The House of a Thousand Floors (CEU Press Classics) Read online

  Petr Brok woke up. — With a start, he opened his eyes, and the tormenting illusion disappeared. How long had he been sleeping? He stood up in the lift cage and immediately remembered the previous day. He eagerly grasped the grille as if he wanted to preserve this reality that had preceded that terrible dream with a yellow lamp in the middle of a hollow skull. He felt a painful desire in anticipation of what was to come. With astonishment, he remembered that he was invisible and stepped out of the lift.

  He walked through a narrow passage, down several steps, opened a cast iron gate — and found himself in a street. Two rows of buildings, shop signs and pavements. Only one thing was missing here, something that belongs to every street, although nobody notices it. the sky. Instead of the sky, there was a high vaulted ceiling made from a single piece of glass. Underneath it a massive globe glowed, white and unbearable like the sun at its zenith.

  Windows and people. — Endless rows of windows and people. Windows that were silent and windows that shout, windows surprised and tearful, enigmatic, yawning with boredom, windows, windows, windows — beckoning, luring, laughing and weeping. — And among them a multi-coloured, effervescent crowd of people rushing in all directions, circulating ceaselessly, a mixture of all human races. The colours of their clothes, skin, eyes and hair all mingle; voices come out of thousands of mouths as if from the pipes of an organ that had escaped from a burning cathedral.

  And just as the sky and sun above their heads are both fake, it seems to Brok that all those people, strutting and shouting, have something phoney and monstrously artificial about them. The faces of the men are clean-shaven or covered with beards of various shapes and styles, but many of these appear to Brok to be false, glued on. — Some of these people are ostensibly enjoying themselves, laughing for no apparent reason. Others are hurrying somewhere with an expression of anxiety or even terror in their faces. A Chinaman over there is stealthily sneaking below the windows, following someone. And over here, a criminal is on the prowl, with a small black patch over his eye. — A shot sounds behind one of the doors but no-one pays attention. A sailor with a pock-marked face, wearing a black and yellow T-shirt, staggers drunkenly, belting out a lewd song. Three men with bare torsos and black masks covering their faces, arrogantly swagger down the street, daggers behind their belts. The crowd parts in front of them. A row of figures with purple hoods over their heads and round holes for eyes file down the street. — The windows of dancing halls open wide with yellow laughter. Li-la-lo-lu, says a Japanese woman, an ornamental needle stuck in her hairdo, like a dagger piercing a black heart. She is walking arm in arm with a gangster who amuses himself by tripping up old men. As he bares his red-stained teeth, he has just kicked a legless beggar and sent him sprawling over a sewer grate. A black shop sign screams:

  A hawker wheezes:

  A green and black banner:

  A small window opens:

  Violet face powder like a mask on women's faces. Gleaming white teeth, black squares of windows, jingle bells, and, under the red drop of a light bulb, a woman throws around penetrating words, her crude gestures suggesting that she is the seller, the shop and the merchandise all in one:

  "Hurry along, young and old.

  Before you pass me by

  Look at my face!

  Notice my hair,

  Appreciate the colour of my eyes!

  Feel the firmness of my breasts

  For free...

  Touch my calves

  Hard as the rails

  Along which passion speeds!

  I am burning, I am burning

  For eight argents

  I will torture you to death with my love..."

  And opposite her, a man with a red forked goatee sits over a rickety table covered with small boxes. Surrounded by several gawkers, he shouts:

  Buy dreams!

  Guaranteed quality goods! They last a whole night!

  Dreams about gold!

  Become a millionaire for one night! Buy my "Gold Dream"! Protected trademark!

  A single AGA pill

  before you go to sleep will guarantee a night full of love, kisses and embraces Instructions for use

  Special offer! Rosy dreams!

  Try one and you'll come back for more! No side effects!

  Do you want to travel to exotic places?

  See palm trees, caravans, savages, tigers and monkeys? Buy our EXOTICS tablets

  Fall asleep on your back with an ARO pastille under your tongue

  and you'll experience a plane journey to the sun!

  Try an ORA pill

  to experience a hurricane for one night and survive it in the safety of your bed

  Are you afraid to journey to the stars?

  Is star travel beyond your means? Dreams can bring you this adventure!

  Buy my Stardream for five argents!

  Beware of fakes!

  Gigantic signs, moving neon patterns repeating themselves until they make you go mad; advertisements everywhere: on banners, walls, windows, doors, on people's backs and even on their faces. — Paper, colours, glass and human mouths all scream at Brok from all directions, filling his eyes and ears. He had been walking on for a long while, not stepping aside for anyone, amused at the sight of the unsuspecting passers-by who collided with him and jumped, their faces transformed by surprise and terror. He veered to the right following the road. Then he realised that he had been walking in a circle and had returned to his starting point. Only then did he notice the narrow, winding streets running from the main circular road onto which the crowds slowly trickled. Metal walls rusty with dampness, windows muzzled with curved grilles. Some streets were so narrow that you could touch the walls with both hands. And there were streets like mountain passes where the walls almost touched and people had to squeeze through sideways, holding their breath and drawing their bellies in.

  VIII

  The shops in Tiger Street · Hotel Eldorado · A clean-handedjoint venture · Revolution in Mullerdom

  Petr Brok entered one of these side streets. The glass tiles underfoot were covered in dirt. Some were cracked or broken, letting in light. Through one of these chinks in the floor, Brok could see the same crowds milling around below, phosphorescent colours flashing, and he could even hear the shouting of street vendors.

  This street, too, was full of various shop signs, but more discreet and not as loud. The more modest the sign, the better the shop and more sought after the owner. A dirty business card stuck on the door, a small notice in the window, an enamel plaque the size of a palm. There was no more shouting; here, the signs spoke in suggestive whispers.

  Behind a window among small bottles is a metal sign:

  POISON SELLER

  On a rusty wall scribbled with chalk:

  GARPONA lets blood all day! Discreetly!

  Painted letters running down a wooden plank:

  CHULKOV, madness

  Across a dark narrow street, there is a wire stretched from wall to wall, supporting a swaying signboard with a painted dagger and the words:

  Further down, a warped sign hangs sideways above a door. The staggering letters, as if written by a drunk's finger dipped in mud, announce:

  Petr Brok decided to visit this dubious hotel. For one thing, he was tired and he also wanted to have a good look at the clientele. He entered a small dark hall smelling of mice, sweaty laundry and something else, something quite unbearable. A door led from the hall into a large room painted in gaudy colours like a bar. The ceiling was fitted with a round convex glass, the purpose of which was not clear to Brok.

  There were people sitting at the round table, but Brok had no time to observe the company that had gathered there because precisely at that moment someone said the word 'revolution', a word that makes as strong an impact on the ear as the sight of blood makes on the eye.

  "Revolution!" shouted a man with a double-pointed black goatee. "The slaves have risen in the factory district! The uprising has already spread over eighty floors! I
t all started in the Omega Cube factory, with someone called Vítek of Vítkovice, a slave driver who betrayed our Great Muller. He secretly organised resistance and now he's calling for the entire world to be saved from Muller's clutches. He wants to bring the slaves to power, and replace them in the machine halls and mine shafts with aristocracy from the lower floors.

  The workers from the Omega Cube factory were soon joined by another 1,980 men from the chemical plant, 260 from the mint factory, 400 from the foundry, 5,380 from the gas works and 250 from the liqueur factory. They've already smashed their way through into the City of Darkness, where they gained the support of the population with their call to establish a republic and their promise that even the blind will be represented in its government. They want to use them to form a terrible vanguard, like a wall. If they manage to penetrate the City of Darkness, there's a danger they'll open the prisons located on the upper floors. What's worse is they're also breaking through downwards, destroying machinery and equipment. They've plundered offices on floors 690 to 700 and they're making their way to floor 680 where the warehouses start. This means they are only 60 floors away from the provisions stores. Of course, they're finding it difficult to make their way through the hard ceilings made of solium concrete. Luckily, the lifts have stopped working; the power plants are located in the first zone and the supply was immediately cut off. The main staircase is blocked with barricades and it'll take them months to break through those since their equipment is so basic.

  But our Great Muller doesn't want them on his conscience, although he could easily exterminate them with gas. He believes that it will be possible to convince them to give up. That's why he sent me here, to West-Wester to hire several experts so we can infiltrate the movement and poison it from inside, bring chaos into the revolutionary ranks, and, above all, get rid of Vítek of Vítkovice who is the soul of this palace revolt and the brains behind it. Mind you, Muller has tried to bribe them with gold — but to no avail..."

  IX

  Garpona · Mr Perker · Poisons · KAWAI serum · SIO gas · Glass lenses on the temples of the blind man

  Maybe with a dagger?" asked a rectangular man everyone called Garpona. He had no arms and served himself with his feet.

  "You've heard him, the gracious Muller doesn't ask for blood," muttered a man with an obscenely large purple nose, like a massive bunch of grapes, which took up most of his face and it seemed to Brok that it continued growing and ripening as he watched.

  "I've got goods that are tried and tested and have proven their efficacy a thousand times, which I administer myself with guaranteed success. If you like, the victim will die of a heart attack. One drop of poison U will have a lethal effect on the brain. A dose of G will bring on cancer. I also have O cigars . Or a milligram of E in a glass of milk..."

  "I work exclusively with bulk orders," a blind man with a deep baritone voice interrupted the man with the big nose. His eyelids were stitched together, which gave his face a terrible sense of calm. But on his temples he had two metal cases, each fitted with a sharp gleaming lens, like the eyes of a predatory bird.

  "The revolution could be destroyed with my germs. The Great Muller knows about me."

  "The slaves' turn will come but, first of all, we must take out Vítek! — Not kill him, do you understand? His body can go on living. It's his soul we have to destroy, his soul or his brain!"

  "Inject his brain with KAWAI serum and he'll go mad," a short man with a double hunchback advised.

  "Inhaling SIO gas will turn him into an old man overnight," added a decrepit trembling old man, bald as a coot. "He'll spend the rest of his life dying in senility. The apparatus can be placed in the bedroom unnoticed. It's like a toy, a little rubber ball that's found its way into a corner."

  "The best dagger, the best poison, the best serum, the best gas — are eyes!" a yellowish face spelled out cautiously but emphatically, its round black eyes glittering with white hot squares.

  "Very well," said the agent and took out a writing pad. "I'm going to make a note of your names: Mr Garpona — dagger, Mr Perker — poison, Mr Schwartz — Sio, Mr Orsag — bacteria, Mac Doss — hypno, Sudar Chulkov — Kawai. All of you come to 8 Orange Street on the 274th floor tomorrow and bring everything you've just described to me with you. An aerolift will transport you to the top of Mullerdom, and from there you'll be able to easily penetrate the heart of the revolution and mix in with the plebs. The Great Muller will then reward you according to the success of your mission."

  "To hell with it!" cursed the handless assassin when the agent left. "No work to speak of! I might just as well stick my dagger into a pile of manure!" — He was fiddling with his feet under the table and then again on top of it. Then he wiped his brow with the sole of one foot and loudly clicked the toes of the other.

  "You smell of blood, brother," the master of poisons muttered and, with an expression of great satisfaction, blew his nose on the ground. Then he wiped his unbearable nose with a red handkerchief, adding: "Our work is clean. no blood on our hands."

  "Who says I only work with a dagger?" asked the assassin. "Pay me twenty mulldors more and I'll strangle him with hands as clean and pure as a bride's." He slid his feet out of his slippers under the table and spread his long white toes to show he meant business.

  "We're both amateurs," said the poison master, "Let Mr Orsag tell us how he fed his germs to a whole army of miners."

  The blind man did not deign to reply but the sinister lenses on his temples flashed as he turned to the big-nosed man.

  "And what about Mr Schwartz?" Big Nose persisted, this time questioning the tremulous little old man. "How many people did you age overnight?"

  "I work downstairs, in the financial district," lisped the toothless Schwartz. "I've just installed a small device on the eighth floor of the second zone, in young Gerel's bedroom. He's the son of that top loan shark who sold Alaska and the African colonies to Muller. Adria, his niece, wants to inherit his wealth. In a week, Gerel Junior will be older than his father. Another one, Sir Moru, the biggest shareholder of the Universe Company, is ageing with every step he takes."

  "And is that your doing, too?" Big Nose wondered. "They say he he's got a lot of problems."

  "That's right... His shares will end up in the hands of a man whose name I cannot reveal. I believe that I have done the most for our benefactor, our Lord."

  "I'm not sure what you mean when you say 'the most', my dear Schwartz," Double Hunchback piped up, then turned to the man with the burning eyes. "Mac Doss, our Doctor of Hypnotism, is new among us and has not yet heard my story... eeh... if it were not for me, our good Father and Lord would be finished."

  X

  Astronomer Galio, master of the stars The first ship to travel into space · Muller's hunger for the stars · How Galio became a big zero · Sudar Chulkov, the king of fifty thousand stars

  The hunchback raised two fingers to the convex glass eye in the ceiling: "I'm telling the truth. Let Great Muller be my witness if He happens to be kindly looking down on His humble servants. I rid Him of an enemy who would have sucked up all the miraculous fluid that gushes like a fountain underneath Mullerdom, from which He drinks. Today, everyone knows this... clack, clack — he was old Galio, the star merchant. — His son, who now resides on three floors in the third zone, is a mere amateur compared to his father. Muller lets him trade with worthless, discarded stars: burning stars, stars covered in snow or comets that fly by and never come back. No-one wants them; they're useless merchandise — but old Galio, what a genius! Meh! He set up an astronomy observatory on a small island in Polynesia and performed miracles with a single grain of solium. The natives made him their king and he united about ten islands under his rule. That was when the Great Muller travelled the seas buying up the remaining parts of our world. He visited old Galio in his observatory that doubled as his royal residence. When asked what he wanted in exchange for his small island, the sly old man said modestly: "The night sky!"

  He wo
uld not accept a speck of gold! Meh, meh! Our good Lord Muller saw this as the whim of an old eccentric who was in love with his celestial jewels he observed night after night. It was as if He got the islands for free. The stars belong to no-one, not even Muller Himself, but if the silly old man wanted them, why wouldn't He sell them to him? If he wants to be a fool, let him be one! They signed a contract: Muller became the master of ten Polynesian islands, while Galio became the master of all the stars. One had a pig in a poke, the other a bird in the bush! Chirp! Chirp!! Not just one, but billions of birds who flew to him on clear nights, always in the same flock.

  What Muller didn't know then was that it would become possible to use solium to make spacecraft that would crisscross the universe like a swarm of mosquitoes! By then, he had long forgotten about his contract, when the first swallow set out and returned weighed down with untold riches from nine stars. Universe Company was founded, opening up new inexhaustible sources of fabulous wealth. And that was when old Galio reminded Muller about the contract! It turned out that all the stars discovered by Universe already belonged to Galio because of the contract signed by Muller himself. And Our Lord realised how much the ten little islands had cost him. Galio became the master of all the stars, while Muller owned just one, the one on which he stood. Li-li-li! Meh, meh! — Fairytale riches, exotic fruits, new metals and unknown precious stones — all of this belonged to Galio according to that damned old contract! Chirp, chirp, chirp.