Bell

  They say man has almost limitless potential. He could reach intellectual heights, be a telepath, heal with a biofield, predict the future, travel through time, create, compose music, speak all languages, visit the stars, reshape the universe, and so on. There's just one problem. Apparently, he uses only five percent of his mental capacity, which means he doesn't use ninety-five percent. In other words, he's wasting it. There are, of course, exceptions, exceptions, namely geniuses. But even their brains, supposedly, only work at one-tenth of a whistle.

And that's exactly it. Scientists of all races and nations, aided by computers, Eastern Sages, Western Philosophers, Psychologists, Psychiatrists, and God knows who else, have long been breaking their teeth over how to extract even a little more from the human brain. Maybe then people would stop murdering each other, literally and figuratively. Maybe they would stop destroying and start creating.

Years passed, and the scientists, sages of the East, philosophers of the West, psychiatrists, psychologists, and God knows who else were constantly replaced, and their research didn't advance humanity even a hair's breadth. People were what they were, and that was that. Whenever a genius was born somewhere in the world, immediately, somewhere in the world, an idiot was born so terrifying it was almost unthinkable. It turned out that, on average, people were still drawing on their five percent and had no intention of using more. On the contrary, they even wanted to use even less. After all, they had televisions, computers, cell phones, and vibrators. Just as they had murdered and destroyed before, they murdered and destroyed now. They didn't want to get smarter, they didn't want to be better. They were happy as they were.

And what are we to do with all this? The scientists, sages, philosophers, psychiatrists, psychologists, and God knows who else wondered. So they invented a device, the Intelligence Meter, or Intellectual Energy Meter, as they initially called it. And this meter showed that not only humans but the entire universe was using five percent of energy, and not using ninety-five percent, meaning it was wasting it. In an instant, the human problem became a universal problem, and therefore a slightly bigger one.

I don't remember who now—whether it was a Scientist, a Sage, a Philosopher, a Psychiatrist, a Psychologist, or God Knows Who Else—who concluded that perhaps the problem didn't lie within humans, but somewhere else. Okay, but where?

So those I keep writing about here, and God Knows Who Else, began to wonder "where?"

The scientists said they had no idea. The sages said they were stupider than they were, and the philosophers said they knew they couldn't see. The psychiatrists said they were all psychotic and probably crazy, and the psychologists admitted they didn't even dream at night. The only one who didn't say anything was God knows who else. However, they agreed on one thing: it's worse than they thought because people are lazier. They'd rather just watch TV and talk on their cell phones. There are more and more of them because they just want to reproduce. Which means more of everything is being destroyed. Once again, the masters of all stripes began to ponder the problem. And while they were pondering, someone perfected the meter. Now it could measure energy with an accuracy of twenty decimal places. Those with their heads in the right place rejoiced, because there's nothing like being precise and seeing how much energy the universe actually uses. What they saw stunned them. Ninety-five percent of the energy was no longer missing. Now they realized the universe wasn't using ninety-five and a half percent of its energy. That is, it was only using four and a half percent.

How could that be?! The scientists, sages, philosophers, psychologists, and psychiatrists shouted, and God knows who else added: "What does this mean? Was the previous device really that inaccurate? Was it so terribly wrong? Or maybe something went wrong with the rounding?" They shouted over each other. What if not? What if the universe actually uses even less energy? But what happens to the energy it doesn't use? Where does it go? God knows who posed the questions.

These were compelling questions, and once again everyone rushed to solve the problem. Generations of thinkers changed, until God knows who suggested they share their observations. They debated for a long time and reached the following conclusions:

This problem is universal. It's not man himself who is lazy, exhausted, and ruined—that is, generally speaking, evil. Such are the tendencies of the entire cosmos. It's the cosmos that is decaying, and in decaying, it decays man.

"This Can't Be Happening!" yelled God Knows Who, while another God Knows Who yelled:

"We Have to Do Something About This!"

The bright minds threw themselves into their work. They thought and discussed, discussed and thought. And they were so absorbed in their work that they failed to notice that another devastating change had taken place in normal people. They no longer chose television programs; now they watched whatever was on, preferring all sorts of game shows and series. They even stopped talking on their cell phones and now only sent text messages and made beeps. The only entertainment they didn't tire of was the constant multiplication. And it probably would have continued, if it weren't for someone, I don't even remember who, perfecting the meter. It could measure everything with an accuracy of one hundred decimal places.

All the bright minds gathered and turned on the device. And what did they find? It turned out that almost ninety-six percent of energy was already being lost somewhere in the universe. Only then did the Scientists, Sages, Philosophers, Psychiatrists, Psychologists, and God Knows Who Else notice that things were getting worse, in general.

"Gentlemen, it's bad," the Philosophers stated philosophically.

"Yes, that's true." The Sages nodded wisely.

"We need to examine, diagnose, and cure," the Scientists, Psychologists, and Psychiatrists concluded.

"But the question is: 'how do we go about it'?" They all grew sad.

"Let's build a spaceship." God Knows Who said that. "That way we can set out to find the cosmic problem."

So work began on designing a suitable spaceship. It had to be large. Large enough to accommodate everything that might be needed and everyone who could be helpful. In the end, such a ship was designed. There was only one problem: how to get bad and lazy people to work?

"Let's take away their televisions, replace their comfortable beds with stone ones, turn off the cell phones, snatch vibrators from the hands of virgins, and let them breed only once a month. You'll see, boredom will make them get to work." The man who devised this idea must have been a wise man, because once it was done, the results were quick.

People rose from their lairs. Not everyone, to be sure; some preferred lying on a rock to even the lightest work. It's also true that the killings intensified, and the destruction mounted. Well, why be surprised? Boredom takes its toll. However, the intended goal was noble, and as we know, the end always justifies the means. People began to flock to build the ship.

Work began and was completed. The ship was ready and waiting for launch. Equipment and people were loaded, the ship's captain took the helm, and the countdown began. No one came to say goodbye to the expedition. Everyone returned to their televisions, soft beds, and cell phones. Anyone who wanted could reproduce as much as they wanted.

It was sad to leave Earth, where no one longed. No one wished them a safe journey, a pleasant time, a fulfilling destination, and finally, a return. Oh, the ingratitude of humanity.

But the past was quickly forgotten. The travelers faced more pressing tasks. The fate of the entire universe was at stake.

The journey was to be long, seemingly endless. Everyone tried to spend their free time in their own way. Those who wanted to gaze at space could do so through portholes specially designed for that purpose. Those who didn't feel like it could admire the space inside the ship. And there was plenty to see and plenty to pass the time. The Space Ship had four Olympic-sized swimming pools, two football stadiums, a rugby pitch, twenty tennis courts, eight basketball and volleyball courts. Other entertainment options were also provided: bars for singles and groups, regular and porn cinemas, discos, dance halls, even rooms for playing big-time games, dominoes, and pick-up sticks. Those who didn't feel like doing that could simply sleep.

Scientists, Sages, Philosophers, Psychiatrists, Psychologists, and God Knows Who Else, were completely uninterested in flight and entertainment; they worked nonstop. Fun wasn't for them. They kept glancing at the meter and clutching their heads. Their energy was dwindling at an alarming rate. This could only mean one thing: corruption was progressing.

"How much longer do we have to search?" the Scientists asked.

"Let's search until we find," the Philosophers replied.

"Because whoever seeks will find." The Sages added.

"But will we make it in time?" God Knows Who asked that question, and why.

The Psychiatrists and Psychologists said nothing. Because if someone had to be sent to a madhouse, hit on the knee with a hammer, listened to their dreams, and then prescribed a course of treatment for addiction, then of course, why not? The cosmos isn't a human being. How can it be treated? What advice should be given? What diagnosis should be made? It wasn't their place, they had nothing to do among all those Scientists, Sages, Philosophers, and God Knows Who Else. So they abandoned everyone else and went off to explore the ship.

The others, that is, those who remained, went back to work. Nothing else mattered to them. They were so absorbed in it that they never once looked out the portholes. Which was a shame, because when they did, they would have seen the change that had taken place outside the ship. Somewhere in the distance, the galaxies disappeared, and in their place was an emptiness. Not just any empty void; this emptiness was vast and cosmic. Then they, too, began to feel the urge to lie down and watch TV, or just lie down. With the last of their willpower, they collectively concluded that something was wrong with them. They glanced at the meter and almost fell over when they saw the number that appeared. One and a half percent, they whispered to each other. This is terribly wrong, came back in a whisper from the second to the first.

"Let's see what's happening outside," someone said.

The thinkers rushed forward. They reached the portholes and saw a flock of black holes. Hundreds of them.

"We already know where the problem is!" they shouted in unison. "The black holes are absorbing energy.

" "Let's stop and start patching them up," the Scientists suggested.

"That won't solve the problem," the Sages and Philosophers replied. "We need to discover the cause of so many black holes. Fixing the effects is only half-measures. That way we can say the operation was a success, but we don't know why the patient died. Let's keep going."

And they went. The captain tried his best to avoid falling into one of the holes. And there were more and more. Sweat dripped from the captain.

It was hard to say how long he struggled with the controls. Everyone was so fascinated by the work of this titan of space navigation that no one checked their watch. Then suddenly, in an instant, the black holes ended and the ship found itself back in open space. Thunderous cheers rose. Everyone cheered for the captain.

"Look!" shouted the blackbird. "There's Something up ahead.

" "Yes," another person confirmed, "he's right. Yes, there really is Something.

" "It's not a black hole, and it's not a galaxy. It's not a star, and it's not a planet.

" "So what could it be?" As usual, God Knows Who asked the question.

"Let's go there and see this Something up close," the ship's captain decided.

And so it did. They flew, and this Something drew closer, growing larger. Finally, it became clear that this Something was a machine. But who had placed it there, and why? They suggested flying the machine in a circle and upside down.

On the other side was a large tube, from which protruded a half-finished, or if you prefer, half-incomplete, black hole.

"And we've discovered our cause," the Scientists said. "Someone placed this machine here to produce black holes.

" "We disagree," the Sages shouted. "We're jumping to conclusions too quickly. We need to rethink everything. It's possible this machine was intended to create galaxies, not black holes. It's possible it just broke down, and once it's fixed, everything will return to normal. We can't assume anyone's malicious intentions.

" "If this is a machine," God Knows Who began, "and everything points to it being one, then it should have an off switch. So let's find it and turn it off; time is running out."

The discussion ended there. The captain was ordered to stop the ship. The captain cut the engines, and deceleration began. It wasn't long before the ship came to a halt. Everyone on board was called together, informed that they had reached their destination, and now they must get to work.

"Let's get to work." The Wisest of the Wise Ones' speech concluded.

All the hatches opened, and a stream of people poured out. They marveled at the sheer size of the machine. Each of them looked like an ant next to their rocket. After a momentary shock, which each member of the expedition experienced, and after acclimating to the sight of the device, the search began. But it was to no avail. The machine was covered in a thick layer of oil and dust. The switch must have been somewhere beneath all the filth.

Without needing to be told twice, people grabbed rags, buckets, brooms, and shovels, and the cleanup began enthusiastically. The work was hard and monotonous, as the machine had become so badly damaged. A thick, hundred-meter-thick layer of dirt had been removed when someone shouted,

"I've got it! I've found something!"

Everyone abandoned their work and ran to see what they had found. And that something was "I." Could it be a switch? They tugged, pulled, twisted, and pressed, but nothing worked.

"It's not a switch," the scholars concluded. "

So what?" They should have asked, and so they did.

"It's hard to tell from a single "I" what it could be or what it's for. Maybe it's a letter, or maybe a ladder rung. Let's dig further.

" After a moment, an "A" appeared, then a "D," a "T." It was clear then that these were letters, and their shapes resembled those of human, Latin letters, familiar to everyone. People quietly began to speculate that it was a human-made object. However, no one dared to say it aloud.

More characters joined the previously discovered ones. These were: "ם," "י," "E," "ה," "M," "ו." And the two most recently discovered: "ל" and "א." At this point, the full inscription was created, and it looked like this: "םיהולא MADE IT."

The second part of the inscription left no doubt. But what did the first part mean? So a break was called, and everyone went to a meeting.

"What do you think, colleagues?" asked the Sages.

"There's no doubt it's the code name of the builder." replied the Scholars.

"We have to find out what language it's in." suggested the Philosophers. "Does anyone know this?

" "I know." "God knows who said it." "It means God in Hebrew.

" "What do you mean, God?" exclaimed the terrified Scholars. "There's no God.

" "As you can see, there is. He signed off on the construction of this machine.

" "That's impossible. Our calculations show that God doesn't exist." The Scholars persisted. "This machine proves it. God didn't build the machine, man did.

" "Now we don't understand," the Sages shouted. "There's a machine, and there's an inscription." The inscription says that God built the machine, and you say that man placed it here? Explain this.

"It's very simple," the Scientists smiled. "The Wise Men claim that God is infallible. And here, before us, stands a machine, a broken machine. The conclusion is that God is imperfect, because He created an imperfect creation, but God cannot create imperfection because He is infallible, so He didn't create it, because He simply doesn't exist.

" "Your claim doesn't prove God's nonexistence.

" "God must be perfect, which by definition means the word God.

" "But..." the Wise Men began.

"Shut up, everyone, and listen!" shouted God Knows Who. "Whoever created the machine knew what they were doing, because they created a perfect device.

" "Wait a minute...

" "Don't interrupt, just listen to what I have to say. This machine is a bell.

" "A bell? What bell, what nonsense is this?

" "We've known for a long time," God Knows Who continued, ignoring the ridicule, "that the entire universe emits sounds; the larger the celestial body, the louder the sound." This machine is currently building what we call black holes, but in reality it's the heart of the bell. When the bell is finished, its sound will bring the One who built it here.

"This is the biggest nonsense we've ever heard," the Scientists roared with laughter. "A machine building a universe that isn't a universe at all, but a bell meant to bring its Creator here. Why?

" "We'll find out soon enough."

Who Knows Who was finishing his speech when, outside the ship, something scraped, hissed, and then thudded, and there was silence. The machine stopped. At these sounds, everyone gathered ran to see what had happened.

Boy Roztropek stood in front of the machine, holding a hammer. No one knew him, and no one knew what such a person might be doing there. And our Boy Roztropek was a handyman. Someone who thought he knew everything better and could fix anything. He shouldn't have been on this expedition at all, but due to a simple human error while entering names into the computer, his name ended up on the starting list. His name was Antoni Obdartus, unemployed, and he was thrilled to be invited on this flight; he had nothing to do anyway. Professor Antoni Obfartus

, on the other hand, stayed home. When everyone went to confer, our Obdartus thought to himself that he wouldn't understand what these sm smart-ass guys were saying anyway, so he stayed at the machine and looked for the switch. He poked and pounded with the hammer until he hit the first letter of the word "םיהולא," the whole symbol fell off, and it flew off into space. Something creaked, whistled, and thumped, then the machine stopped. Only two words remained: "... MADE IT."

The scientists, sages, and philosophers didn't know what to do. Beat Anthony or carry him in their arms. Rejoice that the machine had been turned off or regret it. Everyone waited to see what would happen.

They waited and waited, and then waited again, but nothing happened. Someone pulled out a meter and measured the energy. The needle showed that one percent of it remained in the universe. So they waited. Years passed, but still nothing happened, and the meter consistently showed one percent. The energy wasn't decreasing, but it wasn't increasing either. That's probably a good thing, right? They asked each other. Or maybe when the bell would be finished would be better? Others speculated. Someone suggested trying to repair the machine and then restart it, but most decided it was better to leave everything as is.

Finally, they packed up their equipment and set off. Unfortunately, not all expectations are fulfilled, and not all questions have only one answer.