Chapter 4 Chapter 3 The Man Codenamed Thursday

Gregory's dull expression had long since disappeared before a new face appeared at the door.He hopped over the edge of the table, growled like a beast, and grabbed the Colt revolver and aimed it at Syme. Without fear, Syme raised a pale hand politely, and said with a effeminate dignity of a parson: "Don't be silly, don't you see it's not necessary? You don't understand we're fucked The same boat? Yes, a dizzying boat." Gregory didn't say a word, he couldn't shoot either, and looked embarrassed. "Don't you see that we're both in a dilemma?" said Syme. "I can't tell the police you're an anarchist, and you can't tell the anarchists that I'm a policeman. We've got to watch each other and know each other. Anyway. , this is a solitary intellectual duel between me and you. I, the policeman, cannot be helped by the police; you, my poor friend, the anarchist, cannot be helped by the laws and organizations necessary for anarchy But you have the advantage that you are not surrounded by nosy cops, I am surrounded by nosy anarchists. I cannot betray you, but I may betray myself. Come on, come on, Just wait and see how I betray myself! I'm going to start a clever move."

Gregory put the pistol down slowly, but still stared at him as if he were a sea monster. "I don't believe in immortality," said Gregory at last, "but if, afterward, you break your promise, God will make you cry forever in hell." "I won't break my word," said Syme firmly, "and you won't break your word. Here comes your friends." A group of anarchists bustled into the room with a languid and somewhat weary gait; but a small man with a black beard and spectacles - something of a Tim Haley sort - Others opened a distance, and walked forward with a few pages of documents in their hands.

"Comrade Gregory," he said, "I suppose this man is a representative?" Gregory was startled, and whispered Syme's name face down; but Syme replied abruptly, "I'd be glad to see you keep the gates so tight that it's hard for anyone who isn't a delegate to get in." But the little man with the black beard still frowned with some suspicion. "Which branch do you represent?" he asked sternly. "I can hardly call it a branch," said Syme, laughing, "I could call it a foundation." "what do you mean?" "Actually," said Syme calmly, "I'm quite a Sabbath-keeper, to be honest. I've been sent here to make sure you're obeying your Sunday orders properly."

The file fell from the hands of the little man, and a trace of fear flashed across everyone's faces.Apparently, from time to time, that dreadful chairman, code-named Sunday, sent some envoy to branch meetings. "Okay, buddy," said the man with the papers after a moment's pause, "I think we'd better get you a seat at the meeting?" "If you ask me as a friend," replied Syme, with serious kindness, "I think so." When Gregory heard that the dangerous conversation was over, that his enemy was safe, he rose abruptly, pacing up and down with agonized thoughts.It was painful diplomacy indeed, and he knew full well that Syme's audacity was likely to get him out of all accidental straits, and expect nothing from them.He couldn't betray Syme, not only out of dignity, but also because if he betrayed him, and for some reason failed to eliminate him, the escaped Syme would throw off all obligations of secrecy and report directly to the nearby police station.After all, the meeting was only held for one night now, and only one police detective knew about the situation.Talk about the plan as little as possible tonight, then let Syme go, and try your luck.

So Gregory strode towards the group of anarchists who had spread out on the benches. "I think we may begin," he said. "The tugboat is waiting. I propose that Comrade Buttons preside over the meeting." Everyone raised their hands in agreement, and the little man with the documents sat down on the chairman's seat calmly. "Comrades," he began, his voice piercing like pistol bullets, "our meeting tonight is important, although it will not be very long. This section has always had the honor of electing Thursdays for the European Central Council and has elected Many outstanding Thursdays. Our condolences to a heroic worker who had been doing his job and passed away last week. As you all know, his devotion to the cause was enormous. He organized the great Brighton bombing Action, that action, with a little more luck, could have sent everyone on the pier to heaven. You also know that his death was as ecstatic as his life, because he was cleansed by faith with a cleaning mixture of chalk and water. in place of milk, a drink he considered barbaric because it involved cruelty to cows. He abhorred cruelty of any kind or anything near it. But we did not gather to celebrate his virtues, but Is for a more difficult task. It is difficult to properly praise his qualities, but it is even more difficult to replace them. Comrades, you have the right to choose Thursday from among those present this evening. If any comrade has a recommendation If there is no one to recommend, I can only tell myself that the dear Demoman who left us has carried the last of his hidden virtue and innocence into the abyss of the unknown."

What followed was an almost inaudible roar of applause like that sometimes heard in churches.Then a tall old man with a long white beard, probably the only real worker present, rose slowly to his feet and said: "I propose to elect Comrade Gregory for Thursday." Said After that, he sat down slowly again. "Anyone agree?" the host asked. A small man in a velvet coat with a pointed beard agreed. "Before I announce the vote," said the host, "I will have Comrade Gregory make a speech." Gregory rose to his feet amidst thunderous applause, his face unusually pale against the bright red hair.He's smiling though, and generally relaxed.He had made up his mind, and his strategy, as clear as a white road, was to make a mildly ambiguous speech that would impress on the detective's mind that the anarchist organization was indeed engaged in very moderate activities. Activity.He believed in his literary powers—the ability to suggest nuances and choose perfect language.Despite being surrounded by all the people, he thinks that words with the heart can convey a subtle false impression about the organization.Syme had thought that adventurous anarchists were merely foolhardy.And couldn't he make Syme think so again at this critical moment?

"Comrades," Gregory began in a deep, penetrating voice, "I don't have to tell you my strategy, because it's your strategy too. Our beliefs have been vilified, distorted, completely Obfuscated and obscured, but it has never been changed. Those who talk about anarchism and its dangers scout around for information, but not from us, from its source. The Merchant's Newspaper, Ali Slop's Half Vacation, and The Age of Movement knew the Anarchists, but never through the Anarchists. We had no chance of denying those who came from one end of Europe To the slander and slander piled on our heads at the other end. Keep hearing that we are the living plague and never hear our answer. For all my passion to knock the roof off, I know he won't listen tonight either Yes. Because only these persecuted people on the bottom are allowed to gather, just like Christians gather in the catacombs. But if by some unbelievable accident, there is a person here tonight who has been seriously misunderstood us, I will would ask him the question, 'What moral reputation did those Christians have in the streets above when they met in the catacombs? What tales of their atrocities did the educated Romans tell?' Suppose (I would say to him ), assuming we're merely repeating that still-mysterious historical paradox, assuming we're like those shocking Christians because we're harmless Christians, and assuming we're as crazy as these Christians are because we're like them docile."

The cheers that greeted his opening words faded to a screeching halt at the last word.In the sudden silence, the man in the velvet jacket screamed, "I'm not meek!" "Comrade Witherspoon tells us," continued Gregory, "that he is not docile. Oh, how little he knows himself! In fact, his words are extreme, his appearance cruel, and even (to the common man's taste) extremely vulgar. But only a friend as deep and subtle as myself can perceive the deep roots of utter meekness that lie deep within him, so deep that he cannot even see them. I repeat, we belong to True early Christians, we're just too late. We're simple because they fear simplicity—look at Comrade Witherspoon. We're humble because they're humble—look at me. We're merciful of--"

"No, no!" cried Mr. Witherspoon in his velvet coat. "I say we are merciful," Gregory repeated angrily, "because the early Christians were merciful. But that doesn't save them from being charged with cannibalism. We don't eat human flesh—" "Shame!" cried Witherspoon. "Why not?" "Comrade Witherspoon," said Gregory, with a kind of feverish excitement, "is eager to know why no one eats him (laughter). At any rate, our society sincerely loves him, and it is established On the basis of love—” "No, no!" said Witherspoon, "Down with love."

"It is based on love," repeated Gregory, gritted his teeth. "There will be no hindrance to the goals we will pursue as a group, and if I were elected as the representative of the group, the goals I will pursue will not be hindered." There will be no hindrance. We are to ignore the slanders that describe us as assassins and enemies of human society, with moral courage and calm rational pressure to pursue the ideals of eternal brotherhood and simplicity." Gregory sat back on his seat and touched his forehead with his hand.The sudden silence was embarrassing, and the host stood up stiffly like a robot, and said in a dull voice: "Anyone object to the election of Comrade Gregory?"

All the participants were expressionless and very disappointed. Comrade Witherspoon swayed uncomfortably in his seat, his bushy beard swayed with the swaying body, and he muttered something.However, through this utterly rushed routine, motions will be made and passed.But just as the host opened his mouth to say the motion, Syme stood up and said quietly and quietly, "Yes, sir, I object." The most effective technique in oratory is the unexpected change of tone.Mr. Gabriel Syme evidently knew the art of oratory.He began curtly, in a measured tone, and the next sentence would ring and burst like a fired gun in the basement. "Comrades!" he cried, in a startling tone, "that's what we're here for? We live like rats underground to hear this kind of talk? The kind of talk we only have at Sunday school meals." Buns. We lined the wall with weapons and barred the door with death so that no one would come in and hear Comrade Gregory say to us, 'be merciful and you'll be happy ', 'Honesty is the best policy' and 'Virtue is its own reward'? There is not a word in the words of Comrade Gregory that a parish priest would not laugh at (listen, listen). But, I'm not a parish priest (loud cheers) and I don't laugh when he speaks (continued cheers). A man who would make a good parish priest is not fit to be a strong and capable Thursday ( Listen, listen). "Comrade Gregory tells us in an overly apologetic tone that we are not the enemies of society. But I would say that we are the enemies of society, made worse by society. We are enemies of society because society is human Enemy, its oldest and most ruthless enemy (Listen, listen). Comrade Gregory tells us (again apologetically) that we are not murderers. I agree with that. We are not murderers, we are executioners ( cheer)." Gregory had sat staring at Syme since he had stood up, his expression dazed with shock.At the moment Syme paused, his clay lips parted, and he said: "You bloody hypocrite!" Syme looked directly into Gregory's terrible eyes with pale blue eyes, and said with dignity: "Comrade Gregory accuses me of hypocrisy. He knows as well as I do that I keep my word and do my job. I don't speak affectation, I Not pretending. I would say that Comrade Gregory is unsuitable for Thursday because of all his kind qualities. He is unsuitable for Thursday because of his kind qualities. We don't want the Anarchist Supreme Council to be tainted with fragility Kindness (listen, listen). There is no need for ceremonial politeness now, nor ceremonial modesty. I am against Comrade Gregory as I am against all governments in Europe, for anarchy dedicated to anarchism I am as much about self-respect as I am about humility (cheers). I am not a person, I am a cause (cheers again). I am against Comrade Gregory as I choose this pistol over another from the shelf by the wall As impersonal as a pistol; and I would say that instead of choosing Gregory and his unhelpful ways for the Supreme Council, you should choose me—” His words were drowned out by a deafening applause and cheers.The audience, which had previously hardened with his tirade, now grew wild with approval, faces cocked into expectant grins, or mouths bursting open in yells of delight.The moment he announced his readiness to run for the job on Thursday, the roar of approval grew uncontrollable. At the same time Gregory stood up suddenly, foaming at the mouth, and shouted at the cheering crowd. "Shut up, you bloody lunatic!" he yelled through his throat, "Shut up, you—" But the voice from Syme was louder than Gregory's shouts and the shouts of the crowd in the room, and he spoke in a relentless thunderous voice— "I'm not going to ask the council to refute the slander that calls us murderers; I'm going to earn that title (loud and long cheers). To the priests who call these people the enemies of religion, to the Judges who are enemies of the law, to fat MPs who call these men enemies of order and public norms, to all these I answer, 'You are unfaithful rulers, but you are true prophets. I come To destroy you and to fulfill your prophecy.'” The heavy uproar receded, but before it ceased Witherspoon sprung to his feet, his hair and beard bristling, and said: "I propose an amendment to appoint Comrade Syme Thursday." "Stop, I'm telling you!" Gregory shouted with a frantic face, waving his frenzied hands vigorously, "Stop, this is—" The host interrupted him with his cold voice. "Is there anyone supporting this amendment?" he asked. A tall, thin man with an American beard and a tired face with melancholy eyes slowly stood up on the bench in the back. "I ask for support in the election of Comrade Syme," he said in a stonelike voice. Gregory had been screaming for a while, and now his voice was more startling than any scream. "Can't pick this guy. He's a—" "Yes," said Syme flatly, "what is he?" Gregory's mouth moved twice, but no sound came out, and the blood began to slowly flow back into his dead face. "He has little experience with our work," he said, and sat down abruptly. Before he could sit down, the tall, lanky man with the American mustache stood up again and repeated loudly and in dead American accents: "I request support for the election of Comrade Syme." "As usual, the amendment will be put to the vote!" said Mr. Buttons mechanically and quickly. "The problem is that Comrade Syme—" Gregory stood up again, gasping for air, very excited. "Comrades," he cried, "I am not a madman." "Oh, oh!" said Mr. Witherspoon. "I'm not a madman," repeated Gregory, at one point astonished the room with his terrible sincerity, "call it madness if you like. But I'll give you a word of advice, no, I don't." Call it advice because I can't think of any reason to call it advice. I call it an order, call it a crazy order, but do it. Attack, but listen to me! Kill me, but Obey me! Don't choose this man." The truth was so terrible, even in chains, that for a moment Syme's tiny, absurd victory swayed like a reed.But you couldn't see that in Syme's cold blue eyes.He said directly: "Comrade Gregory ordered—" Then the spell was broken, and one of the anarchists shouted to Gregory: "Who are you? You are not Sunday." Then another anarchist added, in a still deeper voice: "And you It's not Thursday either." "Comrades," cried Gregory, in the voice of a martyr about to escape from pain, "I don't care if you hate me as a tyrant or as a slave. If you don't accept my Command, debase me, I kneel before you, at your disposal. I beg you. Don't vote for this man." "Comrade Gregory," the host said, after a painful pause, "this is quite undignified." For the first time in the course of the meeting there was several seconds of silence.Then Gregory sank back into his chair, a feeble cripple, and the host, like clockwork suddenly restarted, repeated: "The problem is that Comrade Syme was elected to the General Assembly Thursday." The cheers roared like the sea, and the hands of the crowd were raised like a forest.Three minutes later Mr. Gabriel Syme, of the secret police, was elected to the Thursday post of the European Anarchist Federation. Everyone in the room seemed to sense the tugboats waiting on the river and the swords and revolvers waiting on the table.The moment the election was over and unalterable, and Syme received the papers proving his election, the crowd rose to their feet, moving and mingling excitedly across the room.Syme found himself somehow face to face with Gregory, who was still staring at him in shock and hatred.They were silent for several minutes. "You are a devil!" said Gregory at last. "And you're a gentleman," said Syme gravely. "You tricked me," began Gregory, trembling from head to toe, "you tricked me into—" "Talk with reason," retorted Syme at once. "Speak of deceit. Didn't you lure me into one of those fiend's councils? You made me swear before I made you. Maybe we both Do what we think is right. It's just that what we think is so different, so there's no room for compromise between us, and there can be nothing but honor and death." He threw the majestic cloak over Over his shoulder, he picked up the wine bottle from the table again. "The boat is ready," said the busy Mr. Buttons. "Careful, this way, please." He beckoned the shop inspector with a signal, and led Syme down a short, iron-clad passage, Gregory, still in agony, excitedly following them.At the end of the passage was a door, which Buttons flung open, revealing a moonlit picture of the silver-blue river.Beside the exit was a big, black, squat motorboat, like a young dragon with one red eye. Gabriel Syme stepped onto the deck and turned to look at the dumbfounded Gregory. "You kept your promise," he said softly, his expression drowned in darkness, "you are a man of integrity, and I thank you. You kept your promise from beginning to end, and there is one special thing you did in this event You promised me at the beginning, and of course you have given it to me at the end." "What do you mean?" cried a bewildered Gregory. "What did I promise you?" "A very pleasant evening," said Syme.He gave a military salute with his sword and staff as the steamboat started.

---

Notes: