"I like them very much, Monsieur Alas." "You like them roasted? Or stewed? I like them in a pie, myself. Pigeon pie with a glass of good wine - demi-sec - what could be nicer? What's your opinion!"
Once more Monsieur Alas' face expressed the most lively interest and impatient expectation.
"Terrific," said Pepper. He had decided to give up guessing and agree with everything.
"What about Picasso's 'Dove'?" said Monsieur Alas. "I call to mind at once: 'Nor eat, nor drink, nor kiss, the moments fly unchecked...' How exactly that catches the idea of our incapacity to catch and materialize the beautiful!"
"Splendid verses," said Pepper stupidly. "What I first saw the 'Dove,' I, like many another I expect, thought the drawing a poor likeness, or at any rate unnatural. Later, however, in the course of service, I had occasion to observe pigeons closely and I suddenly realized that Picasso, that magician, had seized on that moment when the bird folds its wings prior to landing. Its feet are already touching the ground while the bird itself is still in the air, in flight. The moment when movement turns into immobility, flight into rest."
"Picasso has strange paintings, which I don't understand," said Pepper, demonstrating his independent judgment.
"Ah, you've simply not looked at them long enough.
To understand real art, it's not enough to go through a museum two or three times a year. You should look at a picture for hours on end. As often as possible. And only originals. No reproductions. No copies... Take a look at that picture there. I can see by your face what you think of it. And you're right: it's a bad copy. If you'd ever familiarized yourself with the original, you would understand the artist's idea." "What exactly is it?"
"I'll try to explain it to you," said the director readily. "What do you see in that picture? Formally - half man, half tree. The picture is static. What can't be seen, isn't caught, is the transition from one essence into the other. The most important element is missing from the picture - the direction of time. Now if you had the opportunity of studying the original you would realize that the artist had succeeded in introducing into the image a most profound symbolic meaning, that he had depicted, not a man-tree, not even a man turning into a tree, but a tree turning into a man and that only. The artist made use of the old legend in order to depict the emergence of a new personality. New from old. Life from death. Intelligence from inert matter. The copy is absolutely static and everything pictured in it exists outside the stream of time. The original contains that time-flow! Vector! The arrow of time as Eddington would have said..."
"Where exactly is the original?" asked Pepper politely.
The director smiled.
"The original, naturally, has been destroyed as a work of art, not permitting ambiguous interpretation. The first and second copies were also destroyed as a precautionary measure."
Monsieur Alas returned to the window and elbowed the pigeons off the sill.
"Well. We've talked of pigeons," said he in a new, somehow official voice. "Your name?"
"Pardon?"
"Name. Your name."
"Pe - Pepper."
"Year of birth." "Thirty."
"More precisely!" "Nineteen thirty. Fifth of March." "What are you doing here?"
"Temporary employee. Seconded to Science security."
"I'm asking you: what are you doing here?" said the director, turning his distant eyes on Pepper. "I ... don't know. I wish to leave." "Your opinion of the forest. Briefly." "The forest ... is... I always... I... fear it. And love it."
"Your opinion of the Directorate." "There are lots of good people here, but ..." "That's enough."
The director came up to Pepper, clasped him by the shoulders and, looking him in the eyes, said:
"Listen, friend! Drop it! Let's make a threesome? Let's call the secretary in, did you see the dragon? She's no dragon, she's a box of delights! 'Come lads, let's open the long-cherished wine,' " he sang through his nose. "Well? Shall we open it? Drop that, I don't like it. Understand? How does it grab you?"
He suddenly gave off a smell of liquor and garlic sausage, his eyes came together over his nose.
"We'll get the engineer in, Brandskugel. My mon cher," he went on, clasping Pepper to his chest. "He can tell such a tale - you'll not need a bite to eat with it. Shall we?"
"Well, why not?" said Pepper. "But after all, I ..." "Well, what about you then?" "Monsieur Alas, I ..."
"Drop that! What sort of monsieur am I? Kamerad - see? Mio Caro!"
"I, Kamerad Alas, came to request you ..." "Ask aw-a-y! I shan't be mean! You want money? Take it! Somebody you don't like? Just say and we'll look into it! Well?"
"N-no. I just want to leave. I can't get away no matter what I try. I came here by accident. Permit me to leave. Nobody wants to help me, and I'm requesting you as director..."
Alas released Pepper, put his tie right, and smiled coldly.
