Mishkin walked up and said, "Excuse me."
The men looked up. One of them said, "What's up, bub?"
"I'd like to get by," Mishkin said.
They stared at him as if he were crazy. "So walk around," one of the men said.
"I can't," Mishkin said.
"Why not? You lame or something?"
"Not at all," Mishkin said. "But the fact is, if I tried to walk around I would fall into the ravine. You see, there's no room between the chairs and the edge; or rather, there's an inch or two, but my balance isn't good enough for me to risk it."
The men stared at him. "Phil, did you ever hear anything like that?"
Phil shook his head. "I've heard some weird ones, Jack, but this takes the fur-lined pisspot for sure. Eddie, what do you think?"
"He's gotta be drunk. Huh, George?"
"Hard to say. What do you think, Burt?"
"I was just going to ask Jack what he thought," Burt looked at Mishkin. In a not unkindly manner, he said, "Look, fella, me and the boys are having this private poker game here in room 2212 of the Sheraton-Hilton, and you come in and say that you'll fall over the edge of a ravine if you walk around us, when the fact of the matter is that you shouldn't be in our room in the first place, but being here, you could walk around us all day without anything happening to you since this happens to be a hotel not a ravine."
"I think you are labouring under a delusion," Mishkin said. "It happens that you are not in a hotel room in the Sheraton-Hilton."
George, or possibly Phil, said, "Then where are we?"
"You are seated at a table situated on a plank over a ravine on a planet called Harmonia."
"You," said Phil, or possibly George, "are out of your ever-loving mind. Maybe we had a few drinks, but we do know what hotel we signed into."
"I don't know how it happened," Mishkin said, "but you are not where you think you are."
"We're on a plank over a ravine, huh?" Phil said.
"Exactly."
"So how come we think we're in room 2212 of the Sheraton-Hilton?"
"I don't know," Mishkin said. "Something very strange seems to have happened."
"Sure, it has," Burt said. "It's happened to your head. You're crazy."
"If anyone is crazy," Mishkin said, "you people are crazy."
The poker players laughed. George said, "Sanity is a matter of consensus. We say it's a hotel room and we outvote you four to one. That makes you crazy."
Phil said, "This damned city is full of nuts. Now they come up to your hotel room and tell you it's balanced on a plank over a ravine."
"Will you let me get by?" Mishkin asked.
"Suppose I do; where will you go?"
"To the other side of the ravine."
"If you go around us," Phil said, "you'll only come to the other side of the room."
"I don't think so," Mishkin said. "And, although I wish to be tolerant of your opinions, in this case I can see that they are based upon a false assumption. Let me get by and you can see for yourself."
Phil yawned and stood up. "I was going to the crapper, anyhow, so you can get by me. But when you reach the end of the room, will you turn around again like a good boy and get the hell out of here?"
"If it's a room, I promise to leave at once."
Phil stood up, took two steps back from the table, and fell into the ravine. His scream echoed and re-echoed as he fell into the depths.
George said, "Those goddamned police sirens are getting on my nerves."
Mishkin edged past the table, holding on to its edge, and made it to the other side of the ravine. The robot followed. Once they were both safe, Mishkin called out, "Did you see? It was a ravine."
George said, "While he's at it, I hope Phil gets Tom out of the crapper. He's been there about half an hour."
"Hey," Burt said, "where did the nut go?"
The card players looked around. "He's gone," George said. "Maybe he went into a closet."
"Nope," Burt said, "I've been watching the closet."
"Did he jump out a window?"
"You can't open the windows."
"Too much," George said. "That's really one for the books… Hey, Phil, hurry up!"
"You can never get him out of the crapper," Burt said. "How about a little gin rummy?"
"You're on," Burt said, and shuffled the cards.
Mishkin watched them for a few minutes then continued into the forest.
15
Mishkin asked the robot, "What was that all about?"
"I am reviewing the information now," the robot said. He was silent for a few minutes.
Then he said, "They did it with mirrors."
"That seems unlikely."
"All hypotheses concerning the present sequence of events are unlikely," the robot said. "Would you prefer me to say that we and the card players met at a discontinuity point in the space-time continuum in which two planes of reality intersected?"
"I think I would prefer that," Mishkin said.
"Simpleminded sod. Shall we go on?"
"Let's. I just hope the car works."
"It had better work," the robot said. "I spent three hours rewiring the generator."
Their car — a white Citroen with mushroom-shaped tyres and a hydraulic tail-light system — was parked just ahead of them in a little clearing. Mishkin got in and started up.
The robot stretched out on the back seat.
"What are you doing?" Mishkin asked.
"I thought I'd take a little nap."
"Robots never sleep."
"Sorry. I meant that I was going to take a little pseudo-nap."
"That's OK," Mishkin said, putting the car into gear and taking off.
16
Mishkin drove across a green and pleasant meadow for several hours. He came at last into a narrow dirt road that led between giant willow trees and then into a driveway. In front of him was a castle. He awakened the robot from his pseudo-snooze.
"Interesting," said the robot. "Did you notice the sign?"
In front of the castle, tacked up on a young spruce tree, was a sign reading: IMAGINARY CASTLE.
"What does it mean?" Mishkin asked.
"It means that some people have the decency to state a simple truth, and thus to avoid confusing passersby. An imaginary castle is one that has no counterpart in objective reality."
"Let's go in and take a look at it," Mishkin said.
"But I have just explained to you. The castle is not real. There is literally nothing to see."
"I want to see it, anyhow," Mishkin said.
"You have already read the sign."
"But maybe that's a lie or a joke."
"If you can't believe what is written plain as day," the robot said, "then how can you believe anything? You have observed, I hope, that the sign is exceptionally well made, and that the lettering is plain, forthright, and not at all flamboyant. In the right-hand corner is the seal of the Department of Public Works, an unimpeachable and businesslike organization whose motto is Noli me tangere. It is evident that they have classified this castle as a public service so that no one will walk into it thinking that he is in a real castle. Or isn't the Department of Public Works a reliable service to you?"
"It is a very acceptable reference," Mishkin said. "But maybe the seal is a forgery."
"That is typically paranoid thinking," the robot said. "First, despite its solid and commonplace air of reality, you consider the sign a lie or a joke (the two are essentially the same thing). Then, when you learn the source of this so-called «joke», you think that perhaps it is a forgery. Suppose I succeed in proving to you the authenticity and sincerity of the sign makers? I suppose that you would insist, despite the accepted principle of Ockham's razor, that the sign makers are imaginary, or deluded, and that the castle is real."