Gringo

XXVII

AROUND THE WORLD IN TWENTY-FOUR MINUTES

He sank with a dizzying sensation — he could almost feel the pressure in his ears — and suddenly he was plunged brutally to the bottom of a hole.

It was all black, like a cave. He touched the walls, groping for a way to escape from the suffocation. There was a slab. The slab filled with a flame beneath his fingers: a black fire. He was before the black door.

All at once it opened, and he was hurled into the wailing from a saxophone in the middle of a sun-baked, torrid, teeming avenue - the sound of the saxophone rose and rose, tore through the air and exploded in a shrill wailing, punctuated by a clash of cymbals, like a blow. Gringo had entered a completely insane world.

He walked along as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Rani hopped beside him, dressed in jeans and swinging her ponytail, while licking an ice cream.

— Ji! she cried — shall we go in?

Now the din was at its peak. A man, wearing a bass drum and brandishing a cymbal, continued his spiel:

— Come in, come in, ladies and gentlemen — it's cheap, it's around-the-world in twenty-four minutes. Only five bucks.

And brrm! — a clash of cymbals. Gringo hesitated for a moment.

— Say, Gringo, shall we go? Around the world for five bucks — that's cheap per kilometer. They went in.

The President of the Republic was making his speech in the middle booth, wearing a top hat. He looked quite distinguished. In any case, he had a pretty tie.

— Ladies and gentlemen, in summary, he was saying, the hour is grave — we have arrived at one of those turns of Destiny where one must choose...

A clash of cymbals.

— ...Choose, uh…, between the Democratic Truth of the right of peoples to freely dispose of the inheritance of their fathers — which is sacred, mind you...

The village constable (retired) entered with three ballerinas and a red nose. He held a patriotic banner and a megaphone. A small ballet: "Ah! Democracy, Democracy, Democracy..." Pirouettes and clashes of cymbals. The President continues:

— ...Or the shameful degradation of submission to the anti-democratic forces that cloud the budgetary and spiritual horizon of humanity...

— Bravo! cried a spiritualist.

— Consequently, it is three trillion new dollars to create the ultimate — I repeat, the ultimate, the last, the supreme oxygen bomb that will clean up once and for all...

And wham! — with a well-aimed throw, an anarchist threw a ball and knocked off the President's head. 

General emotion.

But, indomitable, he continued his speech: you don't need a head for that. 

Gringo had had enough. They moved to the next stall.

— I submit, members of the jury, that this man, by virtue of the fundamental provisions of the Law which no one may claim to be ignorant of...

The Attorney General tugged at his collar — it was very hot.

— ...This man, I say, in assaulting human dignity, has assaulted the very foundations of society, shaken public morals, and...

— What did he do? cried a voice in the crowd.

The Prosecutor turned red, like the constable who was just coming back with the banner and the ballerinas. Another small ballet: "Ah! Democracy, Democracy, Democracy..." Pirouettes and stamp-pad blows.

— Gentlemen, the Prosecutor resumed, this man — with no trade, no diploma, no social insurance, and no purpose in life — well, life, isn't it...

— Bravo! cried the butcher's boy.

— ...This sacred life that our fathers gave us in order to... ahem, to... well, to carry on as our fathers did, progressing in the... ahem, well, progressing in the fiduciary and intellectual circulation of humanity...

— Bravo! cried the critic from La Barbe Littéraire, who happened to be present.

— Therefore, I say, this man — useless, inefficient, and innocent — will have his head cut-off.

The guerrilla of the WRF (World Rage Front) seized a rubber grenade and with a resounding blow, unscrewed the pin in the Prosecutor's collar causing his tie, his robe, and his shirt to fall away. General consternation ensued.

Imperturbably, the Prosecutor continued: you don't need a shirt for that.

— Finally, the head is cut-off. There you have it. It's a matter of conscience, isn't it — well, of deep conscience, yes.

— Bravo! cried the Abbot — depth, that's it.

And the Prosecutor disappeared all at once into the legs of his trousers. 

Gringo had had enough.

— Listen, little queen — what are we doing here?

— You're strange, Gringo — if you keep this up, you'll get your head cut off. Or they'll put you in the madhouse. They passed beneath the third pillar of the portico. It was the booth of the latest Church — after Speak-analysis and the Hexagon, worthy successor to the Penta which followed the Tetra: the Medical and Obligatory Church.

The man in white was administering an isotope to a recalcitrant patient while a biologist in a skullcap was manipulating a molecule. But as everyone was carcinogenic at that time, it didn't make much difference — it was a question of time. The law allowed 63 years and 3 days for the average citizen — more than enough to drive his car to the office four times a day.

Gringo had frankly had enough.

— Hey there! the biologist exclaimed, pointing a threatening finger at Gringo. What are you doing here — you've got a straight nose, my man!

— Well indeed, said Gringo, grabbing his Greek appendage.

— But that's obsolete! It's even anachronistic and contrary to the law. And I tell you, I'm going to fix that for you with a quick and ingenious little chromosome intervention.

Gringo took three steps back. Rani nearly dropped her ice cream.

— ...I'll make you some nice curly little dolichocephalics, blond, just like that. And unasphyxiable. 

Gringo regained his composure -  his temper had risen quite a bit.

— But I don't want any little ones! And I don't want dolichocephalics — I want to get out.

— Hey there, young man — you can’t be serious. Get out? But you can't get out — obviously! Except through the door of the electric crematorium or the destruction of the planet. So... It's eternal science, for all perpetuity.

— Fine, said Gringo, grabbing Rani's hand. As for me, science is too scientific. I prefer the destruction scenarios. What about seeing the exotic side?

— You can’t be serious, said Rani, resuming her ice cream.

— Sacrilege! Renegade! the biologist cried, brandishing a finger. Gringo raised his eyes to the sky and sighed.

"LIBERTY — EQUALITY — EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF"

It wasn't heaven — but it was still something.

They passed beneath the arch while the cymbals beat time for the ballerinas: "Ah! Democracy, Democracy, Democracy..." and the condemned man's head rolled in a burst of funereal laughter.

Having passed the booths of the underdeveloped countries, the overdeveloped countries, and that of the deodorization of the Atlantic, Gringo and Rani wanted to sit in a park. There happened to be one, brand-new, with plastic grass and soft music, punctuated with a few urgent announcements: "Vote for Leon, candidate of the oppressed masses. He'll liberate you in one shot with a scrubbing-pad that's worth two." And since there were many people — it was a world where there were many people — Gringo and Rani found a place on a bench,with great difficulty, between two couples of lovers kissing passionately. "Attention, attention! the constable shouted in his megaphone, Have you taken your pill? The obligatory, pasteurized pill — two or more, or you'll be put in the operating rooms."

— Fine, said Gringo. I won't have any babies.

— You're anti-social, sighed Rani. You'll come to a bad end.

— Do you know where it ends?

— Well...

She put a finger on the tip of her nose, looked around. To be honest, it was really very crowded.

— I saw a great booth over there, she said. Let's go.

It was on the exotic far right. They passed before the stand of Coca-Yoga, the Expresso-Ashram, the New-Transcendent and the High-speed-Descender, and they arrived at the booth... of Liberation. Ah! that wasn't bad.

One entered there with an appropriately grave air.

The yogi was seated under a papier-mâché tree. He was all in white, as is fitting. He was meditating deeply, having first inserted a ear plug into each auditory canal. It was very quiet, behind the ear plug. There was also a canopy and an electric lamp beneath the canopy. Everything was perfectly dark — one awaited the hour of liberation. It was taking a bit too long, but still. Gringo sat cross-legged because liberation came faster that way. One could still hear the café-au-lait ballerinas of the moderately developed delegation in the distance: "Ah! Sacrosanct, Sacrosanct, Sacrosanct..." because one was finally in a sacred country. Everything was very solemn and definitive... when suddenly a voice was heard from the heights:

— Hey, Marcel — the generator has broken down.

— Oh no, said Marcel, raising his arms — the illumination has failed. 

General desolation.

Everyone stood up. It was another trick of the Marxists.

— I've had enough-enough-enough! cried Gringo. Let's get out of here.

— But Gringo, where to?

— Well, through the door.

He grabbed Rani by the hand and began pushing through the crowd. The constable arrived with his red nose and the President's top hat, which had miraculously escaped disaster (the hat):

— Hey-hey! he cried. Hey-hey! Got you, my lad — you want to get out of here, do you! Hey?... But you can't get out, little rascal — you can't get out at all. That's how it is for everyone. Hey!

And the ballerinas kicked up their legs in time. Psilla had a cockatoo feather in her hair and a red nose too: one-two, one-two, one-two... Cymbal clashing and saxophone.

— In 24 minutes you've seen everything, said Rani in her small steady voice. That's worth five bucks — admit it.

— So where do we go?

— Well, nowhere — we're already there.

— Fine, said Gringo. I'm going to complain to the Attorney General. I'll go all the way to the President if need be.

— But Gringo, we're all in the fair — the President too.

— Then what's to be done? said Gringo, discouraged. They sat on the edge of the curb.

The constable caught up with them: it was Vrittru with a red nose and a two-colored belt.

— Hey-hey! he said, driving his hands into his belt. I announce that the generator has been restarted: buses, post offices, automatic barriers and illuminations — everything running!

— Fine, said Rani. Then we walk where?

— That, said Vrittru, removing his fake nose, is not necessary; as long as it's running, that's all that's needed... You can take the bus and come back tomorrow — it never closes.

— Fine, said Rani. Then we take the bus.

— To go where? asked Gringo.

— Ah! said Vrittru, spreading his arms wide. It's all the same everywhere — there's no way out, what can you do? And he put his fake nose back on.