Page:Evgenii Zamyatin - We (Zilboorg translation).pdf/98

in order to fly, but we don’t need to fly anywhere. We have arrived at the terminus. We have found what we wanted. Is that not so?”

I nodded vaguely. He glanced at me and laughed a scalpel-like, metallic laugh. The other doctor overheard us and stamped out of his room on his heavy legs. He picked up the thin doctor with his horn eyes, then picked me up.

“What is the matter—a soul? You say a soul? Oh, damn it! We may soon retrogress even to the cholera epidemics. I told you”—he tossed the thin one on the horns—“I told you the only thing to do is to operate on them all, wholesale! Simply extirpate the center for fancy. Only surgery can help here, only surgery.” He put on a pair of enormous X-ray spectacles and remained thus for a long while, looking into my skull, through the bones into my brain, and making notes.

“Very, very curious! Listen.” He looked firmly into my eyes. “Wouldn’t you consent to have me perform an extirpation on you? It would be invaluable to the United State; it might help us prevent an epidemic. If you have no special reasons, of course . . .”

Some time ago I should probably have said without hesitation, “I am willing,” but now— I was silent. I caught the profile of the thin doctor; I implored him!

“You see,” he said at last, “Number D-503 is building the Integral, and I am sure the operation would interfere. . . .”

“Ah-h!” grumbled the other, and stamped back into his room.

We remained alone. The paper-like hand was put lightly and caressingly upon mine, the profile-like face came nearer, and he said in a very low voice: “I shall tell you a secret. You are not the only one. My colleague is right when he speaks of an epidemic. Try to remember, haven’t you noticed yourself, someone with something similar, very similar, identical?”