Free Memoirs Found In a Bathtub by Stanislaw Lem Page A

what?”
    “The capsule.”
    “Oh. Here it is.”
    I was clutching it in my hand. He put it in a wallet.
    “What was it?”
    “Nothing.”
    He let me out first, and we headed for the nearest door. A fat officer sat by a table in a perfectly square room, munching candy from a paper bag. Other than that, there was only a very small black door, barely large enough for even a child.
    “Where’s Prandtl?” asked Major Erms. The fat officer, still chewing, held up three fingers. His uniform was unbuttoned. He seemed to pour out over his chair. The face was bloated, the neck full of folds, and he wheezed terribly when he breathed.
    “Good,” said Major Erms. “Prandtl will be here any minute. Make yourself at home, hell take good care of you. And whenever you have a free moment, drop in for those meal tickets. Be seeing you!”
    After he left, I took a seat by the wall and watched the fat man. The candy crunched in his teeth, the lips smacked. I looked away, afraid he might have a stroke right before my eyes—the skin around his neck was awfully blue, and his breathing came in great, tortured gasps. But this was apparently normal for the fat man; he hardly seemed to notice. He fought for breath, he munched candy. I wanted to grab the paper bag from his hands. He stuffed himself, one candy after another, swallowing hard, turning red, then purple; the sticky fingers reached for another. I looked away, but I couldn’t turn my back on him altogether—I was afraid he might choke to death behind my back, and I didn’t want a corpse behind me. I closed my eyes and tried to think.
    Had my situation improved or not? Apparently it had. But then there were so many but ’s. For instance, Major Erms had been quite prepared to poison me (I had no doubts about the contents of that capsule). Then there was the little old man in the gold spectacles—chances were I wasn’t free of him yet. But my big worry was the instructions. They duplicated to the letter my every step inside the Building—more, my every thought! This indicated I was still under observation, though Erms had vehemently denied that—however, he later admitted that our conversation was not to be taken literally, that everything was in code, an allusion to other meanings, hidden meanings, meanings on different levels. But this was not what really bothered me. I was beginning to doubt the very existence of the instructions themselves. Of course, that was utter nonsense. Why would they observe me and subject me to all these tests if I were not on a Special Mission, if I were not of great importance to them? Clearly, I was no earthly use to anyone without this assignment, this assignment which had come so unexpectedly, so mysteriously, and which they sometimes suspended, sometimes half-heartedly confirmed.
    If I could ask them one question, just one question, it would be: “What do you want me to do?”
    And any answer would be welcome, any answer at all … except one…
    The fat officer startled me with a loud snort. He blew his nose and examined the handkerchief carefully before folding it and putting it away.
    The door opened and a tall, gaunt officer walked in. Something about him—I couldn’t quite put my finger on it—gave the impression of a civilian disguised in a uniform. He took off his glasses and twirled them as he approached.
    “You wanted to see me?”
    “Mr. Prandtl from the Department of Codes?” I asked, getting up.
    “Except that I’m a captain. Remain seated. Interested in codes, eh?”
    The last syllable was aimed like a shot between my eyes.
    “Yes, Captain.”
    “Don’t call me Captain. Coffee?”
    “Please.”
    The small black door swung open and a hand placed a tray with two cups of coffee before us. Prandtl put on his glasses and his features froze into a hard, fierce expression.
    “Define code,” he snapped like a hammer on metal.
    “Code is a system of signs which can be translated into ordinary language with the help of a