"Stanislaw Lem - Ijon Tichy 03 - The Futurological Congress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lem Stanislaw)

apparently it was thanks to the self-administered injury that I was now able to imagine the same dished
out to old M. W. Ignoring the pain, I kicked on and on. Sharp objects were of use here too, and I
availed myself of a fork and then some pins from an unused shirt. I was making progress, but there were
setbacks; in a few minutes I was ready once again to immolate myself on the altar of some higher cause,
all bubbling over with honor, virtue and noblesse oblige. Though I knew full well that something had
been put in the water. And then suddenly I remembered that there were sleeping pills in my suitcase—I
carried them around with me but never used them, since they always left me feeling irritable and
depressed. But now I took one, chewing it with a little soot-covered butter (water was out of the
question, of course), then forced down two caffeine pills—to counteract the sleeping pill—then sat and
waited, full of dread but also full of boundless affection, waited for the outcome of this chemical war to
be waged within my organism. Love seized me as never before, I was carried to unheard-of heights of
generosity. Yet the chemicals of evil apparently were beginning to resist and push back the chemicals of
goodness; I was still prepared to devote my life to charitable acts, but no longer without hesitation. Of
course I would have felt more secure to have been a thorough scoundrel, if only for a while.
In about a quarter of an hour it was more or less over. I took a shower, rubbed myself vigorously
with a towel, now and then—just to be on the safe side—slapped myself in the face, then applied
bandaids to the cuts on my shins and fingers, inspected bruises (I had beaten myself black and blue in the
course of this ordeal), put on a fresh shirt, a suit, adjusted my tie in the mirror, straightened my cape.
Before leaving, I gave myself one good jab in the ribs—a final test—and then was out the door, right on
time too, for it was almost five. To my great surprise everything seemed normal in the hotel. The bar on
my floor was practically empty; the papalshooter was still there, propped up against a table, and I
noticed two pair of feet, one pair bare, sticking out from under the counter, but that hardly suggested
anything out of the ordinary. A couple of student militants were playing cards off to the side, and another
was strumming his guitar and singing a popular song. The lobby downstairs literally swarmed with
futurologists: they were all heading for the first session of the congress (without having to leave the Hilton,
of course, since a hall had been reserved for that purpose in the lower part of the building). My surprise
passed when I realized, upon reflection, that in such a hotel no one ever drank the water; if thirsty, they
would have a coke, or a schweppes, and in a pinch there was always juice, tea or beer, or even soda
water. All beverages came bottled. And even if someone should, out of carelessness, repeat my mistake,
he wouldn't be out here, but up in his room behind locked doors, rolling on the floor in the throes of
universal love. I concluded that it would be best for me to make no mention of this incident—I was new
here, after all, and might not be believed. They would pass it off as a hallucination. And what could be
more natural nowadays than to suspect someone of a fondness for drugs?
Afterwards I was criticized for following this oysterlike (or ostrichlike) policy, the argument being that,
had I brought everything out in the open, the catastrophe might have been averted. Which is nonsense: at
the very most I would have alerted the hotel guests, yet what took place at the Hilton had absolutely no
effect on the march of political events in Costa Rica.
On the way to the convention hall I stopped at a newsstand and bought a batch of local papers, as is
my habit. I don't buy them everywhere I go, of course, but an educated man can get the gist of something
in Spanish, even if he doesn't speak the language.
Above the podium stood a decorated board showing the agenda for the day. The first item of
business was the world urban crisis, the second—the ecology crisis, the third—the air pollution crisis, the
fourth—the energy crisis, the fifth—the food crisis. Then adjournment. The technology, military and
political crises were to be dealt with on the following day, after which the chair would entertain motions
from the floor.
Each speaker was given four minutes to present his paper, as there were so many scheduled—198
from 64 different countries. To help expedite the proceedings, all reports had to be distributed and
studied beforehand, while the lecturer would speak only in numerals, calling attention in this fashion to the
salient paragraphs of his work. To better receive and process such wealth of information, we all turned
on our portable recorders and pocket computers (which later would be plugged in for the general