Chapter 7 Chapter Six
Weird, weird, too weird, was Lenina's assertion of Bernard Marx.It was so queer that, more than once in the weeks that followed, she considered changing her plan of traveling with him to Mexico and going to the North Pole with Benito Hoover.The problem was that she had already been to the North Pole, only last summer with George Ezell, and found it rather uncomfortable.Nothing to do.The hotel is old fashioned as hell.There is no TV in the bedroom.No scent instruments, just the most obnoxious synth music.There are only twenty-five escalator handball courts with more than two thousand guests.No, she must never go to the North Pole to play again.Besides, she had only been to America once, and how badly she had gone!Just a cheap weekend in New York, whether it was with Jean-Jacques Habibra or Bokanowski-Jones she couldn't remember, but that didn't matter at all.And a full week in the West still appealed to her.What's more, at least three days of them can be spent on the Savage Reservation-only half a dozen people in the whole pregnancy center have been there.She knew Bernard was an alpha plus, a psychologist, one of the few approved to go.For her, that was a rare opportunity.And Bernard's eccentricity was also rare, and she hesitated to accept Bernard, in fact, she even considered taking the risk of going to the North Pole again with the funny old Benito.At least Benito was normal, while Bernard was...
Fanny's explanation for every tantrum was "alcohol in the blood substitute." But when Lenina and Henry talked anxiously about her new lover in bed one night, Henry took the poor Burnaby being a rhino.
"You can't teach a rhino to trick," he explained in his curt, punchy style. "Some people are just like rhinos, and don't respond properly to conditioning. Poor monster! Bernard is one. Luckily he's doing pretty well." Great, otherwise the director would have fired him. But," he said reassuringly, "I don't think he does any harm."
Harmless, perhaps, but also very disturbing.In the first place, his eccentricity of personal affairs was really idleness.What can a man do in private? (Of course, except for going to bed, but people can't always go to bed.) And what can you do in bed?Not much to do.The weather was especially nice the first time they went out.Lenina suggested going to the Tokai Country Club for a swim and then for dinner at the Oxford Union, but Bernard thought it was too crowded.How about playing electromagnetic golf at St. Andrews?Still disagree.Bernard felt that playing electromagnetic golf was a waste of time.
"Then what is the time for?" asked Lenina, somewhat surprised.
That's obviously a walk to the Lake District, because that's what he's proposing now.Disembark at the end of Skidall, and spend an hour or two in the heather. "Alone with you, Lenina."
"But, Bernard, we're going to be alone all evening."
Bernard blushed and looked away. "I mean, talk alone," he muttered.
"Talking? But talking about what?" It was a strange way to spend an afternoon walking and chatting.
Finally she persuaded him to fly to Amsterdam to see the women's heavyweight wrestling quarterfinals, despite his reluctance.
"Crowded in a crowd," he muttered, "as usual." He had been morose all afternoon, refusing to talk to Lenina's friends.Going to the Soma ice cream parlor between wrestling matches, they met dozens of her friends, and though he was very unhappy, she absolutely refused to persuade him to eat half a gram of soma ice cream with raspberries. "I'd rather be myself," he said, "be the person I hate than be other people, no matter how happy they are."
"" Lenina spoke with the wisdom she had received in her sleep.
Bernard impatiently pushed away the offered glass.
"Now don't lose your temper," she said, "and remember, 'Just swallow a little pill, and ten troubles will disappear.'"
"Oh, stop it, for Ford's sake," he cried.
Lenina shrugged. "It's better to be soma than to be troubled," she concluded without losing her dignity, eating up the fruit ice cream herself.
When the two of them returned and crossed the English Channel, Berner insisted on turning off the propellers and hovering a hundred feet above the waves on the propellers.The weather was turning bad, with a south-westerly wind and very dark skies.
"Look," he ordered.
"It's terrible," said Lenina, shrinking back from the window.The rushing emptiness of the night, the surging black waves splashing beneath her, the troubled haggard moon showing its pale face in the passing clouds, made her hair stand on end. "Let's turn on the radio, quick!" She reached for the knob on the dashboard and turned it on.
"...in your heart, the sky is blue," sixteen trembling voices sang in falsetto, "the sky will always be clear..."
The sound hiccupped and stopped—Berner turned off the power.
"I want to look at the sea quietly," he said, "I can't even see the sea because of that annoying noise."
"But the music is nice, and I don't want to look at the sea."
"But I want to see it," he insisted, "and it makes me feel as if..." He hesitated, searching for words to express himself, "more like me, if you know what I mean. It's more like being in charge of oneself, not completely belonging to others, not just a cell of a social collective. Do you feel that way, Lenina?"
But Lenina was already screaming. "It's terrible, it's terrible," she cried repeatedly, "how can you say something like that and not want to be part of a social collective? After all, we are all for one and one for all. We can't do without others Yes. Even Epsilon..."
"Yeah, I get it," sniffed Bernard. "'Even Epsilon's got a use,' and I've got a use for it. But I'm so fucking wishing I wasn't any use!"
Lenina was taken aback by his profanity. "Berner!" she protested, in a voice of horror and pain, "how can you talk like that?"
"Why can't I talk like that?" he mused in a different tone. "No, the real question is why can't I? Or rather—because I know very well why I can't—if I So what if I can speak, if I am free, and have not become a slave to the conditions set upon me."
"But Bernard, what you say is appalling."
"Don't you wish you were free, Lenina?"
"I don't understand what you mean. I was free to have a good time. Everyone is happy now."
He laughed. "Yes, 'everyone is happy now,' we teach children from the age of five. But don't you like the freedom to choose happiness in another way, Lenina? For example, in your own way , and not in anyone else's way?"
"I don't understand you," she repeated, turning to him. "Oh, let's go back, Bernard," she begged him. "I hate this place so much."
"Don't you like being with me?"
"Of course I do, Bernard. What I don't like is the dreadful place."
"I thought we could be nearer to each other here--nothing but the sea and the moon, much closer than in a crowd, even in my house. Do you know what I mean?"
"I don't understand anything," she said firmly, determined not to tarnish her muddled mind. "Nothing, nothing," she went on, changing her tone. No soma? Then you'll forget about them all, and be happy, not miserable. Very happy," she repeated, smiling.Although there is still confusion and anxiety in her eyes, she still hopes to persuade him with the charm and beauty of her smile.
He stared at her for a while without saying a word, his face very serious and unresponsive.A few seconds passed, and Lenina flinched, let out a short nervous laugh, and tried to find something to say, but couldn't find it.The silence continued.
Bernard finally spoke, his voice low and weary. "Okay, let's go back." He slammed on the accelerator and sent the plane into the sky like a rocket.At an altitude of four thousand meters he activated the thrusters.The two flew in the sky for a minute or two, and Bernard suddenly burst out laughing.Strange, thought Lenina.But he was laughing after all.
"Feeling better?" she asked bravely.
In reply, he lifted one hand away from the controls, put his arm around her, and began fondling her breasts.
"Thank you Ford," she thought, "he's normal again."
Half an hour later they were back at Bernard's house.Bernard gulped down four soma tablets, turned on the radio and television, and began to undress.
"Well," Lenina asked playfully, when the two met on the roof the next afternoon, "did you enjoy yesterday?"
Bernard nodded.The two boarded the plane.After a slight tremor, they had already set off.
"Everyone says I'm very spiritual," said Lenina thoughtfully, patting her legs.
"Very spiritual," but Bernard's eyes were pained, "like a shell," he thought.
She looked up at him anxiously. "But you don't think I'm too plump, do you?"
He shook his head.Just like that big a body.
"You think I'm cute." Nodding again. "Is it cute in every way?"
"Flawless," he said aloud.But I thought in my heart: "She is self-righteous and doesn't care about being a body."
Lenina smiled triumphantly, but she was satisfied too soon.
"All the same," Bernard went on after a pause, "I still wish very much that yesterday ended differently."
"Different? Could it have ended any other way?"
"I hope it doesn't end with us having sex," he explained.
Lenina was taken aback.
"Instead of going to bed right away, go to bed the first day."
"But that..."
He began to talk a lot of cryptic nonsense; Lenina shut her mind's ears as best she could, but something always slipped in. "... see what happens when I control my impulse." She heard him say, and those words seemed to touch a spring in her heart.
"If you have fun today, why put off tomorrow." She said solemnly.
"Twice a week, from fourteen to sixteen-thirty, two hundred repetitions each time." This was his assessment, and his wildly false statements went on at random. "I want to know what passion is," she heard "I wanted to generate strong feelings," he said.
"'When individuals are moved by emotion, society is difficult to stabilize.'" Lenina asserted.
"Well, why not let society shake for a while?"
"Berner!"
Still Bernard was not ashamed.
"Intellect and work are adults," he continued, "feelings and desires are children."
"Our Ford loves children."
He ignored her interruption. "It occurred to me that day," Bernard went on, "that it is possible to remain an adult forever."
"I don't understand." Lenina said firmly.
"I know you won't understand. That's why we slept yesterday—like babies. It's not like grown-ups can wait."
"But we're having fun this way," insisted Lenina, "isn't it?"
"The most interesting thing." He replied, but his voice was very sad, and there was deep pain in his expression.Lenina felt that her victory had suddenly evaporated.After all, he might think she was too fat.
"I told you," said Lenina, speaking to Fanny, "that it's all because of the extra alcohol in his blood substitute."
"It's all the same," insisted Lenina, "I like him. His hands are so lovely. And the way he shakes his shoulders—very charming," she sighed, "but I Hope he's not so weird."
Berner stood at the door of the director's office for a while, took a breath, puffed up his chest, and prepared to face resistance and opposition—he knew that he would definitely meet him when he entered the room.He knocked on the door and went in.
"Please sign and approve, Director." He smiled as much as possible, and put the certificate on the desk at the same time.
The director gave him an unhappy look.But on the top of the document is the seal of the world president’s official residence, and at the bottom is Mustapha Mond’s signature, in thick black font, across the bottom of the document, the formalities are complete and clear.The director had no choice but to sign his initials in pencil, under Mustapha Mond, in a poor, dingy little letter.He was about to return the document without saying a word, without saying "Bless God", when he saw a few words in the text of the document.
"To the New Mexico Reservation?" he said, with excited surprise in his voice and his upturned face at Berner.
His astonishment surprised Bernard.Bernard nodded and was silent for a moment.
The director frowned and leaned back. "How long ago was that?" he said not so much to Bernard as to himself. "Twenty years? Nearly twenty-five years, I think. I must have been your age..." He sighed and shook his head.
Bernard felt very awkward.A person who follows tradition and behaves like the director—how could he lose his composure so badly!He couldn't help but want to cover his face and run out of the house.It wasn't that there was something inherently repulsive about seeing people talk about the distant past—it was the hypno-education prejudice, which he thought he'd gotten rid of completely.What made him feel embarrassed was that he knew that the director didn't approve of this set--if he didn't approve, why did he lose his temper and do the prohibited thing?What kind of internal pressure did you experience?Bernard listened eagerly, despite his awkwardness.
"I was thinking like you then," said the Director, "to see the Savages. I got permission to go to New Mexico and was going to spend the summer there with my girlfriend at the time. It was a Beta minus, I think," he closed his eyes, "I think she's yellow haired, and she's pretty, very smart, I remember. Well, we got there and saw the savages and rode horses. Running around and doing stuff like that. And then, almost on the last day of my vacation, lo and behold, she disappeared. The two of us rode horses in those nasty hills, and it was terribly hot and stuffy. After lunch We went to bed. At least I did. She must have gone for a walk by herself. Anyway, she wasn't home when I woke up. And that's when the worst storm I've ever seen was raging on us. Ray There was a rumbling, a flash of lightning, and a torrential downpour. Our horse broke free and ran away. I tried to catch the horse, but I fell down, hurt my knee, and could barely walk. I still yelled and yelled and yelled and yelled, but I found nothing. I figured she might have gone back alone, and scrambled down the valley the same way I came. My knee hurt like hell, but I lost the soma. I walked for hours until I came back to the residence in the middle of the night, but she is still not there." The director repeated, and was silent for a while, "Well," he finally continued, "I searched again the next day, but I still can't find it. She must have fallen somewhere. In a ravine, or eaten by a lion on a mountain. Ford knows! Anyway, it was terrible, and I was very upset, and certainly more than I should have been—for after all, such accidents can happen to anyone. body; and although the cells that make up society may change, the social group remains forever." But the comfort of this kind of sleep education seemed to be ineffective, he shook his head, "Actually, I sometimes dream about it," the director said in a low tone Going on, "I dreamed that I was awakened by the rumbling thunder and found that she was gone, but I dreamed that I was looking for it under the tree, looking for it." He fell silent and fell into memory.
"You must be terrified." Bernard almost envied him.
The director was startled when he heard him speak, and became uneasy when he realized his situation.He glanced at Bernard, blushing, averting his eyes, then, suddenly suspicious, glanced at him again, and said with dignified exasperation: There's something illicit about the girl. We're not emotional, we're not procrastinating, we're perfectly healthy and normal." He handed Bernard the paper of approval. "I don't know why you should be bothered with this trifle. ’ He was angry with himself for revealing a dishonorable secret, and took it out on Bernard.There was obvious malice in his eyes now. "I would like to take this opportunity to tell you, Mr. Marx," he went on, "that I have received a report of your amateur conduct, and I am not at all satisfied. You may consider it none of my business, but, it is My business. I have to think about the reputation of the centre. My staff must never be suspect, especially the highest caste. Alpha's conditioning is that they don't have to behave like babies in their emotions, but, because of this, They should make a special effort to abide by the customs. Their duty is to be like babies, even if they don't want to. Therefore, Mr. Marx, I give you a solemn warning." The director's voice trembled, and what he had shown at this time had It was a dignified and disinterested outrage—already the objection of society itself, “If I hear of you breaking normal infant behavior again, I’m going to ask you to be transferred to a lower center—probably Iceland .Goodbye." He spun around in the swivel chair, grabbed a pen and began to write.
"That will teach him a lesson," he said to himself.But he was wrong, for Bernard had swaggered out of the house and was quite pleased with himself when he slammed the door behind him.He saw himself as single-handedly challenging the existing order.He was agitated, even elated, by the realization of his own meaning and importance, and the thought of being persecuted was indifferent to him.Not only was he not discouraged, but he even cheered up.He felt that he had enough strength to face the pain, overcome the pain, and even face Iceland, because he never believed that people would really ask him to face anything, so he was more confident.People don't get transferred for that reason.Iceland was nothing but a threat, a most exciting and exhilarating threat.He walked down the corridor and actually whistled.
He spoke heroically of his meeting with the Director that night. "Then," he concluded in these words, "I told him to go back to the bottomless abyss of the past, and strode out of the room. That's what happened." He looked expectantly at Helmholtz Ward. student, waiting for his response with sympathy, encouragement, and admiration.But Helmholtz just stared at the floor in silence and said nothing.
Helmholtz liked Bernard.He thanked him because he was the only one he knew with whom he could exchange ideas on the subject that was important to him.But there are also things he hates about Berner, such as his braggadocio, sometimes mixed with a kind of meanness and self-pity; and his despicable "hero after the fact, boasting of his calmness (extraordinary calm)" off the court.Helmholtz hated such things—he hated them precisely because he liked Bernard.Second by second, Helmholtz continued to stare blankly at the floor.Bernard blushed suddenly and turned his head away.
The journey was uneventful. The Blue Pacific Rocket was two and a half minutes early in New Orleans, was delayed four and a half minutes by a tornado as it crossed Texas, and entered a favorable current at 95 degrees west longitude, which allowed them to We were only forty seconds late in reaching Santa Fe.
"Forty seconds late for a six-and-a-half-hour flight isn't bad," Lenina admitted.
They slept in Santa Fe that night.The hotel was excellent—a world away, for example, from the Aurora Palace, which was downright frightening, where Lenina had suffered so much last summer.But here there was the wind, the TV, the vacuum vibrating massager, the radio, the piping hot coffee, and the warm contraceptives; eight different perfumes in each dorm room; synthesized music playing from the stereo when they entered the hall.All in all.The notice in the elevator announced that there were sixty escalator handball courses in the hotel, and obstacle golf and electromagnetic golf could be played in the garden.
"Sounds so lovely," exclaimed Lenina, "I almost wish I could stay here forever. Sixty escalator courts . . . "
"There'll be none left on the reservation," Berner warned her, "and no perfume, no television, not even hot water. If you're afraid you can't take it, just stay here until I come back."
Lenina was annoyed: "Of course I can bear it. I'm just saying it's nice here because... because progress is lovely, isn't it?"
"Five hundred times a week from thirteen to seventeen," Bernard said wearily, as if talking to himself.
"What did you say?"
"I mean progress is lovely. That's why you shouldn't go to the reservation now unless you really want to."
"But I do want to go."
"That's good," Bernard said, almost a threat.
Their approval needed to be signed by the superintendent of the reservation, and the two were in the superintendent's office the next morning.An Epsilonga Negro concierge delivered their cards inside, and they were both greeted almost immediately.
The director is a fair-skinned alpha-minus, short, with a short and round face, like the moon, pink, broad shoulders, high-pitched and resonant voice, good at expressing the wisdom of sleep education.He was a mine of bits and pieces of news and unsolicited friendly advice that never ceased once opened—the resonant chamber buzzed.
"...560,000 square kilometers are clearly divided into four distinct reserved areas, each isolated by a high-voltage electrical grid."
Bernard then remembered for no reason that he had left the cologne tap in the bathroom wide open and the perfume was flowing.
"...high voltage electricity is supplied by the Grand Canyon Hydropower Station."
"I'm afraid I'll have to spend a fortune when I get back." His inner eye saw the perfume hand moving tirelessly round and round, like ants. "Call Helmholtz Watson quickly." .”
"...a power grid of more than 5,000 kilometers, with a voltage of 6,000 volts."
"Really?" said Lenina politely.She didn't really understand what the Director was saying, and just reacted as his dramatic pauses suggested.She had quietly swallowed half a gram of soma when the superintendent's loud voice began to hum, and now she could sit calmly and not listen, her big blue eyes fixed on the superintendent's face as if absorbed. .
"Touching the grid means death," the Superintendent declared solemnly. "Escape from the reservation is absolutely impossible."
"Escape" gave him a hint. "Perhaps," Bernard stood up, "we should consider leaving." The little black needle was walking hurriedly.It was a bug that gnawed at time and devoured his money.
"You can't escape." The director repeated the words, and waved them back to their chairs.Berner had to obey, after all, the ratification had not yet been signed. "Those who were born on the reservation, remember, dear lady," he said in a dishonest voice, with an obscene look at Lenina, "remember, on the reservation, children are born ...yes, disgusting as it is, it's actually born..." He hoped that bringing up the subject would make Lenina blush, but she just smiled smartly and said, "Really?" The director was disappointed , and went on to say: "People who are born in the reservation are destined to die in the reservation."
Doomed to die... a hundred milliliters of cologne a minute, six liters an hour. "Perhaps," Bernard tried again, "we should..."
The director arched and tapped the table with his index finger. "You asked me how many people live on the reservation, and my answer is—" he said triumphantly, "I don't know, we can only guess."
"real?"
"My dear lady, indeed."
Six times twenty-four—no, almost six times thirty-six.Bernard turned pale and trembled with anxiety, but the buzzing sound continued relentlessly.
"...about sixty thousand Indians and mulattos...absolute savages...our censors sometimes visit...otherwise have no contact with the civilized world...retaining their repulsive Habits and customs... Marriage, if you know what that is, my dear lady; family... Unconditional setting... Appalling superstitions... Christianity, totemism and ancestor worship... Dead languages like Zuni Spanish and Spanish, Athapascan... jaguars, porcupines and other ferocious animals... infectious diseases... priests... poisonous lizards..."
"Really?"
They are gone at last.Bernard rushed to the phone.Quick, quick, but it took him almost three minutes just to get on the phone with Helmholtz. "We seem to be among the savages already," he grumbled, "ineffective, damn it!"
"Have a gram," suggested Lenina.
He refused, preferring to be angry.Finally, thanks Fordie, it was connected, it was Helmholtz.He explained to Helmholtz what had happened, and Helmholtz promised to go and turn off the tap immediately, yes, immediately.But Helmholtz seized the opportunity to tell him what the director said at last night's meeting...
"What? He's looking for someone to replace me?" Bernard's voice was distressed. "So it's decided? Did he mention Iceland? You mean? Ford! Iceland..." He hung up the receiver. Turning to Lenina, her face was pale and her expression was decidedly depressed.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"What's going on?" He slumped heavily in his chair. "I'm going to be transferred to Iceland."
He had imagined, many times before, what it was to be subjected to some severe trial, to experience some pain, some persecution, without swallowing soma, but solely by inner power; he had even longed for suffering.Only a week before, in the director's office, he had imagined himself fighting heroically, suffering in silence like a fakir.The director's threats actually flattered him, making him feel much taller than he actually was.But he realized now that it was because he hadn't considered the threat seriously.He did not believe that the director would actually take any action when the time came.But now it looks like that threat is going to be carried out.Bernard was terrified.His imagined asceticism and theoretical courage were all gone.
He was furious with himself--what a fool!He even lost his temper with the director.Not giving him another chance is undoubtedly what he has always wanted.How unfair.But Iceland, Iceland...
Lenina shook her head. "The past and the future bother me," she quotes, "soma is swallowed and only the present remains."
Finally she persuaded him to swallow four grams of soma.Five minutes later, the roots and fruits were all gone, and pink flowers bloomed in front of my eyes.The concierge sent a message that according to the director's order, a reserve guard had flown a plane and was on standby on the roof of the hotel.They immediately went to the roof.A half-eighth man in a gamma green uniform saluted and began to report on the morning's schedule.
They get a bird's-eye view of a dozen or so major Indian villages before landing in the Malpais Valley for lunch.The hotels there are more comfortable.And in the Indian villages above, where the savages may celebrate summer festivals, it is best to spend the night there.
They got on the plane and set off, and in a few minutes they had crossed the line between civilization and barbarism.They flew up and down, over salt deserts, deserts, forests, into the violet depths of the Grand Canyon; over peaks, rocks, and precipices.The continuous power grid is an irresistible straight line, a geometric figure that symbolizes the human will to conquer.Scattered bones below the grid, black carcasses not yet fully decomposed against a tawny background, suggest deer, bullocks, jaguars, porcupines, coyotes, or ravenous The vulture got too close to the destructive power line and was shocked, as if in retribution.
"They never learn," the green-uniformed pilot said, pointing to the pile of bones on the ground below, "and they never try to learn." He added, laughing, as if he himself had beaten the Animals killed by electrocution.
Bernard laughed too, and after two grams of soma the joke seemed funny for some reason.But he fell asleep almost immediately after laughing.In his sleep he flew over Taos, Tesuki, over Nam and Bijuris and Powaki, over Siya and Kechiti, over Laguna and Alqoma and Magic Cliff Top, flew over Zuni and Chibala and Oho Caliente.When he finally awoke, the plane had landed, Lenina was carrying her suitcase into a square cabin, and the one-eighth mulatto in gamma green was using them with a young Indian. Talk about words you don't understand.
"Malpais," the pilot explained as Bernard disembarked, "this is the hotel. There's a dance in the Indian village this afternoon, and he'll take you there." He pointed to the sullen young savage. I hope you'll be interested." The pilot grinned, "What they're doing is interesting." With that, he boarded the plane and started the engine. "I'll be back tomorrow to pick you up, remember," he assured Lenina, "the savages are very tame and won't do you any harm. They've had too much experience with gas bombs to know how to play." Any trick." Still smiling, he put the helicopter's propellers in gear, stepped on the accelerator and flew away.
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