The host, trying to imitate T.M.'s mild smile, with a nervous, upset
gesture waved to T.M. to take a seat.

"With pleasure", T.M. said, "if you could only help me find something on
which to sit. I don't see anything here on what a human being
could sit. Who knows, maybe I should wait for a special signal that would
activate a thing resembling a normal armchair to pop out of all this glass
and steel."

"I assure you that it took us days telephoning to all our furniture
corporations. What we were looking for to satisfy the need of your visit
simply does not exist. There are some traditional chairs in a museum, but
to hire them one should obtain a special license. You would understand
that for an operation like this we simply did not have time."

The host's neighbour tried to put together two unidentified shapes,
offering T.M., his gestures even more upset, to sit on THAT.
T.M. set down on THAT. As he was slowly sitting down, he put his hat
into the stretched arms of his host. His host's arms were stretched not to
take the hat, he was still, his arms frozen in motion, offering T.M. to sit
down. 

All through the visit, the host was unable to get rid of the hat, this terrifying
long forgotten felt object that people used to wear on their heads. Grabbed
by excitement that they were allowed this visit, when they saw at the
doorstep their visitor with something on his head, their excitement turned to
unclear fear that was present throughout the visit.

As the host was hovering, looking around in an attempt to decide what to do
with the hat, T.M., seated onto the Something, was trying to position
himself so as not to be forced to glare at rows of screens and monitors
surrounding the main computer.

T.M. pulled out a cigarette. The host and his neighbour looked at each other.
They thought for a while that T.M. was showing them the present he had
brought them. Maybe it was the latest model of a synthesized remote
control for all household instruments, a miniature, cylindrical remote
control the size of a finger, stuffed with a new generation of micro chips,
special software and the highest concentration of megabytes.

T.M. struck a match and lit the cigarette.

The two shuddered with chill and astonishment. This little white thing was
put in one's mouth and then smoke was coming out of it. The guest was
inhaling and exhaling the smoke with obvious pleasure.

The host's neighbour hurried to one of the computers and after a long series
of searches, his search descriptions clumsy and unclear, he received the
answer that it was a cigarette, that people used to smoke cigarettes
believing that it was bringing them pleasure. The neighbour was stunned:
"Pleasure". He was staring nervously at the host and then at T.M. trying to
read from their faces the meaning of what he had seen on the screen. Then
he was absorbed again with the keyboard of the big computer-reader.

For a long while nothing appeared on the screen. When the information
appeared on the screen, it was with a warning that the information should be
strictly remembered and it said that "Pleasure" was a word, an old idea, a
condition of mind of the old time people. It was coming from unnecessary
parts of a human being, from a dangerous, decaying condition which was
completely opposite to our age of virtue and simplicity, to our idea of a new
age man - hardworking and reliable.

The neighbour read the explanation again, then he started to stare at the
cigarette smoke trying to decode the program of the danger described on
the screen from the hardly noticeable steadiness that was coming out of the
visitor's mouth.

"Well, gentlemen, have I been invited to visit and talk or to be screened and
analyzed?"

In reply, the neighbour, his eyes still locked to the big screen, lifted his arm:

"Just a moment! A moment! Please wait a moment."

He started to search again, looking for the explanation of the word
'Gentlemen'.

In an attempt to put a smile on his face similar to the smile flickering around
T.M.'s lips, thinking that this would show his respect, the host asked quietly:

"Just a moment, please. Now, my neighbour will read the information in a
moment. You know, it would be much easier for us to listen and understand
your talk if we were able to understand unknown words and ideas from the
start."

"So help them, dear Lord", T.M. whispered making total confusion as the
Neighbour-Counselor was searching on the screen of the big Informer for
explanations of the words 'Gentlemen', Gentleman', 'Gentlemanly'.
Carrying T.M.'s hat in his stiff arms, the host came closer to the neighbour
and looked into the text on the screen. It read: Addressing from the time
when the struggle of logistics over the logic was beginning. A representation
of the words from the time when people, mistaken, still believed in personality,
when a person (next to the 'person' there was an explanation that this word
was erased from the index of linguistic communication) used to play a certain
role. All this dates from the time when the idea of 'Character' (erased from
the index of everyday communication) and 'Time' was slowly disappearing.
The host rushed to press a big push button on the keyboard of the
Computer-Informer.

"Command quickly the delete operation! No words from the index of forbidden
words will appear in this house evermore! Quickly!"

All through the operation and until the machine signaled with a high pitch
beep that questions and answers were erased, the host and his neighbour
were shivering like.... (an explanation from the index of words forbidden for
everyday communication follows).

However, an error occurred. The neighbour had already, looking for the
explanation for 'gentlemen', typed the question for 'So help them, Dear Lord'.
Images from the Sistine Chapel, old cathedrals and monasteries, frescoes,
icons, life of St John the Baptist, the Pigeon, Father Pantocrator, baptizing on
the Jordan river, started to slip by slowly on the screen, followed by a
sentence or two about the Creator, Creation, Revelation, about the Holy
Spirit input within men and that still resides in them. Next to the 'spirit of men',
a warning appeared that the word belonged to the group of forbidden words
and ideas in everyday communication.

Following the detailed explanation of the images presenting the Lord and his
deeds, it was written: Not forbidden but is COMPLETELY USELESS. A
manipulation with the interpretation is not subject to punishment, but is
USELESS. COMPLETE NONSENSE.

The bodies of the host and his neighbour, after this explanation, were slowly
being released of the waves of shivering and brief, hardly visible twitches.
When the explanation 'Help', 'Help them' and 'The Lord" appeared on the
screen, they were unable to work out any connection between the 'Help"
and the 'Lord' and turned to the lonely T.M., seated on top of the Something
that his hosts believed one could sit on.

Still holding the big hat in his stretched arms, the host approached him:

"You would not believe how much time and effort we put into the obtaining
of a license to invite you to visit us, to talk, to hear from you about things
from your part of the world. You know, it was not long ago that we have
found out that a part of our country was separated, that people who live
there had rejected the programmes of our community and benefits of the
progress and simple life. Therefore, if it is at all possible, please try not to
pour onto us so many unintelligible words and ideas. May we start with our
conversation now?"

T.M. wriggled a little on what should have been his chair, and spoke in a low
tone, his teeth clenched:

"It is a miserable conversation, my son."

The neighbour threw himself again towards the big computer Informer, but
the host stopped him:

"Leave it. Later. Everything is recorded anyway."

"Well, is there, gentlemen, anything to drink in this house?" - T.M. asked.

The host opened a huge glass container, took out a few tablets, put them in
a glass and poured some liquid of a colour hard to identify and offered it to
his guest, still holding T.M.'s hat feverishly in the fist of his other stretched
arm.

The neighbour moved away from the Big computer. Somewhere in the middle
of the room, that should have been a reception room, he pushed a button.
This resulted in humming heard through the house.

" Just relax, the host said. This is the Simple and Natural state of the house.
The house is now wired. Every corner and every room of the house, no
dead-ends. Everything said here can now be heard in my neighbour 's house.
This is the Simple true way of communication. He can be in his home, I, here
in any room - and we are able to talk."

"If the conversation eventually begins", said the neighbour stamping his feet
"please give me a moment."

When he said that, he ran towards what could have been "a door" and then
over a wide, perfectly mowed lawn, disappeared in his house.

"What's wrong with the man?" T.M. asked.

"Nothing. Nothing. Everything is Natural and Simple. Everything is normal. You
know, my neighbour belongs to a high rank. He is a man of exceptional
knowledge and skills. He is a senior interpreter of logistics. We will wait for
him for a while until he has reached his machines. It is difficult for him to
understand and follow crude talks, to listen and to answer. It is slowly
disappearing in our world and I, myself, am putting a lot of effort to catch up
with the Natural and Simple way of communication. He transfers onto his big
screen everything he has heard from other people. He has installed audio
communication in his house and only when he reads from the screen, he is
able for Natural communication and full understanding of what others are
talking about. While we are talking here and everything can be heard in his
house, he will type every word in his computer and then he will Naturally
read it all from the screen and, Simply, get into the essence of the
conversation without the unpleasant feeling that he still carries in himself
traces of old primitivism. Naturally, if he wishes to ask questions while we are
talking, or to participate in the conversation, he will signal on the big screen.
Then we send replies, he types them in, everything appears immediately on
his screen and the conversation Simply proceeds. Naturally."

T.M. took a sip of what the host has offered him:

"Well, Professor, I trust that this extraordinary drink was a real refreshment
for you."

"Mmmm, how do you know, as you know nothing without asking your
machines, that I am a Professor?"

"Isn't everything Natural. With our permit to invite you to visit, Simply and
Naturally, we were given all the necessary information about you."

"And what am I a professor of?"

"Well, it is Natural that we are still awaiting a report on that from our Central
Informer. Of course, we Simply typed in the question and hopefully the
reply will be here while you still are with us."

"Really, dear sir, judging by the Index of forbidden words, you should expect
the reply in a couple of months. And what's the purpose? Whatever message
you receive, there will be so many new explanations for you to check and to
wait for their further explanations, there will be so much multiplication
developing into new misunderstandings that you will have to ask for new
explanations....Lucky me, when you add it all up, if the big machine is still
able to function, my visit will be long forgotten and you will not remember
who you were enquiring about."

The neighbour reacted to this:

"Please tell the Professor that even in his dreams he cannot see how
powerful my machines are. One of them has been processing information on
his profession for full two days, about people he is lecturing, the description
of his department. And, I wish you to hear good news, I expect the final
report in about half an hour."

"Aren't you lucky now!"

"Lucky". the neighbour said. 'Luck', then 'Now" and the 'End of the report".
The 'End of the report" and "luck". I don't understand. Just a moment,
please."

A frenetic search on the Big Informer stared again. But no use. Not a single
explanation was able to bring in touch the final report on T.M.'s profession,
his department and students and the word 'Luck'.

The host was monitoring all this on his screen, still holding the felt hat in his
hands.

"Let go, neighbour. We can process these details when our guest is gone."

"Agreed! Ready! Go ahead. When will Professor's speech commence?"

T.M. stood up. He stood up and was not sure if he had been sitting at all and
if he had got up off something. Surrounded by glass, steel and huge
surfaces of artificial marble, he could not swear that he was in a house, that
he was sitting there, that he stood up, that he was anywhere, inside or
outside.

"If you don't mind, T.M. spoke in a low tone" would you be so kind as to
show me where is that what I entered through in here, if this is here and if
Here one can Enter? I have in mind the passage, the door through which I
entered. I certainly do not think of a door of a house in which people live."

"But Professor", the host started irritated "We Simply have an agreement
that you will stay with us all day. You are not saying that you now wish ..."

"My dear sir. A day spent in visiting someone's house could be a real
pleasure, rest and blessing. Very useful conversation and equally deep but
significant silence, if a house were a house and if one was in a house."

The neighbour spoke again:

"May I ask for a brief break? Just a moment, please!"

And he started again, possessed, to search through the Big Informer. He
was trying to get on the screen the explanation of how was it possible to
make a connection between - a 'House', "Blessing', 'House", "Pleasure". Ten
minutes later, he called out:

"OK, OK. We'll do it later. I cannot see any acceptable explanation. It is
simply not compatible. Let's proceed."

T.M. approached the host and with a gentle gesture tried to remove the hat
from his host's stiff hands. Eventually living up to the possibility of freeing
himself from the strange object made of unknown material, the host was
trying hard to open his stiff fists and let go the brim of the big hat. But it
simply did not work.

T.M. pulled harder with a sudden, unexpected snatch hoping that the host's
fingers would automatically open. The host, pale and fragile, ran towards
T.M. and had T.M. not caught him in his arms, the host would certainly have
stretched onto the shiny artificial marble. 

The neighbour asked for an explanation of the sudden silence, whereas the
host and the visitor where making every effort, pulling and pushing each
other across the space, that was supposed to be the host's reception room,
trying to remove the hat from the hosts petrified fingers.

They stopped, breathing hard, as T.M. made a gesture asking for a break.

"My dear sir. It would not be great harm even if I left it with you. I have
quite a good collection of wonderful hats, there, where houses are homes,
where people live. But how can I leave it here in this space? Even if you
were able to let go of it, you would not know what to do with it. I can see
that in this miracle, which you call your home, there is no place where one
could rest a hat."

Then, concluding the sentence, believing that he had attracted the host's
attention away from the strong squeeze of his fingers, pulled the hat,
stepped aside and the host dashed passed him, running across the
reception room and stopping on the opposite wall made of thick transparent
glass.

Petrified from the shock of physical effort, the sudden snatch and the forced
run across the long room all the way to the opposite wall, he was staring, his
eyes wide open, at T.M.'s big hat that was slowly traveling up onto T.M.'s
had. T.M.'s strong hand slowly glided along the wide brim to form the hat the
way his owner desired.

It was not until then that the host started to view his guest with special
respect, as this unusual guest wore his dangerous weapon, the object of
surprise, no more and no less than on his head!

"Well gentlemen, as I could not think of a present I could bring you for this
occasion, a tradition from time immemorial...."

The neighbour shouted from his house:

"Just a moment. A break, please. Just a moment!"

With unbelievable speed he typed the phrase 'from time immemorial', pressing
onto the commands for an urgent explanation.

'From time immemorial', 'from the beginning' - from the category of words
explaining time and permanence. 'Always" - positive. A series of instructions
followed for 'always'. 'From time immemorial', 'from the beginning' - negative.
The Great Index lacks these phrases. It considers them unimportant.
NON-EXISTENT.

"Go on" the neighbour shrieked, panicking.

"Dear host, please tell your neighbour that if he interrupts me again, I will
leave this place via that tidy artificial grass, I will enter the place that your
neighbour claims is the place where he lives and calls it his home, and I will
break his machines to pieces."

The host pointed to the big hat with respect: 

"I suppose that this powerful thing on your head would do what you have
just said that you simply intend to do if you were interrupted again."

"The powerful thing on my head is for sun and rain and my hands for what I
said I intended to do if I were interrupted again now when I am leaving.
So I say, as in accordance with etiquette and tradition I haven't brought you
a present, here, I will leave you a present that would make you happy and
could amuse you, so overjoyed, for months. Realizing what indexes of
allowed and forbidden words say, I am giving you questions, interpretations
and decoding for two to three hours a day for the next few months. I can
tell, I could not bring you a better present and more fun."

"Just a moment! - the host cried out. With his eyes on T.M.'s hat, he rushed
to position himself in front of the central computer's keyboard.

"Yes, now we are ready."

"It sounds unbelievable, but is true. There, where I live, there are houses in
which people live, houses with doors and windows, balconies that people sit
on talking or in silence, curtains, cellars in which people keep dear and
useless things. In these houses where we live, the best way to get to know
the host is to descend into his cellar and relaxed, take a long look. There is
the whole past life, all little secrets and all memories. The houses always
have attics that exist so as to keep the awareness of someone living there,
transparent and swaying, untouchable and mystical. In the most wonderful
way it is sometimes the protector of the house but it can sometimes be
really evil and angry and ready to punish."

The host and his neighbour, now quiet and dedicated to typing T.M.'s story,
were just nodding in confirmation of being able to keep pace with what was
said.

"Around our houses, and, God is my witness, in the houses too, various
beings live -one whole world, most often hidden, of beetles, small rodents,
wild or, at everybody's satisfaction, tamed. There live pigeons, herons, dogs,
woodpeckers, chicken, cats, black birds... Let me stop, or I would drive your
machines crazy?.There are beds in the houses, places where people can lay
down, dream, make love. They are covered with clean sheets, deposits of
human secrets, sighs, sweat, flights and flying, sleep and embraces, mornings
of silence and blessing, mornings announcing storms, heavy rains and
fragrance of forests, all taking care of the houses. Sheets are regularly
washed and cleaned, but these bed-vaults are untouchable, memories and old
testaments only get stronger.

There is wind, too. Even now, so help me dear Lord, you can hear gurgling of
water. There is also darkness, real and thick. There are icon lamps and silent
prayers and amazing moments that appear for people to spend them in vain.
Such moments, sometimes, are given to people only for the sake of passing
in peace. Dear hours of silence and an illusion of the Nothingness."

He opened his mouth, but waved the words away.

"Never mind, I should not sling mud on the life over there. Come now, show
me nicely and Simply and Naturally how one can exit this house of yours."

The host got up obediently. He pressed a button and a part of the wall
opened.

With one foot already on the impeccable lawn, T.M., as if he did not speak
and as if he was to whisper to someone:

"There are paths leading to the houses. All the way to stairs ascending to
people's homes. One should always ascend into a real home."

And then, in an even lower, almost melancholic voice:

"There is... a mailbox too. A Wonderful box of secrets, that collects words
and messages so different from the words on these screens."

(Translated by Mira Orlovic)