Actually, there was nothing to stop him from going out there now … there were some magazines in the rack, he remembered, with bright covers. He could scoop them up and come straight back in. But he hesitated to make the move.
It was extraordinary how hateful a row of human faces could be, staring in at you over an iron railing, with their great fat jaws moving as they chewed.
He stood up restlessly. Hell and damnation! There was nothing to do here except read Brecht’s Planet again, and nothing to do in the office. His work was all cleaned up, and there was no point in trying to smuggle out another letter until he found out what had happened to the first one.
Anxiety seized him again, and he began pacing back and forth.
Surely nothing could have gone wrong?
When the first batch of signed correspondence had come down from upstairs to be folded and sealed in envelopes, the biped had simply added his to the pile. Rudi, the pimply young keeper, had carried them out on his next trip. There was no reason to suppose that stamped, sealed letters were inspected by Griick or anyone. The keeper probably took them directly to the post box.
But he had been waiting for a week. If Stein had received the letter, why hadn’t something happened before now?
FROM Emma’s living room next door he heard a faint creak, a pause, another creak. Probably she had got up from her chair for something, then sat down again … all in full view of the crowd, naturally.
That decided him. He looked at the open doorway, then stiffened himself and walked through it, looking straight ahead.
The first moment was even worse than he had expected. The room was enormous and empty; the window was crowded with faces. He tried to shut them out of his awareness, looking only at the magazines, which now seemed much less attractive than he had remembered them. After a moment it began to be easier to go on than to turn back, but his mouth was still dry and his heart thumped painfully. Outside, there was a steady movement along the railing as people who had been staring at Emma came over to stare at him.
Walking stiffly, the biped reached the relaxing chair and leaned past it to get the magazines. Be natural, he ordered himself. Pick up the magazines, turn …
Outside the wall of glass, people were waving to attract his attention. There were cries of “Ah, just look!” and “Fritz, hello!” A blond child, carried on his father’s shoulder so as to see better, turned suddenly beet-red and began to cry. Several people were aiming cameras. Through the uproar, just as he turned away, the biped thought he heard his name called.
He turned incredulously.
In the front line of the crowd, wedged in between two fat matrons, was a mediumsized man in a gray surcoat with a wad of paper in his hand. His eyes, friendly and inquisitive, were looking straight into the biped’s. His mouth moved, and once more the biped thought he heard his name spoken, but the noise was so great that he could not be sure.
The man in gray smiled slightly, raised his wad of paper, then wrote something on it with careful, firm motions. He held the paper up. On it was lettered, “ARE YOU NAUMCHIK?”
The biped felt a rush of joy and gratitude that almost choked him. He fell against the glass, nodding vehemently and pointing to himself. “I am Naumchik!”! he shouted.
The man in gray nodded reassuringly, folded up his paper and tucked it away. With a wave of his hand, he turned and began to struggle out of the crowd.
“Fritz! Fritz!” yelled all the red faces.
THE BIPED waited, pacing up and down, for twenty minutes by the big office clock, and still nothing happened. He knew he should control his impatience, that the gray man might be upstairs at this moment, arguing for his release; but it was no use, he had to do something or burst.
He eyed the telephone. He had been forbidden to use it except for routine calls in connection with his work. But to the devil with that! The biped strode to the phone, swung out the listening unit. The call light began to pulse. After a moment the voice of the switchboard girl spoke faintly from the instrument: “Please?”
“This is Martin Naumchik,” said the biped, feeling as he spoke that the words sounded subtly false. “I want to speak to Dr. Griick. Please connect me with him.”
“Who did you say you are?” Martin -” the biped began, and swallowed. All right then, never mind, this is Fritz the biped. I want to speak-”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Is there anything wrong with the work?”
“No, the work is finished. It’s something quite urgent, so if you will kindly-”
“Is anything wrong in the cage?”
“No, but I must speak to Griick. Look here, whatever your name is, kindly don’t argue and just let me speak to-”
“My name is Fraiilein Muller,” her voice broke in coldly, “and I have instructions not to let the animals make personal telephone calls. So if there is no emergency, and nothing wrong with your work-”
“I tell you it’s urgent!” howled the biped. With mounting fury, he went on shouting into the mouthpiece. “You idiotic woman, if you prevent me from speaking to Griick, there will be an accounting, I promise you! Make that connection at once, or - Hello? Do you hear me? Hello, Fraiilein Miiller, hello?”
The empty hum of the line answered him.
With shaking fingers, the biped closed the instrument and then yanked it open again. The call light pulsed, and went on pulsing.
The female’s greenish, widejawed head was visible beyond her doorframe as the biped turned. “Well, what are you staring at?” he shouted. The head vanished.
The biped sat down abruptly in his desk chair, kneading his threefingered hands nervously together. It was intolerable to be shut up like this now, just when his freedom was perhaps so near. If something was about to happen, the least they could do was to let him know, not leave him in the dark like this. After all, whose life was at stake? But that was always the way with these inflated bureaucrats, they couldn’t see past their own fat noses. Let the lower ranks wait and worry for nothing. What did they care?
Oh, but just let him get out, and then! What an expose he would write! What a series! Shocking Inhumanity of Zoo Keepers! His nervousness, which had abated a little, increased again and he sprang to his feet. Let him once get out, that was all - just let him get out! The rest would not matter so much, even if he were condemned …
He paused to listen. Yes, there came the sound again. The door was opening.
THE biped ran to the passage, but it was not Griick or the man in gray, only Rudi with his little cart.
“Oh, you,” said the biped, turning away dully.
“Yes, me,” Rudi answered with spirit. “Who else should it be, I’d like to know? Who does all the hard work around here, and gets no thanks for it?” He pushed his cart into the office space, grumbling all the time, without looking at the biped. “Does Herr Doktor Griick feed the rhino, or the thunderbirds? Who pokes the meat down the boa constrictor’s throat with a broomstick, Wenzl? Does Rausch swamp out the monkeys’ cages, or is it me? You bipeds are not so bad, at least you clean up after yourselves, but some of these beasts, you wouldn’t believe how filthy they are! They throw things on the floor, they let themselves go just where they feel like it … Well, that’s life. Some live on the fat of the land, and others have to work up to their elbows in monkey dirt.” With a scowl, he took a small object off his cart and threw it onto the nearest desk. “There’s some soap for you. You’re to clean yourself up and be interviewed, and the order is to hurry. So don’t be late, mind, or I’ll get the blame, not you.”