"You're in error, Pepper," said he, "I'm not the director. I'm the director's personnel officer. Forgive me, I've delayed you somewhat. Please go through that door. The director will receive you."
He threw the door wide before Pepper at the far end of his bare office and made inviting gestures. Pepper coughed, nodded in restrained fashion, and leaned forward as he passed into the next room. As he did so he thought he was lightly struck on the rear. Probably his imagination, or perhaps Monsieur Alas was in some haste to close his door.
The room in which he found himself was a facsimile of the anteroom; even the secretary here was an exact copy of the first one. She was reading, however, a book entitled Sublimation of Genius. The same pale visitors were sitting in armchairs with newspapers and magazines. Professor Cockatoo was here, suffering severely from nervous itch as was Beatrice Vakh with her brown briefcase across her knees. True, all the others were unfamiliar. Under a copy of "Pathfinder Selivan's Exploit" a sign saying "Quiet!" regularly flared and dimmed. For this reason, nobody here talked. Pepper cautiously lowered himself onto the edge of a chair. Beatrice Vakh smiled at him - somewhat warily but welcoming on the whole.
After a minute of apprehensive silence the little bell rang and the secretary put aside her book. "The venerable Luke, go through." The venerable Luke was frightful to look upon and Pepper averted his gaze. Doesn't matter, he thought, closing his eyes. I can stand it. He remembered the rainy autumn evening when they had brought Esther into his flat, after she had been knifed by a drunken yob in the hallway, and the neighbors hanging onto him, and the glass shards in his mouth - he had chewed the glass when they brought him some water... Yes, he thought, the worst was past.
His attention was attracted by swift scratching sounds. He opened his eyes and looked about him. In the next chair but one. Professor Cockatoo was furiously scratching himself under the arms with both hands. Like a monkey.
"What do you think, should we separate the boys from the girls?" asked Beatrice in a trembling voice. "I don't know," Pepper said irritably. "Co-education has its advantages, of course," Beatrice went on, "but this is a special situation... Lord!" she said, suddenly lachrymose. "Surely he won't throw me out? Where could I go then? I've been thrown out everywhere, I haven't got a single pair of decent shoes left. All my tights are in holes, my powder's all lumpy..."
The secretary put aside Sublimation of Genius to say severely:
"Don't lose your concentration." Beatrice Vakh froze in terror. At once the small door opened and a completely shaven head was thrust into the waiting room.
"Is there a Pepper here?" it inquired in a stentorian voice.
"Yes," said Pepper, leaping to his feet. "To the outbound area with your stuff! Vehicle leaves in ten minutes. Jump to it!" "Vehicle where to? Why?" "You're Pepper?" "Yes..." "You wanted to leave or not?" "I wanted to, but ..."
"Well, just as you like," bellowed the shaven one angrily. "I'm just supposed to tell you."
He disappeared and the door slammed. Pepper rushed after him.
"Back," cried the secretary, and several hands clutched at his clothing. Pepper struggled desperately and heard his jacket rip.
"The vehicle is there!" he groaned. "You're off your head!" said the secretary peevishly.
"Where are you trying to get? The door marked 'Exit' is over there, where are you going?"
Horny hands propelled Pepper to the 'Exit' sign. Beyond the door lay a spacious polygonal hall, with a multiplicity of doors; Pepper rushed about opening one after the other.
Bright sunlight, sterile-white walls, people in white coats. A naked back, smeared with iodine. Smell of a chemist's shop. Not that one.
Blackness. Whirring of a cine-projector. On the screen, someone being pulled by the ears in all directions. White patches of displeased faces. A voice:
"Door! Shut the door!" Not that one either... Pepper crossed the hall, slipping on the parquet. Smell of a cake shop. A short line with bags. Behind the glass counter glint bottles of yogurt, cakes, and gateaux in colorful array.
"Gentlemen!" shouted Pepper. "Where is the exit?" "Exit out of where?" asked a plump assistant in a cook's hat.
"Out of here..." "It's the door you're standing in." "Don't listen to him," said a feeble old man in the line. "We've got a wise guy around here who just holds lines up... Keep serving, don't pay any attention."
"No, no, I'm not joking," said Pepper. "I've got a car, it'll go in a minute..."
"No, it's not him," said a fair-minded old man. "That bloke always asks where the toilet is. Where is the car you speak of, sir?" "In the street."
"What street?" asked the assistant. "There's plenty of streets."
"I don't care as long as it's outside!" "No," said the shrewd old man. "It's the same chap. He's just changed his program. Pay no attention to him."
