The Place Where
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I admit, I was extremely shocked. Therefore, I am asking you to take appropriate measures to correct this deplorable state of affairs (up to the release of Gabriel from his duties).
Sincerely yours
Clarissa Krumm.
Dear Miss Krumm!
Your complaint has been received and all circumstances of the case are thoroughly investigated. We ask you to continue to submit your suggestions or wishes aimed at improving the efficiency of the heavenly services. You can be sure that all your comments will be studied in the most meticulous manner.
St. Peter
Gatekeeper
REPORTING NOTE
To - St. Peter
From - Gabriel.
By golly, Pete, I'm crazy! This Krumm is already sitting in my liver! She decisively dislikes everything - right up to how I hold the wand. Yesterday, the guys tried to slightly diversify the old Negro spiritual, so she climbed the wall! I began to scream that our music was sacrilegious, immoral and, in general, supposedly decadent ... And just a little bit added to the rhythm! Thank God, I'm not the first century in this post, and this is the first time I've been taught how to lead my choir. Take her away, for heaven's sake, from us, until she has killed everyone here!
Gabriel
NOTICE
Dear Miss Krumm.
We hereby inform you that you are relieved of the duties of a member of the heavenly choir and you are invited (until receiving the subsequent notice) to spend time in thought and prayer. May peace be with you!
St. Peter
Gatekeeper
St. Peter
Gatekeeper
Dear sir!
I dare to believe that our aspirations for the great glory of the Lord coincide. Therefore, I suggest that you take the necessary attention to my comments.
I consider it a duty to note the following: among the angels (and even some saints) there is an unfortunate decline in morality. It should be remembered - we are in the kingdom of heaven, where there should be no place for frivolity and idleness.
The lion's share of the time intended for prayers and meditation is spent in idle fun. Laughter must be expelled from the holy of holies, and the inhabitants of Paradise should take their duties with the utmost seriousness.
In addition, the appearance of many angels (this especially applies to young people!) Is at least reprehensible: the wings are fluttering, not trimmed, the halo are worn on one side, etc. We are not someone, but the inhabitants of Paradise, and our appearance should be consistent with this high rank.
Sincerely yours
Clarissa Krumm.
Dear Miss Krumm!
Your complaint is directed to the Divine Council. (If you are interested in my personal opinion, I don't find laughter and fun something contraindicated ... but, of course, I have no right to decide anything on my own.)
St. Peter
Gatekeeper
REPORT
To - St. Peter
From - Divine Council.
Do you have anything to do there?!
Moses.
St. Peter
Gatekeeper
Dear Sir!
Despite your sluggishness in taking the necessary measures, which I have already informed you, I consider it my Christian duty to report on the flagrant violations of order that I notice at every step.
Angels fly as they please. Any control over their movement is absent. Excessive consumption by individuals of ragweed and nectar leads to a terrifying decline in morality. Sunday services are not sent.
Regarding your instructions regarding the submission of all written applications. Let me say that I always did this before. However, this fact had no consequences - I did not notice any changes. Therefore, let me warn you that if you continue to be so passive, then I will have no choice but to turn to higher authorities myself.
Your Clarissa Kramm.
REPORTING NOTE
To moses.
From - St. Peter
I had a difficulty, for the resolution of which I would like to turn to the Council. The fact is that we recently received a lady who constantly makes a variety of claims literally for any reason. She does not like our order, and she is burning with the desire to change everything. If this time you refuse to do anything, I will be forced to abandon the place.
Peter
EXTRACT FROM THE PROTOCOL OF THE MEETING OF THE DIVINE COUNCIL:
MOSES. The next item on the agenda.
PAVEL. Miss Clarissa Krumm. From the accompanying note of Peter it is clear that she is dissatisfied with all our orders.
JOHN. No way - a radical? .. This should be curious.
MOSES. Please invite Miss Krumm ... Good afternoon, Miss Krumm! As I understand it, you have some complaints ...
MISS KRUMM. And what more! I believe that the control over the moral character of the representatives of the host of heaven is very poorly put. Angels of both sexes communicate freely, and all observation is absent. Who knows what they do there behind the cloud ridges ...
MOSES. I believe, Miss Krumm, that we are beyond all temptation.
MISS KRUMM. Lord, there's nothing easier! To create female and male branches of the Kingdom of Heaven.
MOSES. Mmmm ... I'm afraid this is impossible. What else?
MISS KRUMM. Then it is necessary to oblige all the inhabitants of Paradise to wear a lower dress.
MOSES. I'm sorry, what?
MISS KRUMM. Well ... underwear. In my opinion, what they are wearing now is highly immoral. How can you concentrate on the sublime, when some turtle-tail is literally ... in short, flaunting itself. And these cherubim, fluttering literally ... naked, even without fig leaves ... shame!
MOSES. I don't think, Miss Krumm, that our robes are so obscene ...
MISS KRUMM. Oh really? Take a look at yourself! You might think that this hairy chest suits you, but I think it's just outrageous!
MOSES. Grrm ... Perhaps, perhaps ... Perhaps you are right ... I dare to assure you, the Council will treat your comments with full attention.
MISS KRUMM. Yes, please! .. And then I'm starting to get tired of these conversations. If nothing is done now, I will probably have to deal with these issues myself!
MOSES. No, no, Miss Krumm, that you ... in the very near future ... be sure ... Ilya, please, spend Miss Kramm ...
JOHN. Lord, how long did it last?!
MOSES. Yeah, in order ... And we must end this as soon as possible ... Your suggestions, gentlemen?
NOAH. It is necessary to submit a report to the Almighty.
LUKE. So it will be more true.
MOSES. Amen ...
HOUSEHOLD
To His Divine Majesty.
From - His Devil Majesty.
Well, thanks, old man, you appeased me! That copy that you sent recently ... At first I decided that you were a little crazy, but then I realized where you were methyl. We are dying of laughter here, watching the old woman saw sinners, painting them their sins. Granny is just a treasure - over the past week, the intensity of torment has increased on average by 37 percent. It turned out to be so useful that I appointed it as my deputy ... If you come across anything else of the same kind, send it right away. I will not stay in debt. All the best.
Lucifer
Damon knight
Man in a jug
Translation from English N. Evdokimova
The tiny hotel room on the planet Meng was cramped. Bluish sunlight fell from the window onto a trampled gray carpet, onto a massive sandbox strewn with cigarette butts, onto a battery of empty bottles. In the corner, things were dumped in heaps - both those brought with them and those bought here on Meng. Not far from the door sat another master of the room, Mr. RS Wayne is a man of about fifty, clean-shaven, with a hedgehog of steel hair. Wayne was desperately drunk.
There was a slight knock on the door, and a corridor slipped into the room - a tall dark-skinned native of about nineteen. His greenish-black hair, short cut in front, was too long at the back of his head. Hi
s eyes were different: one green, the other gray.
“Put it over there,” Wayne ordered.
The corridor put down his tray and leaned over the table.
“Listen, sir.” - He removed from the tray an uncorked bottle of Ten Stars, an ice bucket, a bottle of soda water and carefully placed all this in the middle of dirty dishes. Then he put empty bottles and an ice bucket on the tray. The hands of the corridor were large and thick; in his tight-fitting green uniform, he seemed too tall and broad-shouldered.
“So here he is, Meng City,” said Wayne, not taking his eyes off the messenger.
Wayne sat upright in a chair, neat and stiff in a jacket and a carefully tied tie. He would have passed for sober if he had spoken the words not so diligently and the whites of his eyes would not have been inflamed red-hot.
“Yes, sir,” the bellboy answered and straightened up, not letting go of the tray. “Are you here for the first time, sir?”
“I arrived two weeks ago,” Wayne said. “I didn't like it here, and I don't like it now.” In addition, this number does not suit me.
“The administration will be upset that you didn't like the number, sir.” It offers a wonderful view.
“It's dirty and crowded,” Wayne answered, “but that is not the point.” In the afternoon I will free him. I have a ticket for today's ship. I killed two weeks on trips around the villages - I checked the authenticity of the stories about the Marrakes. An empty matter is just the chatter of the natives. Miserable little planet. - He stared at the bellboy and snorted contemptuously. - What is your name, battle?
- Jimmy Roksha, sir.
“Now, Jimmy Rox, look at this pile of junk.” - Scarves and fabrics, camping equipment, blankets, rugs and more were piled on top of the stack of suitcases. “I do the packing, and I have nowhere to put in forty pounds of good, apart from the debris out of that jug.” Do you have any suggestions?
The corridor leisurely wondered something to himself.
“I dare to advise, sir, you can put scarves and other things inside the jug.” In my opinion, they will fit.
“There's something to it,” Wayne grudgingly approved. - Do you know how to collect such jugs?
“I don't know, sir, I didn't have to.”
- Well, try. Come on, don't stand a pillar. - Wayne shook a warm, tasteless drink in a tall glass.
The corridor put his tray on the table again and headed into the back of the room. On a wardrobe, above the corridor's head, lay a voluminous packet, and in it were pieces of gray ceramics, tied with twine. Roksha carefully removed his shoes and climbed into a chair. The boy's swarthy bare feet were clean. He effortlessly took off the bag, got down from the chair, laid his burden on the floor and again shod.
Wayne brought a tall glass to his lips, closed his eyes and drained it in one gulp. Swallowing a warm mixture of whiskey and soda, he sat for a moment with his eyes closed, nodding his head over the glass, as if listening to some kind of inner voice.
“Well then,” he said, finally getting up, “wait and see.”
The corridor cut the twine. The bag contained six long thick shards, somewhat resembling giant shoe horns in shape. There were two more flat clay circles: one larger - the bottom, the other smaller and with a handle - the lid.
“Carefully bring the shards to each other,” Vane muttered, he was standing behind the young man. - Then you want to tear it off, so be late.
“Listen, sir.”
- I purchased this antique in one village. Grain and oil were once stored in such vessels. The natives claim that the Marrakes possessed the secret of gluing them. Have you heard about this?
“In the distant villages, the kids tell a lot of interesting things,” answered the bellboy. He had already laid out the convex shards in the manner of the petals around a large flat circle. They occupied almost the entire floor; the jug must have been assembled in an adult's chest.
Having straightened up, the corridor picked up two long curved shards and carefully folded them with the edges. It seemed that on the last millimeter they jumped towards each other, as if magnetized, and merged together. No matter how Vane squinted, he could not find the junction.
In the same way, the bellboy added one more to the first two shards. Now the jug was half assembled. The corridor cautiously tilted this half over the edge of the central circle, and it closed with a click.
“Wait a minute,” Wayne said suddenly. - A thought occurred to me. Instead of messing with the assembly of the jug, and then shoving things there, pack the things first, and then bother the rest.
“Listen, sir.” - The corridor took some light blankets and threw it to the bottom of the vessel.
“Not so, blockhead,” Wayne said impatiently. - Climb inside, ram them tightly.
The corridor hesitated.
“Listen, sir.”
He carefully stepped over the unassembled shards and, kneeling at the bottom of the vessel, began to roll up and lay down the blankets.
On tiptoe, moving behind the corridor, Wayne silently put the other (shingle!) To one long shard, then the third (shack!), And when he finally lifted them (snake, click!), The sides of both halves merged. The jug has become whole.
The corridor was inside.
Wayne was breathing heavily, his nostrils swelling. From a green cigarette case of snake skin, he took out a cigar, cut it with a penknife and lit it. Blowing smoke out of his mouth, he leaned over and looked into the jug.
Except for the astonished exclamation at the moment when the walls of the vessel closed, the bellboy did not utter a sound. Wayne saw a swarthy face in front of him, thrown up, and met the look of multi-colored eyes.
“Please, sir, let me out of the jug, please,” the bellboy pleaded.
“I can't,” Wayne answered. - In the village I was not taught to disassemble such jugs.
The corridor ran his tongue over his lips.
- There they rub jugs with lard. When it seeps between the shards, they fall apart.
“They didn't give me anything like that,” Wayne said indifferently.
“Then, sir, I dare to ask you, break the jug and let me go out.”
Wayne removed the tobacco crumbs from his tongue and, looking at it with curiosity, dropped it to the floor with a flick of a finger.
- Today I noticed you in the lobby, barely crossed the threshold. For two weeks I rummaged around the villages - and now, please, I meet you in the lobby.
- Sir ...
“You are a marrac,” said Wayne, not raising his voice.
The corridor was silent for a moment.
“But sir,” he said in amazement, “marraki is all a legend, sir.” Nobody believes in them for a long time. There are no Marracs in the world.
“You removed the jug from the cabinet like a feather,” Vane objected, “and meanwhile the natives raised him together upstairs.” You have sunken whiskey. You have an elongated chin. You have stooped shoulders. - Frowning, he pulled out a wallet from his pocket, took out a photograph that had yellowed from time to time, and showed it to the corridor. - Admire this picture. I hope she's not too upset. It is possible that your ancestor is depicted here.
In a faded photograph, one could see a skeleton enclosed in a glass case. The image was unclear. The skeleton was too long and narrow-boned, the shoulders seemed hunched over, and the skull was oblong, with sunken temporal bones. The caption read: “A New Cleveland native, Meng (Sigma Lear II),” and the smaller letters are “Newbold Anthropological Museum, Ten Hayk, Queensland, TN Published with the kind permission of Walter B. Sung. "