“Listen, we’d like to apologize. You see… well, there was a little misunderstanding, true, but it was nothing, really. Trurl had no intention of…”
“I’ll pulverize Trurl!” said the machine. “But first, he’ll tell me how much two and two makes.”
“Of course he will, of course he will, and you’ll be happy with his answer, and make it up with him for sure, isn’t that right, Trurl?” said the mediator soothingly.
“Yes, of course…” mumbled Trurl.
“Really?” said the machine. “Then how much is two and two?”
“Fo… that is, seven…” said Trurl in an even lower voice.
“Ha! Not four, but seven, eh?” crowed the machine. “There, I told you so!”
“Seven, yes, seven, we always knew it was seven!” Klapaucius eagerly agreed. “Now will you, uh, let us go?” he added cautiously.
“No. Let Trurl say how sorry he is and tell me how much is two times two…”
“And you’ll let us go, if I do?” asked Trurl.
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it. I’m not making any deals. What’s two times two?”
“But you probably will let us go, won’t you?” said Trurl, while Klapaucius pulled on his arm and hissed in his ear: “The thing’s an imbecile, don’t argue with it, for heaven’s sake!”
“I won’t let you go, if I don’t want to,” said the machine. “You just tell me how much two times two is…”
Suddenly Trurl fell into a rage.
“I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you all right!” he screamed. “Two and two is four and two times two is four, even if you stand on your head, pound these mountains all to dust, drink the ocean dry and swallow the sky—do you hear? Two and two is four!!”
“Trurl! What are you saying? Have you taken leave of your senses? Two and two is seven, nice machine! Seven, seven!!” howled Klapaucius, trying to drown out his friend.
“No! It’s four! Four and only four, four from the beginning to the end of time—FOUR!!” bellowed Trurl, growing hoarse.
The rock beneath their feet was seized with a feverish tremor.
The machine moved away from the cave, letting in a little pale light, and gave a piercing scream:
“That’s not true! It’s seven! Say it’s seven or I’ll hit you!”
“Never!” roared Trurl, as if he no longer cared what happened, and pebbles and dirt rained down on their heads, for the machine had begun to ram its eight-story hulk again and again into the wall of stone, hurling itself against the mountainside until huge boulders broke away and went tumbling down into the valley.
Thunder and sulfurous fumes filled the cave, and sparks flew from the blows of steel on rock, yet through all this pandemonium one could still make out, now and then, the ragged voice of Trurl bawling:
“Two and two is four! Two and two is four!!” Klapaucius attempted to shut his friend’s mouth by force, but, violently thrown off, he gave up, sat and covered his head with his arms. Not for a moment did the machine’s mad efforts flag, and it seemed that any minute now the ceiling would collapse, crush the prisoners and bury them forever. But when they had lost all hope, and the air was thick with acrid smoke and choking dust, there was suddenly a horrible scraping, and a sound like a slow explosion, louder than all the maniacal banging and battering, and the air whooshed, and the black wall that blocked the cave was whisked away, as if by a hurricane, and monstrous chunks of rock came crashing down after it. The echoes of that avalanche still rumbled and reverberated in the valley below when the two friends peered out of their cave. They saw the machine. It lay smashed and flattened, nearly broken in half by an enormous boulder that had landed in the middle of its eight floors. With the greatest care they picked their way down through the smoking rubble. In order to reach the riverbed, it was necessary to pass the remains of the machine, which resembled the wreck of some mighty vessel thrown up upon a beach. Without a word, the two stopped together in the shadow of its twisted hull. The machine still quivered slightly, and one could hear something turning, creaking feebly, within.
“Yes, this is the bad end you’ve come to, and two and two is—as it always was—” began Trurl, but just then the machine made a faint, barely audible croaking noise and said, for the last time, “SEVEN.”
Then something snapped inside, a few stones dribbled down from overhead, and now before them lay nothing but a lifeless mass of scrap. The two constructors exchanged a look and silently, without any further comment or conversation, walked back the way they came.
A GOOD SHELLACKING
A GOOD SHELLACKING
Someone was knocking at the door of Klapaucius the constructor. He looked out and saw a potbellied machine on four short legs.
“Who are you and what do you want?” he asked.
“I’m a Machine to Grant Your Every Wish and have been sent here by your good friend and colleague, Trurl the Magnificent, as a gift.”