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Record Six

An Accident
The Cursed “It’s Clear”
Twenty-four Hours

I must repeat, I have made it my duty to write concealing nothing. Therefore I must point out now that, sad as it may be, the process of the hardening and crystallization of life has evidently not been completed even here in our State. A few steps more and we will be within reach of our ideal. The ideal (it’s clear) is to be found where nothing happens, but here. . . . I will give you an example: in the State paper I read that in two days the holiday of Justice will be celebrated on the Plaza of the Cube. This means that again some Number has impeded the smooth running of the great State machine. Again something that was not foreseen, or forecalculated, happened.

Besides, something happened to me. True, it occurred during the personal hour, that is during the time specifically assigned to unforeseen circumstances, yet . . .

At about sixteen (to be exact, ten minutes to sixteen), I was at home. Suddenly the telephone:

“D-503?”—a woman’s voice.

“Yes.”

“Are you free?”

“Yes.”