Part 8 (1/2)
”Thank you,” I said again. ”Most a.s.suredly.”
I watched as he went to his long automobile, collapsed in the seat, puttered with the auto-driver control, fell back against the seat back, and apparently dozed off instantly. The car began to roll cautiously across the plaza and disappeared in the shade and greenery of a side street.
Neo-optimism... Neo-hedonism... Neo-cretinism...
Neo-capitalism... ”No evil without good,” said the fox. So, I have landed in the Country of the b.o.o.bs. It should he recorded that the ratio of congenital fools does not vary as a function of time. It should be interesting to determine what is happening to the percentage of fools by conviction. Curious -- who a.s.signed the t.i.tle of Doctor to him? He is not the only one! There must have been a whole flock of doctors who ceremoniously granted that t.i.tle to Neo-optimist Opir. However, this occurs not only among philosophers.
I saw Rimeyer come into the hall and forgot Doctor Opir at once. The suit hung on Rimeyer like a sack. Rimeyer stooped, and his face was flabby. I thought he wavered in his walk. He approached the elevator and I caught him by the sleeve there.
He jumped violently and turned on me.
”What in h.e.l.l?” he said. He was clearly unhappy to see me.
”Why are you still here?”
”I waited for you.”
”Didn't I tell you to come tomorrow at noon?”
”What's the difference?” I said. ”Why waste time?”
He looked at me, breathing laboriously.
”I am expected. A man is waiting for me in my room, and he must not see you with me. Do you understand?”
”Don't shout,” I said. ”People are noticing.”
Rimeyer glanced sideways with watery eyes.
”Go in the elevator,” he said.
We entered and he pressed the b.u.t.ton for the fifteenth floor.
”Get on with your business quickly,” he said.
The order was startlingly stupid, so that I was momentarily disoriented.
”You mean to say that you don't know why I am here?”
He rubbed his forehead, and then said, ”h.e.l.l, everything's mixed up.... Listen, I forgot, what is your name?”
”Zhilin.”
”Listen, Zhilin, I have nothing new for you. I didn't have time to attend to that business. It's all a dream, do you understand? Matia's inventions. They sit there, writing papers, and invent. They should all be pitched the h.e.l.l out.”
We arrived at the fifteenth floor and he pressed the b.u.t.ton for the first.
”Devil take it,” he said. ”Five more minutes and he'll leave.... In general I am convinced of one thing, there is nothing to it. Not in this town, in any case.” He looked at me surrept.i.tiously, and turned his eyes away. ”Here is something I can tell you. Look in at the Fishers. Just like that, to clear your conscience.”
”The Fishers? What Fishers?”
”You'll find out for yourself,” he said impatiently. ”But don't get tricky with them. Do everything they ask.” Then, as though defending himself, he added, ”I don't want any preconceptions, you understand.”
The elevator stopped at the first floor and he signaled for the ninth.
”That's it,” he said. ”Then we'll meet and talk in detail.
Let's say tomorrow at noon.”
”All right,” I said slowly. He obviously did not want to talk to me. Maybe he didn't trust me. Well, it happens!
”By the way,” I said, ”you have been visited by a certain Oscar.”
It seemed to me that he started.
”Did he see you?”
”Naturally. He asked me to tell you that he will be calling tonight.”
”That's bad, devil take it, bad....” muttered Rimeyer.
”Listen... d.a.m.n, what is your name?”
”Zhilin.”
The elevator stopped.
”Listen, Zhilin, it's very bad that he has seen you....
However, what the h.e.l.l is the difference. I must go now.” Re opened the elevator door, ”Tomorrow we'll have a real good talk, okay? Tomorrow... and you look in on the Fishers. Is that a deal?”
He slammed the door with all his strength.
”Where will I look for them?” I asked.
I stood awhile, looking after him. He was almost running, receding down the corridor with erratic steps.
Chapter FIVE.
I walked slowly, keeping to the shade of the trees. Now and then a car rolled by. One of these stopped and the driver threw open the door, leaned out, and vomited on the pavement.
He cursed weakly, wiped his mouth with his palm, slammed the door, and drove off. He was on the elderly side, red-faced, wearing a loud s.h.i.+rt with nothing under it.
Rimeyer apparently had turned into a drunkard. This happens fairly often: a man tries hard, works hard, is considered a valuable contributor, he is listened to and made out as a model, but just when he is needed for a concrete task, it suddenly turns out that he has grown puffy and flabby, that wenches are running in and out of his place, and that he smells of vodka from early morning.... Your business does not interest him, while at the same time, he is frightfully busy, is constantly meeting someone, talks confusingly and murkily, and is of no help whatsoever. And then he turns up in the alcoholic ward, or a mental clinic, or is involved in a legal process. Or he gets married unexpectedly -- strangely and ineptly -- and this marriage smells strongly of blackmail. ... One can only comment: ”Physician, heal thyself.”
It would still be nice to hunt up Peck. Peck is hard as flint, honest, and he always knows everything. You haven't even finished the rundown on the tech control, and haven't had a chance to get off the s.h.i.+p, before he is buddy-buddy with the cook, is already fully informed and involved in the investigation of the dispute between the Commander of the Pathfinders and the chief engineer, who didn't settle the matter of some prize; the technicians are already planning an evening in his honor, and the deputy director is listening to his advice in a quiet corner... Priceless Peck! He was born in this city and has spent a third of his life here.