You read, move your lips, figure out the words, and it's like you're in two places at the same time: you're sitting or lying with your legs curled up, your hand groping in the bowl, but you can see different worlds, far-off worlds that maybe never existed but still seem real. You run or sail or race in a sleigh-you're running away from someone, or you yourself have decided to attack -your heart thumps, life flies by, and it's wondrous: you can live as many different lives as there are books to read. Like a werewolf or something: you're a man, and all of a sudden-you're a woman, or an old man, or a small child, or a whole battalion on guard, or I don't know what. And if it's true that it wasn't Fyodor Kuzmich, Glorybe, who wrote all those books, well, who cares? Then it means there were other Fyodor Kuzmiches, ancient people, who sat, and wrote, and saw visions. Why not?
And just about now, the candles have probably been lighted in the Work Izba, the scrolls rolled up, Jackal Demianich is looking watchfully around. Konstantin Leontich is writing fast as can be, copying, from time to time he tosses down his writing stick, claps his hands and cries out! He always gets very worked up about what happens in books. And then he grabs his writing stick again, and goes on… And Varvara Lukinishna bends her head, her combs tremble, she's thinking about something… maybe that at home she has a book hidden? There was something there about a candle, about deceit… But neither Benedikt nor Olenka are in the Work Izba anymore… Olenka lies on the bed whining, covered in sour cream, and Benedikt is rocking on the stool. If only he could catch some mice right now, and trade them at the market for a book. Only there aren't any mice in the house.
What sort of book was it that Father-in-law shoved at Benedikt? Should he go and ask? Since Father-in-law didn't get sick, knock, knock, knock on wood, then it was true: you can touch them.
TVERDO
Father-in-law sat down right next to him again, opened his mouth, and asked: "Haven't been having any bad thoughts, have you?"
Benedikt answered boldly: "Yep. I have."
Father-in-law was overjoyed. "Come on, come on, let's hear them!"
"What sort of book did you show me a long time ago? When I came courting?"
"How do you know it's a book?"
"I just know."
"Where from? Someone showed you one?"
"Maybe someone did."
"Who was it?"
"What sort of book was it?"
"No, who showed you?"
Benedikt thought about telling him, but thought better of it: who knows what…
"Don't ask a lot of questions, just let me read it."
"Then you tell me who showed it to you."
"We had one at our house," said Benedikt, and he wasn't even lying.
"Where is it?"
"They burned it. My old man burned it."
"Why?"
"So no one would get the Illness, knock on wood."
Father-in-law thought for a moment, his eyes blazed, and his feet scraped. "You people are so backward. A backward people…"
"Why are we backward?… We obey the Decrees. We adopt all the scientific achievements: the yoke, the sun clock. Nails."
"You're backward because you can't see past your own noses," Father-in-law explained, "and you don't understand the governmental approach to social questions."
Benedikt's spirits fell. It was true, he had a hard time with the governmental approach to things. Until the explanations came in Decrees, he didn't get the governmental, state approach, he understood things the simple way. When they'd explained it all, then, of course, he understood. But the governmental approach was never straightforward. You think this is the way things should go, but no, it's like this, not like that. No way you could guess for yourself.
"Take Illness," continued Father-in-law, "the view you hold is incorrect."
"I heard it's tradition," said Benedikt carefully.
"What tradition?"
"To treat people. That there used to be radiation from books, and they treated the ones who had books. But now two hundred years have gone by and it doesn't matter. That's the tradition. That's what I heard."
Father-in-law's eyes gave off a strong light. He scratched the floor, almost ripping out the floorboards.
"Benediiiikt! Come heeeere, let's make love!" Olenka called from the next room.
"Lie down and wait!" cried Father-in-law. "We're having a governmental conversation! About worldviews! So now, this is the way things go: Illness isn't in books, my dear boy, it's in people's heads."
"Like a cold?"
"Worse. Now, you talk about nails. All right. We didn't use to know about nails, right?"
"That's right."
"And was it better when there weren't any nails, what do you think?"
Benedikt thought a moment. "It was worse."
"That's right. So. Things used to be worse. And now they're better. You get my drift."
"I think I get your drift."
"And before that, they were even worse. And before everything-well, there was the Blast. Was that a good thing, what do you think?"
"Heavens no!"
"That's right. So, which way do we need to go? Forward, of course. When you're walking down the street, would you start stepping in place? No. You go straight on ahead. Why are our eyes on our forehead and not on our rear ends, right? Nature is giving us directions."
"That's true," Benedikt admitted.
"Only forward, no other way. So, for instance, since I'm Head Saniturion, I am going to light the way." And he gave off rays as bright as full-moon light. "Do you follow me now?"
"No," said Benedikt.
"No again. Well, what can you do… All right, then. There's a lot of backwardness in society," Father-in-law explained. "And all people are brothers. Now then, can a brother refuse help to his brother? What would he be if he did that? A bad guy, a sleazeball. Helping and fixing come first. But how do some people think? 'Oh, it's none of my beeswax.' Is that good?"
"It's kind of bad. That's not more-alls."
"Right. And how to help?"
"I don't know."
"Think about it."
"Well… I don't know… Feed someone?"
"Ha! You call that thinking! If you feed and feed and feed people, and keep on feeding them, they'll stop working. You'll be the only one sweating, all for them. How're you gonna come up with all that food? Where are you gonna get new food? Where's the food coming from if no one's working? No. Think again."
Benedikt thought about how to help his brother. True, he didn't have a brother, and thinking was uncomfortable. He imagined someone tall, lanky, and irksome: he sat on a stool and whined: "Brooother… He-e-1-l-p me… Pleeease help me, brooother…" And you don't feel like it, so you whack him on the head.
"Maybe by keeping a lookout while he's off?"
"Sure. You stand there like a pillar all day long. And he's out chasing skirts."
Benedikt got mad at this brother: What a bastard! What more did he need?
"You give up," Father-in-law said, shaking his head. "Well, all right. Let's think it through together. You ever planted turnips?"
"Yes."
"You've planted them. Good. So you know how it works: you plant the turnip and you wait. You're waiting for a turnip-but who knows what will sprout up? Maybe half turnips, half weeds. You ever weeded grass?"
"Yes."
"Good. So you know. What's left to explain? If you don't weed the turnip in time, the whole field will be covered in weeds. And the turnip won't be able to push through the weeds. Isn't that right? And there won't be anything to eat, or to guard. So there you have it!"