"Lem - Seventh Voyage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lem Stanislaw)

after superhuman efforts, succeeded in organizing something that
resembled a meeting, in which the one from next year--having
seniority--was elected chairman by acclamation.
We then appointed an elective committee, a nominating committee, and
a committee for new business, and four of us from next month were
made sergeants at arms. But in the mean time we had passed through a
negative vortex, which cut our number in half, so that on the very
first ballot we lacked a quorum, and had to change the bylaws before
proceeding to vote on the candidates for rudder-repairer. The map
indicated the approach of still other vortices, and these undid all
that we had accomplished so far: first the candidates already chosen
disappeared, and then the Tuesday me showed up with the Friday me,
who had his head wrapped in a towel, and they created a shameful
scene. Upon passage through a particularly strong positive vortex we
hardly fit in the cabin and corridor, and opening the hatch was out
of the question--there simply wasn't room. But the worst of it was,
these time displacements were in creasing in amplitude, a few
grayhaired me's had already appeared, and here and there I even
caught a glimpse of the close-cropped heads of children, that is of
myself, of course--or rather--myselves from the halcyon days of
boyhood.
I really can't recall whether I was still the Sunday me, or had
already turned into the Monday me. Not that it made any difference.
The children sobbed that they were being squashed in the crowd, and
called for their mommy; the chairman--the Tichy from next year--let
out a string of curses, because the Wednesday me, who had crawled
under the bed in a futile search for chocolate, bit him in the leg
when he accidentally stepped on the latter's finger. I saw that all
this would end badly, particularly now as here and there gray beards
were turning up. Between the 142nd and 143rd vortices I passed
around an attendance sheet, but afterwards it came to light that a
large number of those present were cheating. Supplying false vital
statistics, God knows why. Perhaps the prevailing atmosphere had
muddled their wits. The noise and confusion were such that you could
make yourself understood only by screaming at the top of your lungs.

But then one of last year's Ijons hit upon what seemed to be an
excellent idea, namely, that the oldest among us tell the story of
his life; in that way we would learn just who was supposed to fix
the rudder. For obviously the oldest me contained within his past
experience the lives of all the others there from their various
months, days and years. So we turned, in this matter, to a hoary old
gentleman who, slightly palsied, was standing idly in the corner.
When questioned, he began to speak at great length of his children
and grandchildren, then passed to his cosmic voyages, and he had
embarked upon no end of these in the course of his ninety-some
years. Of the one now taking place--the only one of interest to
us--the old man had no recollection whatever, owing to his generally
sclerotic and overexcited condition, however he was far too proud to
admit this and went on evasively, obstinately, time and again