throw their dead, when all of a sudden my pencil trembled and fell from between my fingers....
“Listen!” (I pulled my neighbor). “Yes, listen, I say. There where your finite universe ends, what is there? What?”
He had no time to answer. From above, down the steps, stamping....
Record Forty
Facts
The Bell
I Am Certain
Daylight. It is clear. The barometer—760 mm. It is possible that I, D-503, really wrote these—pages? Is it possible that I ever felt, or imagined I felt all this?
The handwriting is mine. And what follows is all in my handwriting. Fortunately only the handwriting. No more delirium, no absurd metaphors, no feelings,—only facts. For I am healthy, perfectly, absolutely healthy.... I am smiling; I cannot help smiling; a splinter has been taken out of my head and I feel so light, so empty! To be more exact, not empty, but there is nothing foreign, nothing that prevents me from smiling. (Smiling is the normal state for a normal human being).
The facts are as follows: That evening my neighbor who discovered the finiteness of the universe, and I, and all others who did not have a certificate showing that we had been operated on, all of us were taken to the nearest auditorium. (For some reason the number of the auditorium, 112, seemed familiar to me). There they tied us to the tables and performed the great operation. Next day, I, D-503, appeared before the Well-Doer and told him everything known to me about the enemies of happiness. Why before it seemed hard for me to go, I cannot understand. The only explanation seems to be my illness,—my soul.
The same evening, sitting at the same table with Him, with the Well-Doer, I saw for the first time in my life the famous Gas Chamber. They brought in that woman. She was to testify in my presence. That woman remained stubbornly silent and smiling. I noticed that she had sharp and very white teeth which were very pretty.
Then she was brought under the Bell. Her face became very white and as her eyes were large and dark,—all was very pretty. When they began pumping the air from under the Bell she threw her head back and half closed her eyes; her lips were pressed together. This reminded me of something. She looked at me, holding the arms of the chair firmly. She continued to look until her eyes closed. Then she was taken out and brought to by means of electrodes and again put under the Bell. The procedure was repeated three times, yet she did not utter a word.
The others who were brought in with that woman, proved to be more honest; many of them began to speak after the first trial. Tomorrow they will all ascend the steps to the Machine of the Well-Doer. No postponement is possible for there still is chaos, groaning, cadavers, beasts in the western section, and to our regret there are still quantities of Numbers who betrayed Reason.
But on the transverse avenue Forty, we succeeded in establishing a temporary Wall of high voltage waves. And I hope we win. More than that; I am certain we shall win. For Reason must win.
The Last Man
By Mary Shelley
Volume I
Introduction
I visited Naples in the year 1818. On the 8th of December of that year, my companion and I crossed the Bay, to visit the antiquities which are scattered on the shores of Baiae. The translucent and shining waters of the calm sea covered fragments of old Roman villas, which were interlaced by sea-weed, and received diamond tints from the chequering of the sun-beams; the blue and pellucid element was such as Galatea might have skimmed in her car of mother of pearl; or Cleopatra, more fitly than the Nile, have chosen as the path of her magic ship. Though it was winter, the atmosphere seemed more appropriate to early spring; and its genial warmth contributed to inspire those sensations of placid delight, which are the portion of every traveller, as he lingers, loath to quit the tranquil bays and radiant promontories of Baiae.
We visited the so called Elysian Fields and Avernus: and wandered through various ruined temples, baths, and classic spots; at length we entered the gloomy cavern of the Cumaean Sibyl. Our Lazzeroni bore flaring torches, which shone red, and almost dusky, in the murky subterranean passages, whose darkness thirstily surrounding them, seemed eager to imbibe more and more of the element of light. We passed by a natural archway, leading to a second gallery, and enquired, if we could not enter there also. The guides pointed to the reflection of their torches on the water that paved it, leaving us to form our own conclusion; but adding it was a pity, for it led to the Sibyl's Cave. Our curiosity and enthusiasm were excited by this circumstance, and we insisted upon attempting the passage. As is usually the case in the prosecution of such enterprizes, the difficulties decreased on examination. We found, on each side of the humid pathway, "dry land for the sole of the foot."
At length we arrived at a large, desert, dark cavern, which the Lazzeroni assured us was the Sibyl's Cave. We were sufficiently disappointed—Yet we examined it with care, as if its blank, rocky walls could still bear trace of celestial visitant. On one side was a small opening. Whither does this lead? we asked: can we enter here?—"Questo poi, no,"—said the wild looking
