The Seven Madmen by Roberto Arlt

Author:Roberto Arlt [Arlt, Roberto]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2012-05-05T16:00:00+00:00

The Farce

The entire round table got to its feet when they came in, but Erdosain stopped short in surprise when he saw one of its members was an army officer in a major's uniform.

The Gold Seeker, Haffner, some stranger, and the Major were there. The first two sat with their elbows on the table. Haffner was going over some papers and the Gold Seeker was studying a map. A stone paperweight held down the map. The Ruffian shook hands with Erdosain and they sat together, Erdosain eyeing the Major, terribly curious as to what he was doing there. Really the Astrologer was a master of surprise moves.

Still, the stranger didn't much appeal to him.

He was quite a tall fellow, pale, with eyes black as coal. There was something repellent about him, and it was his lower lip, curled in a perpetual sneer, together with his long hook nose with three furrows right at the bridge. A silky mustache brushed his rosy lips and he scarcely deigned to look at Erdosain, and as soon as they were introduced he flopped into a hammock, where he lay back against the headrest, with his sword between his legs and one lock of hair clinging to his flat forehead.

And for a few minutes they all sat there silently, eyeing one another uneasily. The Astrologer, sitting by the summerhouse entrance, lit a cigarette without taking his eyes off the "heads." That was what they were called at a later meeting. Suddenly, he looked right at the other five men around the table and said:

"I see no point in us going over what we all know and have agreed on in private..., that is, to start a secret organization funded by business schemes, moral or immoral. We're all set on that, right? How do you men feel (I have a fondness for geometry) about the term 'cells' for the subunits of our setup?"

"That's what they call them in Russia," said the Major. "People in one cell never meet the members of another."

"What—won't the heads know each other?"

"No, no, the people who never meet are the rank and file, not the heads."

The Gold Seeker cut in:

"That way nothing will get done. What ties the members of different cells together?"

"But we six are the real organization."

"No, sir ... I am the real organization," objected the Astrologer. "But, seriously, we're all the organization ... except for certain areas because of my position."

The Major cut in:

"I think this is a moot point, since, from what I've been given to understand, there'll be a standardized hierarchy. At each promotion, the cell member will come under a new head. There'll be as many promotions possible as there are heads of cells."

"So how many cells are there right now?"

"Four. I'll be in charge of everything," the Astrologer went on. "You, Erdosain, Head of Industry; the Gold Seeker"—a young man at the corner of the table nodded—"you'll run Training Camps and Mines; the Major will work on infiltrating the army, and Haffner will be Head of Brothels.

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