"Well, I've never been there, have I?" said Pepper. "That doesn't matter. I haven't been there either, but I've read a lecture, and judging by the response, it was most useful. It's not whether you've been in the forest or not, it's a matter of ridding the facts of this encrustation of mysticism and superstition, laying bare the essence of things, having cleansed it of adornments placed upon it by philistines and utilitarians..."
"Twice eight divide into forty-nine minus seven times seven," said Kim.
The Mercedes got going. Proconsul once again raised his voice:
"I did it as a trained philosopher. You could do it as a qualified linguist. I'll give you the points and you can develop them in the light of the latest linguistic research ... if that's the theme of your thesis?"
"It's 'Stylistic and Rhythmic Characteristics of Feminine Prose in the Late Heian based on Makwa-no Sosi,' " said Pepper. "I'm afraid that ..."
"Ex ... cell ... ent! Just the thing. And emphasize the fact that it's not swamps, it's excellent therapeutic mud-baths; not jumping trees but the end product of high-power research; not natives or savages, rather an ancient civilization of proud, free, modest, and powerful people with noble intentions. And no mermaids. No lilac veils of fog, no veiled hints - forgive me for a poor pun - That will be excellent, mynheer Pepper, just splendid. It's a good thing you know the forest, so's you can introduce your own personal impressions. My lecture was good too, but, I fear, somewhat over-speculative. As the basis of my material, I made use of conference minutes. Whereas you as one who has researched into the forest ..."
"I'm not a forest researcher," said Pepper earnestly. "I'm not allowed into the forest. I don't know the forest at all."
Proconsul, nodding absently, wrote something swiftly on his shirt cuff.
"Yes!" said he. "Yes, yes. It is the bitter truth, alas. Alas, we still find pockets of formalism, bureaucracy, heuristic approach to the personality... You can talk about that as well, by the way. You can, yes you can, everybody talks about that. Meanwhile, I shall attempt to get your speech agreed with the higher-ups. I'm damned glad that you'll give us a hand in our work after all, Pepper. I've had a very careful eye on you for a very long time... There you are then. I've noted your name down for next week!"
Pepper unplugged the Mercedes.
"I won't be here next week. My visa has expired and
I'm going tomorrow."
"Well, we'll fix that somehow. I'll go to the director, he's a club member himself, he'll understand. You can reckon to stay another week."
"No," said Pepper. "That won't be necessary." "Oh, yes it will!" said Proconsul, looking him straight in the eye. "You know perfectly well it is, Pepper! Good day."
He brought two fingers to his temple and made off, waving his briefcase.
"It's like a spider's web!" said Pepper. "Am I a fly to them or what? The manager doesn't want me to leave, Alevtina doesn't and now this one..."
"I don't want you to leave either," said Kim.
"But I can't stand it here anymore!" "Seven hundred and eighty-seven, multiply by four hundred and thirty-two..."
"I'll leave all the same," thought Pepper, depressing the keys. "I'll leave anyway. You may not want it but I will. I shan't be playing ping-pong with you, or playing chess, or sleeping with you, or drinking tea with jam. I don't want to sing you any more songs or calculate for you on the Mercedes, sort out your arguments for you or now read you lectures you won't understand anyway. And I'm not going to think for you, either. Think for yourselves, and I'm leaving. Leaving. Leaving. You'll never understand that thinking isn't a pastime, it's a duty..."
Outside, beyond the incomplete wall, a piledriver thumped heavily, pneumatic hammers knocked, bricks spilled with a roar. Four workmen in forage caps were sitting side by side, stripped to the waist and smoking. As a finishing stroke, a motorcycle roared into life under his window and ticked over noisily.
"Somebody from the forest," said Kim. "Better multiply me sixteen by sixteen."
The door burst open and a man ran into the room. He had on a boiler-suit and an unbuttoned hood dangled on his chest from a length of radio flex. From boots to waist the boiler-suit bristled with the pale-pink arrows of young shoots while the right leg was entwined with an orange plaited liana of endless length and which trailed along the floor. The liana was still twitching a bit and it seemed to Pepper a very tentacle of the forest, which would reach out at any moment and drag the man back - through the corridors of the Directorate down the staircase, along the yard wall, past the canteen and the workshops, then down the dusty road, through the park, past the statues and pavilions, up to the entrance to the Serpentine, to the gates, but not into them, past them to the precipice, and down...
