Aldous Huxley Brave New World

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having her throat cut.
Feeling that it was time for him to do something, Bernard also jumped up and
shouted: "I hear him; He's coming." But it wasn't true. He heard nothing and, for
him, nobody was coming. Nobody in spite of the music, in spite of the mounting
excitement. But he waved his arms, he shouted with the best of them; and when
the others began to jig and stamp and shuffle, he also jigged and shuffled.
Round they went, a circular procession of dancers, each with hands on the hips of
the dancer preceding, round and round, shouting in unison, stamping to the rhythm
of the music with their feet, beating it, beating it out with hands on the buttocks in
front; twelve pairs of hands beating as one; as one, twelve buttocks slabbily
resounding. Twelve as one, twelve as one. "I hear Him, I hear Him coming." The
music quickened; faster beat the feet, faster, faster fell the rhythmic hands. And all
at once a great synthetic bass boomed out the words which announced the
approaching atonement and final consummation of solidarity, the coming of the
Twelve-in-One, the incarnation of the Greater Being. "Orgy-porgy," it sang, while the
tom-toms continued to beat their feverish tattoo:
"Orgy-porgy, Ford and fun,
Kiss the girls and make them One.
Boys at 0ne with girls at peace;
Orgy-porgy gives release."
"Orgy-porgy," the dancers caught up the liturgical refrain, "Orgy-porgy, Ford and
fun, kiss the girls & " And as they sang, the lights began slowly to fade to fade and
at the same time to grow warmer, richer, redder, until at last they were dancing in
the crimson twilight of an Embryo Store. "Orgy-porgy & " In their blood-coloured and
foetal darkness the dancers continued for a while to circulate, to beat and beat out
the indefatigable rhythm. "Orgy-porgy & " Then the circle wavered, broke, fell in
partial disintegration on the ring of couches which surrounded circle enclosing
circle the table and its planetary chairs. "Orgy-porgy & " Tenderly the deep Voice
crooned and cooed; in the red twilight it was as though some enormous negro dove
were hovering benevolently over the now prone or supine dancers.
They were standing on the roof; Big Henry had just sung eleven. The night was calm
and warm.
"Wasn't it wonderful?" said Fifi Bradlaugh. "Wasn't it simply wonderful?" She looked
at Bernard with an expression of rapture, but of rapture in which there was no trace
of agitation or excitement for to be excited is still to be unsatisfied. Hers was the
calm ecstasy of achieved consummation, the peace, not of mere vacant satiety and
nothingness, but of balanced life, of energies at rest and in equilibrium. A rich and
living peace. For the Solidarity Service had given as well as taken, drawn off only to
replenish. She was full, she was made perfect, she was still more than merely
herself. "Didn't you think it was wonderful?" she insisted, looking into Bernard's face
with those supernaturally shining eyes.
"Yes, I thought it was wonderful," he lied and looked away; the sight of her
transfigured face was at once an accusation and an ironical reminder of his own
separateness. He was as miserably isolated now as he had been when the service
began more isolated by reason of his unreplenished emptiness, his dead satiety.
Separate and unatoned, while the others were being fused into the Greater Being;
alone even in Morgana's embrace much more alone, indeed, more hopelessly
himself than he had ever been in his life before. He had emerged from that crimson
twilight into the common electric glare with a self-consciousness intensified to the
pitch of agony. He was utterly miserable, and perhaps (her shining eyes accused
him), perhaps it was his own fault. "Quite wonderful," he repeated; but the only
thing he could think of was Morgana's eyebrow.
Chapter Six
ODD, ODD, odd, was Lenina's verdict on Bernard Marx. So odd, indeed, that in the
course of the succeeding weeks she had wondered more than once whether she
shouldn't change her mind about the New Mexico holiday, and go instead to the
North Pole with Benito Hoover. The trouble was that she knew the North Pole, had
been there with George Edzel only last summer, and what was more, found it pretty
grim. Nothing to do, and the hotel too hopelessly old-fashioned no television laid
on in the bedrooms, no scent organ, only the most putrid synthetic music, and not
more than twenty-five Escalator-Squash Courts for over two hundred guests. No,
decidedly she couldn't face the North Pole again. Added to which, she had only been
to America once before. And even then, how inadequately! A cheap week-end in New
York had it been with Jean-Jacques Habibullah or Bokanovsky Jones? She couldn't
remember. Anyhow, it was of absolutely no importance. The prospect of flying West
again, and for a whole week, was very inviting. Moreover, for at least three days of
that week they would be in the Savage Reservation. Not more than half a dozen
people in the whole Centre had ever been inside a Savage Reservation. As an
Alpha-Plus psychologist, Bernard was one of the few men she knew entitled to a
permit. For Lenina, the opportunity was unique. And yet, so unique also was
Bernard's oddness that she had hesitated to take it, had actually thought of risking
the Pole again with funny old Benito. At least Benito was normal. Whereas Bernard &
"Alcohol in his blood-surrogate," was Fanny's explanation of every eccentricity. But
Henry, with whom, one evening when they were in bed together, Lenina had rather
anxiously discussed her new lover, Henry had compared poor Bernard to a
rhinoceros.
"You can't teach a rhinoceros tricks," he had explained in his brief and vigorous
style. "Some men are almost rhinoceroses; they don't respond properly to
conditioning. Poor Devils! Bernard's one of them. Luckily for him, he's pretty good at
his job. Otherwise the Director would never have kept him. However," he added
consolingly, "I think he's pretty harmless."
Pretty harmless, perhaps; but also pretty disquieting. That mania, to start with, for
doing things in private. Which meant, in practice, not doing anything at all. For what
was there that one could do in private. (Apart, of course, from going to bed: but one
couldn't do that all the time.) Yes, what was there? Precious little. The first
afternoon they went out together was particularly fine. Lenina had suggested a swim
at Toquay Country Club followed by dinner at the Oxford Union. But Bernard thought
there would be too much of a crowd. Then what about a round of Electro-magnetic
Golf at St. Andrew's? But again, no: Bernard considered that Electro-magnetic Golf
was a waste of time.
"Then what's time for?" asked Lenina in some astonishment.
Apparently, for going walks in the Lake District; for that was what he now proposed.
Land on the top of Skiddaw and walk for a couple of hours in the heather. "Alone
with you, Lenina."
"But, Bernard, we shall be alone all night."
Bernard blushed and looked away. "I meant, alone for talking," he mumbled. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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