BRAVE NEW WORLD
by Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)
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Chapter Nine
LENINA felt herself entitled, after this day of
queerness and 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 in time again.
Bernard meanwhile lay pensive and wide-eyed in the dark. It was long
after midnight before he fell asleep. Long after midnight; but his
insomnia had not been fruitless; he had a plan.
Punctually, on the following morning, at ten o'clock, the
green-uniformed octoroon stepped out of his helicopter. Bernard was
waiting for him among the agaves.
"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 F鬠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 F預ost 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 ventured to think," stammered Bernard, "that your fordship might
find the matter of sufficient scientific interest ?"
"Yes, I do find it of sufficient scientific interest," 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," said Mustapha Mond, "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.
"Warden's Office," he said to the Gamma-green octoroon.
At ten fifty-four Bernard 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. "I was talking to his
fordship on the phone a moment ago." His bored tone implied that he was
in the habit of talking to his fordship every day of the week. He
dropped into a chair. "If you'll kindly take all the necessary steps as
soon as possible. As soon as possible," he emphatically repeated. He was
thoroughly enjoying himself.
At eleven three he had all the necessary papers in his pocket.
"So long," he said patronizingly to the Warden, who had accompanied
him as far as the lift gates. "So long."
He walked across to the hotel, had a bath, a vibro-vac massage, and
an electrolytic shave, listened in to the morning's news, looked in for
half an hour on the televisor, ate a leisured luncheon, and at half-past
two flew back with the octoroon to Malpais.
The young man stood outside the rest-house.
"Bernard," he called. "Bernard!" There was no answer.
Noiseless on his deerksin moccasins, 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 suit-case, with the initials L.C.
painted on the lid. Joy flared up like fire within him. He picked up a
stone. The smashed glass tinkled on the floor. A moment later he was
inside the room. He opened the green suit-case; and all at once he was
breathing Lenina's perfume, filling his lungs with her essential being.
His heart beat wildly; for a moment he was almost faint. Then, bending
over the precious box, he touched, he lifted into the light, he
examined. The zippers on Lenina's spare pair of viscose velveteen shorts
were at first a puzzle, then solved, a delight. Zip, and then zip; zip,
and then zip; he was enchanted. Her green slippers were the most
beautiful things he had ever seen. He unfolded a pair of
zippicamiknicks, blushed, put them hastily away again; but kissed a
perfumed acetate handkerchief and wound a scarf round his neck. Opening
a box, he spilt a cloud of scented powder. His hands were floury with
the stuff. He wiped them on his chest, on his shoulders, on his bare
arms. Delicious perfume! He shut his eyes; he rubbed his cheek against
his own powdered arm. Touch of smooth skin against his face, scent in
his nostrils of musky dust?her real presence. "Lenina," he whispered.
"Lenina!"
A noise made him start, made him guiltily turn. He crammed up his
thieveries into the suit-case and shut the lid; then listened again,
looked. Not a sign of life, not a sound. And yet he had certainly heard
something?something like a sigh, something like the creak of a board. 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, ajar. He stepped out, pushed, peeped.
There, on a low bed, the sheet flung back, dressed in a pair of pink
one-piece zippyjamas, lay Lenina, fast asleep and so beautiful in the
midst of her curls, so touchingly childish with her pink toes and her
grave sleeping face, so trustful in the helplessness of her limp hands
and melted limbs, that the tears came to his eyes.
With an infinity of quite unnecessary precautions?for nothing short
of a pistol shot could have called Lenina back from her
soma-holiday before the appointed time?he entered the room, he
knelt on the floor beside the bed. He gazed, he clasped his hands, his
lips moved. "Her eyes," he murmured,
"Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handlest 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 of one who reaches forward
to stroke a shy and possibly rather dangerous bird, he put out his hand.
It hung there trembling, within an inch of those limp fingers, on the
verge of contact. Did he dare? Dare to profane with his unworthiest hand
that ? No, he didn't. The bird was too dangerous. His hand dropped back.
How beautiful she was! How beautiful!
Then suddenly he found himself reflecting that he had only to take
hold of the zipper at her neck and give one long, strong pull ? He shut
his eyes, he shook his head with the gesture of a dog shaking its ears
as it emerges from the water. Detestable thought! He was ashamed of
himself. Pure and vestal modesty ?
There was a humming in the air. Another fly trying to steal immortal blessings?
A wasp? He looked, saw nothing. The humming grew louder and louder, localized
itself as being outside the shuttered windows. 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 receive
Bernard Marx as he climbed out of the helicopter.
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