The Recluse and the Six-Fingered
Taken: , 1
- Back off.
- I said, fuck off. Don't bother watching.
-What are you looking at?
- What an idiot, Lord... Well, in the sun.
Six-fingered looked up from the black surface of the soil, strewn with food, sawdust and crushed peat, and, squinting, stared up.
- Yes... We live, we live - but why? Secret of the ages. And has anyone comprehended the subtle thread-like essence of the luminaries?
The stranger turned his head and looked at him with disgusted curiosity.
“Six-fingered,” Six-fingered immediately introduced himself.
“I am a Recluse,” answered the stranger. – Is that what they say in your society? About a thin thread-like essence?
“Not with us anymore,” answered Six-Fingered and suddenly whistled. - Wow!
- What? – the Recluse asked suspiciously.
- Look, look! New has appeared!
- So what?
“That never happens in the center of the world.” So that there are three lights at once.
The recluse chuckled condescendingly.
- And at one time I saw eleven at once. One at the zenith and five at each epicycle. True, it was not here.
- Where? – asked Six-Fingers.
The recluse remained silent. Turning away, he stepped aside, plucked a piece of food from the ground with his foot and began to eat. A weak warm wind was blowing, two suns were reflected in the gray-green planes of the distant horizon, and in this picture there was so much peace and sadness that the thoughtful Recluse, noticing Six-Fingered in front of him again, even shuddered.
- You again. Well, what do you want?
- So. I want to talk.
“But you’re not smart, I guess,” answered the Recluse. – I would rather go into society. And that's where he wandered. Really, go...
He waved his hand in the direction of a narrow dirty yellow strip that wriggled and trembled slightly - he couldn’t even believe that this was what a huge noisy crowd looked like from here.
“I would have gone,” said Six-Fingered, “only they drove me away.”
- Yes? Why is this? Policy?
Six-fingered nodded and scratched the other with one foot. The recluse looked at his feet and shook his head.
- Are they real?
- And what are they? That’s what they told me - we are now approaching the most, one might say, decisive stage, and you have six toes on your feet... They say they have found the time...
– What is the “decisive stage”?
- Don't know. Everyone’s faces are distorted, especially those of the Nearest Twenty, but you can’t understand anything else. They run and scream.
“Ah,” said the Recluse, “I see.” It is probably becoming more and more distinct every hour? Are the contours more visible?
“Exactly,” Six-Fingered was surprised. - How do you know?
– Yes, I’ve already seen about five of them, these decisive stages. They are just called differently.
“Come on,” said Six-Fingered. - This is the first time this has happened.
- Of course. It would even be interesting to see how it will happen a second time. But we are talking about slightly different things.
The recluse laughed quietly, took a few steps towards the distant society, turned his back to it and began to shuffle his feet with force, so that a whole cloud, consisting of leftover food, sawdust and dust, soon hung behind his back. At the same time, he looked around, waved his arms and muttered something.
-What are you doing? – Six-Fingered asked with some fear when the Recluse, breathing heavily, returned.
“It’s a gesture,” answered the Recluse. – This is an art form. You read a poem and perform an action corresponding to it.
– What poem did you read just now?
“That’s it,” said the Recluse.
Sometimes I'm sad
looking at those I left behind.
Sometimes I laugh
and then between us
yellow fog rises.
“What a poem this is,” said Six-Fingered. – Thank God, I know all the poems. Well, that is, not by heart, of course, but I heard all twenty-five. There is no such thing, for sure.
The recluse looked at him in bewilderment, and then, apparently, he understood.
- Do you remember at least one thing? – he asked. - Read it.
- Now. Gemini... Gemini... Well, in short, there we say one thing, but mean another. And then again we say one thing and mean another, but it’s like the other way around. It turns out very beautiful. In the end we look up at the wall, and there...
“That’s enough,” said the Recluse.
There was silence.
- Listen, did you get kicked out too? - Six-Fingered violated it.
- No. It was I who drove them all away.
- Does that really happen?
“It happens in different ways,” said the Recluse, looked at one of the celestial objects and added in a tone of transition from chatter to serious conversation: “Soon it will become dark.”
“Come on,” said Six-Fingered, “no one knows when it will get dark.”
- But I know. If you want to sleep peacefully, do as I do. - And the Recluse began to rake up heaps of various rubbish, sawdust and pieces of peat lying under his feet. Gradually, he created a wall enclosing a small empty space, quite high, about his height. The hermit walked away from the completed structure, looked at it with love and said: “Here.” I call this the refuge of the soul.
- Why? – asked Six-Fingers.
- So. Sounds great. Are you going to build something for yourself?
Six-fingered began to poke around. Nothing worked for him - the wall was collapsing. To tell the truth, he didn’t try very hard, because he didn’t believe the Hermit at all about the onset of darkness - and when the heavenly lights trembled and began to slowly go out, and from the side of society a national sigh of horror, similar to the sound of the wind in the straw, was heard in his heart. Two strong feelings arose simultaneously: ordinary fear before the unexpected darkness and a previously unfamiliar admiration for someone who knows more about the world than he does.
“So be it,” said the Recluse, “jump inside.” I'll build more.
“I can’t jump,” Six-Fingered answered quietly.
“Then hello,” said the Recluse, and suddenly, pushing off the ground with all his might, he soared up and disappeared behind the wall, after which the entire structure collapsed on him, covering him with an even layer of sawdust and peat. The resulting mound trembled for some time, then a small hole appeared in its wall - Six-Fingered still managed to see the Hermit’s brilliant eye in it - and final darkness came.
Of course, Six-Fingered, as long as he could remember, knew everything he needed about the night. "This natural process", some said. “We need to get on with business,” others thought, and that was the majority. In general, there were many shades of opinions, but the same thing happened to everyone: when, for no apparent reason, the light went out, after a short and hopeless struggle with convulsions of fear, everyone fell into a stupor, and when they came to their senses (when the lights came back on), they remembered very much few. The same thing happened with Six-Fingers while he lived in society, and now - probably because the fear of the coming darkness was superimposed on the equal fear of loneliness and, therefore, doubled - he did not fall into the usual saving coma. The distant groan of the people had already died down, and he still sat, huddled, near the mound and quietly cried. There was nothing visible around, and when the Recluse’s voice was heard in the darkness, Six-Fingered, out of fear, shitted right under himself.
“Listen, stop hammering,” said the Recluse, “you’re disturbing your sleep.”
“I don’t hammer,” Six-Fingered responded quietly. - This is the heart. You should talk to me, huh?
- About what? – asked the Recluse.
- About whatever you want, just longer.
- Let's talk about the nature of fear?
- Oh, don't! - Six-Fingered squeaked.
- Be quiet! – the Recluse hissed. “Now all the rats will come running here.”
-What kind of rats? What is this? – Six-fingered asked, growing colder.
- These are creatures of the night. Although in fact it’s the same day.
“I’ve been unlucky in my life,” Six-Fingered whispered. “If I had as many fingers as I should have, I’d sleep with everyone right now.” Lord, what a fear... Rats...
“Listen,” said the Recluse, “you keep repeating: Lord, Lord... do you believe in God there?”
- The devil knows. There is something like that, that's for sure. And no one knows what. For example, why does it get dark? Although, of course, it can be explained by natural causes. And if you think about God, then you won’t do anything in life...
– What, I wonder, can you do in life? – asked the Recluse.
- Like what? Why ask stupid questions - as if you don’t know yourself. Everyone climbs to the feeding trough as best they can. Law of life.
- It's clear. Why then all this?
- What is this"?
- Well, the universe, the sky, the earth, the luminaries - in general, everything.
- Why? That's how the world works.
- How is it built? – the Recluse asked with interest.
- That’s how it works. We move in space and time. According to the laws of life.
-Where to?
- How do I know? Secret of the ages. You know, you can go crazy.
- You can drive me crazy. Whatever you talk about, you have everything or law of life, or the secret of the ages.
“If you don’t like it, don’t say so,” Six-Fingered said offended.
- Yes, I wouldn’t say so. It's scary for you to be silent in the dark.
Six-fingered somehow completely forgot about this. Having listened to his feelings, he suddenly noticed that he did not experience any fear. This frightened him to such an extent that he jumped to his feet and rushed somewhere blindly, until, with all his speed, he cracked his head on the Wall of the World, invisible in the darkness.
- Back off.
- I said, fuck off. Don't bother watching.
-What are you looking at?
- What an idiot, Lord... Well, in the sun.
Six-fingered looked up from the black surface of the soil, strewn with food, sawdust and crushed peat, and, squinting, stared up.
- Yes... We live, we live - but why? Secret of the ages. And has anyone comprehended the subtle thread-like essence of the luminaries?
The stranger turned his head and looked at him with disgusted curiosity.
“Six-fingered,” Six-fingered immediately introduced himself.
“I am a Recluse,” answered the stranger. – Is that what they say in your society? About a thin thread-like essence?
“Not with us anymore,” answered Six-Fingered and suddenly whistled. - Wow!
- What? – the Recluse asked suspiciously.
- Look, look! New has appeared!
- So what?
“That never happens in the center of the world.” So that there are three lights at once.
The recluse chuckled condescendingly.
- And at one time I saw eleven at once. One at the zenith and five at each epicycle. True, it was not here.
- Where? – asked Six-Fingers.
The recluse remained silent. Turning away, he stepped aside, plucked a piece of food from the ground with his foot and began to eat. A weak warm wind was blowing, two suns were reflected in the gray-green planes of the distant horizon, and in this picture there was so much peace and sadness that the thoughtful Recluse, noticing Six-Fingered in front of him again, even shuddered.
- You again. Well, what do you want?
- So. I want to talk.
“But you’re not smart, I guess,” answered the Recluse. – I would rather go into society. And that's where he wandered. Really, go...
He waved his hand in the direction of a narrow dirty yellow strip that wriggled and trembled slightly - he couldn’t even believe that this was what a huge noisy crowd looked like from here.
“I would have gone,” said Six-Fingered, “only they drove me away.”
- Yes? Why is this? Policy?
Six-fingered nodded and scratched the other with one foot. The recluse looked at his feet and shook his head.
- Are they real?
- And what are they? That’s what they told me - we are now approaching the most, one might say, decisive stage, and you have six toes on your feet... They say they have found the time...
– What is the “decisive stage”?
- Don't know. Everyone’s faces are distorted, especially those of the Nearest Twenty, but you can’t understand anything else. They run and scream.
“Ah,” said the Recluse, “I see.” It is probably becoming more and more distinct every hour? Are the contours more visible?
“Exactly,” Six-Fingered was surprised. - How do you know?
– Yes, I’ve already seen about five of them, these decisive stages. They are just called differently.
“Come on,” said Six-Fingered. - This is the first time this has happened.
- Of course. It would even be interesting to see how it will happen a second time. But we are talking about slightly different things.
The recluse laughed quietly, took a few steps towards the distant society, turned his back to it and began to shuffle his feet with force, so that a whole cloud, consisting of leftover food, sawdust and dust, soon hung behind his back.
At the same time, he looked around, waved his arms and muttered something.
-What are you doing? – Six-Fingered asked with some fear when the Recluse, breathing heavily, returned.
“It’s a gesture,” answered the Recluse. – This is an art form. You read a poem and perform an action corresponding to it.
– What poem did you read just now?
“That’s it,” said the Recluse.
Sometimes I'm sad
looking at those I left behind.
Sometimes I laugh
and then between us
yellow fog rises.
“What a poem this is,” said Six-Fingered. – Thank God, I know all the poems. Well, that is, not by heart, of course, but I heard all twenty-five. There is no such thing, for sure.
The recluse looked at him in bewilderment, and then, apparently, he understood.
- Do you remember at least one thing? – he asked. - Read it.
- Now. Gemini... Gemini... Well, in short, there we say one thing, but mean another. And then again we say one thing and mean another, but it’s like the other way around. It turns out very beautiful. In the end we look up at the wall, and there...
“That’s enough,” said the Recluse.
There was silence.
- Listen, did you get kicked out too? - Six-Fingered violated it.
- No. It was I who drove them all away.
- Does that really happen?
“It happens in different ways,” said the Recluse, looked at one of the celestial objects and added in a tone of transition from chatter to serious conversation: “Soon it will become dark.”
“Come on,” said Six-Fingered, “no one knows when it will get dark.”
- But I know. If you want to sleep peacefully, do as I do. - And the Recluse began to rake up heaps of various rubbish, sawdust and pieces of peat lying under his feet. Gradually, he created a wall enclosing a small empty space, quite high, about his height. The hermit walked away from the completed structure, looked at it with love and said: “Here.” I call this the refuge of the soul.
- Why? – asked Six-Fingers.
- So. Sounds great. Are you going to build something for yourself?
Six-fingered began to poke around. Nothing worked for him - the wall was collapsing. To tell the truth, he didn’t try very hard, because he didn’t believe the Hermit at all about the onset of darkness - and when the heavenly lights trembled and began to slowly go out, and from the side of society a national sigh of horror, similar to the sound of the wind in the straw, was heard in his heart. Two strong feelings arose simultaneously: the usual fear of the unexpected darkness and a previously unfamiliar admiration for someone who knew more about the world than he did.
“So be it,” said the Recluse, “jump inside.” I'll build more.
“I can’t jump,” Six-Fingered answered quietly.
“Then hello,” said the Recluse, and suddenly, pushing off the ground with all his might, he soared up and disappeared behind the wall, after which the entire structure collapsed on him, covering him with an even layer of sawdust and peat. The resulting mound trembled for some time, then a small hole appeared in its wall - Six-Fingered still managed to see the Hermit’s brilliant eye in it - and final darkness came.
Of course, Six-Fingered, as long as he could remember, knew everything he needed about the night. “This is a natural process,” some said. “We need to get on with business,” others thought, and that was the majority. In general, there were many shades of opinions, but the same thing happened to everyone: when, for no apparent reason, the light went out, after a short and hopeless struggle with convulsions of fear, everyone fell into a stupor, and when they came to their senses (when the lights came back on), they remembered very much few. The same thing happened with Six-Fingers while he lived in society, and now - probably because the fear of the coming darkness was superimposed on the equal fear of loneliness and, therefore, doubled - he did not fall into the usual saving coma. The distant groan of the people had already died down, and he still sat, huddled, near the mound and quietly cried. There was nothing visible around, and when the Recluse’s voice was heard in the darkness, Six-Fingered, out of fear, shitted right under himself.
“Listen, stop hammering,” said the Recluse, “you’re disturbing your sleep.”
“I don’t hammer,” Six-Fingered responded quietly. - This is the heart. You should talk to me, huh?
- About what? – asked the Recluse.
- About whatever you want, just longer.
- Let's talk about the nature of fear?
- Oh, don't! - Six-Fingered squeaked.
- Be quiet! – the Recluse hissed. “Now all the rats will come running here.”
-What kind of rats? What is this? – Six-fingered asked, growing colder.
- These are creatures of the night. Although in fact it’s the same day.
“I’ve been unlucky in my life,” Six-Fingered whispered. “If I had as many fingers as I should have, I’d sleep with everyone right now.” Lord, what a fear... Rats...
“Listen,” said the Recluse, “you keep repeating: Lord, Lord... do you believe in God there?”
- The devil knows. There is something like that, that's for sure. And no one knows what. For example, why does it get dark? Although, of course, it can be explained by natural causes. And if you think about God, then you won’t do anything in life...
– What, I wonder, can you do in life? – asked the Recluse.
- Like what? Why ask stupid questions - as if you don’t know yourself. Everyone climbs to the feeding trough as best they can. Law of life.
- It's clear. Why then all this?
- What is this"?
- Well, the universe, the sky, the earth, the luminaries - in general, everything.
- Why? That's how the world works.
- How is it built? – the Recluse asked with interest.
- That’s how it works. We move in space and time. According to the laws of life.
-Where to?
- How do I know? Secret of the ages. You know, you can go crazy.
- You can drive me crazy. Whatever you talk about, you have either the law of life or the secret of the ages.
“If you don’t like it, don’t say so,” Six-Fingered said offended.
- Yes, I wouldn’t say so. It's scary for you to be silent in the dark.
Six-fingered somehow completely forgot about this. Having listened to his feelings, he suddenly noticed that he did not experience any fear. This frightened him to such an extent that he jumped to his feet and rushed somewhere blindly, until, with all his speed, he cracked his head on the Wall of the World, invisible in the darkness.
From afar, the creaky laughter of the Recluse was heard, and Six-Fingered, carefully moving his feet, wandered towards these only sounds in the general darkness and silence. Having reached the mound under which the Recluse was sitting, he silently lay down next to him and, trying not to pay attention to the cold, tried to sleep. He didn’t even notice the moment when it happened.
2
– Today you and I will climb beyond the Wall of the World, understand? - said the Recluse.
Six-fingered was just running up to the shelter of the soul. The construction itself was almost the same as the Recluse’s, but the jump was successful only after a long run-up, and now he was training. The meaning of what was said reached him precisely when he had to jump, and as a result he crashed into a flimsy structure so that peat and sawdust, instead of covering his entire body with an even soft layer, turned into a heap piled above his head, and his legs lost support and hung helplessly in the void. The recluse helped him get out and repeated:
– Today we will go beyond the Wall of the World.
For last days Six-fingered heard enough from him that something was creaking and hooting in his soul all the time, and his former life in society seemed like a funny fantasy (or maybe a vulgar nightmare - he hadn’t decided for sure yet), but it was too much.
Meanwhile the recluse continued:
– The decisive stage occurs after every seventy eclipses. And yesterday it was sixty-nine. Numbers rule the world.
And he pointed to a long chain of straws sticking out of the soil near the World Wall itself.
- How can you climb over the Wall of the World if it is the Wall of the World? After all, in the name itself... There is nothing behind it...
Six-fingered was so dumbfounded that he didn’t even pay attention to the dark mystical explanations of the Recluse, which would have otherwise ruined his mood.
“So what,” answered the Recluse, “that there is nothing.” This should only make us happy.
– What are we going to do there?
- Why is it bad for us here?
- And the fact, fool, that this “here” will soon not be.
- What will happen?
“Stay here, you’ll find out then.” Nothing will happen.
Six-fingered felt that he had completely lost confidence in what was happening.
- Why do you scare me all the time?
“Don’t whine,” muttered the Recluse, anxiously peering at some point in the sky. – It’s not bad at all behind the World Wall. For me, it's much better than here.
He approached the remains of the soul shelter built by Six-Fingers and began to scatter them around with his feet.
- Why are you doing this? – asked Six-Fingers.
– Before leaving any world, you need to summarize the experience of your stay in it, and then destroy all traces of yourself. This is tradition.
- Who invented it?
- Who cares. Well, I am. There is no one else here, you see. Like this…
The recluse looked at the result of his labor - on the site of the collapsed building there was now a perfectly flat place, no different from the surface of the rest of the desert.
“Everything,” he said, “I destroyed the traces.” Now we need to generalize the experience. Now it's your turn. Climb onto this bump and tell me.
Six-fingered felt that he had been outwitted, leaving him with the most difficult and, most importantly, incomprehensible part of the work. But after the incident with the eclipse, he decided to obey the Recluse. Shrugging his shoulders and looking around to see if anyone from society had wandered in, he climbed onto the hummock.
- Tell me what?
- Everything you know about the world.
“We’ll be stuck here for a long time,” Six-Fingers whistled.
“I don’t think so,” the Recluse responded dryly.
- So, so. Our world... What an idiotic ritual you have...
- Don't get distracted.
– Our world is a regular octagon, moving uniformly and rectilinearly in space. Here we are preparing for a decisive stage, the crown of our lives. That's the official wording, anyway. Along the perimeter of the world runs the so-called Wall of the World, which objectively arose as a result of the action of the laws of life. In the center of the world there is a two-tiered feeding trough, around which our civilization has existed for a long time. The position of a member of society relative to the feeding trough is determined by his social significance and merits...
“I haven’t heard this before,” interrupted the Recluse. - What is this - merit? And social significance?
- Well... How to say... This is when someone gets to the very feeding trough.
-Who gets to her?
- As I say, the one who has great merit. Or social significance. For example, I have were there before so-so merit, but now none at all. Don’t you know the folk model of the universe?
“I don’t know,” said the Recluse.
– What are you talking about?.. How did you prepare for the decisive stage?
- And that’s almost all. What else is there... Beyond the area of society there is a great desert, and everything ends with the Wall of the World. Renegades like us huddle around her.
- It's clear. Renegades. Where did the log come from? I mean, what did they split off from?
- Well, come on... Even the Twenty Nearest won’t tell you that. Secret of the ages.
- W-well, okay. What is the secret of the ages?
“The law of life,” answered Six-Fingered, trying to speak softly. He didn’t like something about the Hermit’s intonations.
- OK. What is the law of life?
- This is the secret of centuries.
- The secret of centuries? – the Recluse asked in a strangely thin voice and slowly began to approach Six-Fingered in an arc.
- What are you doing? Stop it! - Six-Fingered was scared. - This is your ritual!
But the Recluse himself had already pulled himself together.
“Okay,” he said. - Get down.
Six-fingered climbed down from the hummock, and the Recluse, with a concentrated and serious look, climbed into his place. He was silent for a while, as if listening to something, and then he raised his head and spoke.
“I came here from another world,” he said, “in the days when you were still very small.” And I came to that other world from the third, and so on. I've been to five worlds in total. They are the same as this one and practically no different from each other. And the universe where we are is a huge closed space. In the language of the gods it is called “Lunacharsky Broiler Plant,” but what this means is unknown even to them.
– Do you know the language of the gods? – Six-Fingered asked in amazement.
- A little. Don't interrupt. There are seventy worlds in total in the universe. We are in one of them now. These worlds are attached to an immense black ribbon that moves slowly in a circle. And above it, on the surface of the sky, there are hundreds of identical luminaries. So it is not they who are floating above us, but we who are floating below them. Try to imagine it.
Six-fingered closed his eyes. There was tension on his face.
“No, I can’t,” he finally said.
“Okay,” said the Recluse, “listen further.” All seventy worlds that exist in the universe are called the Chain of Worlds. In any case, they can be called that. In each of the worlds there is life, but it does not exist there constantly, but appears and disappears cyclically. The decisive stage takes place at the center of the universe, through which all worlds pass in turn. In the language of the gods it is called Workshop Number One. Our world is just on the threshold of it. When the decisive stage is completed and the renewed world emerges from the other side of Workshop Number One, everything starts all over again. Life arises, goes through a cycle and, after a set period of time, is again plunged into Workshop number one.
“I traveled a lot,” said the Recluse, “and collected secret knowledge bit by bit.” In one world one thing was known, in another - another.
- Maybe you know where we come from?
- I know. What do they say about this in your world?
– That this is an objective fact. This is the law of life.
- It's clear. You are asking about one of the deepest secrets of the universe, and I don’t even know if I can trust you with it. But since there is no one else but you, I’ll probably say it. We are born from white balls. In fact, they are not quite balls, but somewhat elongated and one end is narrower than the other, but now this is not important.
- Balls. “White balls,” Six-Fingered repeated and, as he stood, fell to the ground. The weight of what he had learned fell upon him with physical heaviness, and for a second it seemed to him that he would die. The recluse jumped up to him and began to shake him with all his might. Gradually, Six-Fingered clarity of consciousness returned.
- What's wrong with you? – the Recluse asked in fear.
- Oh, I remembered. Exactly. Previously, we were white balls and lay on long shelves. This place was very warm and humid. And then we began to break these balls from the inside and... Our world rolled up from somewhere below, and then we were already in it... But why doesn’t anyone remember this?
“There are worlds in which they remember this,” said the Recluse. – Just think, the fifth and sixth perinatal matrices. Not that deep, and also only part of the truth. But all the same, those who remember this are hidden away so that they do not interfere with preparations for the decisive stage, or whatever it is called. It's different everywhere. For example, we called it the completion of construction, although no one built anything.
Apparently, the memory of his world plunged the Recluse into sadness. He fell silent.
“Listen,” Six-Fingered asked after a while, “where do these white balls come from?”
The recluse looked at him approvingly.
“It took me much longer for this question to mature in my soul,” he said. – But here everything is much more complicated. In one ancient legend it is said that these eggs come from us, but this could well be a metaphor...
- Of us? Not clear. Where did you hear this?
- Yes, I composed it myself. “You won’t hear anything here,” said the Recluse with unexpected melancholy in his voice.
– You said that this is an ancient legend.
- Right. I just made it up as an ancient legend.
- How is this? For what?
- You see, one ancient sage, one might say a prophet (this time Six-Fingers guessed who he was talking about) said that what is said is not so important as who says it. Part of the meaning of what I wanted to express is that my words act as an ancient legend. However, where can you understand...
The recluse looked at the sky and interrupted himself:
- All. It's time to go.
- Into society.
Six-fingered widened his eyes.
“We were going to climb over the Wall of the World.” Why do we need society?
– Do you even know what society is? – asked the Recluse. – This is a device for climbing over the Wall of the World.
3
Six-fingered, despite the complete absence of objects in the desert behind which one could hide, for some reason walked stealthily, and the closer society became, the more criminal his gait became. Gradually, the huge crowd, which seemed from a distance to be a huge moving creature, disintegrated into separate bodies, and one could even see the surprised grimaces of those who noticed those approaching.
“The main thing,” the Recluse repeated the last instruction in a whisper, “behave more boldly.” But not too brazenly. We must certainly anger them - but not to such an extent that we are torn to shreds. In short, always watch what I will do.
- Six-fingered is in! – someone ahead shouted cheerfully. - Hello, bastard! Hey, Six-Fingered, who's with you?
This stupid cry unexpectedly - and completely incomprehensibly why - evoked in Six-Fingers a whole wave of nostalgic memories of childhood. The recluse, walking a little behind, seemed to sense this and shoved Six-Fingered in the back.
People rarely stood at the very border of society - mostly cripples and contemplators lived here, who did not like crowded conditions - it was not difficult to get around them. But the further they went, the denser the crowd became, and very soon the Recluse and Six-Fingered found themselves in unbearably crowded conditions. It was still possible to move forward, but only by quarreling with those standing on the sides. And when the finely shaking roof of the feeding trough appeared above the heads of those in front, it was no longer possible to take a single step forward.
“I’ve always been amazed,” the Recluse said quietly to Six-Fingered, “how wisely everything is arranged here.” Those who stand close to the feeding trough are happy mainly because they always remember those who want to get into their place. And those who wait their whole lives for a gap to appear between those in front are happy because they have something to hope for in life. This is harmony and unity.
- Well, you don’t like it? – a voice asked from the side.
“No, I don’t like it,” answered the Recluse.
– What exactly don’t you like?
- Yes, that's it.
And the Recluse, with a broad gesture, gestured around the crowd, the majestic dome of the feeding trough, the skies flickering with yellow lights, and the distant, barely visible Wall of the World from here.
- It's clear. And where do you think is better?
– That’s the tragedy, that nowhere! That's the point! – the Recluse cried out painfully. - If it were better, would I really be talking to you here about life?
– And your friend has the same views? – asked the voice. - Why is he looking at the ground?
Six-fingered looked up - before that he had looked at his feet, because this allowed him to minimally participate in what was happening - and saw the owner of the voice. He had a flabby, well-fed face, and when he spoke, the anatomical details of his larynx became clearly visible. Six-fingered immediately realized that in front of him was one of the Twenty Nearest, the very conscience of the era. Apparently, before their arrival, he held explanations here, as was sometimes practiced.
Here is an introductory fragment of the book.
Only part of the text is open for free reading (restriction of the copyright holder). If you liked the book, full text can be obtained from our partner's website.
pages: 1 2 3 4
I read Pelevin, “The Recluse and the Six-Fingered One.” I liked it. Especially the moment when it suddenly became clear who the Recluse and Six-Fingered were. But first, the beginning. I give my comments after " ".
– ... That’s how the world works.
- How is it built? – the Recluse asked with interest.
- That’s how it works. We move in space and time. According to the laws of life.
-Where to?
- How do I know? Secret of the ages. You know, you can go crazy.
- You can drive me crazy. Whatever you talk about, you have either the law of life or the secret of the ages.
That's right. And in general, there is no need to fool around, read the sacred texts, the list of which has long been approved, and rejoice. If it’s not at all interesting, then you can put something newer on your bookshelf; there are plenty of proposals on this matter. Sit back and read, read, read...
– Before leaving any world, you need to summarize the experience of your stay in it, and then destroy all traces of yourself. This is tradition.
…
I follow tradition. I am summarizing my experience. The traces will be destroyed without my participation. Traces of generalization of experience will be the first to disappear.
“Everything,” he said, “I destroyed the traces.” – Now we need to generalize the experience.
It's your turn. Climb onto this bump and tell me.
Six-fingered felt that he had been outwitted, leaving him the most
a difficult and, most importantly, incomprehensible part of the work. But after the eclipse incident
he decided to obey the Recluse. Shrugging his shoulders and looking around to see if he had wandered
“Someone from society is here,” he climbed onto a hummock.
- Tell me what?
- Everything you know about the world.
…
A quarter or a fifth of the text. And now the moment of truth has come!
... the universe where we are is a huge closed space. In the language of the gods it is called the “Lunacharsky Broiler Plant,” but what this means is unknown.
…
Here it is! The fantastic picture is turned upside down, and the legs turn out to be chicken legs. Chicken coop. The metaphor of the world is not the most original, but very visual.
– You said that this is an ancient legend.
- Right. I just made it up as an ancient legend.
- How is this? For what?
– You see, one ancient sage, one might say a prophet (this time Six-Fingers guessed who he was talking about), said that what is said is not so important as who says it. Part of the meaning of what I wanted to express is that my words act as an ancient legend.
…
It matters who said it. The one who said it, meanwhile, refers to a higher authority... a higher authority... in the chicken coop he gets away with it... off the wings.
- All. It's time to go.
- Where?
- Into society.
Six-fingered widened his eyes.
“We were going to climb over the Wall of the World.” Why do we need society?
– Do you even know what society is? – asked the Recluse. – This is a device for climbing over the Wall of the World.
…
Society... culture... without them you cannot jump over the Wall of the World. It's not easy with them either.
Those who stand closer to the feeding trough are happy mainly because they always remember those who want to get into their place. And those who wait their whole lives for a gap to appear between those in front are happy because they have something to hope for in life. This is what it is
harmony and unity.
…
...if you find yourself in the dark and see at least the most
a weak ray of light, you should go towards it instead of reasoning,
whether it makes sense to do this or not. Maybe it really doesn't make sense.
But just sitting in the dark doesn't make sense anyway.
…
Rise up with fires, blue nights...
“We are alive as long as we have hope,” said the Recluse. – And if you have lost her, under no circumstances allow yourself to guess about it. And then something can change. But there is no need to seriously hope for this.
…
Hope is wonderful, but you have to live somehow...
- Listen, Recluse, you know everything - what is love?
– I wonder where you heard this word? – asked the Recluse.
- Yes, when I was kicked out of society, someone asked if I loved what I was supposed to. I said I don't know. And then, One-Eye said that she loves you very much, and you said that you love her.
- It's clear. You know, I’m unlikely to explain it to you. This can only be done by example. Imagine that you fell into a barrel of water and drowned. Did you imagine?
- Yes.
“Now imagine that you stuck your head out for a second, saw the light, took a breath of air and something touched your hands.” And you grab onto it and hold on. So, if you think that you’ve been drowning all your life (and this is the case), then love is what helps you keep your head above water.
– Are you talking about love for what is supposed to be loved?
- Doesn't matter. Although, in general, what is supposed to be loved can be loved under water. Anything. It doesn't matter what you grab onto, as long as it holds up. Worst of all, if it’s someone else, you see, he can always pull his hand away. And to put it briefly, love is what makes
everyone is where he is.
…
Love gives meaning to what we do, although in reality
he's not there.
– So, does love deceive us? Is this some kind of dream?
- No. Love is something like love, and a dream is a dream. Everything you do, you do only because of love. Otherwise you would just sit on the ground and howl in horror. Or disgust.
…
– Do you like anything, Recluse?
- I love.
- And what?
- Don't know. Something that sometimes comes to me. Sometimes it's some thought, sometimes it's nuts, sometimes it's the wind. The main thing is that I always recognize it, no matter how it is dressed up, and meet it with the best that is in me.
- How?
- Because I become calm.
– Do you worry the rest of the time?
- No. I'm always calm. It's just the best thing in me, and when what I love comes to me, I greet it with my calmness.
…
___________
Let's draw the line. The ending suddenly reminded me of Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull.
The translation of “The Seagull” appeared in 1974, when I moved from the student class to the category of young professionals. He moved from one chicken coop to another. The seashores were ahead; it took a long, long time to get to them.
I have not yet calmed down, I have not yet summarized the experience of being in the plot. There is no need to destroy traces of reading, they will disappear on their own.
It’s good that you can love different things and in different ways.
- Back off.
- I said, fuck off. Don't bother watching.
-What are you looking at?
- What an idiot, Lord... Well, in the sun.
Six-fingered looked up from the black surface of the soil, strewn with food, sawdust and crushed peat, and, squinting, stared up.
- Yes... We live, we live - but why? Secret of the ages. And has anyone comprehended the subtle thread-like essence of the luminaries?
The stranger turned his head and looked at him with disgusted curiosity.
“Six-fingered,” Six-fingered immediately introduced himself.
“I am a Recluse,” answered the stranger. – Is that what they say in your society? About a thin thread-like essence?
“Not with us anymore,” answered Six-Fingered and suddenly whistled. - Wow!
- What? – the Recluse asked suspiciously.
- Look, look! New has appeared!
- So what?
“That never happens in the center of the world.” So that there are three lights at once.
The recluse chuckled condescendingly.
- And at one time I saw eleven at once. One at the zenith and five at each epicycle. True, it was not here.
- Where? – asked Six-Fingers.
The recluse remained silent. Turning away, he stepped aside, plucked a piece of food from the ground with his foot and began to eat. A weak warm wind was blowing, two suns were reflected in the gray-green planes of the distant horizon, and in this picture there was so much peace and sadness that the thoughtful Recluse, noticing Six-Fingered in front of him again, even shuddered.
- You again. Well, what do you want?
- So. I want to talk.
“But you’re not smart, I guess,” answered the Recluse. – I would rather go into society. And that's where he wandered. Really, go...
He waved his hand in the direction of a narrow dirty yellow strip that wriggled and trembled slightly - he couldn’t even believe that this was what a huge noisy crowd looked like from here.
“I would have gone,” said Six-Fingered, “only they drove me away.”
- Yes? Why is this? Policy?
Six-fingered nodded and scratched the other with one foot. The recluse looked at his feet and shook his head.
- Are they real?
- And what are they? That’s what they told me - we are now approaching the most, one might say, decisive stage, and you have six toes on your feet... They say they have found the time...
– What is the “decisive stage”?
- Don't know. Everyone’s faces are distorted, especially those of the Nearest Twenty, but you can’t understand anything else. They run and scream.
“Ah,” said the Recluse, “I see.” It is probably becoming more and more distinct every hour? Are the contours more visible?
“Exactly,” Six-Fingered was surprised. - How do you know?
– Yes, I’ve already seen about five of them, these decisive stages. They are just called differently.
“Come on,” said Six-Fingered. - This is the first time this has happened.
- Of course. It would even be interesting to see how it will happen a second time. But we are talking about slightly different things.
The recluse laughed quietly, took a few steps towards the distant society, turned his back to it and began to shuffle his feet with force, so that a whole cloud, consisting of leftover food, sawdust and dust, soon hung behind his back. At the same time, he looked around, waved his arms and muttered something.
-What are you doing? – Six-Fingered asked with some fear when the Recluse, breathing heavily, returned.
“It’s a gesture,” answered the Recluse. – This is an art form. You read a poem and perform an action corresponding to it.
– What poem did you read just now?
“That’s it,” said the Recluse.
Sometimes I'm sad
looking at those I left behind.
Sometimes I laugh
and then between us
yellow fog rises.
“What a poem this is,” said Six-Fingered. – Thank God, I know all the poems. Well, that is, not by heart, of course, but I heard all twenty-five. There is no such thing, for sure.
The recluse looked at him in bewilderment, and then, apparently, he understood.
- Do you remember at least one thing? – he asked. - Read it.
- Now. Gemini... Gemini... Well, in short, there we say one thing, but mean another. And then again we say one thing and mean another, but it’s like the other way around. It turns out very beautiful. In the end we look up at the wall, and there...
“That’s enough,” said the Recluse.
There was silence.
- Listen, did you get kicked out too? - Six-Fingered violated it.
- No. It was I who drove them all away.
- Does that really happen?
“It happens in different ways,” said the Recluse, looked at one of the celestial objects and added in a tone of transition from chatter to serious conversation: “Soon it will become dark.”
“Come on,” said Six-Fingered, “no one knows when it will get dark.”
- But I know. If you want to sleep peacefully, do as I do. - And the Recluse began to rake up heaps of various rubbish, sawdust and pieces of peat lying under his feet. Gradually, he created a wall enclosing a small empty space, quite high, about his height. The hermit walked away from the completed structure, looked at it with love and said: “Here.” I call this the refuge of the soul.
- Why? – asked Six-Fingers.
- So. Sounds great. Are you going to build something for yourself?
Six-fingered began to poke around. Nothing worked for him - the wall was collapsing. To tell the truth, he didn’t try very hard, because he didn’t believe the Hermit at all about the onset of darkness - and when the heavenly lights trembled and began to slowly go out, and from the side of society a national sigh of horror, similar to the sound of the wind in the straw, was heard in his heart. Two strong feelings arose simultaneously: the usual fear of the unexpected darkness and a previously unfamiliar admiration for someone who knew more about the world than he did.
“So be it,” said the Recluse, “jump inside.” I'll build more.
“I can’t jump,” Six-Fingered answered quietly.
“Then hello,” said the Recluse, and suddenly, pushing off the ground with all his might, he soared up and disappeared behind the wall, after which the entire structure collapsed on him, covering him with an even layer of sawdust and peat. The resulting mound trembled for some time, then a small hole appeared in its wall - Six-Fingered still managed to see the Hermit’s brilliant eye in it - and final darkness came.
Of course, Six-Fingered, as long as he could remember, knew everything he needed about the night. “This is a natural process,” some said. “We need to get on with business,” others thought, and that was the majority. In general, there were many shades of opinions, but the same thing happened to everyone: when, for no apparent reason, the light went out, after a short and hopeless struggle with convulsions of fear, everyone fell into a stupor, and when they came to their senses (when the lights came back on), they remembered very much few. The same thing happened with Six-Fingers while he lived in society, and now - probably because the fear of the coming darkness was superimposed on the equal fear of loneliness and, therefore, doubled - he did not fall into the usual saving coma. The distant groan of the people had already died down, and he still sat, huddled, near the mound and quietly cried. There was nothing visible around, and when the Recluse’s voice was heard in the darkness, Six-Fingered, out of fear, shitted right under himself.
“Listen, stop hammering,” said the Recluse, “you’re disturbing your sleep.”
“I don’t hammer,” Six-Fingered responded quietly. - This is the heart. You should talk to me, huh?
- About what? – asked the Recluse.
- About whatever you want, just longer.
- Let's talk about the nature of fear?
- Oh, don't! - Six-Fingered squeaked.
- Be quiet! – the Recluse hissed. “Now all the rats will come running here.”
-What kind of rats? What is this? – Six-fingered asked, growing colder.
- These are creatures of the night. Although in fact it’s the same day.
“I’ve been unlucky in my life,” Six-Fingered whispered. “If I had as many fingers as I should have, I’d sleep with everyone right now.” Lord, what a fear... Rats...
“Listen,” said the Recluse, “you keep repeating: Lord, Lord... do you believe in God there?”
- The devil knows. There is something like that, that's for sure. And no one knows what. For example, why does it get dark? Although, of course, it can be explained by natural causes. And if you think about God, then you won’t do anything in life...
– What, I wonder, can you do in life? – asked the Recluse.
- Like what? Why ask stupid questions - as if you don’t know yourself. Everyone climbs to the feeding trough as best they can. Law of life.
- It's clear. Why then all this?
- What is this"?
- Well, the universe, the sky, the earth, the luminaries - in general, everything.
- Why? That's how the world works.
- How is it built? – the Recluse asked with interest.
- That’s how it works. We move in space and time. According to the laws of life.
-Where to?
- How do I know? Secret of the ages. You know, you can go crazy.
- You can drive me crazy. Whatever you talk about, you have either the law of life or the secret of the ages.
“If you don’t like it, don’t say so,” Six-Fingered said offended.
- Yes, I wouldn’t say so. It's scary for you to be silent in the dark.
Six-fingered somehow completely forgot about this. Having listened to his feelings, he suddenly noticed that he did not experience any fear. This frightened him to such an extent that he jumped to his feet and rushed somewhere blindly, until, with all his speed, he cracked his head on the Wall of the World, invisible in the darkness.
From afar, the creaky laughter of the Recluse was heard, and Six-Fingered, carefully moving his feet, wandered towards these only sounds in the general darkness and silence. Having reached the mound under which the Recluse was sitting, he silently lay down next to him and, trying not to pay attention to the cold, tried to sleep. He didn’t even notice the moment when it happened.
– Today you and I will climb beyond the Wall of the World, understand? - said the Recluse.
Six-fingered was just running up to the shelter of the soul. The construction itself was almost the same as the Recluse’s, but the jump was successful only after a long run-up, and now he was training. The meaning of what was said reached him precisely when he had to jump, and as a result he crashed into a flimsy structure so that peat and sawdust, instead of covering his entire body with an even soft layer, turned into a heap piled above his head, and his legs lost support and hung helplessly in the void. The recluse helped him get out and repeated:
– Today we will go beyond the Wall of the World.
Over the past few days, Six-Fingers had heard enough from him that something was creaking and hooting in his soul all the time, and his former life in society seemed like a funny fantasy (or maybe a vulgar nightmare - he hasn’t decided yet), but this was too much .
Meanwhile the recluse continued:
– The decisive stage occurs after every seventy eclipses. And yesterday it was sixty-nine. Numbers rule the world.
And he pointed to a long chain of straws sticking out of the soil near the World Wall itself.
- How can you climb over the Wall of the World if it is the Wall of the World? After all, in the name itself... There is nothing behind it...
Six-fingered was so dumbfounded that he didn’t even pay attention to the dark mystical explanations of the Recluse, which would have otherwise ruined his mood.
“So what,” answered the Recluse, “that there is nothing.” This should only make us happy.
– What are we going to do there?
- Why is it bad for us here?
- And the fact, fool, that this “here” will soon not be.
- What will happen?
“Stay here, you’ll find out then.” Nothing will happen.
Six-fingered felt that he had completely lost confidence in what was happening.
- Why do you scare me all the time?
“Don’t whine,” muttered the Recluse, anxiously peering at some point in the sky. – It’s not bad at all behind the World Wall. For me, it's much better than here.
He approached the remains of the soul shelter built by Six-Fingers and began to scatter them around with his feet.
- Why are you doing this? – asked Six-Fingers.
– Before leaving any world, you need to summarize the experience of your stay in it, and then destroy all traces of yourself. This is tradition.
- Who invented it?
- Who cares. Well, I am. There is no one else here, you see. Like this…
The recluse looked at the result of his labor - on the site of the collapsed building there was now a perfectly flat place, no different from the surface of the rest of the desert.
“Everything,” he said, “I destroyed the traces.” Now we need to generalize the experience. Now it's your turn. Climb onto this bump and tell me.
Six-fingered felt that he had been outwitted, leaving him with the most difficult and, most importantly, incomprehensible part of the work. But after the incident with the eclipse, he decided to obey the Recluse. Shrugging his shoulders and looking around to see if anyone from society had wandered in, he climbed onto the hummock.
- Tell me what?
- Everything you know about the world.
“We’ll be stuck here for a long time,” Six-Fingers whistled.
“I don’t think so,” the Recluse responded dryly.
- So, so. Our world... What an idiotic ritual you have...
- Don't get distracted.
– Our world is a regular octagon, moving uniformly and rectilinearly in space. Here we are preparing for a decisive stage, the crown of our lives. That's the official wording, anyway. Along the perimeter of the world runs the so-called Wall of the World, which objectively arose as a result of the action of the laws of life. In the center of the world there is a two-tiered feeding trough, around which our civilization has existed for a long time. The position of a member of society relative to the feeding trough is determined by his social significance and merits...
“I haven’t heard this before,” interrupted the Recluse. - What is this - merit? And social significance?
- Well... How to say... This is when someone gets to the very feeding trough.
-Who gets to her?
- As I say, the one who has great merit. Or social significance. For example, I used to have so-so merits, but now I have none at all. Don’t you know the folk model of the universe?
“I don’t know,” said the Recluse.
– What are you talking about?.. How did you prepare for the decisive stage?
- And that’s almost all. What else is there... Beyond the area of society there is a great desert, and everything ends with the Wall of the World. Renegades like us huddle around her.
- It's clear. Renegades. Where did the log come from? I mean, what did they split off from?
- Well, come on... Even the Twenty Nearest won’t tell you that. Secret of the ages.
- W-well, okay. What is the secret of the ages?
“The law of life,” answered Six-Fingered, trying to speak softly. He didn’t like something about the Hermit’s intonations.
- OK. What is the law of life?
- This is the secret of centuries.
- The secret of centuries? – the Recluse asked in a strangely thin voice and slowly began to approach Six-Fingered in an arc.
- What are you doing? Stop it! - Six-Fingered was scared. - This is your ritual!
But the Recluse himself had already pulled himself together.
“Okay,” he said. - Get down.
Six-fingered climbed down from the hummock, and the Recluse, with a concentrated and serious look, climbed into his place. He was silent for a while, as if listening to something, and then he raised his head and spoke.
“I came here from another world,” he said, “in the days when you were still very small.” And I came to that other world from the third, and so on. I've been to five worlds in total. They are the same as this one and practically no different from each other. And the universe where we are is a huge closed space. In the language of the gods it is called “Lunacharsky Broiler Plant,” but what this means is unknown even to them.
– Do you know the language of the gods? – Six-Fingered asked in amazement.
- A little. Don't interrupt. There are seventy worlds in total in the universe. We are in one of them now. These worlds are attached to an immense black ribbon that moves slowly in a circle. And above it, on the surface of the sky, there are hundreds of identical luminaries. So it is not they who are floating above us, but we who are floating below them. Try to imagine it.
Six-fingered closed his eyes. There was tension on his face.
“No, I can’t,” he finally said.
“Okay,” said the Recluse, “listen further.” All seventy worlds that exist in the universe are called the Chain of Worlds. In any case, they can be called that. In each of the worlds there is life, but it does not exist there constantly, but appears and disappears cyclically. The decisive stage takes place at the center of the universe, through which all worlds pass in turn. In the language of the gods it is called Workshop Number One. Our world is just on the threshold of it. When the decisive stage is completed and the renewed world emerges from the other side of Workshop Number One, everything starts all over again. Life arises, goes through a cycle and, after a set period of time, is again plunged into Workshop number one.
End of introductory fragment.
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Victor Pelevin the Recluse and the Six-Fingered
Back off.
- ?..
I said, fuck off. Don't bother watching.
What are you looking at?
What an idiot, Lord... Well, in the sun. Six-fingered looked up from the black surface of the soil, strewn with food, sawdust and crushed peat, and squinted upward.
Yes... We live, we live - but why? Secret of the ages. And has anyone comprehended the subtle thread-like essence of the luminaries? The stranger turned his head and looked at him with disgusted curiosity.
Six-Fingered,” Six-Fingered immediately introduced himself.
“I am a Recluse,” answered the stranger. - Is that what they say in your society? About a thin thread-like entity?
“Not with us anymore,” answered Six-Fingered and suddenly whistled. - Wow!
What? - the Recluse asked suspiciously.
Look, look! New has appeared!
So what?
This never happens in the center of the world. So that there are three lights at once. The recluse chuckled condescendingly.
And at one time I saw eleven at once. One at the zenith and five at each epicycle. True, it was not here.
Where? - asked Six-Fingers. The recluse remained silent. Turning away, he stepped aside, plucked a piece of food from the ground with his foot and began to eat. A weak warm wind was blowing, two suns were reflected in the gray-green planes of the distant horizon, and in this picture there was so much peace and sadness that the thoughtful Recluse, noticing Six-Fingered in front of him again, even shuddered.
You again. Well, what do you want?
So. I want to talk.
“But you’re not smart, I guess,” answered the Recluse. - It would be better to go into society. And that's where he wandered. Really, go... He waved his hand in the direction of a narrow dirty yellow strip that was slightly squirming and trembling - I couldn’t even believe that this was what a huge noisy crowd looked like from here.
“I would have gone,” said Six-Fingered, “but they drove me away.”
Yes? Why is this? Policy? Six-fingered nodded and scratched the other with one foot. The recluse looked at his feet and shook his head.
Are they real?
And what kind? That’s what they told me - we can say that the most decisive stage is approaching, and you have six toes on your feet... They say they found the time...
What is the “decisive stage”?
Don't know. Everyone’s faces are distorted, especially those of the Nearest Twenty, but you can’t understand anything else. They run and scream.
“Ah,” said the Recluse, “I see.” - It’s probably becoming clearer and clearer every hour? Are the contours more visible?
Exactly,” Six-Fingered was surprised. - How do you know?
Yes, I’ve already seen about five of them, these decisive stages. They are just called differently.
“Come on,” said Six-Fingered. - This is the first time this has happened.
Of course. It would even be interesting to see how it will happen a second time. But we are talking about slightly different things. The recluse laughed quietly, took a few steps towards the distant society, turned his back to it and began to shuffle his feet with force so that a whole cloud, consisting of leftover food, sawdust and dust, soon hung behind his back. At the same time, he looked around, waved his arms and muttered something.
What are you doing? - Six-Fingered asked with some fear when the Recluse, breathing heavily, returned.
“It’s a gesture,” answered the Recluse. - Such a form of art. You read a poem and perform an action corresponding to it.
What poem did you read now?
This,” said the Recluse.
Sometimes I feel sad when I look at those I left behind. Sometimes I laugh, and then a yellow fog rises between us.
“What a poem this is,” said Six-Fingered. - Thank God, I know all the poems. Well, that is, not by heart, of course, but I heard all twenty-five. There is no such thing, for sure. The recluse looked at him in bewilderment, and then, apparently, he understood.
Do you remember at least one thing? - he asked. - Read it.
Now. Gemini... Gemini... Well, in short, we say one thing there, but mean another. And then again we say one thing and mean another, but it’s kind of the other way around. It turns out very beautiful. In the end we look up at the wall, and there...
That’s enough,” said the Recluse. There was silence.
Listen, did you get kicked out too? - Six-Fingered violated it.
No. It was I who drove them all away.
Does that really happen?
“Anyway,” said the Recluse, looked at one of the celestial objects and added in a tone of transition from chatter to serious conversation: “Soon it will become dark.”
Come on, - said Six-Fingered, - no one knows when it will get dark.
But I know. If you want to sleep peacefully, do as I do. - And the Recluse began to rake up heaps of various rubbish, sawdust and pieces of peat lying under his feet. Gradually, he created a wall enclosing a small empty space, quite high, as tall as he was. The hermit walked away from the completed structure, looked at it with love and said: “Here.” I call this the refuge of the soul.
Why? - asked Six-Fingers.
So. Sounds great. Are you going to build something for yourself? Six-fingered began to poke around. Nothing worked for him - the wall was collapsing. To tell the truth, he didn’t try very hard, because he didn’t believe the Hermit at all about the onset of darkness, and when the heavenly lights trembled and began to slowly go out, and from the side of society came a nationwide sigh of horror, similar to the sound of the wind in the straw, a feeling of horror arose in his heart. two strong feelings at the same time: the usual fear of an unexpectedly approaching darkness and a previously unfamiliar admiration for someone who knows more about the world than he does.
So be it,” said the Recluse, “jump inside.” I'll build more.
“I don’t know how to jump,” Six-Fingered answered quietly.
“Hello then,” said the Recluse, and suddenly, pushing off the ground with all his might, he soared up and disappeared behind the wall, after which the entire structure collapsed on him, covering him with an even layer of sawdust and peat. The resulting mound trembled for some time, then a small hole appeared in its wall - Six-Fingered still managed to see the Hermit’s brilliant eye in it - and final darkness came. Of course, Six-Fingered, as long as he could remember, knew everything he needed about the night. “This is a natural process,” some said. “We need to get on with business,” others thought, and these were the majority. In general, there were many shades of opinions, but the same thing happened to everyone: when, for no apparent reason, the light went out, after a short and hopeless struggle with convulsions of fear, everyone fell into a stupor, and when they came to their senses (when the lights lit up again), they remembered very much few. The same thing happened with Six-Fingers while he lived in society, and now - probably because the fear of the coming darkness was superimposed on the equal fear of loneliness and, therefore, doubled - he did not fall into the usual life-saving coma. The distant groan of the people had already died down, and he still sat huddled near the mound and cried quietly. There was nothing visible around, and when the Recluse’s voice was heard in the darkness, Six-Fingered, out of fear, shitted right under himself.
Listen, stop hammering,” said the Recluse, “you’re disturbing your sleep.”
“I can’t,” Six-Fingered responded quietly. - This is the heart. You should talk to me, huh?
About what? - asked the Recluse.
About whatever you want, just longer.
Let's talk about the nature of fear?
Oh, don't! - Six-Fingered squeaked.
Be quiet! - the Recluse hissed. - Now all the rats will come running here.
What kind of rats? What is this? - Six-Fingered asked coldly.
These are creatures of the night. Although in fact it’s the same day.
“I’ve been unlucky in life,” Six-Fingers whispered. - If I had as many fingers as I should, I would sleep with everyone right now. Lord, what a fear... Rats...
“Listen,” the Recluse spoke, “you keep repeating: Lord, Lord... do you believe in God there?”
The devil knows. There is something like that, that's for sure. And no one knows what. For example, why does it get dark? Although, of course, it can be explained by natural causes. And if you think about God, then you won’t do anything in life...
What, I wonder, can you do in life? - asked the Recluse.
Like what? Why ask stupid questions - as if you don’t know yourself. Everyone climbs to the feeding trough as best they can. Law of life.
It's clear. Why then all this?
What is this"?
Well, the universe, the sky, the earth, the luminaries - everything in general.
How why? That's how the world works.
How is it built? - the Recluse asked with interest.
That's how it works. We move in space and time. According to the laws of life.
Where?
How do I know? Secret of the ages. You know, you can go crazy.
You could drive me crazy. Whatever you talk about, you have either the law of life or the secret of the ages.
If you don’t like it, don’t say so,” Six-Fingered said offended.
Yes, I wouldn’t say so. It's scary for you to be silent in the dark. Six-fingered somehow completely forgot about this. Having listened to his feelings, he suddenly noticed that he did not experience any fear. This frightened him to such an extent that he jumped to his feet and rushed somewhere blindly, until, with all his speed, he cracked his head on the World Wall, invisible in the darkness. From afar, the creaky laughter of the Recluse was heard, and Six-Fingered, carefully moving his feet, wandered towards these only sounds in the general darkness and silence. Having reached the mound under which the Recluse was sitting, he silently lay down next to him and, trying not to pay attention to the cold, tried to sleep. He didn’t even notice the moment when it happened.
Today you and I will climb beyond the Wall of the World, understand? - said the Recluse. Six-fingered was just running up to the shelter of the soul. The construction itself was almost the same as the Recluse’s, but the jump was successful only after a long run-up, and now he was training. The meaning of what was said reached him precisely when he had to jump, and as a result he crashed into a flimsy structure so that peat and sawdust, instead of covering his entire body with an even soft layer, turned into a heap piled above his head, and his legs lost support and hung helplessly in the void. The recluse helped him get out and repeated:
Today we will go beyond the Wall of Peace. Over the past few days, Six-Fingered had heard enough from him that his soul was constantly creaking and creaking, and his former life in society seemed like a touching fantasy (or maybe a vulgar nightmare - he had not yet decided for sure), but this was too much. Meanwhile the recluse continued:
The decisive stage occurs after every seventy eclipses. And yesterday it was sixty-nine. Numbers rule the world. And he pointed to a long chain of straws sticking out of the soil near the World Wall itself.
How can you climb beyond the Wall of the World if it is the Wall of the World? After all, in the name itself... There is nothing behind it... Six-fingered was so dumbfounded that he did not even pay attention to the dark mystical explanations of the Recluse, which otherwise would have definitely ruined his mood.
So what,” answered the Recluse, “that there is nothing.” This should only make us happy.
What are we going to do there?
Live.
Why is it bad for us here?
And the fact, fool, that this “here” will soon not be.
What will happen?
Stay here and you'll find out then. Nothing will happen. Six-fingered felt that he had completely lost confidence in what was happening.
Why do you always scare me?
“Don’t whine,” muttered the Recluse, anxiously peering at some point in the sky. - Behind the Wall of the World it’s not bad at all. For me, it's much better than here. He approached the remains of the soul shelter built by Six-Fingers and began to spread them around with his feet.
Why are you doing this? - asked Six-Fingers.
Before leaving any world, you need to summarize the experience of your stay in it, and then destroy all traces of yourself. This is tradition.
Who came up with it?
Who cares. Well, I am. There is no one else here, you see. Like this... The recluse looked at the result of his labor - on the site of the collapsed building there was now a perfectly flat place, no different from the surface of the rest of the desert.
“I destroyed all traces,” he said. - Now we need to generalize the experience. It's your turn. Climb onto this bump and tell me. Six-fingered felt that he had been outwitted, leaving him with the most difficult and, most importantly, incomprehensible part of the work. But after the incident with the eclipse, he decided to obey the Recluse. Shrugging his shoulders and looking around to see if anyone from society had wandered in, he climbed onto the hummock.
What to tell?
Everything you know about the world.
“We’ll be stuck here for a long time,” Six-Fingers whistled.
“I don’t think so,” the Recluse responded dryly.
So, yes. Our world... What an idiotic ritual you have...
Don't get distracted.
Our world is a regular octagon, moving uniformly and rectilinearly in space. Here we are preparing for a decisive stage, the crown of our happy lives. That's the official wording, anyway. Along the perimeter of the world runs the so-called Wall of the World, which objectively arose as a result of the action of the laws of life. In the center of the world there is a two-tiered feeding trough, around which our civilization has long existed. The position of a member of society relative to the feeding trough is determined by his social significance and merits...
“I haven’t heard this before,” interrupted the Recluse. - What is this - merit? And social significance?
Well... How to say... This is when someone gets to the very feeding trough.
And who gets to her?
I say: the one who has great merit. Or social significance. For example, I used to have so-so merits, but now I have none at all. Don’t you know the folk model of the universe?
“I don’t know,” said the Recluse.
What are you talking about?.. How did you prepare for the decisive stage?
And that’s almost all. What else is there... Beyond the area of society there is a great desert, and everything ends with the Wall of the World. Renegades like us huddle around her.
It's clear. Where did the log come from? I mean, everyone else?
Well, come on... Even the Twenty Nearest won’t tell you that. Secret of the ages.
W-well, okay. What is the secret of the ages?
“The law of life,” answered Six-Fingered, trying to speak softly. He didn’t like something about the Hermit’s intonations.
OK. What is the law of life?
This is the secret of centuries.
Secret of the ages? - the Recluse asked in a strangely thin voice and began to slowly approach Six-Fingered in an arc.
What are you doing? Stop it! - Six-Fingered was scared. - This is your ritual! But the Recluse himself had already pulled himself together.
Okay,” he said, “everything is clear.” Get off. Six-fingered climbed down from the hummock, and the Recluse, with a concentrated and serious look, climbed into his place. He was silent for a while, as if listening to something, and then he raised his head and spoke.
“I came here from another world,” he said, “in the days when you were still very small.” And I came to that other world from the third, and so on. I've been to five worlds in total. They are the same as this one and practically no different from each other. And the universe where we are is a huge closed space. In the language of the gods it is called the “Lunacharsky Broiler Plant,” but what this means is unknown.
Do you know the language of the gods? - Six-Fingered asked in amazement.
A little. Don't interrupt. There are seventy worlds in total in the universe. We are in one of them now. These worlds are attached to an immense black ribbon that moves slowly in a circle. And above it, on the surface of the sky, there are hundreds of identical luminaries. So it is not they who are floating above us, but we who are swimming below them. Try to imagine it. Six-fingered closed his eyes. There was tension on his face.
No, I can’t,” he finally said.
Okay,” said the Recluse, “listen further. All seventy worlds that exist in the universe are called the Chain of Worlds. In any case, they can be called that. There is life in each of them, but it does not exist there constantly, but appears and disappears cyclically. The decisive stage takes place at the center of the universe, through which all worlds pass in turn. In the language of the gods it is called Workshop Number One. Our world is just on the threshold of it. When the decisive stage is completed and the renewed world emerges from the other side of Workshop Number One, everything starts all over again. Life arises, goes through a cycle and, after a set period of time, is again plunged into Workshop number one.
How do you know all this? - Six-Fingered asked in a quiet voice.
“I traveled a lot,” said the Recluse, “and collected secret knowledge bit by bit. In one world one thing was known, in another - another.
Maybe you know where we're coming from?
I know. What do they say about this in your world?
That this is an objective fact. This is the law of life.
It's clear. You are asking about one of the greatest secrets of the universe, and I don’t even know if I can trust you with it. But since there’s no one else but you anyway, I’ll probably say it. We are born from white balls. In fact, they are not exactly balls, but somewhat elongated, and one end is narrower than the other, but this is not important now.
Balls. “White balls,” Six-Fingered repeated and, as he stood, fell to the ground. The weight of what he had learned fell upon him with physical weight, and for a second it seemed to him that he would die. The recluse jumped up to him and began to shake him with all his might. Gradually, Six-Fingered clarity of consciousness returned.
What's wrong with you? - the Recluse asked in fear.
Oh, I remembered. Exactly. Previously, we were white balls and lay on long shelves. This place was very warm and humid. And then we began to break these balls from the inside and... Our world rolled up from somewhere below, and then we were already in it... But why doesn’t anyone remember this?
There are worlds in which this is remembered,” said the Recluse. - Just think, the fifth and sixth perinatal matrices. Not that deep, and also only part of the truth. But all the same, those who remember this are hidden away so that they do not interfere with the preparation for the decisive stage or whatever it is called. It's different everywhere. For example, we called it the completion of construction, although no one built anything. Apparently, the memory of his world plunged the Recluse into sadness. He fell silent.
“Listen,” Six-Fingered asked after a while, “where do these white balls come from?” The recluse looked at him approvingly.
It took me much longer for this question to mature in my soul,” he said. - But here everything is much more complicated. One ancient legend says that these eggs come from us, but this could well be a metaphor...
Of us? Not clear. Where did you hear this?
Yes, I composed it myself. Will you hear anything here? - said the Recluse with unexpected melancholy in his voice.
You said it was an ancient legend.
Right. I just made it up as an ancient legend.
How is this? For what?
You see, one ancient sage, one might say a prophet (this time Six-Fingers guessed who he was talking about), said that what is said is not so important as what is said by whom. Part of the meaning of what I wanted to express is that my words act as an ancient legend. However, how can you understand... The recluse looked at the sky and interrupted himself:
All. It's time to go.
Where?
Into society. Six-fingered widened his eyes.
We were going to climb over the World Wall. Why do we need society?
Do you even know what society is? - asked the Recluse. - This is a device for climbing over the Wall of the World.
Six-fingered, despite the complete absence of objects in the desert behind which one could hide, for some reason walked stealthily, and the closer society became, the more criminal his gait became. Gradually, the huge crowd, which seemed from a distance like a gigantic moving creature, disintegrated into separate bodies, and one could even see the surprised grimaces of those who noticed those approaching.
The main thing,” the Recluse repeated the last instruction in a whisper, “behave more brazenly.” But not too brazenly. We must certainly anger them - but not to such an extent that we are torn to shreds. In short, always watch what I will do.
Six-fingered has arrived! - Someone ahead shouted cheerfully. - Hello, bastard! Hey, Six-Fingered, who's with you? This stupid cry unexpectedly - and completely incomprehensibly why - evoked in Six-Fingers a whole wave of nostalgic memories of childhood. The recluse, walking a little behind, seemed to sense this and shoved Six-Fingered in the back. People rarely stood at the very border of society - mostly cripples and contemplators lived here, who did not like crowded conditions - it was not difficult to get around them. But the further they went, the denser the crowd became, and very soon the Recluse and Six-Fingered found themselves in unbearably crowded conditions. It was still possible to move forward, but only by quarreling with those standing on the sides. And when the finely shaking roof of the feeding trough appeared above the heads of those in front, it was no longer possible to take a single step forward.
“I was always amazed,” the Recluse quietly said to Six-Fingered, “how wisely everything is arranged here.” Those who stand closer to the feeding trough are happy mainly because they always remember those who want to get into their place. And those who wait all their lives for a gap to appear between those in front are happy because they have something to hope for in life. This is harmony and unity.
Well, don't like it? - Someone’s voice asked from the side.
No, I don’t like it,” answered the Recluse.
What specifically don't you like?
Yes, that's it. And the Recluse, with a broad gesture, gestured around the crowd, the majestic dome of the feeding trough, the skies flickering with yellow lights, and the distant, barely visible Wall of the World from here.
It's clear. And where do you think is better?
That’s the tragedy: nowhere! That's the point! - the Recluse cried out painfully. - It would be better if I could talk to you here about life?
And your friend has the same views? - asked the voice. - Why is he looking at the ground? Six-fingered looked up - before that he had looked at his feet, because this allowed him to minimally participate in what was happening - and saw the owner of the voice. He had a flabby, well-fed face, and when he spoke, the anatomical details of his larynx became clearly visible. Six-fingered immediately realized that in front of him was one of the Twenty Nearest, the very conscience of the era. Apparently, before their arrival, he held explanations here, as was sometimes practiced.
Take them. Movement passed through the crowd, and the Recluse and Six-Fingered were immediately squeezed on all four sides.
“We don’t give a damn about you,” said the Recluse just as friendly. -Where will you take us? You have nowhere to take us. Well, run it again. As they say, you can’t throw it over the Wall of the World... Here the Recluse’s face showed confusion, and the fat-faced man raised his eyelids high - their eyes met.
But it's an interesting idea. We've never had anything like this before. Of course, there is such an expression, but the will of the people is stronger than the proverb. Apparently this thought delighted him. He turned and commanded:
Attention! Let's build! Now we will have an unplanned event. Not much time passed between the moment when the fat-faced man ordered the formation and the moment when the procession, in the center of which the Hermit and Six-Fingered were led, approached the Wall of the World. The procession was impressive. The first in it was the fat-faced one, followed by two appointed old mothers (no one, including the fat-faced one, knew what it was - it was just such a tradition), who through tears shouted offensive words to the Recluse and Six-Fingered, mourning and cursing them at the same time, then the criminals themselves were led in, and the crowd of the people brought up the rear.
So,” said the fat-faced man when the procession stopped, “the frightening moment of retribution has come.” I think, brothers, that we will all close our eyes when these two renegades disappear into oblivion, don’t we? And let this exciting event serve a beautiful lesson to all of us, the people. Cry louder, mothers! The old mothers fell to the ground and burst into such sorrowful crying that many of those present also began to turn away and swallow; but, wriggling in the dust spattered with tears, the mothers sometimes suddenly jumped up and, with sparkling eyes, hurled irrefutable, terrible accusations at the Recluse and Six-Fingered, after which they fell back exhausted.
So,” said the fat-faced man after a while, “have you repented?” Have your mothers' tears shamed you?
Of course,” answered the Recluse, who was anxiously watching the ceremony, then some celestial bodies, “how do you want to transfer us?” The fat man thought about it. The old mothers also fell silent, then one of them rose from the dust, shook herself off and said:
Embankment?
The mound,” said the Recluse, “it will take five eclipses.” And we have long been impatient to hide our exposed shame in the void. The fat-faced man, squinting slyly, glanced at the Recluse and nodded approvingly.
They understand,” he told one of his friends, “they are only pretending.” Ask, maybe they will offer what? A few minutes later, almost to the very edge of the Wall of Peace rose living pyramid. Those who stood at the top closed their eyes and hid their faces so that, God forbid, they would not look into where it all ended.
“Up,” someone commanded to the Recluse and Six-Fingered, and they, supporting each other, walked along the shaky line of shoulders and backs to the edge of the wall, which was lost in the heights. From above, the entire silent society was visible, carefully watching from afar what was happening, some previously unnoticed details of the sky and a thick hose were visible, descending to the feeding trough from infinity - from here it seemed not so majestic as from the ground. Easily, as if on a bump, jumping onto the edge of the Wall of the World, the Recluse helped Six-Fingered to sit down next to him and shouted down:
Order! From his scream, someone in the living pyramid lost its balance, it swayed several times and fell apart - everyone fell down, under the base of the wall, but no one, thank God, was hurt. Clutching the cold tin of the side, Six-Fingered peered into the tiny upturned faces, into the gray-brown spaces of his homeland; looked at that corner of it where there was a large green spot on the Wall of the World and where he spent his childhood. “I’ll never see this again,” he thought, and although he had no particular desire to see all this ever again, his throat still ached. He pressed a small piece of earth with a straw stuck to his side and thought about how quickly and irreversibly everything in his life was changing.
Farewell, dear sons! - the old mothers shouted from below, bowed to the ground and began sobbing to throw heavy pieces of peat upward. The recluse stood up on tiptoes and shouted loudly:
I always knew that I would leave this merciless world...
Then a large piece of peat hit him, and he, spreading his arms and legs, flew down. Six-fingered looked around for the last time at everything that remained below and noticed that someone from the distant crowd was waving goodbye to him - then he waved back. Then he closed his eyes and stepped back. For several seconds he spun randomly in the void, and then suddenly hit something hard and opened his eyes. He lay on a black shiny surface made of unfamiliar material; the Wall of the World went up - exactly the same as if you look at it from the other side, and next to him, with his hand stretched out to the wall, stood the Recluse. He finished his poem:
But I didn’t think it would be like this...
Then he turned to Six-Fingered and with a short gesture ordered him to get to his feet.
Now, as they walked along the giant black ribbon, Six-Fingered saw that the Recluse had told him the truth. Indeed, the world they left was slowly moving along with this ribbon relative to other stationary space objects, the nature of which Six-Fingers did not understand, and the luminaries were stationary - as soon as they left the black ribbon, everything became clear. Now the world they had left behind was slowly approaching the green steel gates through which the ribbon went. The recluse said that this is the entrance to Workshop number one. Strangely, Six-Fingered was not at all amazed by the grandeur of the objects filling the universe - on the contrary, a feeling of slight irritation awoke in him. "Is that all?" - he thought disgustedly. In the distance, two worlds similar to the one they left were visible - they also moved along with the black ribbon and looked rather miserable from here. At first, Six-Fingered thought that he and the Hermit were heading towards another world, but halfway there the Hermit suddenly ordered him to jump from the motionless curb along the ribbon along which they were walking, down into a dark bottomless gap.
“It’s soft there,” he said to Six-Fingered, but he stepped back and shook his head. Then the Recluse silently jumped down, and Six-Fingered had no choice but to follow him. This time he almost fell on the cold stone surface, lined with large brown slabs - they stretched to the horizon, and it all looked very beautiful.
What is this? - asked Six-Fingers.
“Tile,” answered the Recluse. incomprehensible word and changed the subject. “Night will begin soon,” he said, “and we need to get to those places over there.” Part of the road will have to be walked in the dark. The recluse looked seriously concerned. Six-fingered looked in the indicated direction and saw distant cubic rocks of a soft yellow color (the Recluse said that they were called “boxes”): there were a lot of them, and between them empty spaces could be seen, strewn with mountains of light shavings - from a distance it all looked like a landscape from a happy childhood dream.
Let’s go,” said the Recluse and briskly moved forward.
“Listen,” asked Six-Fingered, sliding along the tiles nearby, “how do you know when night comes?”
By the hour,” answered the Recluse. - This is one of the celestial bodies. Now it is on the right and at the top - that disk with black zigzags. Six-fingered looked at the rather familiar, although she had never attracted him special attention detail of the firmament.
When some of these black lines come to a special position, which I will tell you about later, the light goes out,” said the Recluse.
It's about to happen. Count to ten.
One, two,” Six-Fingered began, and suddenly it became dark.
“Don’t lag behind me,” said the Recluse, “you will get lost.” He could not have said this - Six-Fingered was almost stepping on his heels. The only source of light in the universe was a slanting yellow beam falling from under the green gates of Workshop Number One. The place where the Hermit and Six-Fingered were heading was located very close to this gate, but, according to the Hermit, it was the safest. All that is visible is a distant yellow stripe under the gate and a few slabs around. Six-fingered fell into a strange state. It began to seem to him that the darkness was squeezing him and the Recluse just as the crowd had recently squeezed him. Danger emanated from everywhere, and Six-Fingered felt it with all his skin, like a draft blowing from all sides at the same time. When it became completely unbearable from fear, he looked up from the floating tiles to a bright strip of light ahead, and then he remembered a society that looked almost the same from afar. He imagined that they were going to the kingdom of some fiery spirits, and he was about to tell the Recluse about this when he suddenly stopped and raised his hand.
Quiet, he said, rats. To our right. There was nowhere to run - the same tiled space stretched around in all directions, and the strip ahead was still too far away. The recluse turned to the right and took a strange pose, telling Six-Fingered to hide behind him, which he did with amazing speed and eagerness. At first he did not notice anything, but then he felt, rather than saw, the movement of a large, fast body in the darkness. It stopped exactly at the limit of visibility.
She is waiting,” the Recluse said quietly, “to see what we will do next.” As soon as we take a single step, she will rush at us.
“Yeah, I’ll rush,” said the rat, coming out of the darkness. - Like a ball of evil and rage. Like a true creature of the night.
Wow,” the Recluse sighed. - One-eyed. And I thought we were really in trouble. Meet me. Six-fingered looked incredulously at the intelligent conical face with long mustaches and two black beady eyes.
“One-eyed,” said the rat and wagged its indecently naked tail.
Six-Fingered,” Six-Fingered introduced himself and asked: “Why are you One-Eye if both eyes are fine?”
“And my third eye is open,” said One-Eye, “and he is alone.” In a sense, everyone with an open third eye is one-eyed.
And what is... - Six-Fingered began, but the Recluse did not let him finish.
Shouldn’t we walk,” he gallantly suggested to One-Eye, “over there to those boxes?” The night road is boring if there is no interlocutor nearby. Six-fingered was very offended.
Let’s go,” One-Eye agreed and, turning sideways to Six-Fingered (only now he saw her huge muscular body), trotted next to the Recluse, who had to walk very quickly in order to keep up. Six-fingered ran behind, looking at One-Eye's paws and the muscles rolling under her skin, thinking about how this meeting could have ended if One-Eye had not turned out to be an acquaintance of the Recluse, and tried with all his might not to step on her tail. Judging by how quickly their conversation began to resemble a continuation of some old conversation, they were old friends.
Freedom? Lord, what is this? - asked One-Eye and laughed. - This is when you run around the entire plant in confusion and loneliness, dodging a knife for the tenth time or whatever? Is this what freedom is?
“You’re changing everything again,” answered the Recluse. - This is just a search for freedom. I will never agree with the infernal picture of the world in which you believe. This is probably because you feel like a stranger in this universe created for us.
And the rats believe that it was created for us. I don't mean that I agree with them. Of course, you are right, but not completely and not in the most important way. Are you saying this universe was made for you? No, it was created because of you, but not for you. Understand? The recluse lowered his head and walked in silence for some time.
Okay,” said One-Eye. - I’m going to say goodbye. True, I thought that you would appear a little later, but we still met. I'm leaving tomorrow.
Where?
Beyond the boundaries of everything you can talk about. One of the old holes led me into an empty concrete pipe that goes so far that it’s hard to even think about it. I met several rats there - they say that this pipe goes deeper and deeper and, far below, leads to another universe, where only male gods live in the same green clothes. They perform complex manipulations around huge idols standing in giant shafts. One-Eye slowed down.
From here I go to the right,” she said. - So, the food there is like that - you can’t tell. And this universe could fit in one mine there. Listen, do you want to come with me?
No,” answered the Recluse, “down is not our way.” It seems that for the first time during the entire conversation he remembered Six-Fingers.
Well,” said One-Eye, “then I want to wish you success on your path, whatever it may be.” You know how much I love you.
“I love you too, One-Eye,” said the Recluse, “and I hope that the thought of you will support me.” Good luck.
“Goodbye,” said One-Eye, nodded to Six-Fingered and disappeared into the darkness as instantly as it had appeared before. The Recluse and Six-Fingered walked the rest of the way in silence. Having reached the boxes, they crossed several mountains of shavings and finally reached their goal. It was a hole in the shavings, faintly illuminated by the light from under the gate of Workshop No. 1, in which lay a pile of soft, long rags. Nearby, against the wall, stood a huge ribbed structure, about which the Recluse said that it once radiated so much heat that it was difficult to even get close to it. The recluse was noticeably bad mood. He was fidgeting in the rags, settling down for the night, and Six-Fingers decided not to pester him with conversations, especially since he himself wanted to sleep. Somehow wrapped in rags, he forgot. He was awakened by a distant grinding sound, the knocking of steel on wood, and screams filled with such inexpressible hopelessness that he immediately rushed to the Recluse.
What is this?
“Your world is going through a decisive stage,” answered the Recluse.
- ???
“Death has come,” the Recluse said simply, turned away, pulled a rag over himself and fell asleep.
Having woken up, the Recluse looked at the tear-stained Six-Fingers shaking in the corner, chuckled and began to rummage through the rags. Soon he took out about ten identical iron objects from there, similar to scraps of a thick hexagonal pipe.
Look,” he said to Six-Fingered.
What is this? - he asked.
The gods call them nuts. Six-fingered was about to ask something else, but suddenly he waved his hand and roared again.
What's wrong with you? - asked the Recluse.
“Everyone died,” Six-Fingered muttered, “everyone, everyone...
“So what,” said the Recluse. - You will die too. And I assure you that you and they will be dead within the same period of time.
It's still a shame.
Who exactly? An old mother, or what? Or this one, from the Nearest Twenty?
Do you remember how they threw us off the wall? - asked Six-Fingers. - Everyone was told to close their eyes. And I waved to them, and then someone waved back. And that’s when I think that he also died... And that what made him do this died with him...
Yes,” said the Recluse, smiling, “this is really very sad.” And silence fell, broken only by mechanical sounds from behind the green gates, behind which the homeland of Six-Fingers floated away.
“Listen,” Six-Fingered asked, having cried, “what happens after death?”
It’s hard to say,” answered the Recluse. “I have had many visions about this, but I don’t know how much I can rely on them.”
Tell me, will you?
After death, we are usually cast into hell. I counted at least fifty varieties of what happens there. Sometimes the dead are cut into pieces and fried in huge frying pans. Sometimes they are baked entirely in iron rooms with a glass door, where blue flames blaze or white-hot metal pillars emit heat. Sometimes we are boiled in giant colorful pots. And sometimes, on the contrary, they freeze it in a piece of ice. In general, there is little comfort.
And who does this, huh?
Like who? Gods.
Why do they need this?
You see, we are their food. Six-fingered shuddered, and then looked carefully at his trembling knees.
“What they love most is their legs,” noted the Recluse. - Well, and hands too. It is about hands that I am going to talk to you about. Pick them up. The six-fingered man stretched out his hands in front of him - thin, powerless, they looked pitiful.
“They once served us for flight,” said the Recluse, “but then everything changed.
What is flight?
Nobody knows for sure. The only thing that is known is that you need to have strong hands. Much stronger than you or even me. So I want to teach you one exercise. Take two nuts. Six-fingered with difficulty dragged two heavy objects to the Recluse’s feet.
Like this. Now insert the ends of your arms into the holes. Six-fingered did this too.
Now raise and lower your hands up and down... Like this. After a minute, Six-Fingered was tired to such an extent that he could not make a single more swing, no matter how hard he tried.
That’s it,” he said, dropped his hands, and the nuts fell to the floor.
Now look at what I do,” said the Recluse and put five nuts on each hand. He held his arms out to the sides for several minutes and seemed not at all tired.
So how?
“Great,” Six-Fingered exhaled. - Why are you holding them motionless?
At some point, a difficulty appears in this exercise. Then you will understand what I mean,” answered the Recluse.
Are you sure that this is how you can learn to fly?
No. Not sure. On the contrary, I suspect that it is a futile exercise.
Why then is it needed? If you yourself know that it is useless?
How can I tell you? Because besides this, I know many other things, and one of them is this: if you find yourself in the dark and see even the faintest ray of light, you should go towards it, instead of arguing whether it makes sense to do so or not. Maybe it really doesn't make sense. But just sitting in the dark doesn't make sense anyway. Do you understand what the difference is? Six-fingered remained silent.
“We are alive as long as we have hope,” said the Recluse. - And if you lost it, under no circumstances allow yourself to guess about it. And then something can change. But there is no need to seriously hope for this. Six-fingered felt some irritation.
This is all great, he said, but what does it really mean?
What this really means for you is that you will work with these nuts every day until you do the same as me. And for me this means that I will follow you as if your successes are really important to me.
Is there really no other activity? - asked Six-Fingers.
Yes, - answered the Recluse. - You can prepare for the decisive stage. But in this case you will have to act alone.
Listen, Recluse, you know everything - what is love?
I wonder where you heard this word? - asked the Recluse.
Yes, when I was kicked out of society, someone asked if I loved what I was supposed to. I said I don't know. And then, One-Eye said that she loves you very much, and you said that you love her.
It's clear. You know, I’m unlikely to explain it to you. This can only be done by example. Imagine that you fell into a barrel of water and drowned. Did you imagine?
Yes.
Now imagine that you stuck your head out for a second, saw the light, took a breath of air and something touched your hands. And you grab onto it and hold on. So, if you think that you’ve been drowning all your life (and this is the case), then love is what helps you keep your head above water.
Are you talking about love for what is meant to be loved?
Doesn't matter. Although, in general, what is supposed to be loved can be loved under water. Anything. It doesn't matter what you grab onto, as long as it holds up. The worst thing is if it’s someone else, you see, he can always pull his hand away. In short, love is what keeps everyone where they are. Except, perhaps, the dead... Although...
“In my opinion, I’ve never loved anything,” Six-Fingers interrupted.
No, it happened to you too. Do you remember how you roared for half a day, thinking about who waved back to you when we were thrown off the wall? This was love. You don't know why he did it. Maybe he thought he was mocking you much more subtly than others. Personally, it seems to me that this was the case. So you behaved very stupidly, but absolutely correctly. Love gives meaning to what we do when in reality there is none.
So is love deceiving us? Is this some kind of dream?
No. Love is something like love, and a dream is a dream. Everything you do, you do only because of love. Otherwise you would just sit on the ground and howl in horror. Or disgust.
But many people do what they do not out of love.
Give it up. They don't do anything.
Do you like anything, Recluse?
I love.
And what?
Don't know. Something that sometimes comes to me. Sometimes it's some thought, sometimes it's nuts, sometimes it's the wind. The main thing is that I always recognize it, no matter how it is dressed up, and meet it with the best that is in me.
How?
Because I become calm.
Do you worry the rest of the time?
No. I'm always calm. It's just the best thing in me, and when what I love comes to me, I greet it with my calmness.
What do you think is the best thing about me?
In you? Perhaps this is when you are silent somewhere in the corner and you cannot be seen.
Is it true?
Don't know. Seriously, you can find out what's best about you by how you greet the things you love. How did you feel when you thought about who waved at you?
Sadness.
Well, then, the best thing about you is your sadness, and you will always meet with it what you love. The recluse looked around and listened to something.
Do you want to look at the gods? - he asked unexpectedly.
“Just please, not now,” Six-Fingered answered fearfully.
Don't be afraid. They're stupid. Well, look, there they are. Two huge creatures were quickly walking along the aisle past the conveyor - they were so large that their heads were lost in the twilight somewhere near the ceiling. Behind them walked another similar creature, only shorter and thicker - it carried in its hand a vessel in the form of a truncated cone, with its narrow part facing the ground. The first two stopped not far from the place where the Recluse and Six-Fingered were sitting, and began to make low rumbling sounds (“They say,” Six-Fingered guessed), and the third creature approached the wall, put the vessel on the floor, dipped a pole with bristles at the end into it and drew a fresh dirty gray line along the dirty gray wall. It smelled something strange.
Listen,” Six-Fingered whispered barely audibly, “and you said that you know their language.” What are they saying?
These two? Now. The first one says: “I want to eat it.” And the second one says: “Don’t come near Dunka again.”
What is "Dunka"?
This is the area of the world.
And... What does the first one want to eat?
Dunku, of course,” the Recluse answered after thinking.
How will he eat up an area of the world?
That's why they are gods.
And this fat one, what does she say?
She doesn't speak, but sings. About the fact that after death he wants to become a willow tree. My favorite divine song, by the way. Someday I'll sing it to you. It’s just a pity, I don’t know what willow is.
Do gods die?
Of course. This is their main occupation. The two moved on. "What greatness!" - Six-Fingered thought in shock. The heavy steps of the gods and their low voices died down; there was silence. A draft swirled dust over the tiled floors, and Sixfingered felt as if he was looking with unimaginable high mountain to a strange stone desert stretching below, over which the same thing has been happening for millions of years: the wind is rushing, and the remnants of someone’s life are flying in it, looking from afar as straws, pieces of paper, chips or something else. “Someday,” thought Six-Fingered, “someone else will look down from here and think about me, without knowing what he thinks about me. Just as I am now thinking about someone who felt the same way, like me, God knows when. Every day has a point that connects it with the past and the future. How sad this world is...” “But there is something in it that justifies the saddest life,” he said. suddenly the Recluse. “If only I could laugh and howl,” the fat goddess sang long and quietly by the bucket of paint; Six-Fingered, resting his head on his elbow, felt sad, but the Recluse was completely calm and looked into the void as if over thousands of invisible heads.
During the time that Six-Fingers was working with nuts, as many as ten worlds went to Workshop Number One. Something creaked and knocked behind the green gate, something was happening there, and Six-Fingered, just thinking about it, broke out in a cold sweat and began to shake - but that was precisely what gave him strength. His arms noticeably lengthened and strengthened - now they were the same as those of the Recluse. But so far this has led to nothing. The only thing the Recluse knew was that flight was carried out using the hands, and what it was was unclear. The recluse believed that this was a special way of instantly moving in space, in which you need to imagine the place where you want to go, and then give your hands a mental command to move your whole body there. He spent whole days in contemplation, trying to move at least a few steps, but nothing worked.
“Probably,” he told Six-Fingered, “our hands are not yet strong enough.” We must continue. One day, when the Hermit and Six-Fingered, sitting in a heap of rags between the boxes, peered into the essence of things, an extremely unpleasant event happened. It became a little darker around, and when Six-Fingered opened his eyes, the huge unshaven face of some god loomed in front of him.
“Look, where did they get into,” it said, and then huge dirty hands grabbed the Recluse and Six-Fingered, pulled them out from behind the boxes, carried them with incredible speed across a huge space and threw them into one of the worlds, no longer very far from Workshop number one. At first, the Hermit and Six-Fingers reacted to this calmly and even with some irony - they settled down near the Wall of the World and began to prepare refuges for their souls - but the god suddenly returned, pulled out Six-Fingers, looked at him carefully, smacked his lips in surprise, and then wrapped a piece around his paw sticky blue tape and threw it back. A few minutes later, several gods approached at once - they took out Six-Fingered and began to examine him in turn, uttering exclamations of delight.
I don’t like this,” said the Recluse, when the gods finally returned Six-Fingered to his place and left, “this is bad.”
“In my opinion, too,” answered the frightened Six-Fingers. - Maybe it’s better to remove this rubbish? And he pointed to the blue ribbon wrapped around his leg.
“It’s better not to take it off yet,” said the Recluse. They were gloomily silent for some time, and then Six-Fingered said:
It's all because of the six fingers. Well, if we run away from here, they will now look for us. They know about the boxes. Is there anywhere else you can hide? The recluse became even more gloomy, and then instead of answering, he suggested going to the local society to unwind. But it turned out that a whole deputation was already moving towards them from the distant feeding trough. Judging by the fact that, before reaching twenty steps from the Recluse and Six-Fingered, those walking towards them fell to the ground and then began to crawl, they had serious intentions. The recluse told Six-Fingered to step back and went to find out what was the matter. Returning, he said:
I've really never seen anything like this. They seem to have a religious community here. Anyway, they saw how you communicate with the gods, and now they consider you a prophet, and me - your disciple or something like that.
So what will happen now? What do they want?
They call you over. They say that some path has been straightened, something has been twisted, and so on. I didn't understand anything, but I think it's worth going.
Let’s go,” Six-Fingered shrugged indifferently. He was tormented by gloomy forebodings. Along the way, several obsessive attempts were made to carry the Recluse in his arms, and this was avoided with great difficulty. No one dared to approach Six-Fingered, let alone look up at him, and he walked in the center great circle emptiness. Upon arrival, Six-Fingered was seated on a high mound of straw, and the Recluse remained at its base and plunged into conversation with the local high priests, of whom there were about twenty - they were easily recognized by their flabby, fat faces. Then he blessed them and climbed up the hill to Six-Fingered, who was so sick in his soul that he did not even respond to the Hermit’s ritual bow, which, however, seemed quite natural for the flock. It turned out that everyone had been waiting for the coming of the Messiah for a long time, because the approaching decisive stage, called here the Great Judgment, had been worrying the people’s minds for a long time, and the high priests had become so fed up and lazy that they answered all questions addressed to them with a short nod in the direction of the sky. So the appearance of Six-Fingers with his student turned out to be very opportune.
They are waiting for the sermon,” said the Recluse.
Well, tell them something,” Six-Fingers muttered. - I'm a fool is a fool, you know it yourself. At the word “fool,” his voice trembled, and it was generally clear that he was about to cry.
They will eat me, these gods,” he said. - I feel.
Well, well. “Calm down,” said the Recluse, turned to the crowd at the slide and took a prayer pose: he raised his head up and raised his hands. - Hey, you! - he shouted. - Soon you will all go to hell. You will be fried there, and the most sinful ones will be marinated in vinegar beforehand. A sigh of horror swept over society.
I, by the will of the gods and their messenger, my master, want to teach you how to be saved. To do this we must overcome sin. Do you even know what sin is? The answer was silence.
Sin is being overweight. Your flesh is sinful, for it is because of it that the gods smite you. Think: what brings the Great Judgment closer? Yes, exactly that you are gaining fat. For the thin will be saved, but the fat will not. It is true: not a single bony and blue one will be thrown into the flames, but all the fat and pink ones will be there. But those who will fast from now until the Great Judgment will find a second life. Hey, Lord! Now stand up and sin no more. But no one stood up - everyone lay on the ground and silently looked: some at the Recluse waving his arms, some at the abyss of the sky. Many were crying. Perhaps only the high priests did not like the Recluse’s speech.
“Why are you doing this,” Six-Fingered whispered when the Recluse sat down on the straw, they believe you.
Am I lying? - answered the Recluse. - If they lose a lot of weight, they will be sent to a second fattening cycle. And then, maybe on the third. God bless them, let's think about our own affairs better.
The recluse often spoke to the people, teaching them how to give themselves the most unappetizing appearance, and Six-Fingered spent most of the time sitting on his straw slide and thinking about the nature of flight. He almost did not participate in conversations with the people and only sometimes absentmindedly blessed the laity who crawled up to him. The former high priests, who had absolutely no intention of losing weight, looked at him with hatred, but could not do anything, because more and more new gods approached the world, pulled out Six-Fingered, looked at him and showed him to each other. Once among them there was even a flabby, gray-haired old man, accompanied by a large retinue, whom the other gods treated with extreme respect. The old man took him in his arms, and Six-Fingered viciously shitted right on his cold, shaking palm, after which he was rather roughly put back in place. And at night, when everyone fell asleep, he and the Recluse continued to desperately train their hands - the less they believed that this would lead to anything, the more furious their efforts became. Their hands had grown to such an extent that there was no longer any possibility of working with the pieces of iron on which the Recluse had dismantled the feeding trough (in society everyone was fasting and looked almost transparent) - as soon as you waved your hands a little, your feet would leave the ground and you had to stop the exercise. This was the same difficulty that the Hermit had warned Six-Fingers about at one time, but they managed to get around it - the Hermit knew how to strengthen muscles with static exercises, and taught Six-Fingers this. The Green Gate was already visible beyond the Wall of the World, and, according to the Recluse’s calculations, only a dozen eclipses remained before the Great Judgment. The gods did not particularly frighten Six-Fingered - he had managed to get used to their constant attention and perceived it with disgusting humility. His state of mind returned to normal, and in order to somehow have some fun, he began to speak with obscure, dark sermons that literally shook his flock. One day he remembered One-Eye's story about the underground universe and, in a fit of inspiration, described the preparation of soup for one hundred and sixty demons in green robes in such great detail that in the end he not only got scared out of his mind, but also greatly frightened the Recluse, who at the beginning of his speech only grunted . Many of the congregation memorized this sermon, and it was called "The Blue Ribbon Revelations" - that was sacred name Six-fingered. After this, even the former high priests stopped eating and spent hours running around the half-disassembled feeding trough, trying to get rid of fat. Since both the Hermit and Six-Fingered each ate for two, the Hermit had to compose a special dogma about infallibility, which quickly stopped various conversations in a whisper. But if Six-Fingered, after the shock he experienced, quickly returned to normal, then something strange began to happen to the Recluse. It seemed that Six-Fingered's depression had passed on to him, and with every passing hour he became more and more withdrawn. One day he said to Six-Fingered:
You know, if things don’t work out for us, I’ll go with everyone to Workshop Number One. Six-fingered opened his mouth, but the Recluse stopped him:
And since we probably won’t succeed, this can be considered decided. Six-fingered suddenly realized: what he was just about to say was completely unnecessary. He could not change someone else's decision, but could only express his affection for the Recluse - no matter what he said, the meaning would be exactly that. Previously, he probably would not have been able to resist a lot of unnecessary chatter, but for lately something has changed in him. And in response, he simply nodded his head, stepped aside and plunged into thought. Soon he returned and said:
I will also go with you.
No,” said the Recluse, “you must under no circumstances do this.” You now know almost everything I know. And you must definitely stay and find yourself a student. Maybe he'll at least get close to being able to fly.
Do you want me to be alone? - Six-Fingered asked irritably.
With this trash? And he pointed to the flock stretched out on the ground at the beginning of the conversation of the prophets: identical trembling, emaciated bodies covered almost the entire visible space.
“They are not rednecks,” said the Recluse, “they are more like children.”
I wonder, do you remember what you were like before we met? Six-fingered thought and became embarrassed.
No,” he finally said, “I don’t remember.” Honestly, I don't remember.
Okay,” said the Recluse, “do as you please.” The conversation stopped there. The remaining days flew by quickly. One morning, when the congregation was still just opening their eyes, the Recluse and Six-Fingered One noticed that the green gate, which only yesterday seemed so far away, was hanging over the Wall of the World itself. They looked at each other, and the Recluse said:
Today we will make our last attempt. The latter because tomorrow there will be no one to do it. Our arms have grown so large that we cannot even wave them in the air - we are knocked off our feet. Therefore, now we will go to the Wall of the World so that this hubbub does not disturb us, and from there we will try to move to the dome of the feeding trough. If we fail, then we say goodbye to the world.
How is this done? - Six-Fingered asked out of habit. The recluse looked at him in surprise.
“How do I know how to do this,” he said. The congregation was told that the prophets were coming to communicate with the gods. Soon the Recluse and Six-Fingered were already near the Wall of the World, where they sat down, leaning their backs against it.
Remember,” said the Recluse, “you must imagine that you are already there, and then... Six-fingered closed his eyes, concentrated all his attention on his hands and began to think about the rubber hose that approached the roof of the feeding trough. Gradually he entered a trance, and he had a clear feeling that this hose was very close to him - at arm's length. Previously, imagining that he had already got to where he wanted to fly, Six-Fingers hurried to open his eyes, and it always turned out that he was sitting in the same place where he was sitting. But today he decided to try something new. “If you slowly bring your hands together,” he thought, “so that the hose is between them, what then?” Carefully, trying to maintain the confidence he had achieved that the hose was very close, he began to bring his hands closer together. And when they, having converged in a place where there had been emptiness before, touched the hose, he could not stand it and screamed with all his might:
Eat! - and opened his eyes.
Hush, you fool,” said the Hermit standing in front of him, whose leg he was squeezing. - Look. Six-fingered jumped to his feet and turned around. The gates of Workshop Number One were open, and their doors slowly floated along the sides and above.
“We have arrived,” said the Recluse. - Let's go back. They didn't say a word on the way back. The conveyor belt moved at the same speed as the Recluse and Six-Fingers were walking, only in the other direction, and therefore the entrance to Workshop Number One was where they were all the way. And when they reached their places of honor near the feeding trough, the entrance covered them and floated on. The recluse called someone from the flock to him.
Listen, he said. - Just calm down! Go and tell the others that the Great Judgment has arrived. Do you see how the sky has darkened?
What should we do now? - he asked with hope.
Everyone sit down on the ground and do this,” said the Recluse and covered his eyes with his hands. - And don’t peek, otherwise we won’t vouch for anything. And keep it quiet. At first there was a hubbub. But it quickly died down - everyone sat down on the ground and did as the Recluse ordered.
Well, - said Six-Fingered, - let's say goodbye to the world?
“Come on,” answered the Recluse, “you first.” Six-fingered stood up, looked around, sighed and sat down.
All? - asked the Recluse. Sixfingers nodded.
“Now I,” the Recluse said as he stood up, raised his head and shouted with all his might: “Peace!” Goodbye!
“Look, he’s cackling,” said a thunderous voice. - Which? This one is clucking, or what?
“What rubbish,” the first person remarked sadly. - It’s not clear what to do with them. They're all half-dead. A huge hand in a white sleeve, stained with blood and strewn with stuck fluff, flashed over the world and touched the feeding trough.
Semyon, mother, where are you looking? Their feeder is broken!
“It was intact,” answered the bass. - I checked everything at the beginning of the month. Well, shall we score?
No, we won't. Let's turn on the conveyor, adjust another container, and here - so that tomorrow the feeder can be repaired. How come they didn't just catch their breath...
OK.
What about this one, which has six fingers, should you chop off both paws?
Let's both.
I wanted one for myself. The recluse turned to Six-Fingered, who was listening attentively but understood almost nothing.
Listen,” he whispered, “it seems they want... But at this moment a huge white hand again darted across the sky and grabbed Six-Fingered. Six-fingered did not understand what the Recluse wanted to say. A palm grabbed him, tore him off the ground, then a huge chest with a fountain pen sticking out of his pocket, the collar of a shirt and, finally, a pair of huge bulging eyes flashed in front of him, staring straight at him.
Look, wings. Like an eagle! - said a mouth of unprecedented size, behind which lumpy teeth were yellowing. Six-fingered has long been accustomed to being in the hands of the gods. But now some strange, frightening vibration was emanating from the palms that held him. From the conversation he only understood that they were talking either about his arms or his legs, and then from somewhere below came the crazy cry of the Recluse:
Six-fingered! Run! Peck him right in the face! For the first time in the entire period of their acquaintance, despair sounded in the Hermit’s voice. And Six-Fingered was frightened, frightened to such an extent that all his actions acquired a somnambulistic infallibility - he pecked at the eye that was open at him with all his might and immediately began to hit the god’s sweaty muzzle with incredible speed with his hands on both sides. There was a roar of such power that Six-Fingered perceived it not as a sound, but as pressure on the entire surface of his body. The god's palms unclenched, and the next moment Six-Fingered noticed that he was under the ceiling and, without leaning on anything, hanging in the air. At first he didn’t understand what was going on, but then he saw that, out of inertia, he continued to wave his arms and it was they that held him in the void. From here it was clear what Shop Number One was like: it was a section of the conveyor fenced on both sides, near which stood a long, red and brown stained wooden table, strewn with down and feathers, and stacks of transparent bags. The world where the Recluse remained looked like just a large rectangular container filled with many motionless tiny bodies. Six-Fingered did not see the Recluse, but was sure that he saw him.
Hey,” he shouted, flying in circles right near the ceiling, “Recluse!” Come here! Wave your arms as quickly as possible! Below, in the container, something flashed and, quickly growing in size, began to approach - and then the Recluse was nearby. He made several circles after Six-Fingers, and then shouted:
Let's sit over there! When Six-Fingered flew up to a square spot of dull whitish light, crossed by a narrow cross, the Recluse was already sitting on the windowsill.
“The wall,” he said when Six-Fingers landed nearby, “a luminous wall.” The recluse was outwardly calm, but Six-Fingered knew him very well and saw that he was a little uneasy about what was happening. The same thing happened with Six-Fingers. And suddenly it dawned on him.
Listen,” he shouted, “but this is what flying is!” We were flying! The recluse looked at him for a while, and then nodded his head.
“Perhaps,” he said. - Although it is too primitive. Meanwhile, the chaotic flickering of figures below calmed down somewhat, and it became clear that two in white coats were holding a third, who was holding his face with his hand.
Bitch! He knocked my eye out! Bitch! - this third one yelled.
What is "bitch"? - asked Six-Fingers.
“This is a way of addressing one of the elements,” answered the Recluse. - This word has no real meaning. But now it looks like things will be bad for us.
And what element does he turn to? - asked Six-Fingers.
Now we’ll see,” said the Recluse. While the Hermit was saying these words, God broke free from the hands that held him, rushed to the wall, tore off a red fire extinguisher cylinder and threw it at those sitting on the windowsill - he did it so quickly that no one was able to stop him, and the Hermit and Six-Fingered barely managed to fly into the air. different sides. There was a ringing and a crash. The fire extinguisher, having broken through the window, disappeared and a wave rushed into the room fresh air- Only after that did it become clear how it smelled there. It became unbelievably bright.
Let's fly! - the Recluse shouted, suddenly losing all his equanimity. - Alive! Forward! And, flying away from the window, he accelerated, folded his wings and disappeared in a ray of yellow hot light, shining from a hole in the painted glass, from where the wind was blowing and new, unfamiliar sounds were coming. Six-fingered, accelerating, rushed in a circle. Last time below, an octagonal container, a table covered in blood and gods waving their arms flashed - folding their wings, they whistled through the hole. At first he went blind for a second - the light was so bright. Then his eyes adjusted, and he saw ahead and above a circle of yellow-white fire of such brightness that it was impossible to look at it even out of the corner of his eye. I could see even higher dark spot- it was the Recluse. He turned around so that Six-Fingers could catch up with him, and soon they were flying side by side. Six-fingered looked around - far below there was a huge and ugly gray building, on which there were only a few painted over oil paint windows One of them was broken. Everything around was of such pure and bright colors that Six-Fingered, in order not to go crazy, began to look up. Flying was surprisingly easy - it took no more effort than walking. They rose higher and higher, and soon everything below became just multi-colored squares and spots. Six-fingered turned his head to the Recluse.
Where? - he shouted.
“To the south,” the Recluse answered briefly.
What is this? - asked Six-Fingers.
I don’t know,” answered the Recluse, “but it’s over there.” And he waved his wing towards a huge sparkling circle, only in color reminiscent of what they once called luminaries.