Lem, Stanislaw (3 page)

Klapaucius suddenly cried. "That's the bed of a dried-out stream

and it leads to cliffs and caves —faster, faster, the thing'll

have to stop soon!…"

So they raced uphill, stumbling and

waving their arms to keep their balance, but the machine still gained

on them. Scrambling up over the gravel of the dried-out riverbed,

they reached a crevice in the perpendicular rock and, seeing high

above them the murky mouth of a cave, began to climb frantically

toward it, no longer caring about the loose stones that flew from

under their feet. The opening in the rock breathed chill and

darkness. As quickly as they could, they leaped inside, ran a few

extra steps, then stopped.

"Well, here at least we're safe,"

said Trurl, calm once again. "I'll just take a look, to see

where it got stuck…"

"Be careful," cautioned

Klapaucius. Trurl inched his way to the edge of the cave, leaned out,

and immediately jumped back in fright.

"It's coming up the mountain!!"

he cried.

"Don't worry, it'll never be able

to get in here," said Klapaucius, not altogether convinced. "But

what's that? Is it getting dark? Oh no!"

At that moment a great shadow blotted

out the bit of sky visible through the mouth of the cave, and in its

place appeared a smooth steel wall with rows of rivets. It was the

machine slowly closing with the rock, thereby sealing up the cave as

if with a mighty metal lid.

"We're trapped…"

whispered Trurl, his voice breaking off when the darkness became

absolute.

"That was idiotic on our part!"

Klapaucius exclaimed, furious. "To jump into a cave that it

could barricade! How could we have done such a thing?"

"What do you think it's waiting

for now?" asked Trurl after a long pause.

"For us to give up—that

doesn't take any great brains."

Again there was silence. Trurl tiptoed

in the darkness, hands outstretched, in the direction of the opening,

running his fingers along the stone until he touched the smooth

steel, which was warm, as if heated from within…

"I feel Trurl …"

boomed the iron voice. Trurl hastily retreated, took a seat alongside

his friend, and for some time they sat there, motionless. At last

Klapaucius whispered:

"There's no sense our just

sitting here. I'll try to reason with it…"

"That's hopeless," said

Trurl. "But go ahead. Perhaps it will at least let you go free…"

"Now, now, none of that!"

said Klapaucius, patting him on the back. And he groped his way

toward the mouth of the cave and called: "Hello out there, can

you hear us?"

"Yes," said the machine.

"Listen, we'd like to apologize.

You see… well, there was a little misunderstanding, true, but

it was nothing, really. Trurl had no intention of…"

"I'll pulverize Trurl!" said

the machine. "But first, he'll tell me how much two and two

makes."

"Of course he will, of course he

will, and you'll be happy with his answer, and make it up with him

for sure, isn't that right, Trurl?" said the mediator

soothingly.

"Yes, of course…"

mumbled Trurl.

"Really?" said the machine.

"Then how much is two and two?"

"Fo… that is, seven…"

said Trurl in an even lower voice.

"Ha! Not four, but seven, eh?"

crowed the machine. "There, I told you so!"

"Seven, yes, seven, we always

knew it was seven!" Klapaucius eagerly agreed. "Now will

you, uh, let us go?" he added cautiously.

"No. Let Trurl say how sorry he

is and tell me how much is two times two…"

"And you'll let us go, if I do?"

asked Trurl.

"I don't know. I'll think about

it. I'm not making any deals. What's two times two?"

"But you probably will let us go,

won't you?" said Trurl, while Klapaucius pulled on his arm and

hissed in his ear: "The thing's an imbecile, don't argue with

it, for heaven's sake!"

"I won't let you go, if I don't

want to," said the machine. "You just tell me how much two

times two is…"

Suddenly Trurl fell into a rage.

"I'll tell you, I'll tell you all

right!" he screamed. "Two and two is four and two times two

is four, even if you stand on your head, pound these mountains all to

dust, drink the ocean dry and swallow the sky—do you hear? Two

and two is four!!"

"Trurl! What are you saying? Have

you taken leave of your senses? Two and two is seven, nice machine!

Seven, seven!!" howled Klapaucius, trying to drown out his

friend.

"No! It's four! Four and only

four, four from the beginning to the end of time—FOUR!!"

bellowed Trurl, growing hoarse.

The rock beneath their feet was seized

with a feverish tremor.

The machine moved away from the cave,

letting in a little pale light, and gave a piercing scream:

"That's not true! It's seven! Say

it's seven or I'll hit you!"

"Never!" roared Trurl, as if

he no longer cared what happened, and pebbles and dirt rained

down on their heads, for the machine had begun to ram its eight-story

hulk again and again into the wall of stone, hurling itself against

the mountainside until huge boulders broke away and went tumbling

down into the valley.

Thunder and sulfurous fumes filled the

cave, and sparks flew from the blows of steel on rock, yet through

all this pandemonium one could still make out, now and then, the

ragged voice of Trurl bawling:

"Two and two is four! Two and two

is four!!" Klapaucius attempted to shut his friend's mouth by

force, but, violently thrown off, he gave up, sat and covered his

head with his arms. Not for a moment did the machine's mad efforts

flag, and it seemed that any minute now the ceiling would collapse,

crush the prisoners and bury them forever. But when they had lost all

hope, and the air was thick with acrid smoke and choking dust, there

was suddenly a horrible scraping, and a sound like a slow

explosion, louder than all the maniacal banging and battering, and

the air whooshed, and the black wall that blocked the cave was

whisked away, as if by a hurricane, and monstrous chunks of rock came

crashing down after it. The echoes of that avalanche still rumbled

and reverberated in the valley below when the two friends peered out

of their cave. They saw the machine. It lay smashed and flattened,

nearly broken in half by an enormous boulder that had landed in the

middle of its eight floors. With the greatest care they picked their

way down through the smoking rubble. In order to reach the riverbed,

it was necessary to pass the remains of the machine, which resembled

the wreck of some mighty vessel thrown up upon a beach. Without a

word, the two stopped together in the shadow of its twisted hull. The

machine still quivered slightly, and one could hear something

turning, creaking feebly, within.

"Yes, this is the bad end you've

come to, and two and two is—as it always was—" began

Trurl, but just then the machine made a faint, barely audible

croaking noise and said, for the last time, "SEVEN."

Then something snapped inside, a few

stones dribbled down from overhead, and now before them lay nothing

but a lifeless mass of scrap. The two constructors exchanged a look

and silently, without any further comment or conversation,

walked back the way they came.

A Good

Shellacking

Someone was knocking at the door of

Klapaucius the constructor. He looked out and saw a potbellied

machine on four short legs.

"Who are you and what do you

want?" he asked.

"I'm a Machine to Grant Your

Every Wish and have been sent here by your good friend and colleague,

Trurl the Magnificent, as a gift."

"A gift, eh?" replied

Klapaucius, whose feelings for Trurl were mixed, to say the least. He

was particularly irked by the phrase "Trurl the Magnificent."

But after a little thought he said, "All right, you can come

in."

He had it stand in the corner by the

grandfather clock while he returned to his work, a squat machine on

three short legs, which was almost completed—he was just

putting on the finishing touches. After a while the Machine to

Grant Your Every Wish cleared its throat and said:

"I'm still here."

"I haven't forgotten you,"

said Klapaucius, not looking up. After another while the machine

cleared its throat again and asked:

"May I ask what you're making

there?"

"Are you a Machine to Grant

Wishes or a Machine to Ask Questions?" said Klapaucius, but

added: "I need some blue paint."

"I hope it's the right shade,"

said the machine, opening a door in its belly and pulling out a

bucket of blue. Klapaucius dipped his brush in it without a word

and began to paint. In the next few hours he needed sandpaper, some

Carborundum, a brace and bit, white paint and one No. 5 screw, all of

which the machine handed over on the spot.

That evening he covered his work with

a sheet of canvas, had dinner, then pulled up a chair opposite the

machine and said:

"Now we'll see what you can do.

So you say you can grant every wish…"

"Most every wish," replied

the machine modestly. "The paint, sandpaper and No. 5 screw were

satisfactory, I hope?"

"Quite, quite," said

Klapaucius. "But now I have in mind something a bit more

difficult. If you can't do it, I'll return you to your master with my

kind thanks and a professional opinion."

"All right, what is it?"

asked the machine, fidgeting.

"A Trurl," said Klapaucius.

"I want a Trurl, the spit and image of Trurl himself, so alike

that no one could ever tell them apart."

The machine muttered and hummed and

finally said:

"Very well, I'll make you a

Trurl. But please handle him with care—he is, after all, a

truly magnificent constructor."

"Oh but of course, you needn't

worry about that," said Klapaucius. "Well, where is it?"

"What, right away?" said the

machine. "A Trurl isn't a No. 5 screw, you know. It'll take

time."

But it wasn't long at all before the

door in the machine's belly opened and a Trurl climbed out.

Klapaucius looked it up and down and around, touched it, tapped it,

but there wasn't any doubt: here was a Trurl as much like the

original Trurl as two peas in a pod. This Trurl squinted a little,

unaccustomed to the light, but otherwise behaved in a perfectly

normal fashion.

"Hello, Trurl!" said

Klapaucius.

"Hello, Klapaucius! But wait, how

did I get here?" Trurl answered, clearly bewildered.

"Oh, you just dropped in. …

You know, I haven't seen you in ages. How do you like my place?"

"Fine, fine… What do you

have there under that canvas?"

"Nothing much. Won't you take a

seat?"

"Well, I really ought to be

going. It's getting dark…"

"Don't rush off, you just got

here!" protested Klapaucius. "And you haven't seen my

cellar yet."

"Your cellar?"

"Yes, you should find it most

interesting. This way…"

And Klapaucius put an arm around Trurl

and led him to the cellar, where he tripped him, pinned him down and

quickly tied him up, then took out a big crowbar and began to wallop

the daylights out of him. Trurl howled, called for help, cursed,

begged for mercy, but Klapaucius didn't stop and the blows rang out

and echoed in the dark and empty night.

"Ouch! Ouch!! Why are you beating

me?!" yelled Trurl, cowering.

"It gives me pleasure,"

explained Klapaucius, swinging back. "You should try it

sometime, Trurl!"

And he landed him one on the head,

which boomed like a drum.

"If you don't let me go at once,

I'll tell the King and he'll have you thrown in his deepest

dungeon!!" screamed Trurl.

"Oh no he won't. And do you know

why?" asked Klapaucius, sitting down for a moment to catch