MAY 6
I am trying to decide on the best cure for my low spirits. Possibly it will have to be a compromise.
For one thing, I want to carry on my talks with R-747. They may be harmful, but they act as a sort of drug that gives me relief while I am actually taking it. At present the relief does not last long enough, but the process of taking ‘ the talk-drug can be stretched. Like chewing-gum.
On the other hand, marriage might counteract my dreams. If I could stop having ‘atomic’ nightmares without having to give up thinking about myths and things, that would be splendid.
I think I should take P-867 as my mate. I do not care for her much, admittedly, but perhaps this is an advantage. To like anybody a lot on Level 7 would only lead to trouble. Down here we do not have the facilities for close contact between married couples which people enjoy up on the surface. To be really in love down here would mean daily torments of separation. Up there one hour’s privacy a day for a newlywed couple would be considered cruelty. On Level 7 restricted privacy is a necessity, so the less a person cares for his mate the better.
That suggests another principle for R-747 to use in her stories: Do not care for other people too much, especially if they belong to your own family. I must tell her that one.
If I offer to marry P-867 I think she may put less obstacles in the way of my talks with R-747, which is another point in favour of the idea. To make sure, I think I should stipulate it as a condition of the marriage. P-867 is sensible enough to realise that I only talk with R-747 for the sake of the mental pleasure it gives me.
As my mate, P-867 may be able to help me psychologically without treating me as a patient. I need her professional skill unprofessionally exercised.
Looking at it all round, I am forced to conclude that P-867 is the best possible match for me in the present circumstances—the circumstances of Level 7, which is the best of all possible worlds.
Well, perhaps it isn’t—the world, I mean—but the marriage seems all right.
The very idea of the bargain makes me feel better already.
MAY 7
Today I suggested to P-867 that we should get married, but I stressed at the same time that I wanted to be free to talk to R-747 during my half hours in the lounge.
P-867 promptly accepted both my proposal and the reservation. She seemed happy and wanted us to press the red button together and announce our decision at once. This was all right with me. Now I am waiting for the private loudspeaker to say when the ceremony will take place, and I will finish writing this entry when the message has come through.
I have received the message:
“Marriage Service calling X-127. Your marriage with P-867 has been approved. The ceremony will take place today in the Marriage Room at 7 p.m. sharp. Kindly press the red button and confirm that you have received and understood this message.”
I was just doing so when X-107 walked into the room. He must have guessed from the expression on my face that the message I was acknowledging was no ordinary one, for he smiled and raised a questioning eyebrow. When I told him I was marrying P-867 this very evening, he congratulated me warmly and said he thought I had made a very wise decision.
I am glad he approves, because of course we shall remain room-mates and I shall still spend many more hours with him than with my future wife—a consoling thought, somehow.
MAY 8
Yesterday evening I met P-867 at the appointed time and place, and a couple of minutes later we were out, duly married and with the letters ‘m’ fixed to our identity badges.
We smiled when we saw how our names had grown, and decided on the spot that between ourselves we would forget the ponderous P-867m and X-127m and call each other P and X for short.
Then P suggested that we should follow up the official ceremony with an unofficial celebration. We were right in the dining-room, where the second shift was in the middle of its meal and I could not think what P had in mind. She drew me mysteriously into a corner where we would not disturb the diners, fished in her pocket, said: “Here’s how we’ll celebrate,” and produced—a small bar of chocolate.
It seems that she happened to have this chocolate on her when she was ordered down to Level 7. She had kept it all this time for some special occasion, and now the occasion had arrived. She broke the bar in two and gave me the bigger piece.
I raised it as if it were a glass and proposed the toast: “To you and me!”
“To X and P!” she rhymed. Then we ate the chocolate, nibbling bits off and chewing them slowly as if we were sipping at a wine of old and rare vintage.
This is rather what the experience was like, in fact. We had been down here long enough to forget completely what ordinary food tasted like. The stuff we had grown used to had hardly any flavour, and we ate it automatically and without interest—feeding had become a sort of reflex action at certain hours of the day.
As a result, the chocolate P produced was like some rich, exotic delicacy to our bored palates, and we both prolonged the eating as long as we could. The chocolate lasted ten minutes; and then we had to part, as the second shift had finished at the table and we were getting in people’s way.
We do not know our hours of privacy yet, but the loudspeaker will tell us in due course, so there is no need to worry about making dates. The Marriage Service will work out the best time, taking into account our working hours and the requirements of the other married couples.
I am sure our next meeting will be planned in the best possible way.
MAY 10
My honeymoon has had to be postponed. Instead of meeting P, I have just spent forty-eight hours in hospital. It really is funny. I think it is the first amusing thing that has happened since I came down to Level 7.
My case history is quite simple. After writing that last entry in my diary I went on duty in the Operations Room. I had not been there long before my stomach started to feel bad. Soon the unpleasant sensations became quite a fierce pain, and I decided I should have to do something about it. Such a thing had never happened to me before.
I pushed the red button and asked for help and instructions. They worked fast. Five minutes later X-117 came into take my place and the loudspeaker told me to go to my room until they came to escort me to the hospital. I hardly had time to stretch out on my bed before two nurses arrived (despite my pains I noticed that one of them wore an ‘m’ and the other did not) and helped me across to the ward. Within a quarter of an hour of having sent my S.O.S., I was tucked up in a hospital bed.
There was nothing unusual about the ward. It was small, of course, like most of the rooms here, with only five beds beside mine, all of them empty. So I had the lady doctor, M-227m, all to myself. She took my temperature, looked at my tongue, poked me, asked me a couple of questions, and finally told me I had upset my
