The Final Circle of Paradise

"Drop that, please, we don't have pictures that are worth the theft. Thank God, they have learned how to synthesize Sistine Madonnas out of sawdust. I wish to call your attention to the point that dissemination of culture in our time must occur in an entirely different manner. Culture must not be inculcated into the people, rather it must emanate from the people. Public chorister, do-it-yourself groups, mass games – that is what our public needs."

"What our public needs is a good army of occupation," said the man with the bandage.

"Please stop talking that way, when you actually don't believe what you are saying. Our coverage by the various associations is really at an unacceptably poor level. For instance, Boella complained to me last night that only one man attends her readings, and he apparently only does so out of matrimonial intentions. But we need to distract the people from the shivers, from alcohol, from sexual pastimes. We need to raise the tone -"

The other interrupted, "What do you want from me? That I should defend your project against that ass, our honorable mayor, today? Be my guest! It is absolutely all the same to me. But if you would like to hear my opinion about tone and spirit, let me tell you it does not exist, my dear Senator; it is long dead! It has been smothered in belly fat! And if I were in your place I would take that into account and only that!"

The ruddy man seemed to be crushed. He was silent for a while and then groaned suddenly, "Dear God, dear God, to think of what we have been driven to concern ourselves with! But I ask you – is not someone flying to the stars? Somewhere meson reactors are being built, new learning systems are being devised! Dear God, I just recently grasped that we are not even a backwater, we are a preserve! In the eyes of the whole world we are a sanctuary of stupidity, ignorance, and pornocracy. Imagine, Professor Rubenstein has a chair in our city for the second year. A sociopsychologist of world renown. He is studying us like animals. Instinctive Sociology of Decaying Economic Structures – that's the name of his work. He is interested in people as bearers of primeval instincts, and he complained to me that it was very difficult for him to gather data in countries where instinctive activity is distorted and suppressed by pedagogical systems! But with us he is in seventh heaven! In his own words, we don't have any activity other than instinctive! I was insulted, I was ashamed, but, good Lord, what could I say to contradict him? You must understand me! You are an intelligent man, my friend, I know you are a cold man, but I can't really believe that you are indifferent to such a degree."

The man with the bandage looked at him haughtily and then, abruptly, his cheek twitched. I recognized him at once: he was the character with the monocle who had thrown the luminous slop all over me so deftly yesterday at the Art Patrons' hall.

Why, you vulture, thought I. You thief. So you need an army of occupation! Spirit smothered in lard indeed!

"Forgive me, Senator," he said. "I do understand it all, and that's precisely why it is perfectly clear to me that everything surrounding you is in a state of dementia. The final spasm! Euphoria!"

I got up and approached their table.

"May I join you?" I asked.

He stared at me in astonishment. I sat down.

"Please excuse me," I said. "I am, to be specific, a tourist and just a short time here; while you seem to be natives and even to have some connection with the municipal government. So I decided to inflict myself on you. I keep hearing about Art Patrons, Art Patrons. But what it's all about no one seems to know."

The man with the bandage experienced another tie in his cheek. His eyes grew wide – he too recognized me.

"Art Patrons?" said the ruddy one. "Yes, there is such a barbarous organization with us here. It is very sad that such is the case, but it's so."

I nodded, studying the bandage. My acquaintance had already regained his composure and was eating his jelly with his accustomed haughty look.

"In essence they are simply modern-age vandals. I simply couldn't find a more appropriate word. They pool their resources and buy up stolen paintings, statues, manuscripts, unpublished literary works, patents, and destroy them. Can you imagine how revolting that is? They find some pathological delight in the destruction of examples of world culture. They gather in a large, well-dressed crowd and slowly, deliberately, orgiastically destroy them!"

"Oh my, my, my!" I said, not taking my eyes off the bandage. "Such people should be hung by their legs."

"And we are after them," said the ruddy one. "We are in pursuit of them on the legal level. We are unfortunately unable to get after the Artiques and the Perchers, who are not breaking any laws, but as far as the Art Patrons are concerned -"

"Are you finished yet, Senator?" inquired the bandaged one, ignoring me.

The ruddy one caught himself.