The Chamber of Life

  A Chance Strain from Grieg

  I recalled waking up in another place, on a long slope of green hillthat overlooked a valley. It was dawn again. The sun was just risingover the crest of the hill behind me, and it threw long shadows acrossthe grass from the tall, slender trees along the summit. Down in thevalley a broad, clean river of clear water followed the curve of thehill until it disappeared from sight. There were other hills beyond theriver, all with the same long, simple slope of grass; and, beyond thehills, there were the tops of blue mountains, swathed in white morningmist.

  It was a strange place. Its strangeness consisted in a subtle appearanceof order and care, as though a gardener or an army of gardeners hadarranged and tended the whole vast sweep of landscape for years. It wasuncultivated and deserted as waste land, but as well trimmed, in spiteof its spaciousness, as a lawn.

  The morning was very warm. I was not conscious of any chill in the air.I was clothed only in short trousers, such as athletes wear, and a shortbelted tunic without sleeves and loose--both of them indescribably softand comfortable.

  I was aware of the strangeness of my awakening, but I seemed to have nodefinite recollection of falling asleep. I felt that I had come thereduring my sleep under unusual circumstances and from a very differentlife, but the thought didn't disturb me or trouble my mind in any way.My chief emotion was a curious feeling of expectancy. I knew that I wasabout to have some new and curious experience, something not trivial,and I was eager to meet it.

  I lay there for awhile, drinking in the beauty of the morning, andbreathing an air of miraculous purity and freshness. Finally I stood up,light and conscious of a sudden grace, aware for the first time, in itsdeparture, of the awkwardness and weight which ordinarily attend ourmovements on earth. It was as if some of the earth's gravity had beenlost.

  For a while I examined the valley, but I saw no sign of life there. ThenI turned and went slowly up the hill, the sunlight falling warmly on mybody, and my feet sinking sensuously in the deep grass.

  * * * * *

  When I came to the crest and looked over, I saw another valley beforeme, deeper than the first. The hill rolled away, down and down formiles, to a long, wide plain. More hills rose from the plain on everyside, as simply as if they had been built there by the hand of somegigantic child playing in a wilderness of sand. And the river, comingaround the base of the hill on which I was standing, but several milesaway, swept out upon a great aqueduct of stone, hundreds of feet high,which crossed the plain through its very center, a straight line ofbreath-taking beauty, and disappeared far away into the pass between twomountains. The whole scene was too perfect to be wholly natural.

  At the center of the plain stood a tall, white building. Even in thedistance from which I viewed it, it looked massive--larger than anyskyscraper I had ever seen. But it was delicately and intricatelydesigned, terraced much as most modern office buildings in New York areterraced, but more elaborately. Its base stood about the aqueduct, whichpassed through it, and it swept up magnificently to a slender peakalmost level with the crest of the hill where I was standing. It was theonly building in sight.

  I don't know how long I stood there, admiring the clean sweep andvastness of the scene, before I saw something rise sharply, with aflashing of bright wings, from some hidden courtyard or terrace of thebuilding. It was followed closely by another and then another, like aflight of birds. They shot up swiftly, circled once or twice, and movedaway in different directions, straight and purposeful. One of them cametoward my hill.

  * * * * *

  It was only a few moments before the thing sped up to me and swoopeddown as I waved my arms. It was, of course, a machine, slender and long,with wide arching wings. It seemed almost light enough to float. It hada deck, shielded from the wind by a shimmering transparent thing like athin wire screen, and under the deck a cabin made, it seemed, of glass.A man and a woman stood on the deck, the woman handling the controls.They were both dressed much like myself.

  The machine came to rest on the hill near me. I stepped forward, and theman leaped down to meet me. His first greeting was curious.

  "So you _are_ here," he said. His voice was small but cool, penetratingand metallic. I thought of fine steel wires. And, when I replied, my ownvoice had something of the same quality.

  "Were you expecting me?" I said. He nodded, shaking my hand briefly andquietly.

  "We know all about you," he answered. I was pleased--it made thingssimpler--but I wanted to ask him who I was. I didn't remember anythingup to the moment of my awakening on the other side of the hill. Instead,I asked him:

  "Shall I go aboard?" He nodded again, and waved his hand toward theladder. I went aboard lithely, and he followed. The girl and I glancedat each other; I was surprised and rather disturbed by her beauty andcleanness of body. I turned to the man, a little embarrassed, as shemanipulated some controls and set the ship in motion again.

  "You'll have to forgive me," I said. "Something has happened, and Idon't know things. I've completely lost my memory."

  They understood at once.

  "Your name is Baret." He pronounced it oddly. "I am Edvar, and this girlis Selda." We all looked at each other intently, and I went onhesitantly.

  "I don't know where I am. Can you tell me something about myself?" Edvarshook his head.

  "Only this," he said, "that we were notified of your presence and yourname. This city is Richmond." I glanced about quickly.

  "Richmond!" I exclaimed. "Virginia?" But he shook his head.

  "I don't understand you," he replied.

  I went on, with a puzzled frown. "It has changed...." Both of themlooked at me curiously.

  "How has it changed, Baret?" the girl, Selda, asked me. I glanced at herabsently and closed my eyes.

  "Why ... I don't know," I stammered, "I don't remember." For a fewmoments there was silence, except for the shouting of the wind past ourship. Then Selda asked me another question.

  "Where are you from?" I shook my head helplessly, and answered again, "Idon't know--I don't remember."

  * * * * *

  A moment later we dipped into the shadow of the building, which theycalled Richmond. We slipped by a succession of vast and intricatefacades until we came to a court-like terrace, hundreds of feet abovethe ground and sheltered on three sides by walls that leaped up towardthe sky for hundreds of feet more. The effect of height was dizzying andmagnificent.

  Selda brought the ship to a quick and graceful landing. I found that wewere in a large paved court like a public square, facing the east andthe sun, which bathed it in cool bright light. It was still early in themorning. Innumerable windows looked down upon us, and a number ofdoorways led into the building on all sides. From one of these a girlstepped forward. Edvar spoke to her, evidently reporting himself andSelda. The girl pushed several buttons on a small cabinet which hungfrom her shoulder. It rang, low and silvery, twice. Then she pointed tome.

  "Who is that?" she asked.

  "His name is Baret," Edvar told her. "I was sent to meet him."

  "But where is he from? He is not registered."

  "We don't know. It's an unusual circumstance," he explained, while thegirl examined us all carefully. "Very well," she said finally, "you mustattend him until he is registered. I'll notify Odom." Edvar nodded, andwe turned away.

  Glancing back as we crossed the court, I saw the ship descendingnoiselessly, on the square of pavement where it had landed, into thedepths of the building, while the girl made other gestures with herlittle cabinet. Then we passed through a doorway into the subdued glowof artificial lighting.

  "Why was she so worried?" I asked Edvar. "I don't understand anything,you know."

  "You were not registered," he said. "We are all registered, of course,in our own cities. The authorities know where to find us at any momentof the day during our routine. If we leave the city, or depart from ourusual program, naturally we note down
where we are going, registeringourselves upon our departure and upon our return. If we visit anothercity, our arrival there is expected and reported here, as well as ourdeparture."

  "Is all that necessary?" I asked him. "Is there a war, perhaps?"

  "No," he said, "it's customary. It prevents confusion. Everything we dois recorded. This conversation, for instance, is being recorded in thetelepathic laboratory at this moment--each of us has a record there.They are open to the public at any time. It makes dishonor impossible."

  We paused at a doorway, and Edvar spoke a word. It opened noiselesslyand we went into his apartment.

  "We are assigned to you this morning," Edvar said. "We are at yourservice."

  * * * * *

  The apartment was hardly very different from what I had unconsciouslyexpected. It seemed to have two rooms and a bath. The room we enteredwas a sort of study. It was hung with drapes closely woven from somelight metal, with cold designs that were suggestive of mechanical,mathematic conceptions, but inspiring in much the way that the lines ofthe building were inspiring. There were no pictures and no mirrors. Allthe furniture was made in straight lines, of metal, and somewhatfuturistic in design. The chairs, however, were deep and comfortable,although the yielding upholstery appeared at first sight hard andbrittle as metal sheets. The room was perfectly bare, and the colorscheme a dull silver and black. To me it seemed extremely somber, but itpleased Edvar and his companion.

  The first thing I noted when we sat down was the absence of any smallarticles--books or papers or lamps--and I remarked on this, somewhatrudely perhaps, to Edvar.

  "Whatever you wish is accessible," he explained with a smile. He roseand went to the draped wall. Drawing back the folds of the curtains inseveral places, he showed the metal wall covered with dials andapparatus. I noted especially a small screen, like a motion picturescreen. Later I was to find that it served not only for amusement,showing sound-pictures projected automatically from a central office,but also for news and for communication, like a telephone.

  "Would you care for breakfast?" Edvar asked me. I accepted eagerly, andhe manipulated some dials on the wall. A moment or two later a smallsection of the wall opened, and a tray appeared. Edvar placed it on thetable by my chair.

  "We have had our breakfast," he explained, and I began to eat with akeener appetite than I thought I had. It was a simple meal with aslightly exotic flavor, but without any strange dishes. During thecourse of it, I asked Edvar questions.

  "Your life is amazingly centralized," I said. "Apparently all the thingsyou need are supplied at your rooms on a moment's notice."

  "Yes," he smiled, "it makes life simpler. We have very few needs. Manyof them are satisfied while we sleep, such as cleansing and, if we like,nourishment. We can study while we sleep, acquiring facts that we maywant to use later from an instrument which acts upon the subconsciousmind. These dials you see are mainly to give us pleasure. If we care tohave our meals served in the old-fashioned way, as you are having yours,we can do so, but we reserve those meals for the occasions when we feelthe need of eating as a pure sensation. We can have music at any time--"He paused. "Would you care for some music?"

  "There's nothing I'd like better," I told him. He went to the wall andturned the dials again. In a moment the room was filled with the subduedsound of a cool, melancholy music--Grieg, or some other composer, withwhom I was unfamiliar, exotic and reminiscent in mood, cool, and quietwith a touch of acutely sweet pain. I listened to it in silence for awhile. It was so subtle and pervasive, however, that it seemed to playdirectly upon the subconscious mind, so that the listener could go onthinking and talking uninterruptedly without losing any of the feelingof the melody.

  * * * * *

  "Have you no private possessions?" I asked. "Things that you share withno one? Your own books, your own music, your own jewelry, perhaps?"

  "We have no need of them," he replied. After a moment's thought, headded, "We have our own emotions, and our own work--that's all. We donot care for jewels, or for decoration for its own sake. The things weuse and see daily are beautiful in themselves, through their perfectutility and their outward symbolism of utility and creation. Our toolsand our furniture are beautiful according to our own conceptions ofbeauty--as you can see." He made a gesture about the room.

  "And who serves you with those meals, and the music, and the knowledgeyou learn in your sleep? Who does the work?"

  "We all do the work. Each of us has his own work. Each of us is acraftsman and a creative artist. The real work is done by machine--ourmachines are the basic structure of our life. But we have men, highlytrained and fitted temperamentally for their professions, who watch anddirect the machines. It is a matter of a few hours a day, devoted tofine problems in mechanics or building or invention. The rest of ourtime is our own, and the machines go on moving automatically as we havedirected them to move. If every man on earth should die this morning, itwould be perhaps fifty years or a century before the last machinestopped turning."

  "And the rest of the time?"

  It was Selda who answered this time. "We live. We devote ourselves tolearning and creative thought. We study human relations, or we wanderthrough the forests and the mountains, increasing the breadth andsignificance of our minds and emotions." Selda's voice, rising suddenlyafter her long silence, startled me, and I looked at her, disturbedagain by some subtle attraction exercised over me by her body. We weresilent a while, then I relapsed into my inner questionings, and turnedto Edvar.

  "You must live under a sort of socialistic system," I said thoughtfully."Even a sort of communism?"

  "In a sense. Rather it is an automatic life. The soul of the machinepervades us all, and the machines are beautiful. Our lives are logicallyand inevitably directed by environment and heredity just as themachines are inevitably directed by their functions and capabilities.When a child is born, we know already what he will do throughout hislife, how long he will live, what sort of children he will have, thewoman he will marry. The Bureau could tell you at this moment when mygreat-grandson will be born, when he will die, and what his life will dofor the State. There are never any accidents in our lives."

  * * * * *

  "But how did you develop so highly technical a civilization?" I asked.

  "We came to it gradually from the last government system. It was calledthe _phrenarchic system_--the rule of the mind. It was neither democracynor monarchy nor dictatorship. We found that we could tell thetemperament and characteristics of a child from his early years, and wetrained certain children for government. They were given power accordingto the qualities of their minds and according to the tasks for whichthey were fitted. We even bred them for governing. Later, when themachine began to usurp the place of labor all over the world and gavemen freedom and peace and beauty, the task of government dwindled awaylittle by little, and the phrenarchs turned gradually to otheroccupations."

  * * * * *

  I learned innumerable details of that life from Edvar, and occasionallySelda would add some fact. They are not important now. It is thenarrative which I must tell, not the details of a social system which,as I would discover later, was purely hypothetical.

  The three of us spent the morning in conversation there, until theentrance of another man I had not seen before. He came in withoutknocking, but Edvar and Selda did not seem to be surprised. He was therepresentative of the Bureau.

  "You are Baret?" he said, looking at me keenly.

  "Yes," I replied.

  "I have been directed to tell you that your visit here is temporary, andthat you will be returned to your previous life at the end of a certainperiod of time which we have not yet calculated precisely. You have beenregistered with the Bureau, and you are free to come and go as you seefit, but you are not to interfere with anything you see. You are anobserver. You will be expected to comply with our methods of living asEdvar or Selda wi
ll explain them to you."

  With a slight bow, he turned to go. But I detained him.

  "Wait," I said. "Can you tell me who I am, and where I've come from?"

  "We are not yet certain. Our knowledge of you has come to us in anunusual manner, through a series of new experiments now being conductedat the Bureau. If possible, we will explain them to you later. In anycase you may be assured that your absence from your usual life will notcause you any harm, and that you will return after a definite time. Resthere, and keep your mind at peace. You will be safe."

  Then he turned and left. I was puzzled for a while, but I forgot thatshortly in the strangeness and wonder of the life I was living in astrange world....

  * * * * *

  And the lake? Melbourne?

  The Grieg nocturne came to an end. I frowned as I set down my razor, andwent into the living room to change the record. Conflicting memories ...where did they meet? On the one hand was the awakening in the coldwaters of the lake--only an hour or less than an hour ago. And there wasMelbourne, and the strange conversation at the Club. Finally there wasthis amazing and isolated recollection, like a passage from a dream.

  Suddenly, as I went back to my bath and plunged into the cool water, mymind returned to Melbourne. I had been walking home with him that nightfrom the Club--perhaps last night. We had gone on a while in silence,both of us thinking. Then we had come to the Drive. At that momentMelbourne had said something--what was it?

  He had said, "Tell me, Mr. Barrett, would you care to see that dream ofyours come true?"