Imaginary wars and battles -- Fiction; Nuclear warfare -- Fiction; War stories
‘Not counting those. Of course, the present indexing of research is in
itself a very big work, and it is only now that we are getting it
properly done. But already we are feeling the benefit of that. Since it
ceased to be a paid employment and became a devotion we have had only
those people who obeyed the call of an aptitude at work upon these
things. Here—I must show you it to-day, because it will interest you—we
have our copy of the encyclopaedic index—every week sheets are taken
out and replaced by fresh sheets with new results that are brought to
us by the aeroplanes of the Research Department. It is an index of
knowledge that grows continually, an index that becomes continually
truer. There was never anything like it before.’
‘When I came into the education committee,’ said Karenin, ‘that index
of human knowledge seemed an impossible thing. Research had produced a
chaotic mountain of results, in a hundred languages and a thousand
different types of publication....’ He smiled at his memories. ‘How we
groaned at the job!’
‘Already the ordering of that chaos is nearly done. You shall see.’
‘I have been so busy with my own work——Yes, I shall be glad to see.’
The patient regarded the surgeon for a time with interested eyes.
‘You work here always?’ he asked abruptly.
‘No,’ said Fowler.
‘But mostly you work here?’
‘I have worked about seven years out of the past ten. At times I go
away—down there. One has to. At least I have to. There is a sort of
grayness comes over all this, one feels hungry for life, real, personal
passionate life, love-making, eating and drinking for the fun of the
thing, jostling crowds, having adventures, laughter—above all
laughter——’
‘Yes,’ said Karenin understandingly.
‘And then one day, suddenly one thinks of these high mountains
again....’
‘That is how I would have lived, if it had not been for my—defects,’
said Karenin. ‘Nobody knows but those who have borne it the
exasperation of abnormality. It will be good when you have nobody alive
whose body cannot live the wholesome everyday life, whose spirit cannot
come up into these high places as it wills.’
‘We shall manage that soon,’ said Fowler.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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