Stanislaw Lem: The Cyberiad

Klapaucius was somewhat put off by the fact that Altruizine was only for humans, which meant that robots would have to continue to endure the misfortunes allotted to them in this world. I, however, made bold to remind him of the solidarity of all thinking beings and the necessity of aiding our organic brothers. Then there were practical matters to arrange, for we were agreed that the business of bestowing happiness was not to be postponed. So while Klapaucius had a subsection of the Gnostotron prepare a suitable quantity of the drug, I selected a geomorphic planet, one peopled by human types and no more than a fortnight’s journey off. As a benefactor, I wished to remain anonymous, therefore my distinguished mentor advised me, when going there, to assume the form of a man, which is no easy task, as you well know. Yet here too the great constructor overcame all difficulties, and soon I was ready to depart, a suitcase in either hand. One suitcase was filled with forty kilograms of Altruizine in a white powder, the other was packed with various toilet articles, pajamas, underwear, spare chins, noses, hair, eyes, and so forth. I went as a well-proportioned young man with a thin mustache and a forelock. Now Klapaucius had some doubt as to the advisability of applying Altruizine on such a large scale to begin with, and though I did not share his reservations, I did agree to test the formula first as soon as I landed on Terrania (for so was the planet called). Longing for the moment I could commence with the great sowing of universal peace and brotherhood, I bid a fond farewell to Klapaucius and hastened on my way.

In order to conduct the necessary test, I repaired, upon arrival, to a small hamlet where I took lodgings at an inn maintained by an aging and rather morose individual. As they carried my luggage from the carriage to the guest room, I contrived to drop a pinch of the powder into a nearby well. Meanwhile there was a great commotion in the front yard, scullery maids ran back and forth with pitchers of hot water, the innkeeper drove them on with curses, and then came the sound of hoofbeats, a chaise clattered up and an old man jumped out, clutching the black leather bag of a physician—his goal was not the house, however, but the barn, whence came the most doleful groans. As I learned from the chambermaid, a Terranian beast which belonged to the innkeeper—they called it a cow—was just now giving birth. This news troubled me: it had never occurred to me to consider the animal side of the question. But nothing could be done now, so I locked myself in and waited for events to unfold. Nor did I have long to wait. I was listening to the chain rattling in the well—they were still drawing water—when suddenly the cow gave another groan, which was echoed this time by several others. Immediately thereafter the veterinarian came running from the barn, howling and holding his stomach, and he was followed by the scullery maids and at last the innkeeper. Driven by the cow’s labor pains, they raised a great cry and fled in all directions —only to return at once, for the agony abated at a certain distance. Again and again they rushed the barn and each time were forced to retreat, doubled over with the beast’s contractions. Much chagrined by this unforeseen development, I realized now that the drug could be properly tested only in the city, where there were no animals. So I quickly packed my things and went to pay the bill. But as everyone about was quite incapacitated in birthing that calf, there was no one available with whom to settle accounts. I returned to my carriage, but finding both coachman and horses deep in labor, decided instead to proceed to the city on foot. I was crossing a small bridge when, as my ill fortune would have it, the suitcase slipped from my hand and fell in such a way, that it flew open and spilled my entire supply of powder into the stream below. I stood there dazed while the quick current carried off and dissolved all forty kilograms of Altruizine. But nothing could be done now— the die was cast, inasmuch as this stream happened to supply the entire city up ahead with its drinking water.

It was evening by the time I reached the city, the lights were lit, the streets were full of noise and people. I found a small hotel, a place to stay and observe the first signs of the drug taking effect, though as yet there seemed to be none. Weary after the day’s peregrination, I made straight for bed, but was awakened in the middle of the night by the most horrible screams. I threw off the covers and jumped up. My room was bright from the flames that were consuming the building opposite. Running out into the street, I stumbled over a corpse which was not yet cold. Nearby, six thugs held down an old man and, while he cried for help, yanked one tooth after another from his mouth with a pair of pliers— until a unanimous shout of triumph announced that finally they had succeeded in pulling the right one, the rotten root of which had been driving them wild, due to the metapsychotropic transmission. Leaving the toothless old man half-dead in the gutter, they walked off, greatly relieved.

Yet it was not this that had roused me from my slumber: the cause was an incident which had transpired in a tavern across the way. It seems some drunken weightlifter had punched his comrade in the face and, experiencing the blow forthwith, became enraged and set upon him in earnest. Meanwhile the other customers, no less affronted, joined in the fray, and the circle of mutual abuse soon grew to such proportions, that it awoke half the people at my hotel, who promptly armed themselves with canes, brooms and sticks, rushed out in their nightshirts to the scene of battle, and hurled themselves, one seething mass, among the broken bottles and shattered chairs, until finally an overturned kerosene lamp started the fire. Deafened by the wail of fire engines, as well as the wail of the maimed and wounded, I hurried away, and after a block or two found myself in a gathering—that is, a crowd milling about a little white house with rose bushes. As it happened, a bride and groom were spending their wedding night within. People pushed and pulled, there were military men in the crowd, men of the cloth, even high-school students; those nearest the house shoved their heads through the windows, others clambered up on their shoulders and shouted, “Well?! What are you waiting for?! Enough of that dawdling! Get on with it!” and so on. An elderly gentleman, too feeble to elbow others aside, tearfully pleaded to be let through, as he was unable to feel anything at such a distance, advanced age having weakened his mental faculties. His pleas, however, were ignored—some of the crowd were lost in a transport of delight, some groaned with pleasure, while others blew voluptuous bubbles through their noses. At first the relatives of the newlyweds tried to drive off this band of intruders, but they themselves were soon caught up in the general flood of concupiscence and joined the scurrilous chorus, cheering the young couple on, and, in this sad spectacle the great-grandfather of the groom led the rest, repeatedly ramming the bedroom door with his wheelchair. Utterly aghast at all of this, I turned and hastened back to my hotel, encountering on the way several groups, some locked in combat, others in a lewd embrace. Yet this was nothing compared with the sight that greeted me at the hotel. People were jumping out of windows in their underwear, more often than not breaking their legs in the process, a few even crawled up on the roof, while the owner, his wife, chambermaids and porters ran back and forth inside, wild with fear, howling, hiding in closets or under beds— all because a cat was chasing a mouse in the cellar.

Now I began to realize that I had been somewhat precipitate in my zeal. By dawn the Altruizine effect was so strong, that if one nostril itched, the entire neighborhood for a mile on every side would respond with a shattering salvo of sneezes; those suffering from chronic migraines were abandoned by their families, and doctors and nurses fled in panic when they approached—only a few pale masochists would hang around them, breathing heavily. And then there were the many doubters who slapped or kicked their compatriots, merely to ascertain whether there was any truth to this amazing transmission of feelings everyone spoke of, nor were these compatriots slow in returning the favor, and soon the entire city rang with the sounds of slaps and kicks. At breakfast time, wandering the streets in a daze, I came upon a tearful multitude that chased an old woman in a black veil, hurling stones after her. It so happened that this was the widow of one much-esteemed cobbler, who had passed away the day before and was to be buried that morning: the poor woman’s inconsolable grief had so exasperated her neighbors, and the neighbors’ neighbors, that, quite unable to comfort her in any way, they were driving her from the town. This woeful sight lay heavy on my heart and again I returned to my hotel, only to find it now in flames. It seems the cook had burnt her finger in the soup, whereupon her pain caused a certain captain, who was at that very moment cleaning his blunderbuss on the top floor, to pull the trigger, inadvertently slaying his wife and four children on the spot. Everyone remaining in the hotel now shared the captain’s despair; one compassionate individual, wishing to put an end to the general suffering, doused everyone he could find with kerosene and set them all on fire. I ran from the conflagration like one possessed, searching frantically for at least one man who might be considered, in any way whatever, to have been rendered happy—but met only stragglers of the crowd returning from that wedding night.