Victor Pelevin - Helmet of Horror

Monstradamus

Of course, Ariadne.

Ariadne

I’ve already told you about the first question. Let’s move on

Question:

‘How can everything else be manufactured out of nothing?’

Answer:

‘See the answer to the next question.’

Next question:

‘How can the helmet of horror be located inside one of its own parts?’

Answer:

‘The helmet of horror fractionates the one thing that is, into the multitude of things that are not. But since the helmet of horror is in no way the one thing that is, it is also one of the multitude of things that are not. And the things that are not may enter into every possible conceivable and inconceivable kind of relationship, since these relationships do not in any case exist anywhere except in the helmet of horror, which does not actually exist itself.’

Question:

‘Does this mean that inside the helmet there is another helmet and in the other helmet there is a third one and so on to infinity in both directions?’

Answer:

‘An individual by the name of A may be a part of the helmet of horror worn by B, and an individual by the name of B may at the same time be a part of the helmet of horror worn by A. This is the final infinity in both directions, and often both of them are quite nice people.’

Question:

‘Can you please say something about the occipital braid.’

Answer:

‘Longer and thicker suits the girl better.’

Nutscracker

All very logical.

Ariadne

Question:

‘How does the separator labyrinth work?’

Just look what happened then! The dwarf had his answer scribbled out even before I had finished writing my question. He waited for me, then tossed his page on to the upper table-top and began turning it. But halfway round he suddenly stopped it and asked in a considerate voice: ‘Are you enjoying your stay as our guest? Be honest.’ I told him: ‘Not much. In fact, to be quite honest, I’m not enjoying it at all.’ Then he let the wooden disc carry on turning and I received a sheet of paper with the answer: ‘That’s the way it works’.

Organizm(-:

I get it. Good, bad and UGLI. But did you ask him why the helmet of horror is called that? I asked you to, remember?

Ariadne

I remember. It was the last question I managed to ask.

Organizm(-:

Well then?

Ariadne

The dwarf asked me to excuse him. He said he’d run out of official paper. But he promised to answer shortly.

Nutscracker

What happened then?

Ariadne

We heard some kind of horn or trumpet sounding a low, sinister note. Or it could have been some animal bellowing. The dwarf was so startled he dropped his inkwell on the floor and it broke, making a blue puddle beside the table. He said his master was summoning him to help and he ran off. And as he left he shouted it was possible that blood would soon be spilled, but it would be avenged.

Nutscracker

Blood?

Ariadne

Yes.

Romeo-y-Cohiba

Are you lot finished yet? When do you think the rest of us could have a chat?

Nutscracker

Nobody’s stopping you, Romeo.

Romeo-y-Cohiba

Isolde, are you there?

IsoldA

Yes. How did you get home yesterday, you beast?

Romeo-y-Cohiba

Why beast?

IsoldA

What am I supposed to call you after that?

Romeo-y-Cohiba

After what?

IsoldA

After the way you behaved.

Romeo-y-Cohiba

Me? Me? And just how did I behave?

IsoldA

Don’t pretend to be stupid.

Romeo-y-Cohiba

Maybe we shouldn’t carry on in front of everyone?

IsoldA

So you’re embarrassed of them, but not of me! And you have the cheek to ask me how you behaved? All right, I’ll tell you. Like a coarse brute, that’s how. Worse than that, like an absolutely shameless and depraved brute who thinks he can get away with anything.

Romeo-y-Cohiba

Well, well. How do you like that! Then let me tell you something. That sickening stunt you pulled yesterday left me feeling like I’d been defiled. It’s like I’ve had some foul substance sprayed into my soul and it fogs up my mind and takes away the desire to go on living.

IsoldA

On the subject of sprays of filth that take away the desire to go on living, you’ve hit the nail on the head there. My fingers would have refused to type that. Even though it’s exactly what I feel. I never even suspected that such a small opening …

Romeo-y-Cohiba

That’s enough. I don’t want the last thing you hear – that is see – from me to be this mean abuse. So stop right there. Did you notice how long it took me to get there yesterday? Do you know why? I couldn’t find the way at first, someone had changed all the marks I left at the turns. I got lost and wandered into a place I’d never been before. The path ran into a dead-end with an old-fashioned red phone box with the British royal coat of arms. The kind they used to have in London. I went in. There was a plaque with the words: ‘Hampton Court Maze, Blind Alley #4, East’. And written in pencil under that was a telephone number and the name Isolde. I tried calling for ages. The line was engaged all the time, and finally I realised it would never be free. But, every time I dialled the number, for a few seconds I believed the next moment I would hear your voice. My Losolde. My Legalita. And that hope, that mute tremor in my soul, like when you pick up speed hurtling down the ski-jump before you launch out into the mist, all the feelings I had time to feel while the dial was turning back to its starting point, gently clicking out the final digit of your false number, that inverted infinity of the figure eight – it was happiness. The figure eight, like two tender sets of lips one above the other, and a blurred row of bushes through the window …

IsoldA

How very touching, I think I’ll burst into tears. Only I don’t understand how after such exalted emotions you could do … that … I don’t even know what to call it. It was enough to make even a paedophile puke.

Romeo-y-Cohiba

But what did I do? You did absolutely everything yourself. The only thing I have to reproach myself with is not offering any resistance. Though that was what I really wanted to do, even before it really began to hurt.

IsoldA

How can you lie so brazenly? But then, what else can I expect from you?

Monstradamus

Pardon me for butting in, I know you can’t stand it. But perhaps I could set you thinking in a new direction. On the map that Isolde saw in the park it said ‘Plan of the labyrinth at Versailles’. But the telephone booth that Romeo was calling her from is located, if we can believe the plaque, in a suburb of London. Do you see what I’m driving at?

Nutscracker

I wouldn’t take those signs seriously. The Versailles outside Isolde’s door is about as real as Romeo’s London. Ugly would say the devil has us all exactly where he wants us. And she’d be absolutely right.

Monstradamus

I wouldn’t argue with that. But every dimension has its own intrinsic laws. And even if we are somewhere in the suburbs of Hell, when one person sees ‘Versailles’ and another sees ‘London’, there’s good reason to assume the devil’s holding them in different places.