CHAPTER 3

STEPAN ARKADYICH, IN SPITE OF his unhappmess and his natural irritation at the sacrifice of a particularly good household Class II, walked with a slight swing of each leg into the diningroom, where coffee was already waiting for him, piping hot from the I/Samovar/1(8).

Sipping his coffee, he activated Small Stiva’s monitor to display the first of several business-related communiqués he had to review. One was very unpleasant, from a merchant who was buying a small but valuable patch of groznium-rich soil on his wife’s property. To sell this property was absolutely essential; but at present, until he was reconciled with his wife, the subject could not be discussed. The most unpleasant thing of all was that his pecuniary interest should in this way enter into the question of his reconciliation with his wife. And the idea that he might be led on by his interests, that he might seek a reconciliation with his wife on account of the sale of the land—that idea hurt him.

When he had finished viewing his communiqués, Stepan Arkadyich dismissed Small Stiva, enjoyed a sip of coffee, and allowed the morning news feed to wash over him.

Stepan Arkadyich took a liberal feed, not an extreme one, but one advocating the views held by the majority. With the liberal party and his liberal feed, Stepan Arkadyich held that marriage is an institution quite out of date, and that it needs reconstruction; that religion is only a curb to keep in check the barbarous classes of the people; that the progress of technology was too slow, especially in the realm of Class III vocalization and action/reaction; and that there could be no mercy shown the terrorists and assassins of UnConSciya—even though it was that very technological progress those terrorists claimed to be fighting for.

Having finished the feed, a second cup of coffee and a roll and butter, Stiva got up, shaking the crumbs of the roll off his waistcoat; and, squaring his broad chest, he smiled joyously: not because there was anything particularly agreeable in his mind—the joyous smile was evoked by a good digestion, and by the gentle oscillations of the Galena Box.

Just then Small Stiva bustled back into the room and chirruped out a message. “The carriage is ready,” he said, “and there’s someone to see you with a petition.”

“Been here long?” asked Stepan Arkadyich.

“Half an hour.”

“How many times have I told you to tell me at once?”

“One must let you drink your coffee in peace,” answered Small Stiva in that affectionately tinny tone with which it was impossible to be angry. For the hundredth time, Stepan Arkadyich promised himself to have the Class III’s relevant circuits adjusted, to tend him more toward formal attendance to duties, and away from pleasant appeasement of perceived wishes—but he knew he never would do so.

“Well, show the person up at once,” said Oblonsky, frowning with vexation.

After dealing with the petitioner, Stepan Arkadyich took his hat and stopped to recollect whether he had forgotten anything. It appeared that he had forgotten nothing except what he wanted to forget—his wife.

“Ah, yes!” He bowed his head, and his handsome face assumed a harassed expression. “To go, or not to go!” he said to Small Stiva, who made a gesture charmingly imitative of a human shrug. An inner voice told Stiva he must not go, that nothing could come of it but falsity; that to amend, to set right their relations was impossible, because it was impossible to make her attractive again and able to inspire love, or to make him an old man, not susceptible to love. Except deceit and lying, nothing could come of it now; and deceit and lying were opposed to his nature.

“It must be some time, though: it can’t go on like this,” he said to Small Stiva, who said, “No no can’t go on no.” Thus encouraged, Stiva squared his chest, took out a cigarette, took two whiffs at it and flung it into a Class I mother-of-pearl ashtray, which instantly and automatically filled with a half inch of water, extinguishing the smoldering butt. With rapid steps he walked through the drawing room, and opened the other door into his wife’s bedroom.