Читать книгу The Sentimental Agents in the Volyen Empire - Doris Lessing - Страница 13

I had hoped to meet Calder with his colleagues. He sent a message that he would come alone, to a place that turned out to be a settlement of a few clans in a cold valley far from the capital. Grey stone houses, or huts, and a grey tundra rising all around us to a grey sky.

It was a miners’ club, but at an hour when they were at work. A woman served us the thin, sour beverage of Volyenadna and went out saying she had to prepare a meal for her children.

This is the conversation that took place.

He was in that condition of irritable gloominess that indicates, in this species, an extreme of suspicion. ‘Calder, would you describe this tyranny you live under as an efficient one?’

He slammed his great fist onto the table and exploded: ‘Tyranny, you say! You can say that again! Filthy exploiting callous swine who …’ He went on for some minutes, until he ran into silence. ‘But you know what they are like,’ he added.

‘What I asked was, is it efficient?’

He sat blinking at me, confused; then feeling himself attacked growled, ‘You forget, I’ve never been out of this planet. How can I make comparisons? But I take it you can. You tell me, then, is it efficient or not? From where we sit, it is efficient enough: it drains all that we make with the sweat of our brow and leaves us … as you can see for yourself.’ And he sat there triumphant, as if he had made a good point in a debate, even shooting glances to either side as if to check up on the reactions of an audience.