Chapter Nine

Lenina felt herself entitled, after this day of horror, to a complete and absolute holiday. As soon as they got back to the rest-house, she swallowed six half-gramme tablets of soma, lay down on her bed, and within ten minutes had embarked for lunar eternity. It would be eighteen hours at the least before she was awake again.

Bernard meanwhile lay awake in the dark. It was long after midnight before he fell asleep. He had a plan.

On the following morning, at ten o’clock, the green-uniformed octoroon stepped out of his helicopter. Bernard was waiting for him.

“Miss Crowne’s gone on soma-holiday,” he explained. “Can hardly be back before five. Which leaves us seven hours.”

He could fly to Santa Fe, do all the business he had to do, and be in Malpais again long before she woke up.

“She’ll be quite safe here by herself?”

“Safe as helicopters,” the octoroon assured him.

They climbed into the machine and started off at once. At ten thirty-four they landed on the roof of the Santa Fe Post Office; at ten thirty-seven Bernard had got through to the World Controller’s Office in Whitehall; at ten thirty-seven he was speaking to his fordship’s fourth personal secretary; at ten forty-four he was repeating his story to the first secretary, and at ten forty-seven and a half it was the deep, resonant voice of Mustapha Mond himself that sounded in his ears.

“I think,” stammered Bernard, “that your fordship might find the matter interesting…”

“Yes, I do find it interesting,” said the deep voice. “Bring these two individuals back to London with you.”

“Your fordship is aware that I shall need a special permit…”

“The necessary orders are being sent to the Warden of the Reservation at this moment. You will proceed at once to the Warden’s Office. Good-morning, Mr. Marx.”

There was silence. Bernard hung up the receiver and hurried up to the roof.

At ten fifty-four he was shaking hands with the Warden.

“Delighted, Mr. Marx, delighted.” His boom was deferential. “We have just received special orders…”

“I know,” said Bernard, interrupting him. “If you’ll kindly take all the necessary steps as soon as possible.”

At eleven three he had all the necessary papers in his pocket.

He walked across to the hotel, had a bath, a vibro-vac massage, and a shave, listened in to the morning’s news, had lunch, and at half-past two flew back to Malpais.

The young man stood outside the rest-house.

“Bernard,” he called. “Bernard!” There was no answer.

He ran up the steps and tried the door. The door was locked.

They were gone! Gone! It was the most terrible thing that had ever happened to him. She had asked him to come and see them, and now they were gone. He sat down on the steps and cried.

Half an hour later it occurred to him to look through the window. The first thing he saw was a green suitcase, with the initials L.C. painted on the lid. He picked up a stone and smashed the window glass. A moment later he was inside the room. He opened the green suitcase; and all at once he smelled Lenina’s perfume. Bending over the precious box, he touched, he lifted into the light, he examined. The zippers on Lenina’s spare pair of shorts were at first a puzzle, then a delight. Zip, and then zip; zip, and then zip; he was enchanted. He opened a small box and a cloud of scented powder came out. Delicious perfume! He wiped the powder on his chest, on his shoulders, on his bare arms. “Lenina,” he whispered. “Lenina!”

A noise made him start. He quickly put everything back and shut the lid of the suitcase; then listened again. Not a sign of life, not a sound. And yet he had certainly heard something. He tiptoed to the door and, cautiously opening it, found himself looking on to a broad landing. On the opposite side of the landing was another door. He stepped out and opened it.

There, on a low bed, lay Lenina, fast asleep and so beautiful in the midst of her curls.

Very carefully-even though nothing short of a pistol shot could have woken Lenina up-he entered the room and knelt on the floor beside the bed. He looked at her. “Her eyes,” he murmured,

 

“Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;

Handiest in thy discourse O! that her hand,

In whose comparison all whites are ink

Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure

The cygnet’s down is harsh…”

 

A fly buzzed round her; he waved it away. “Flies,” he remembered,

 

“On the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand, may seize

And steal immortal blessing from her lips,

Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,

Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.”

 

Very slowly, with the hesitating gesture, he put out his hand. It hung there trembling, within an inch of her limp fingers. Did he dare? No, he didn’t. His hand dropped back. How beautiful she was! How beautiful!

Then suddenly he found himself thinking that he only had to take hold of the zipper at her neck and give one long, strong pull… He shut his eyes and shook his head. Detestable thought! He was ashamed of himself.

There was a humming in the air, growing louder and louder. The plane! In a panic, he scrambled to his feet and ran into the other room, vaulted through the open window, and hurrying along the path between the tall agaves was in time to meet Bernard Marx as he climbed out of the helicopter.

Chapter Ten

The Director’s face, as he entered the Fertilizing Room with Henry Foster, was grave.

“A public example,” he was saying. “In this room, because it contains more high-caste workers than any other in the Centre. I have told him to meet me here at half-past two.”

“He does his work very well,” put in Henry, with hypocritical generosity.

“I know. But that’s all the more reason for severity. He has moral responsibilities. The greater a man’s talents, the greater his power to lead astray. It is better that one should suffer than that many should be corrupted. No offence is so heinous as unorthodoxy of behaviour. Unorthodoxy threatens more than the life of a mere individual; it strikes at Society itself. Ah, but here he comes.”

Bernard had entered the room and was advancing between the rows of fertilizers towards them. He was nervous; the voice in which he said, “Good morning, Director,” was absurdly too loud. Trying to correct himself, he said, “You asked me to come and speak to you here,” in a ridiculously soft squeak.

“Yes, Mr. Marx,” said the Director. “I did ask you to come to me here. You returned from your holiday last night, I understand.”

“Yes,” Bernard answered.

“Yes-s,” repeated the Director, lingering, like a serpent, on the “s.” Then, suddenly raising his voice, “Ladies and gentlemen,” he trumpeted, “ladies and gentlemen.”

The workers of the Fertilizing Room stopped and started to look around.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Director repeated once more, “excuse me for interrupting. A painful duty constrains me. The security and stability of Society are in danger. Yes, in danger, ladies and gentlemen. This man,” he pointed accusingly at Bernard, “this man who stands before you here, this Alpha-Plus to whom so much has been given, has grossly betrayed the trust imposed in him. By his heretical views on sport and soma, by the scandalous unorthodoxy of his sex-life, by his refusal to obey the teachings of Our Ford and behave out of office hours, he has proved himself an enemy of Society. For this reason I propose to dismiss him; I propose to apply for his transference to a Сentre of the lowest order. In Iceland he will have small opportunity to lead others astray by his example.” The Director paused; then, folding his arms, he turned impressively to Bernard. “Marx,” he said, “can you show any reason why I should not now execute the judgment passed upon you?”

“Yes, I can,” Bernard answered in a very loud voice.

Somewhat taken aback, but still majestically, “Then show it,” said the Director.

“Certainly. But it’s in the passage. One moment.” Bernard hurried to the door and threw it open. “Come in,” he commanded.

There was a gasp, a murmur of horror; a young girl screamed. Bloated, sagging, Linda advanced into the room, smiling her broken and discoloured smile. Bernard walked beside her.

“There he is,” he said, pointing at the Director.

“Did you think I didn’t recognize him?” Linda asked indignantly; then, turning to the Director, “Of course I knew you; Tomakin, I should have known you anywhere, among a thousand. But perhaps you’ve forgotten me. Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember, Tomakin? Your Linda.” She stood looking at him, still smiling, but with a smile that became progressively, less and less self-confident. “Don’t you remember, Tomakin?” she repeated in a trembling voice. Her eyes were anxious. Her face twisted into the grimace of extreme grief. “Tomakin!” She held out her arms. Someone began to titter.

“What’s the meaning,” began the Director, “of this monstrous…”

“Tomakin!” She ran forward and threw her arms round his neck, hiding her face on his chest.

A howl of laughter went up from the workers.

“… this monstrous practical joke,” the Director shouted.

Red in the face, he tried to pull away. “But I’m Linda, I’m Linda.” The laughter drowned her voice. “You made me have a baby,” she screamed above the uproar. There was a sudden and appalling hush. The Director went suddenly pale, stopped struggling and stared down at her, horrified. “Yes, a baby-and I was its mother.” She broke away from him, ashamed, and covered her face with her hands. “It wasn’t my fault, Tomakin. Because I always did my drill, didn’t I? Didn’t I? Always… I don’t know how… If you knew how awful, Tomakin… But he was a comfort to me, all the same.” She turned towards the door and called, “John!”

He came in at once, paused for a moment, looked around the room, then quickly walked towards the Director, fell on his knees and said in a clear voice: “My father!”

The word was comically smutty. Laughter broke out, enormous, almost hysterical. My father-and it was the Director! My father! Oh Ford, oh Ford! That was really too good. My father!

Pale, wild-eyed, the Director glared about him in an agony of bewildered humiliation.

My father! The laughter, which had shown signs of dying away, broke out again more loudly than ever. He put his hands over his ears and rushed out of the room.