IMPLORE CONTROL INSULT INSIST OVERMASTER
With a physical effort he calmed himself, strove to regain himself, to speak with his own voice and with words chosen from his own mind. “You call it cruelty for a husband to give his wife liberty and the honorable protection of his name, simply on the condition of observing the proprieties: is that cruelty?”
“It’s worse than cruel-it’s base, if you want to know!” Anna cried in a rush of hatred, and rose to leave.
“No!” he shrieked, in his shrill voice, which pitched a note higher than usual even, and at once she felt what Vronsky had felt in the hallway: her body frozen and then snatched up like a poppet in the hand of a child, tossed in the air and slammed into the ceiling, helpless, pressure squeezing upon her throat, the breath choked out of her. Her husband stared up at her where she flailed in the air, a fish on a hook.
“Base! If you care to use that word, what is base is to forsake husband and child for a lover, while you eat your husband’s bread!”
He stared up at her, his oculus telescoping forward ominously, click by click, and she felt the whole of her body forced flatter against the ceiling. She had to argue her case, make him feel her, her humanity, or this was the end-he would destroy her.
“NO!” HE SHRIEKED, AND ANNA FELT HER BODY SLAMMED INTO THE CEILING, PRESSURE SQUEEZING UPON HER THROAT
“You cannot describe my position as worse than I feel it to be myself,” she cried out desperately. “Alexei…
“I beg of you, Alexei…
“Alexei…”
“Ah!” he shouted finally, and released his mental hold. She fell, landing fortuitously-or had some breath of humanity inside him guided her there?-into her chair.
COWARD COWARD COWARD
Anna gasped for breath in the chair, each swallow of air as delicious as the finest wine. She did not say what she had said the evening before to her lover, that he was her husband, and her husband was superfluous; she did not even think that. She felt glad to be alive, and in that state she could not help but feel all the justice of his words. She sat in silence as he continued.
“You may know that since you have not carried out my wishes in regard to observing outward decorum, I will take measures to put an end to this state of things.”
“Soon, very soon, it will end, anyway,” she said.
“It will end sooner than you and your lover have planned! If you must have the satisfaction of animal passion…”
“Alexei Alexandrovich! I won’t say it’s not generous, but it’s not like a gentleman to strike anyone who’s down.”
“Yes, you only think of yourself! But the sufferings of a man who was your husband have no interest for you. You don’t care that his whole life is ruined, that he is thuff… thuff…”
Alexei Alexandrovich was speaking so quickly that he stammered, and was utterly unable to articulate the word “suffering.”
DONKEY!
IF YOU CANNOT DESTROY, AT LEAST SUMMON THE COURAGE TO SPEAK PLAINLY, YOU FOOL-YOU FAKE-YOU-
In a paroxysm of anger and exasperation, Alexei Alexandrovich clutched at his Face, trying in vain to tear it from him, to rip free the millions of tiny neural junctures that connected the Face’s circuits to his own cell walls. Anna watched in horrified fascination as her husband, screaming with the full force of his lungs, turned in haphazard circles about the room, wrenching at the cruel metal mask. Though she did not, could not, understand what had overtaken him, for the first time, for an instant, she felt for him, put herself in his place, and was sorry for him. But what could she say or do? Her head sank, and she sat silent. He too was silent for some time, and then began speaking in a frigid, less shrill voice, emphasizing random words that had no special significance.
At last he gave up, collapsed in a woeful heap in the opposite corner of the room.
“I came to tell you…,” he said at last, softly and slowly…
She glanced at him. No, to feel sorry for him, it was my fancy, she thought, recalling the expression of his face when he stumbled over the word “suffering.” No, can a man with those dull eyes, with that self-satisfied complacency, feel anything?
“I cannot change anything,” she whispered.
“I have come to tell you that I am going tomorrow to Moscow, and shall not return again to this house, and you will receive notice of what I decide through the lawyer into whose hands I shall entrust the task of getting a divorce. My son is going to my sister’s,” said Alexei Alexandrovich, with an effort recalling what he had meant to say about his son.
“You take Seryozha to hurt me,” she said, looking at him from under her brows. “You do not love him… Leave me Seryozha!”
“Yes, I have lost even my affection for my son, because he is associated with the repulsion I feel for you. But still I shall take him. Good-bye!”
The interview was complete. Anna revivified her beloved-companion and left in tears.
In the echoing chambers of Alexei Alexandrovich’s brain, the Face was silent; but it was the silence of the victor, a jubilant silence, anticipating glories to come. Its goal grew closer-closer with every passing day.
CHAPTER 4
ALEXEI ALEXANDROVICH LEFT HOME with the intention of not returning to his family again. He discussed his intention of obtaining a divorce with a lawyer; by this action he had translated the matter from the world of real life to the world of bureaucratic action, he had grown more and more used to his own intention, and by now distinctly perceived the feasibility of its execution.
He traveled then to Moscow, where he was to oversee the final adjustments to the improved Class III model that he had created-what he now with some audacity called the Class IV As he worked in his sub-basement laboratory, double-checking the precision sighting mechanism embedded in the steely blue eyes of his masterpiece, he heard the loud tones of Stepan Arkadyich’s voice. Stepan Arkadyich was disputing with Karenin’s II/Footman/74, and insisting on being announced.
Alexei Alexandrovich thought to bar the visitor, or hide the Class IV from sight, as his own security protocol dictated, and as he could do with a single button push. But he impulsively decided instead to give his ridiculous brother-in-law a treat, and let the thing remain in view.
LET HIM ENTER. LET HIM SEE WHAT RUSSIA IS TRULY CAPABLE OF.
“Come in!” he said aloud, collecting his papers, and putting them in the blotting paper.
“There, you see, you’re talking nonsense, and he’s here!” responded Stepan Arkadyich’s voice, addressing the Footman, which had refused to let him in; and taking off his coat as he went, Oblonsky walked into the room. “Well, I’m awfully glad I’ve found you! So I hope while you are in Moscow, you will come and dine with us…” Stepan Arkadyich began cheerfully, before stopping short and gasping.
“What… Alexei Alexandrovich, what is that?”
“Surely even in the Department of Toys and Misc., it is being discussed that the Higher Branches are planning, at long last, a new iteration of robot. Stepan Arkadyich Oblonsky, meet the Class IV”
“But… but…,” Oblonsky stammered, staring openmouthed while Small Stiva scuttled backward whirring with alarm. Karenin smiled, drinking in their discomfort. “But what will you do with them?”
OH SO MANY THINGS
SO MANY THINGS
OH
But Alexei merely raised his eyebrow. “Our world is ever-changing, Stepan Arkadyich,” he said mildly. “Our beloved-companions must change, too.
“Now. As to your kind inquiry, no-I cannot come to dinner,” Alexei Alexandrovich continued, standing and not asking his visitor to sit down. “I can’t dine at your house, because the terms of the relationship which have existed between us must cease.”