philip_k_dick_-_the_man_in_the_high_castle

Partei. Took responsibility for draining Mediterranean and reclaiming of huge areas of farmland.
Also mitigated vicious policies of racial extermination in Slavic lands in early 'fifties. Pled case
directly to German people for remnant of Slavic peoples to exist on reservationlike closed regions
in Heartland area. Called for end of certain forms of mercy killings and medical experimentation,
but failed here.
'Doctor Seyss-Inquart. Former Austrian Nazi, now in charge of Reich colonial areas, responsible
for colonial policies. Possibly most hated man in Reich territory. Said to have instigated most if not
all repressive measures dealing with conquered peoples. Worked with Rosenberg for ideological
victories of most alarming grandiose type, such as attempt to sterilize entire Russian population
remaining after close of hostilities. No facts for certain on this, but considered to be one of several
responsible for decision to make holocaust of African continent thus creating genocide conditions
for Negro population. Possibly closest in temperament to original Fuhrer, A. Hitler.'
The Foreign Office spokesman ceased his dry, slow recitation.
Mr. Tagomi thought, I think I am going mad.
I have to get out of here; I am having an attack. My body is throwing up things or spurting them
out — I am dying. He scrambled to his feet, pushed down the aisle past other chairs and people. He
could hardly see. Get to lavatory. He ran up the aisle.
Several heads turned. Saw him. Humiliation. Sick at important meeting. Lost place. He ran on,
through the open door held by embassy employee.
At once the panic ceased. His gaze ceased to swim; he saw objects once more. Stable floor,
walls.
Attack of vertigo. Middle-ear malfunction, no doubt.
He thought, Diencephalon, ancient brainstem, acting up.
Some organic momentary breakdown.
Think along reassuring lines. Recall order of world. What to draw on? Religion? He thought,
Now a gavotte perform sedately. Capital both, capital both; you've caught it nicely. This is the style
of thing precisely. Small form of recognizable world, Gondoliers. G.&S. He shut his eyes, imagined
the D'Oyle Carte Company as he had seen them on their tour after the war. The finite, finite world .
An embassy employee, at his elbow, saying, 'Sir, can I give you assistance?'
Mr. Tagomi bowed, 'I am recovered.'
The other's face, calm, considerate. No derision. They are all laughing at me, possibly? Mr.
Tagomi thought. Down underneath?
There is evil! It's actual like cement.
I can't believe it. I can't stand it. Evil is not a view. He wandered about the lobby, hearing the
traffic on Sutter Street, the Foreign Office spokesman addressing the meeting. All our religion is
wrong. What'll I do? he asked himself. He went to the front door of the embassy; an employee
opened it, and Mr. Tagomi walked down the steps to the path. The parked cars. His own.
Chauffeurs standing.
It's an ingredient in us. In the world. Poured over us, filtering into our bodies, minds, hearts, into
the pavement itself.
Why?
We're blind moles. Creeping through the soil, feeling with our snouts. We know nothing. I
perceived this . . . now I don't know where to go. Screech with fear, only. Run away.
Pitiful.