author of all memos, or a figurehead? Had he killed the real Masterson and assumed his place? The figure above, beetling over Henry, seemed almost like a great cancer that had once totally absorbed a man; now its vague memory of his lineaments served it to spew forth an idea of death upon the rest of the world.
As Henry moved closer, however, the cancer cleared its throat and stepped back to let him pass. As it did so, he saw the light had been wrong. This was the face of a fat, weary, self-pitying man, nothing more.
Section II: The Fourth Floor
Masterson explained to Henry that he was closing the third floor department and moving all clerks into the draughting room on this, the fourth, floor.
The old clerk with skin like parchment appeared once more and led Henry into a large room he’d never known existed, where a dozen draughtsmen hunched low over their boards. As he passed them, he saw that each man was working on an entirely different project.
The first draughtsman was drawing large circles and small circles, and dividing them into quadrants. Mandalas, wheels, gunsights? Henry wanted to ask him what he drew, but he seemed preoccupied.
The second was drawing a long, continuous curve on a roll of paper. He might have explained that this represented infinity, but Henry did not pause to hear.
The third drew a histogram showing apparently the sales or consumption of oxen and earthen jars. It seemed too self-evident to enquire about, but was it?
The fourth copied, from the cover of a book of matches, the picture of a girl, labelled DRAW ME, but he was copying it upside down and reversed. Intrigued, Henry asked him why, but the draughtsman was, alas, stone deaf.
The fifth copied stylized arrowheads, from a pattern book. Henry was too frightened to ask him what his intention was.
The sixth was beginning a schematic diagram called MOODY’S LATEST SERMONS. He asked Henry to get out of his light.
The seventh had outlined a set of regular polygons, and was now beginning to black them in. ‘If you like them,’ he said to Henry, ‘you might pay. Otherwise please move on and give another a chance to see them.’
The eighth drew a bird’s wing, ‘Detail 43B.’ Henry was struck speechless by the beauty of it.
The ninth drew a ‘valve in cross-section’. ‘It means,’ he explained, ‘that “My life has for several years been a theatre of calamity.”’ Henry did not understand.
The tenth made, or had made, a map of possibly the human brain. But he was not at his drawing board, and Henry was able neither to decipherit alone or await his return.
The eleventh covered his drawing so that Henry could not see it. It was very likely either a blank sheet or a smeary example of the kind of erotic thing he had been dismissed from another job for sketching:
Two breastlike hills are covered with little figures, archers, shooting crossbows at the sky, or rather at certain objects in the sky. These are dozens of large, vicious-looking sickle shapes, apparently descending to attack the archers or breasts. In the background is a walled city, possibly Nurnberg. It is filth like this that makes me, as a father, wish I could administer the death penalty instead of this five-year sentence.
(from notes of District Judge Ruking.)
The twelfth and last draughtsman seemed only to be doing meaningless doodles. This man later left the Masterson Engineering Company and took a job elsewhere lettering placards. He committed suicide in his room by plunging a French knife (bought for the occasion) into his heart. Impaled on the blade near the hilt the police found a large placard serving as a suicide note. It read:
ACCIDENT
Section III: Lips whiter than teeth
Past them, at the front corner of the room, were familiar faces in a group. Eddie Futch was eating chocolate noisily. Bob and Rod were tacking up signs saying ACCURASY and SUPPORT IBM. Willard Bask was discussing slavery with Clark Markey. Harold Kelmscott, cowled in an
As Henry moved closer, however, the cancer cleared its throat and stepped back to let him pass. As it did so, he saw the light had been wrong. This was the face of a fat, weary, self-pitying man, nothing more.
Section II: The Fourth Floor
Masterson explained to Henry that he was closing the third floor department and moving all clerks into the draughting room on this, the fourth, floor.
The old clerk with skin like parchment appeared once more and led Henry into a large room he’d never known existed, where a dozen draughtsmen hunched low over their boards. As he passed them, he saw that each man was working on an entirely different project.
The first draughtsman was drawing large circles and small circles, and dividing them into quadrants. Mandalas, wheels, gunsights? Henry wanted to ask him what he drew, but he seemed preoccupied.
The second was drawing a long, continuous curve on a roll of paper. He might have explained that this represented infinity, but Henry did not pause to hear.
The third drew a histogram showing apparently the sales or consumption of oxen and earthen jars. It seemed too self-evident to enquire about, but was it?
The fourth copied, from the cover of a book of matches, the picture of a girl, labelled DRAW ME, but he was copying it upside down and reversed. Intrigued, Henry asked him why, but the draughtsman was, alas, stone deaf.
The fifth copied stylized arrowheads, from a pattern book. Henry was too frightened to ask him what his intention was.
The sixth was beginning a schematic diagram called MOODY’S LATEST SERMONS. He asked Henry to get out of his light.
The seventh had outlined a set of regular polygons, and was now beginning to black them in. ‘If you like them,’ he said to Henry, ‘you might pay. Otherwise please move on and give another a chance to see them.’
The eighth drew a bird’s wing, ‘Detail 43B.’ Henry was struck speechless by the beauty of it.
The ninth drew a ‘valve in cross-section’. ‘It means,’ he explained, ‘that “My life has for several years been a theatre of calamity.”’ Henry did not understand.
The tenth made, or had made, a map of possibly the human brain. But he was not at his drawing board, and Henry was able neither to decipherit alone or await his return.
The eleventh covered his drawing so that Henry could not see it. It was very likely either a blank sheet or a smeary example of the kind of erotic thing he had been dismissed from another job for sketching:
Two breastlike hills are covered with little figures, archers, shooting crossbows at the sky, or rather at certain objects in the sky. These are dozens of large, vicious-looking sickle shapes, apparently descending to attack the archers or breasts. In the background is a walled city, possibly Nurnberg. It is filth like this that makes me, as a father, wish I could administer the death penalty instead of this five-year sentence.
(from notes of District Judge Ruking.)
The twelfth and last draughtsman seemed only to be doing meaningless doodles. This man later left the Masterson Engineering Company and took a job elsewhere lettering placards. He committed suicide in his room by plunging a French knife (bought for the occasion) into his heart. Impaled on the blade near the hilt the police found a large placard serving as a suicide note. It read:
ACCIDENT
Section III: Lips whiter than teeth
Past them, at the front corner of the room, were familiar faces in a group. Eddie Futch was eating chocolate noisily. Bob and Rod were tacking up signs saying ACCURASY and SUPPORT IBM. Willard Bask was discussing slavery with Clark Markey. Harold Kelmscott, cowled in an
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