1
“I’m not thinking straight today," complained the Chief. “What do you mean by that?”
It takes a while to accustom to such kind of news. I took a measured pause and repeated:
“It’s round, boss. It occurred to them it’s round.”
Leaning back in his chair, the Chief surveyed me with such curiosity, as if I myself devised this whole disgrace. He pondered over something for a minute or two, silently moving his lips, and finally sighed with relief:
“Fools. Explain to them that everybody at the bottom will fall off like autumn leaves.”
“Tried it already. They have a theory on this, and, I must say, a fairly neat one. They say it’s not that you’re pulled to where the bottom is, but quite the opposite: where you’re pulled to fall to, there’s the bottom. And since—”
The Chief jerked upright and pierced me with a fixed gaze. I fell silent obediently.
“And since…,” he repeated, trying to catch on, “since—don’t stare, it’s distracting. So, since the Earth is round and everything is pulled towards the center, the bottom is different for everyone, yet it’s necessarily underfoot? Something like that?”
“You’ve grasped the crux of it, boss. That’s exactly how they, if I may say so, reason.”
The Chief shook his head in disbelief, trying to find a logical flaw. Then he shifted in his chair admiringly:
“Well, think about it! They turned everything on its head, yet it’s unassailable. Deployment-ready.”
“Is the merit is their though?” I sang enthusiastically, keeping up with the master’s mood.
For which I was granted a contemptuous grimace:
“How many times do I have to tell you, refrain from direct flattery. Is it difficult to remark: ‘A pretty good illustration of the brain’s potential to acquire abstract thinking skills’? I’ll then fathom on my own who gets the credit. Go ahead, practice.”
“The species-specific capacity,” I rattled off, “for the complex adaptive behavior manifested itself in full measure.”
“Bravo. Incidentally, so did yours. If you learn not to overfawn, I can put up with you long enough. Now go expound to them on the elephants and the turtle. Back to reality.”
I hesitated, choosing which was easier: to lay it all out at once or to run away, postponing the inevitable scolding.
“It won’t work, boss,” I finally uttered. “They perceive a paradox.”
“Really? And exactly who is deigning to perceive?”
“Philosophers.”
“Who are they?”
“Sort of sages, albeit cheeky. Truly, what did they come up with! ‘Fine,’ they say. ‘The world sits on three enormous elephants. Let’s accept it. The elephants stand on a turtle. Let’s believe. But what does the turtle rest on?’”
“And what does it actually rest on?”
“So they are chorusing: ‘What does it rest on?’”
Here we both fell silent. I had no more doubt: this will not end well.
“Who’s in charge of the hardware?” the Chief croaked, and, when the Senior was summoned, immediately got down to business:
“What does the world actually rest on?”
That’s instead of a greeting. The Senior was quick-witted and instantly turned pale:
“During the implementation of the object in question, taking into account the circumstances and the personal directives—”
“I’m not interested in the historical background,” the Chief cut him off. “Please stick to the issue.”
“But you… I mean… On the elephants.”
“That’s the way. Brief and to the point. And the elephants?”
“On the turtle.” The Senior gulped convulsively, catching the direction of the boss’s thought.
“And the turtle?”
The Senior said nothing. If I were him, I’d also deem it fit to stay silent.
“Hurry up with your answer,” the Chief suggested in that icy tone which hides the darkest depths of his rage. And, looking steadily at stupefied with fear Senior, he sentenced:
“I’m afraid I’ll have to part ways with you.”
And right there and then he parted ways with him.
Afterward he absently stared straight ahead for a long time, wrapping himself chillily in a spacious chlamys. Finally he remembered about me:
“How long have they been having it—philosophy?”
“Perhaps three hundred years or so.”
“Why have you kept it quiet?”
“We didn’t dare. We thought it would pass.”
“It would pass,” mimicked listlessly somewhat cooled down by then boss. “Next time you keep it quiet, I’ll send you after him. Are there many of them, your philosophers?”
“There are about fifty alive,” I replied.
The Chief frowned, assessing what would it cost.
“Only if you mean direct methods, they have already blabbed out everything.”
“Go away,” I heard, and I was overjoyed.
#
When I presented myself to report the next day, I realized that the boss had been working all night. He looked exhausted. Without looking up, rummaging through the papers, he appointed me the Senior. I thanked him for his trust, but thought to myself, how long will I last?
“Now look here.“ The Chief pressed down a large sheet of paper with his palm. Two circles with curved lines and elaborate pictures were drawn on it. One of the circles reminded me vaguely of something. “Blue is water, everything else is land. This is the east, your smarties are here. This is”—he flicked the other circle with his finger—“the west. They are not here yet, but they will show up eventually. Remember what you need to do. You take these east and west and you stick them together by these marks. And pay attention: hills face out. Then you pump this thingy up to make a sphere. Slap some islands on the joint as if it were so, but don’t overdo it. And make sure the weight is everywhere towards the center, or else you’ll be catching them by armfuls. All clear?”
“Almost all,” I said, gathering up the papers. There was only one question left. “What about the turtle?”
Instead of answering, the Chief darted at me such a look that I backed away towards the door, not envying either myself or the turtle.