“…about sixty thousand Indians and half-breeds…absolute savages…our inspectors occasionally visit…otherwise， no communication whatever with the civilized world…still preserve their repulsive habits and customs…marriage， if you know what that is， my dear young lady； families…no conditioning…monstrous superstitions…Christianity and totemism and ancestor worship…extinct languages， such as Zu？i and Spanish and Athapascan…pumas， porcupines and other ferocious animals…infectious diseases…priests…venomous lizards…”
“You don’t say so？”
They got away at last. Bernard dashed to the telephone. Quick， quick； but it took him nearly three minutes to get on to Helmholtz Watson. “We might be among the savages already，” he complained. “Damned incompetence！”
“Have a gramme，” suggested Lenina.
He refused， preferring his anger. And at last， thank Ford， he was through and， yes， it was Helmholtz； Helmholtz， to whom he explained what had happened， and who promised to go round at once， at once， and turn off the tap， yes， at once， but took this opportunity to tell him what the D.H.C. had said， in public， yesterday evening…
“What？ He’s looking out for some one to take my place？” Bernard’s voice was agonized. “So it’s actually decided？ Did he mention Iceland？ You say he did？ Ford！ Iceland…” He hung up the receiver and turned back to Lenina. His face was pale， his expression utterly dejected.
“What’s the matter？” she asked.
“The matter？” He dropped heavily into a chair. “I’m going to be sent to Iceland.”
Often in the past he had wondered what it would be like to be subjected （soma-less and with nothing but his own inward resources to rely on） to some great trial， some pain， some persecution； he had even longed for affliction. As recently as a week ago， in the Director’s office， he had imagined himself courageously resisting， stoically accepting suffering without a word. The Director’s threats had actually elated him， made him feel larger than life. But that， as he now realized， was because he had not taken the threats quite seriously， he had not believed that， when it came to the point， the D.H.C. would ever do anything. Now that it looked as though the threats were really to be fulfilled， Bernard was appalled. Of that imagined stoicism， that theoretical courage， not a trace was left.
He raged against himself–what a fool！–against the Director–how unfair not to give him that other chance， that other chance which， he now had no doubt at all， he had always intended to take. And Iceland， Iceland…
Lenina shook her head. “Was and will make me ill，” she quoted， “I take a gramme and only am.”
In the end she persuaded him to swallow four tablets of soma. Five minutes later roots and fruits were abolished； the flower of the present rosily blossomed. A message from the porter announced that， at the Warden’s orders， a Reservation Guard had come round with a plane and was waiting on the roof of the hotel. They went up at once. An octoroon in Gamma-green uniform saluted and proceeded to recite the morning’s programme.
A bird’s-eye view of ten or a dozen of the principal pueblos， then a landing for lunch in the valley of Malpais. The rest-house was comfortable there， and up at the pueblo the savages would probably be celebrating their summer festival. It would be the best place to spend the night.
They took their seats in the plane and set off. Ten minutes later they were crossing the frontier that separated civilization from savagery. Uphill and down， across the deserts of salt or sand， through forests， into the violet depth of canyons， over crag and peak and table-topped mesa， the fence marched on and on， irresistibly the straight line， the geometrical symbol of triumphant human purpose. And at its foot， here and there， a mosaic of white bones， a still unrotted carcase dark on the tawny ground marked the place where deer or steer， puma or porcupine or coyote， or the greedy turkey buzzards drawn down by the whiff of carrion and fulminated as though by a poetic justice， had come too close to the destroying wires.
“They never learn，” said the green-uniformed pilot， pointing down at the skeletons on the ground below them. “And they never will learn，” he added and laughed， as though he had somehow scored a personal triumph over the electrocuted animals.
Bernard also laughed； after two grammes of soma the joke seemed， for some reason， good. Laughed and then， almost immediately， dropped off to sleep， and sleeping was carried over Taos and Tesuque； over Nambe and Picuris and Pojoaque， over Sia and Cochiti， over Laguna and Acoma and the Enchanted Mesa， over Zu？i and Cibola and Ojo Caliente， and woke at last to find the machine standing on the ground， Lenina carrying the suit-cases into a small square house， and the Gamma-green octoroon talking incomprehensibly with a young Indian.
“Malpais，” explained the pilot， as Bernard stepped out. “This is the rest-house. And there’s a dance this afternoon at the pueblo. He’ll take you there.” He pointed to the sullen young savage. “Funny， I expect.” He grinned. “Everything they do is funny.” And with that he climbed into the plane and started up the engines. “Back to-morrow. And remember，” he added reassuringly to Lenina， “they’re perfectly tame； savages won’t do you any harm. They’ve got enough experience of gas bombs to know that they mustn’t play any tricks.” Still laughing， he threw the helicopter screws into gear， accelerated， and was gone.
