Page:Evgenii Zamyatin - We (Zilboorg translation).pdf/71
“I am writing something for your Integral. Yes. . . . I am!” He was himself again: bubbling, sprinkling lips, words splashing like a fountain.
“You see, it is the ancient legend of paradise.” (“p” like a fountain.) “That legend referred to us of today, did it not? Yes. Only think of it, think of it a moment! There were two in paradise and the choice was offered to them: happiness without freedom, or freedom without happiness. No other choice. Tertium non datur. They, fools that they were, chose freedom. Naturally, for centuries afterward they longed for fetters, for the fetters of yore. This was the meaning of their world weariness, Weltschmerz. For centuries! And only we found a way to regain happiness. . . . No, listen, follow me! The ancient god and we, side by side at the same table! Yes, we helped god to defeat the devil definitely and finally. It was he, the devil, who led people to transgression, to taste pernicious freedom—he, the cunning serpent. And we came along, planted a boot on his head, and . . . squash! Done with him! Paradise again! We returned to the simple-mindedness and innocence of Adam and Eve. No more meddling with good and evil and all that; everything is simple again, heavenly, childishly simple! The Well-Doer, the Machine, the Cube, the giant Gas Bell, the Guardians—all these are good. All this is magnificent, beautiful, noble, lofty, crystalline, pure. For all this preserves our non-freedom, that is, our happiness. In our place those ancients would indulge in discussions, deliberations, etc. They would break their heads trying to make out what was moral or unmoral. But we . . . Well, in short, these are the highlights of my little paradise poem. What do you think of it? And above all the style is most solemn, pious. Understand me? Nice little idea, is it not? Do you understand?”
Of course I understood. I remember my thoughts at that moment: “His appearance is nonsensical and lacking in symmetry, yet what an orderly-working mind he has!” This made him dear to me, that is to the real me. (I