Beatrice started fussing about. She was about to rush toward the door, stopped, however, looking about her in dismay. She came back, glanced under the chair, whispering: "Where on earth is it? Where?" sweeping the room with her enormous eyes; pulling at her hair, she exclaimed loudly, "Where is it?" and suddenly seized Pepper by the jacket and rolled him out of his chair onto the floor. A brown briefcase was discovered where he had been. Beatrice seized it and stood for some seconds with eyes closed and an expression of immense happiness, pressing the case to her chest; she then moved slowly toward the door of yellow leather and disappeared behind it. Amid a deathly hush, Pepper got up and, trying not to look at anyone, brushed his trousers. Nobody was paying him attention in any case: everyone was looking at the yellow door.
What on earth am I going to say to him? thought Pepper. I'll say I'm an arts graduate, can't be of any use to the Directorate, let me go, I'll leave and never come back, I give my word. And why on earth did you come here? I'd always been interested in the forest, but well, nobody lets me get into the forest. And anyway I got here purely by chance, I'm an arts man. Arts people, writers, philosophers are out of place in the Directorate. They do right to keep me out, I accept this... I can't possibly be in a Directorate where they excrete onto the forest, or in a forest where they catch children with machines. I should leave and occupy myself with something simpler. I know I'm popular here, but they like me the way a child is fond of a toy. I'm here for amusement, I can't teach anybody here what I know... No, I can't say that. I have to cry a bit, how can I do that? I'll blow up in there, just let him try and keep me here. I'll blow my top and leave on foot. Pepper pictured himself walking the dusty road mile after mile under the blazing sun, with his case, getting more and more empty-headed. And every step carrying him farther and farther from the forest, his dream, his anxiety, that which had long ago become the meaning of his existence...
They haven't called anybody in for a long time, he thought. The director's probably vastly taken by the children-trapping plan. And why didn't anyone come out of the study? Doubtless, another exit.
"Excuse me," he said, addressing Monsher Brandskugel, "what time is it?"
Monsher Brandskugel looked at his wristwatch and thought for a moment:
"I don't know," he said.
At this, Pepper bent over and whispered in his ear, "I shan't tell anybody. An-y-body."
Monsher Brandskugel hesitated. He fingered his plastic button in indecision, stole a look around, yawned nervously, took another look around, and fixing his mask more firmly, answered in a whisper:
"I don't know."
After which he rose and hurriedly betook himself to the other corner of the anteroom.
The secretary spoke:
"Pepper, your turn."
"How's that," Pepper said, surprised. "I'm fourth."
"Temporary staff Pepper," the secretary raised her voice, "your turn."
"Arguing," grumbled somebody.
"Should get rid of the likes of him," someone on the left said loudly, "with a red-hot broom!"
Pepper got to his feet. His legs were like cotton wool. He was scraping his palms senselessly along his sides. The secretary was looking intently at him.
"The cat knows when he's in for it..."
"However much you twist..."
"We've put up with the likes of him!"
"Pardon me, you may have. I've never seen him before."
"Well, I don't see him every day."
"Quiet!" said the secretary, raising her voice. "Observe silence! And don't drop litter on the floor - you there ... yes, yes, you I'm speaking to. Now then, Pepper, will you go through? Or shall I call the guard?"
"Yes," said Pepper, "I'm going."
The last person he saw in the anteroom was Monsher Brandskugel, barricaded behind an armchair in the corner, teeth bared, on his haunches with his hand in his rear trouser pocket. Then his eye fell on the director.
The director turned out to be a slender well-proportioned man of about thirty-five, in an expensive superbly-cut suit. He was standing by the open window scattering crumbs for the pigeons clustered on the windowsill. The study was completely empty, there wasn't a single chair, not even a table, on the wall opposite the window hung a small copy of "Pathfinder Selivan's Exploit."
"Temporary employee Pepper?" the director said in a clear ringing bass, turning toward Pepper the fresh face of a sportsman.
"Y-yes. I..." mumbled Pepper. "Glad, very glad to make your acquaintance at last. How d'you do. My name's Alas. I've heard a lot about you. Shake hands."
Pepper stooping timidly pressed the proffered hand. The hand was dry and firm.
"As you see, I'm feeding the pigeons. Curious bird. One senses enormous potential there. How do you see the pigeon, Pepper?"
Pepper faltered. He couldn't stand pigeons. The director's face, however, was radiating such joy and weird interest, such impatient expectation that Pepper took a grip on himself and lied:
