We by Yevgeny Zamyatin (the unexpected everything .txt) 📕

music.⁠ ⁠… Only think of it! All this is doomed; all this will be covered with grass, some day; only myths will remain.⁠ ⁠…

I moaned aloud. At the same instant I felt someone gently patting my knee. It was from the left; it was my neighbor who occupied a seat on my left⁠—an enormous forehead, a bald parabola, yellow unintelligible lines of wrinkles on his forehead, those lines about me.

“I understand you. I understand completely,” he said. “Yet you must calm yourself. You must. It will return. It will inevitably return. It is only important that everybody should learn of my discovery. You are the first to whom I talk about it. I have calculated that there is no infinity! No!”

I looked at him wildly.

“Yes, yes, I tell you so. There is no infinity. If the universe is infinite, then the average density of matter must equal zero, but as it is not zero, we know, consequently the universe is finite; it is spherical in form and the square of its radius⁠—R2⁠—is equal to the average density multiplied by.⁠ ⁠… The only thing left is to calculate the numerical coefficient and then.⁠ ⁠… Do you realize what it means? It means that everything is final, everything is simple.⁠ ⁠… But you, my honored sir, you disturb me, you prevent my finishing my calculations by your yelling!”

I do not know which shattered me more, his discovery, or his positiveness at that apocalyptic hour. I only then noticed that he had a notebook in his hands and a logarithmic dial. I understood then that even if everything was perishing it was my duty (before you, my unknown and beloved) to leave these records in a finished form.

I asked him to give me some paper, and here in the restroom to the accompaniment of the quiet music, transparent like water, I wrote down these last lines.

I was about to put down a period as the ancients would put a cross over the caves into which they used to throw their dead, when all of a sudden my pencil trembled and fell from between my fingers.⁠ ⁠…

“Listen!” (I pulled my neighbor). “Yes, listen, I say. There where your finite universe ends, what is there? What?”

He had no time to answer. From above, down the steps, stamping.⁠ ⁠…

Record Forty

Facts⁠—The bell⁠—I am certain.

Daylight. It is clear. The barometer⁠—760 mm. It is possible that I, D-503, really wrote these⁠—pages? Is it possible that I ever felt, or imagined I felt all this?

The handwriting is mine. And what follows is all in my handwriting. Fortunately only the handwriting. No more delirium, no absurd metaphors, no feelings⁠—only facts. For I am healthy, perfectly, absolutely healthy.⁠ ⁠… I am smiling; I cannot help smiling; a splinter has been taken out of my head and I feel so light, so empty! To be more exact, not empty, but there is nothing foreign, nothing that prevents me from smiling. (Smiling is the normal state for a normal human being).

The facts are as follows: That evening my neighbor who discovered the finiteness of the universe, and I, and all others who did not have a certificate showing that we had been operated on, all of us were taken to the nearest auditorium. (For some reason the number of the auditorium, 112, seemed familiar to me). There they tied us to the tables and performed the great operation. Next day, I, D-503, appeared before the Well-Doer and told him everything known to me about the enemies of happiness. Why before it seemed hard for me to go, I cannot understand. The only explanation seems to be my illness⁠—my soul.

The same evening, sitting at the same table with Him, with the Well-Doer, I saw for the first time in my life the famous Gas Chamber. They brought in that woman. She was to testify in my presence. That woman remained stubbornly silent and smiling. I noticed that she had sharp and very white teeth which were very pretty.

Then she was brought under the Bell. Her face became very white and as her eyes were large and dark⁠—all was very pretty. When they began pumping the air from under the Bell she threw her head back and half closed her eyes; her lips were pressed together. This reminded me of something. She looked at me, holding the arms of the chair firmly. She continued to look until her eyes closed. Then she was taken out and brought to by means of electrodes and again put under the Bell. The procedure was repeated three times, yet she did not utter a word.

The others who were brought in with that woman, proved to be more honest; many of them began to speak after the first trial. Tomorrow they will all ascend the steps to the Machine of the Well-Doer. No postponement is possible for there still is chaos, groaning, cadavers, beasts in the western section, and to our regret there are still quantities of Numbers who betrayed Reason.

But on the transverse avenue Forty, we succeeded in establishing a temporary Wall of high voltage waves. And I hope we win. More than that; I am certain we shall win. For Reason must win.

Endnotes

This word came down to us for use only as a poetic form, for the chemical constitution of this substance is unknown to us. ↩

These flowers naturally were brought from the Botanical Museum. I, personally, am unable to see anything beautiful in flowers, or in anything else that belongs to the lower kingdom which now exists only beyond the Green Wall. Only rational and useful things are beautiful: machines, boots, formulae, food, etc. ↩

It happened long ago, in the third century AT (After the Tables). ↩

Colophon

We
was published in 1924 by
Yevgeny Zamyatin.
It was translated from Russian in 1924 by
Gregory Zilboorg.

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