Memoirs Found In a Bathtub Read Online Free PDF Page A

interesting item in the abundance of things to see, he pointed it out discreetly. For example, he directed my attention to a great quantity of poppy seed placed on white silk under a strong magnifying lens. This enabled me to notice that each individual seed had been painstakingly hollowed out. Amazed, I turned to ask him what this meant. But he cut me off with a commiserating smile and a shrug, and to make his meaning clear, silently mouthed the word “classified.” Only when we left did he casually remark, “Interesting trophies, aren’t they?”
    The next room was even more magnificent. I looked up and saw an enormous tapestry on the opposite wall, a true masterpiece in auburn and black depicting the birth of a nation. After some hesitation, Blanderdash pointed out one dignitary’s coat in the panorama: the lapels were neatly trimmed black sideburns; I was given to understand they originally belonged to an enemy agent this dignitary had unmasked.
    A cold draft from behind the columns suggested a whole suite of rooms beyond. I no longer looked at the exhibits but followed my guide meekly, quite lost in all this splendor, dazzled by the glitter and the spotlights. We went past sections on the opening of safes, the tempting of agents, the drilling through of walls and mountains, the drying up of seas; I gaped at many-storied machines, machines to copy mobilization plans at any distance, machines to change night into artificial day and vice versa. We crossed a large hall under an immense crystal dome used to simulate sunspots and falsify planetary orbits; replicas of fake constellations and imitation galaxies gleamed on plaques of precious stone. Behind the walls powerful vacuum pumps worked to maintain the low density of air and high level of radiation required to keep the counterfeit atoms and electrons functioning smoothly. My head was spinning—there was too much to take in. Blanderdash noticed my condition and asked me to follow him to the exit.
    Earlier, halfway through the Department of Collections, I had prepared some compliments to deliver after seeing the entire exhibit. But now I couldn’t utter a single word. Blanderdash understood my silence and said nothing. At the elevator two officers approached us, saluted, begged my pardon, and took Blanderdash aside. Blanderdash seemed surprised—he said something, eyebrows raised, but they answered with negative gestures and pointed in my direction. With this, the brief exchange ended. Blanderdash left with the older officer, and the younger approached and explained with an ingratiating smile that he was to accompany me to Department N.
    I saw no reason to protest. But as we stepped back into the elevator, I began to question him about my former guide.
    “Did you say something?” the officer asked, lowering his ear to my mouth and at the same time pressing his hand to his chest, as if in pain.
    “Yes, about Blanderdash. Was he called away on duty? I know I shouldn’t ask—”
    “Not at all, not at all,” the officer said hastily. A slow, peculiar smile widened his thin lips. “Could you say that again?” he asked, suddenly pensive.
    “Say what?”
    “The name.”
    “Blanderdash? But … that is his name, isn’t it?”
    “Oh, I’m sure it is, I’m sure it is.” But his smile grew more pensive.
    “Blanderdash,” he muttered as the elevator came to a stop, “Blanderdash … of course…”
    I wondered what the “of course” was supposed to mean, whether or not it was for my benefit—but just then the elevator opened and we were walking quickly down a corridor toward one of those white doors. He ushered me into a long, narrow room without windows and snapped the door shut behind me. There were four desks under low lamps and an officer at each, laboring over stacks of paper and in shirtsleeves because of the heat. One of them sat up and fixed his dark eyes on me.
    “State your business.”
    I subdued my impatience.
    “Special Mission by order of