Read Online Memoirs Found In a Bathtub by Stanislaw Lem - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stanislaw Lem
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see?”
He grew serious.
“Grade, rank, even greetings, everything is coded.”
“Greetings?”
“Certainly. Suppose you’re talking with someone over the phone, someone on the outside, and you say, for instance, ‘Good evening.’ From that alone one can deduce that our work goes on at night, that there are shifts in other words, which is important information—for someone,” he stressed the last word. “Every conversation…”
“Wait! You mean, even now…”
He cleared his throat, embarrassed.
“Unavoidable.”
“Then how am I to understand…?”
He looked straight at me.
“Why do you say that?” he said, lowering his voice. “Of course you understand, you must. Completely forgot, Can’t think of anything, Some sort of entrance exam —how could you not understand? But I can see that you do! Now why that look of despair? Each one codes according to his ability and mission. Don’t worry, you’ll catch on soon enough.”
“If you say so.”
“Have a little confidence in yourself! Business is business, I know, the impersonal routine, the complications, frustrations … yet your mission is so fantastically difficult that it’s silly to let a few little mistakes discourage you, even if they are irreparable. I’ll direct you to the Department of Codes, they’ll tell you everything you need to know—nothing rigorous, you understand, just enough to handle a social conversation. And the instructions will be waiting for you here.”
“I didn’t even get a chance to look at them.”
“No one’s stopping you.”
I opened the bundle and glanced at the top of the first page:
“…You won’t be able to find the right room—none of them will have the number designated on your pass. First you will wind up at the Department of Verification, then the Department of Misinformation, then some clerk from the Pressure Section will advise you to try level eight, but on level eight they will ignore you…”
I skipped a few pages and read:
“…you will have suspected for some time now that the Cosmic Command, obviously no longer able to supervise every assignment on an individual basis when there are literally trillions of matters in its charge, has switched over to a random system. The assumption will be that every document, circulating endlessly from desk to desk, must eventually hit upon the right one.”
“What—what is this?” I stammered, looking up at Major Erms, paralyzed by a sudden stab of fear.
“Code,” he answered absently, searching for something in his desk. “Instructions have to be in code.”
“But—but this sounds like…” I couldn’t finish.
“Code should sound like anything but code.”
Reaching across the desk, he lifted the instructions from my hands.
“I couldn’t … take them with me?”
“Whatever for?”
His voice registered genuine surprise.
“They could help me decipher them in that—that Department of Codes,” I said.
He laughed.
“What an amateur! But you’ll learn. After a while these things become second nature. Look, how could you allow your instructions to end up in anyone else’s hands? Remember, only three people know about your Mission: the Commander in Chief, the Chief Commander, and myself.”
I watched meekly as he put the bundle back inside the safe and spun the combination dials a few times.
“But at least tell me what my Mission is about,” I urged. “Give me a rough idea.”
“A rough idea?” He bit his lip; an unruly shock of hair fell into his left eye. He leaned against the desk with his fingertips, whistled softly like a schoolboy, then heaved a sigh and smiled. There was a dimple in his left cheek.
“What on earth am I going to do with you?” He shrugged, went back to the safe, took out the same bundle and asked:
“You have a folder, I believe? We’ll stuff the lot in there.”
The empty yellow folder I brought with me but had left outside now turned up on his desk, and he filled it with my
He grew serious.
“Grade, rank, even greetings, everything is coded.”
“Greetings?”
“Certainly. Suppose you’re talking with someone over the phone, someone on the outside, and you say, for instance, ‘Good evening.’ From that alone one can deduce that our work goes on at night, that there are shifts in other words, which is important information—for someone,” he stressed the last word. “Every conversation…”
“Wait! You mean, even now…”
He cleared his throat, embarrassed.
“Unavoidable.”
“Then how am I to understand…?”
He looked straight at me.
“Why do you say that?” he said, lowering his voice. “Of course you understand, you must. Completely forgot, Can’t think of anything, Some sort of entrance exam —how could you not understand? But I can see that you do! Now why that look of despair? Each one codes according to his ability and mission. Don’t worry, you’ll catch on soon enough.”
“If you say so.”
“Have a little confidence in yourself! Business is business, I know, the impersonal routine, the complications, frustrations … yet your mission is so fantastically difficult that it’s silly to let a few little mistakes discourage you, even if they are irreparable. I’ll direct you to the Department of Codes, they’ll tell you everything you need to know—nothing rigorous, you understand, just enough to handle a social conversation. And the instructions will be waiting for you here.”
“I didn’t even get a chance to look at them.”
“No one’s stopping you.”
I opened the bundle and glanced at the top of the first page:
“…You won’t be able to find the right room—none of them will have the number designated on your pass. First you will wind up at the Department of Verification, then the Department of Misinformation, then some clerk from the Pressure Section will advise you to try level eight, but on level eight they will ignore you…”
I skipped a few pages and read:
“…you will have suspected for some time now that the Cosmic Command, obviously no longer able to supervise every assignment on an individual basis when there are literally trillions of matters in its charge, has switched over to a random system. The assumption will be that every document, circulating endlessly from desk to desk, must eventually hit upon the right one.”
“What—what is this?” I stammered, looking up at Major Erms, paralyzed by a sudden stab of fear.
“Code,” he answered absently, searching for something in his desk. “Instructions have to be in code.”
“But—but this sounds like…” I couldn’t finish.
“Code should sound like anything but code.”
Reaching across the desk, he lifted the instructions from my hands.
“I couldn’t … take them with me?”
“Whatever for?”
His voice registered genuine surprise.
“They could help me decipher them in that—that Department of Codes,” I said.
He laughed.
“What an amateur! But you’ll learn. After a while these things become second nature. Look, how could you allow your instructions to end up in anyone else’s hands? Remember, only three people know about your Mission: the Commander in Chief, the Chief Commander, and myself.”
I watched meekly as he put the bundle back inside the safe and spun the combination dials a few times.
“But at least tell me what my Mission is about,” I urged. “Give me a rough idea.”
“A rough idea?” He bit his lip; an unruly shock of hair fell into his left eye. He leaned against the desk with his fingertips, whistled softly like a schoolboy, then heaved a sigh and smiled. There was a dimple in his left cheek.
“What on earth am I going to do with you?” He shrugged, went back to the safe, took out the same bundle and asked:
“You have a folder, I believe? We’ll stuff the lot in there.”
The empty yellow folder I brought with me but had left outside now turned up on his desk, and he filled it with my
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