Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. The Final Circle of Paradise---------------------------------------------------------------------------© Copyright by Arkady Strugatsky, Boris Strugatsky© Copyright by Leonid Renen, english translationPublished by D.A.W. Books, Inc; November 1976."Hishnye veshi veka" (in Russian)"Tidsålderns rovgiriga ting" (in Sweeden)---------------------------------------------------------------------------("Hischnye Veschi Veka", "Century's Ravenous Pleasures")There is but one problem --the only one in the world --to restore to men a spiritualcontent, spiritual concerns....-- A de St. ExuperyChapter ONEThe customs inspector had a round smooth face whichregistered the most benevolent of attitudes. He wasrespectfully cordial and solicitous."Welcome," he murmured. "How do you like our sunshine?" Heglanced at the passport in my hand. "Beautiful morning, isn'tit?"I proffered him my passport and stood the suitcase on thewhite counter. The inspector rapidly leafed through it with hislong careful fingers. He was dressed in a white uniform withsilver buttons and silver braid on the shoulders. He laid thepassport aside and touched the suitcase with the tips of hisfingers."Curious," he said. "The case has not yet dried. It isdifficult to imagine that somewhere the weather can be bad.""Yes," I said with a sigh, "we are already well into theautumn," and opened the suitcase.The inspector smiled sympathetically and glanced at itabsent-mindedly. "It's impossible amid our sunshine tovisualize an autumn. Thank you, that will be quite allright.... Rain, wet roofs, wind..."And what if I have something hidden under the linen?" Iasked -- I don't appreciate conversations about the weather. Helaughed heartily."Just an empty formality," he said. "Tradition. Aconditioned reflex of all customs inspectors, if you will." Hehanded me a sheet of heavy paper. "And here is anotherconditioned reflex. Please read it -- it's rather unusual. Andsign it if you don't mind."I read. It was a law concerning immigration, printed inelegant type on heavy paper and in four languages. Immigrationwas absolutely forbidden. The customs man regarded me steadily."Curious, isn't it?" he asked."In any case it's intriguing," I replied, drawing myfountain pen. "Where do I sign?""Where and how you please," said the customs man. "Justacross will do."
I signed under the Russian text over the line "I have beeninformed on the immigration laws."'Thank you," said the customs man, filing the paper awayin his desk, 'Now you know practically all our laws. And duringyour entire stay -- How long will you be staying with us?"I shrugged my shoulders."It's difficult to say in advance. Depends on how the workwill go.""Shall we say a month?"'That would be about it. Let's say a month.""And during this whole month," he bent over the passportmaking some notation, "during this entire month you won't needany other laws." He handed me my passport. "I shouldn't evenhave to mention that you can prolong your stay with us to anyreasonable extent. But in the meantime, let it be thirty days.If you find it desirable to stay longer, visit the policestation on the 16th of May and pay one dollar... You havedollars?""Yes.""That's fine. By the way, it is not at all necessary tohave exclusively a dollar. We accept any currency. Rubles,pounds, cruzeiros.""I don't have cruzeiros," I said. 'I have only dollars,rubles, and some English pounds. Will that suit you?""Undoubtedly. By the way, so as not to forget, would youplease deposit ninety dollars and seventy-two cents.""With pleasure," I said, "but why?""It's customary. To guarantee the minimum needs. We havenever had anyone with us who did not have some needs."I counted out ninety-one dollars, and without sittingdown, he proceeded to write out a receipt. His neck grew redfrom the awkward position. I looked around. The white counterstretched along the entire pavilion. On the other side of thebarrier, customs inspectors in white smiled cordially, laughed,explained things in a confidential manner. On this side,brightly clad tourists shuffled impatiently, snapped suitcaselocks, and gaped excitedly. While they waited they feverishlythumbed through advertising brochures, loudly devised all kindsof plans, secretly and openly anticipated happy days ahead, andnow thirsted to surmount the white counter as quickly aspossible. Sedate London clerks and their athletic-lookingbrides, pushy Oklahoma farmers in bright shirts hanging outsideBermuda shorts and sandals over bare feet, Turin workers withtheir well-rouged wives and numerous children, small-timeCatholic bosses from Spain, Finnish lumbermen with their pipesconsiderately banked, Hungarian basketball players, Iranianstudents, union organizers from Zambia...The customs man gave me my receipt and counted outtwenty-eight cents change."Well -- there is all the formality. I hope I haven'tdetained you too long. May I wish you a pleasant stay!""Thank you," I said and took my suitcase.He regarded me with his head slightly bent sideways,smiling out of his bland, smooth face."Through this turnstile, please. Au revoir. May Ionce more wish you the best."I went out on the plaza following an Italian pair withfour kids and two robot redcaps.
The sun stood high over mauve mountains. Everything in theplaza was bright and shiny and colorful. A bit too bright andcolorful, as it usually is in resort towns. Gleamingorange-and-red buses surrounded by tourist crowds, shiny andpolished green of the vegetation in the squares with white,blue, yellow, and gold pavilions, kiosks, and tents. Mirrorlikesurfaces, vertical, horizontal, and inclined, which flared withsunbursts. Smooth matte hexagons underfoot and under the wheels-- red, black, and gray, just slightly springy and smotheringthe sound of footsteps. I put down the suitcase and donnedsunglasses.Out of all the sunny towns it has been my luck to visit,this was without a doubt the sunniest. And that was all wrong.It would have been much easier if the day had been gray, ifthere had been dirt and mud, if the pavilion had also been graywith concrete walls, and if on that wet concrete was scratchedsomething obscene, tired, and pointless, born of boredom. ThenI would probably feel like working at once. I am positive ofthis because such things are irritating and demand action. It'sstill hard to get used to the idea that poverty can be wealthy.And so the urge is lacking and there is no desire to beginimmediately, but rather to take one of these buses, like thered-and-blue one, and take off to the beach, do a little scubadiving, get a tan, play some ball, or find Peck, stretch out onthe floor in some cool room and reminisce on all the good stuffso that he could ask about Bykov, about the Trans-Plutoexpedition, about the new ships on which I too am behind thetimes, but still know better than he, and so that he couldrecollect the uprising and boast of his scars and his highsocial position.... It would be most convenient if Peck didhave a high social position. It would be well if he were, forexample, a mayor....A small darkish rotund individual in a white suit and around white hat set at a rakish angle approached deliberately,wiping his lips with a dainty handkerchief. The hat wasequipped with a transparent green shade and a green ribbon onwhich was stamped "Welcome." On his right earlobe glistened apendant radio."Welcome aboard," said the man."Hello," said I."A pleasure to have you with us. My name is Ahmad.""And my name is Ivan," said I. "Pleased to make youracquaintance."We nodded to each other and regarded the tourists enteringthe buses. They were happily noisy and the warm wind rolledtheir discarded butts and crumpled candy wrappers along thesquare. Ahmad's face bore a green tint from the light filteringthrough his cap visor."Vacationers," he said. "Carefree and loud. Now they willbe taken to their hotels and will immediately rush off to thebeaches.""I wouldn't mind a run on water skis," I observed."Really? I never would have guessed. There's nothing youlook less like than a vacationer.""So be it," I said. "In fact I did come to work""To work? Well, that happens too, some do come to workhere. Two years back Jonathan Kreis came here to paint apicture." He laughed. "Later there was an assault-and-battery
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Arkady and Boris Strugatsky - The Final Circle of Paradise
In this book the author talks about society where people are less and less interested in they actual job in the real world, more and more preferring various leisure activities. The authors present these activities as…
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