The young man kept on climbing. Shortly, the people on the floor below were colorful dolls, many with faces turned to look up at him. One of the blue-uniformed men had begun to climb the grille, but now the young man was almost at the top.
He arrived at the top of the grille, and reaching up, found that he could grasp the railing of the balcony and swing himself up and over. Panting with exertion, he found himself in a narrow corridor, lined on the wall side with open doorways from which came the sounds of voices and the clicking of machines. A man stepped out of a doorway some distance down the corridor and craned his neck to listen to the sound of the bells. He turned, saw the young man. “Hi!” he called, starting forward.
THE young man ran again.
Faces turned, startled, inside the rooms as he passed; he caught glimpses of men and women in their blouse sleeves, of desks and office equipment. The next door was closed and was marked Stair. The young man opened it, hesitated briefly between two narrow flights, then chose the up flight and went bounding up, three steps at a time, swinging around at each tiny landing until he grew dizzy. Below, voices echoed. He kept on going up past other landings and closed, dark doors, narrower and dingier, until he reached the top. The stairs ended at one last door, lit only by a grimy skylight through which filtered a dim violet glow.
The young man paused to listen. Deep down, there were tiny voices, like the chirping of insects under layer after layer of earth.
He opened the door and went in. He was on a floor of empty rooms, dark and gray with dust. Everything was much older and shabbier-looking than the glittering aisles downstairs. In the weak light from small pebble-glass windows, he saw goods piled in the corners of one room, a neglected huddle of filing cabinets in another. There was no one here. No one had come here for a long time.
At the end of the hall, half hidden by an ancient wardrobe, was another door, another stair, the narrowest and darkest of all - plain bare wood, that creaked under his steps as he went up. It was only one short flight, and at the top he found himself in a tiny room with slanting walls.
Bundles of papers lay piled on the floor, yellow and brittle under their coating of dust. There was a length of rope, an old light bulb or two, some shredded bits of paper that might have been gnawed by small animals. All this he saw in the dim, cool light from a triangular window under the peak of the roof. It was a wide window, framed in old ornate moulding that filled almost the entire wall, and from it, when he had rubbed a clear space with his hand, he could see the city spread out below him.
Silent and empty it lay under the violet sky, all the buildings peacefully ranked one beyond another out to the misty horizon. Some of the building faces were illuminated by the glow of the avenues, but no sound came up from those lower levels. It was like a deserted city, whose inhabitants had gone away leaving all the lights on. The luminous strand of a Flugbahn hung empty against the sky. In the twilight the letters of sky-signs stared coldly: MOBIL, URANIA, IBM, ALT WIEN.
The young man looked around him with calm satisfaction.
He was still hungry and in bodily distress, but here he was safe and sheltered. With those papers he could make a bed, here by the window. He would look out at the world all day, as long as he wished, and no one would know he was here at all.
He sat down and let his muscles relax. After all, to be free and to have a place of one’s own were what mattered most. He had been terribly frightened, but now he could see that it was all coming right in the end.
With a contented glance around at the dim, slanting walls, which already had the comforting familiarity of home, he lay down on the floor and let the slow waves of silence muffle him to sleep.
IV
THE food in the tray turned out to be a steaming mess of something dark green and odorous, the consistency of mud, with chunks of fibrous substance mixed up in it.
The biped was hungry, but repelled by the unappetizing appearance and smell of the stuff, and did not touch any. Next door he heard the scrape of a spoon on the metal plate: the female was eating hers, anyhow. The keeper had removed the table from her doorway and lectured her severely. He had not heard what she replied, if anything. The biped tried to sip water from the bowl on his tray, found that his stiff mouth would not permit it, and dashed the bowl to the floor with a sudden howl of fury. Immediately afterward he grew thirsty, and filled the bowl again from the washbowl faucet. He tried lapping the water with his tongue, and got some relief that way, but not enough water to swallow. He ended by pouring water into his open mouth, half choking himself before he discovered the trick of throwing his head back to swallow.
His chest and legs were sodden, the feathery spines clumped together with moisture. He felt acutely uncomfortable until he had dried himself with a towel. For some reason, the trivial incident depressed him severely. He tried to cheer himself up by thinking of the unfinished letter hidden in the desk, but to his despair found that he no longer cared about it. He sat in the inner room and stared dully at the wall.
He was roused from his torpor by footsteps in the office space, and Griick’s cheerful voice calling, “Fritz! Emma!” The pimpled young keeper came in, looked at his untouched tray and removed it without comment.
The biped got up, simply because it would have required mpre resolution to stay where he was. He followed the keeper into the office space.
The keeper was showing the tray to Griick and Wenzl, who stood side by side, Griick ample in brown broadcloth, Wenzl narrow in his white smock. “Nothing eaten, sirs.”
Wenzl glared, but Griick said expansively, “Never mind, never mind! Take it away, Rudi - this morning our guest is not so hungry, it’s natural! Now!” He rubbed his fat pink hands together, beaming. “But where is our beautiful Emma?” He turned. “Emma?”
The female was in the doorway of her room, peeping out, only one side of her face visible. At Griick’s command she advanced a few steps, then hesitated. Her arms were raised, both hands clasped tightly over her forehead, hiding the knob.
“But, Emma,” said Griick reproachfully, “is this our hospitality? When were we ever so impolite? And our friend’s first day, too!”
She made a wordless sound, looking at the biped.
“You are alarmed, Emma, he frightens you?” Griick asked, looking from one to another. Ah, loveling, there is nothing to be frightened of. You are going to be great friends - yes, you will see! And besides, Emma, what about all the work that is here?”
The female spoke up unexpectedly, in a thin, absurdly human voice. “Take him away, please, and I’ll do it all myself, Herr Doktor.” She glanced toward the biped, then ducked her head.
“No, no, Emma, that is not right. But let me tell you something. Because you are so alarmed, so frightened, we want you to be happy, Emma, we are going to do something to relieve this fear. (Wenzl, some chalk.) Fritz shall stay and help you with the work -”
“No, no.”
“Yes, yes! And you will like it, wait and see. (The chalk, Wenzl - ha!)” Wenzl had spoken sharply to Rudi, the pimpled young keeper, who, blushing, had fumbled in his pockets and produced a piece of pink chalk. Wenzl, snatching it, now handed it to Griick.
“See here, Emma,” said Griick soothingly, “we are going to draw a line on the floor. I draw it myself, because I want you to be happy - so …” Bending with a grunt, he began at the wall between the two bedroom doors and drew a wavering chalk line across the room, separating it into two roughly equal parts.
“Now,” he said from the far side, straightening up in panting triumph, “see here, Emma, on this side, Fritz stays. Correct, Fritz?”