Chapter 11 chapter Ten

In the center of Bloomsbury, the hands of four thousand electric clocks in four thousand rooms all pointed to two twenty-seven.The "hive of industry" (as the director liked to call it) was buzzing with activity.Everyone is busy and everything is going on in an orderly manner.Under the microscope, the sperm is raising its head, flicking its long tail vigorously, trying to drill into the egg.The ovum is expanding and dividing, and if it is Bokanovskyized, it is germinating and dividing into countless embryos.The escalator was whining from the social conditioning room into the basement.In the dim red light there, the embryos lay on the peritoneal cushions, braving the smoldering heat, feasting on blood substitutes and hormones to grow and grow.If it is poisoned, it sadly transforms into a stunted Epsilon.The bottle holder moved imperceptibly from week to week with a slight hum and rattle, with a regained eternity.Until that day, the newly bottled fetus made its first scream of fear and surprise in the bottle changing room.

The generator in the lower basement whined and the elevator hurried up and down.All the hatching rooms on the eleventh floor have reached the feeding time.Eighteen hundred carefully numbered babies were simultaneously sucking their respective pints of sterilized exocrine from eighteen hundred bottles. Upstairs, in the tenth-floor dormitory, the boys and girls who are too young to take a nap are as busy as everyone else, although they don't know it.They are unconsciously listening to the hygiene class, social class, class consciousness class and love life class of young children in sleep education.Further up, in the playroom, where it was raining outside, nine hundred slightly older children played with blocks and putty, "zip the string" and sex.

Humming buzzing, the hive sang busily and cheerfully.The girls looked after the test tubes and sang happy songs.Condition setters whistling as they went to work.And above the bottles in the decanting room, what fun talking and laughing goes on!But the Director walked into the insemination room with Henry Foster, his face stern and stern. "He has become a role model for everyone in this room," said the director, "because there are more high-caste people in this room than in any other unit of the center. I told him to meet me here at 2:30." "His job is not bad." Henry said hypocritically with a tolerant look.

"I know this, but it is precisely because of this that strict requirements are needed. His intellectual superiority means corresponding moral responsibility. The more talented a person is, the greater the energy to lead astray. It is better for a few people to suffer than Let everybody be corrupt. Just think about it without warmth, Mr. Foster, and you will see that nothing is so wrong as deviant. Murder kills only the individual, and the individual is, after all, nothing. ?” he said with a wave of his hand, pointing to rows of microscopes, test tubes, and incubators. The whole society. Yes, the whole society." He repeated, "Ah, here he comes."

Bernard had already entered the house, walking towards them between the rows of inseminators.His superficial complacency and self-confidence subtly concealed his nervousness.He said, "Good morning, Director," in an absurdly high voice, and to cover up the mistake, he added, "You want me to come here to talk." And it was absurdly soft, like a mouse. "That's right, Mr. Marx," said the Director holding his airs. "I do want you to meet me here. I know you came home from your vacation last night." "Yes." Bernard replied. "Yes—yes," the director hissed in a drawn-out, serpentine voice, then raised his voice again, "Ladies and gentlemen," his voice trumpeted, "ladies and gentlemen."

The singing of the girls above the test tubes and the absent-minded whistle of the microscopist stopped abruptly.There was a deep silence.Everyone looked around. "Ladies and gentlemen," repeated the Director, "I am sorry for interrupting your work like this. It was a painful sense of duty that prompted me to do so. Because the security and stability of society are at stake. Yes. , is in danger. Ladies and gentlemen," he pointed accusingly at Bernard, "the man standing before you, this Alphaga, has had a lot, and therefore we have reason to ask a lot from him. Yours Colleague - I should perhaps have called him 'the ex-colleague' in advance - has seriously betrayed the trust placed in him. With his heretical views on sports and soma, and the shameless outrageousness of his sex life, By rejecting my Lord Ford's instruction to behave 'just like a baby' after work (at which point the director draws a T), he has proven himself to be an enemy of society, a subversive of all order and stability. Ladies and gentlemen, he is a conspiracy against civilization, therefore, I propose to expel him, to expel him from this center, to discredit him. I propose to report immediately to the higher level, and transfer him to the lowest level of the center In order to make his punishment most beneficial to society, place him as far as possible from important population centers. Once in Iceland he will have little opportunity to lead others astray by his un-Fordish behavior." The director stopped talking, crossed his hands, and turned to Berna majesticly, "Boerner, can you present a reason to object to my execution of your punishment?"

"Yes, I can," Bernard answered very loudly. The director was somewhat taken aback, but he was still full of air. "Then you can bring it up." "Of course I have to bring it up, but my reason is still in the aisle, please wait a moment." Bernard hurried to the door and opened it. "Come in," he ordered, and the Reason stepped in, revealing its form. There was a gasp, a murmur of astonishment and terror; a girl screamed; a man stood up on a chair to get a better look, and knocked over two test tubes full of sperm.Between those youthful bodies and undistorted faces appeared a grotesque middle-aged monster: puffy and flabby—it was Linda who entered the room.She smiled coquettishly, and the smile was faded and fragmented.She rolled her huge buttocks when she walked, but she thought she had a waist and waist, which was flirtatious and charming.Bernard walked beside her.

"There he is," Bernard said, pointing to the director. "You think I won't recognize him?" Linda asked angrily, then turned to the director, "Of course I recognize you, Tomagin, I can recognize you anywhere, in a thousand people Don't you know me, too. But you may have forgotten me. Don't you remember? Don't you remember me, Tomagin? I'm your Linda." She stood looking at him, tilting her head and smiling .But facing the director's dull and disgusted expression, that smile gradually lost confidence, hesitated, and finally disappeared. "Can't you remember, Tomagin?" she repeated, her voice trembling.Her eyes were anxious and painful.The filthy, slack face twisted strangely into a grin of extreme misery. "Tomakin!" She held out her arms.Someone laughed out loud.

"What does this mean?" said the director, "this scary..." "Tomakin!" She ran to him, the felt trailing behind her, and put her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. Uncontrollable laughter broke out. "...This kind of prank is too outrageous!" the director shouted. He blushed and tried to break free from her embrace, but she hugged him desperately. "I'm Linda, I'm Linda." Her voice was drowned out by laughter, "You've got me pregnant!" Her screams overwhelmed the laughter, bringing sudden shock There was an appalling silence; everyone's eyes were flustered, flickering, and they didn't know where to look.The director's face suddenly paled, he stopped struggling, and stood there, holding Linda's wrists with both hands, staring down at her, terrified. "A child, indeed—and I am his mother." She threw the obscene word into the insulted silence, as if defiantly.Then she left the director feeling ashamed, ashamed, covering her face with her hands and sobbing. "But it ain't my fault, Tomagin. Because I've always been doing fuckin'. Haven't I? Haven't been. . . . I don't know how . . . If you knew how horrible being a mother is." That's all right, Tomagin . . . but my son is still a comfort to me." She turned toward the door, "John!" she cried, "John!"

John responded and walked in.He stopped at the door for a while, looked around, and then, his moccasin boots quickly crossed the room without a sound, landed on his knees, knelt down in front of the director, and cried out crisply: " dad!" This word, this ridiculously obscene word, breaks a very embarrassing tension, because after all the associations evoked from "father" are separated from the abomination and moral evil of procreation, the word is uncivilized, but it is only dirty and not. So obscene.The ridiculously dirty word eased the unbearable tension.Laughter broke out, a roar of laughter, almost hysterical.The laughter came and went, as if it would never stop.My father—and that father is the Director!my dad!Ah Ford!Ah Ford!Wonderful, indeed!The roars and roars reappeared, and the face was almost broken from laughing, and tears were streaming from the laughter.Another six sperm tubes were knocked over.my dad!

The director turned pale and looked around with crazy eyes. He was so ashamed that he was at a loss and was in great pain. my dad!The laughter that had shown signs of calming broke out again, louder than before.The director covered his ears with his hands and rushed out of the room.