Susumu Hirota, a.k.a. Senrigan, which means “He who sees a thousand miles,” 83, religion historian, professor of the religious history at Bangkok University. I did not manage to speak with him. He will return to the institute tomorrow or the day after. According to Gaidai, the Wizard did not like chat clairvoyant at all. At least, it is known that the Wizard exited precisely during their meeting.
According to all the witnesses, the exit looked like this. The Wizard had been standing in the middle of the mentoscopy room, listening while Gaidai lectured him on the extraordinary abilities of Senrigan, while Senrigan interrupted the lecturer from time to time with exposure of the lecturer’s personal circumstances, and suddenly, without a word, without a warning gesture or glance, that green gomne turned sharply, bumped into Borya Laptev with his elbow, walked down the corridors at a fast clip, without stopping anywhere for a second, toward the exit. That was it.
Several other people had seen the Wizard at the Institute: scientific workers, lab assistants, and a few of the administrative personnel. None of them knew whom they were looking at. And only two newcomers to the Institute paid any attention to the Wizard, stunned by his looks. I did not learn anything of significance from them.
Then I met with Boris Laptev. Here it the most important part of our conversation:
I: You’re the only man who was with the Wizard all the time from Saraksh to Saraksh. Did you notice anything strange?
BORIS: A fine question! You know, that’s like when they asked the camel why his neck was crooked. And he said, “What do I have that’s straight?”
I: Still. Try to recall his behavior for that whole period. Something must have happened to make him kick up a fuss.
BORIS: Listen, I’ve known the Wizard for two of our years. He is an inexhaustible creature. I gave up a long, long time ago and don’t even try to figure him out. What can I tell you? He had a depression that day, as I call it. From time to time, it comes upon him without any visible causes. He grows taciturn, and if he does open his mouth, it’s only to my something nasty. That’s how it was that day. While we were flying in from Saraksh, everything was fine, he intoned aphorisms, joked with me, even hummed… But by the time we reached Mirza-Charle he grew grim, almost didn’t talk at all with Logovenko, and when we started going around the Institute with Gaidai, he was blacker than a thundercloud. I was afraid that he would insult someone, but he must have felt that he couldn’t go on like that, and fled from temptation. He was silent all the way back to Saraksh. He did look around in Mirza-Charle as if in farewell, and in a disgusting, whiny voice he squeaked: “He sees mountains and forests, clouds and skies, but he doesn’t see what’s right under his nose.”
I: What’s that supposed to mean?
BORIS: Children’s verse. Ancient.
I: How did you interpret it?
BORIS: I didn’t. I saw that he was mad at the world, he was ready to bite. I saw that I had to keep quiet. He and I didn’t utter a word all the way back.
I: And that’s it?
BORIS: That’s it. Just before landing, he muttered, “Neither fish nor fowl. Let’s wait for the blind to see the seeing.” And when we got out in Blue Snake, he waved good bye and, as they say, vanished into the jungle. He didn’t thank me, by the way, or invite me to his place.
I: You can’t tell me anything more?
BORIS: What do you want from me? Yes, there was something that really displeased him on Earth. But he didn’t deign to tell me what. I’m telling you he is an inexplicable and unpredictable creature. It may not have anything to do with Earth at all. Maybe he just had stomach ache that day — in the broad sense of the word, of course, in a very broad sense, a cosmic one…
I: You think it’s not a coincidence that someone doesn’t see anything in the child’s poem and then the line about the blind and seeing?
BORIS: You see, the stuff about the blind and the seeing is a saying on Saraksh. Like “on a cold day in August” or “once in a blue moon.” He must have wanted to say that something would never happen. And the poem came from general nastiness. He quoted it with obvious sarcasm; I just don’t know what he was mocking. Maybe that boring, bragging Jap.
PRELIMINARY CONCLUSIONS:
l. I could not obtain any data that could help find the Wizard on Saraksh.
2. I cannot give any recommendations for continuing the search.
T. Glumov
[End of Document 8]
DOCUMENT 9: Narrative: Toivo Glumov and the Wanderers
On the evening of May 6, I was seen by our President, Athos-Sidorov. I took along the most interesting materials, and I gave him the essence of the matter and my proposals, orally. He was very sick by then, his face was sallow, and he was short of breath. I had put off this visit too long: he didn’t have the strength to be truly amazed. He said that he would familiarize himself with the materials, think it over, and call me tomorrow.
I spent all of May 7 in my office, waiting for his call. He did not call. In the evening, I was told that he had suffered a severe attack, had barely been revived, and was now in the hospital. Once again, everything was dumped on my shoulders, and so hard that the poor little bones of my soul cracked.
On May 8, I received — among other things — Toivo’s report on his visit to the Institute of Eccentrics. I checked off his name, entered his report in the registrator, and began cooking up an assignment for Petya Siletsky. By then, only Petya Siletsky and Zaya Momzova from my staff had not been to the Institute.
At approximately that time in his room, Toivo Glumov was talking to Grisha Serosovin. I bring a reconstruction of their conversation below, primarily to demonstrate the mind-set of my coworkers at that time. But only in terms of quality. In terms of quantity, the relationship was the same: on one side there was only Toivo Glumov, and on the other, all the rest.
U.E. DEPARTMENT, ROOM D. 8 May 99. EVENING.
Grisha Serosovin walked in, as usual, without knocking, stopped in the doorway, and asked, “May I come in?
Toivo put aside Vertical Progress (the work by the anonymous K Oxovu), bent his head, and looked over at Grisha.
“You may. But I’m going home very soon.”
“Is Sandro out again?”
Toivo looked at Sandro’s desk. The desk was empty and impeccably clean.
“Yes. Third day.”
Grisha sat down at Sandro’s desk and crossed his legs.
“Where were you yesterday?” he asked.
“Kharkov.”
“Ah, so you’ve been to Kharkov, too!”
“Who else?”
“Almost everyone. In the last month, almost the entire department’s been in Kharkov. Listen, Toivo, here’s why I dropped by. You’ve worked on ‘sudden geniuses,’ right?”
“Yes. A long time ago. The year before last.”
“Do you remember Soddi?”
“I do. Bartholomew Soddi: A mathematician who became a confessor.”
“That’s the one,” Grisha said. “In the summary, there is a phase. I quote: ‘According to our information, B. Soddi suffered a personal tragedy before his metamorphosis.’ If you compiled the summary, I have two questions for you. What was the tragedy? And where did you get the data?”
Toivo reached out and called up his program on the screen. The selection of information was over, and the counting was on. With unhurried movements, Toivo started clearing off his desk. Grisha waited patiently. Be was used to it.
“If it says ‘according to our information,’ ” Toivo said, “that means I got it from Big Bug.”
He fell silent. Grisha waited some more, recrossed his legs, and said, “I don’t want to bother the Big Bug with these thrills. All right, I’ll try to manage without… Listen, Toivo, doesn’t it seem to you that our Big Bug has been kind of nervous lately?”
Toivo shrugged.
“Maybe,” he said. “The President is very bad. They say Gorbovsky is near death. And he knows them all. He knows them all well.”
Grisha said thoughtfully: “By the way, I know Gorbovsky too; how about that. You remember… though I guess that was before your time… Kamill had committed suicide. The last of the Devil’s Dozen. The whole Devil’s Dozen case was really nothing to you, either… just something that made the air tremble. For instance, I had never heard of him… Well, the fact of suicide, though it would be more accurate to say self-destruction, Kamill’s suicide did not elicit any doubts. But it wasn’t clear why. That is, it was clear that his life wasn’t a bed of roses; the last hundred years of his life he had been completely alone. You and I can’t even imagine such loneliness But that’s not what I was talking about. Big Bug sent me to Gorbovsky then, because, it seemed, Gorbovsky had been close to Kamill in his day and had even tried to give him some affection… Are you listening?”