Beelzebubs-Tales-to-His-Grandson-by-G-I-Gurdjieff

country, the city of Moscow, and his son—his favorite one, because heresembled only his mother—asked him to bring back a certain book.When the great, unconscious author of this all-universal principle of livingarrived in Moscow, he and a friend of his, as was and still is the custom there,got "blind drunk" on genuine Russian vodka.And when these two members of one of the large contemporary groupingsof biped breathing creatures had drunk the proper number of glasses of this"Russian blessing," and were launched on a discussion about what is called"public education"—a topic with which it has long been customary to begin aconversation—our merchant suddenly remembered by association his dearson's request, and decided to set off at once with his friend to a bookshop tobuy the book.In the shop, after looking through the book that the salesman had handedhim, the merchant asked its price.The salesman replied that the book cost sixty kopecks.Noticing that the price marked on the cover of the book was only forty-fivekopecks, our merchant first began to ponder in an unusual way—especiallyunusual for Russians—and then, with a certain movement of his shoulders, hestraightened himself up like a ramrod and, throwing out his chest like anofficer of the guards, said after a little pause, very quietly but in a tone of greatauthority:"But it is marked here forty-five kopecks. Why do you ask sixty?"Thereupon the salesman, putting on the "oleaginous" face proper to allsalesmen, replied that indeed the book cost only forty-five kopecks, but had tobe sold for sixty because fifteen kopecks were added for postage.At this reply our Russian merchant was greatly perplexed by these twoquite contradictory but obviously reconcilable facts, and something visiblybegan to proceed in him, and gazing up at the ceiling he again began toponder, this time