I shall continue； tomorrow I shall see the same spectacle which we see year after year， and which always awakes in us fresh emotions， as if we saw it for the first time： an impressive throng of piously lifted arms. Tomorrow is the day of the yearly election of the Well-Doer. Tomorrow we shall again hand over to our Well-Doer the keys to the impregnable fortress of our happiness. Certainly this in no way resembles the disorderly， unorganized election days of the ancients， on which （it seems so funny！） they did not even know in advance the result of the election. To build a state on some nondiscountable contingencies， to build blindly—what could be more nonsensical？ Yet centuries had to pass before this was understood！
Needless to say， in this respect as in all others we have no place for contingencies； nothing unexpected can happen. The elections themselves have rather a symbolic meaning. They remind us that we are an united， powerful organism of millions of cells， that—to use the language of the "gospel" of the ancients—we are a united church. The history of the United State knows not a single case in which upon this solemn day even a solitary voice has dared to violate the magnificent unison.
They say that the ancients used to conduct their elections secretly， stealthily like thieves. Some of our historians even assert that they would come to the electoral celebrations completely masked. Imagine the weird， fantastic spectacle！ Night. A plaza. Along the walls the stealthily creeping figures covered with mantles. The red flame of torches dancing in the wind....Why was such secrecy necessary？ It has never been satisfactorily explained. Probably it resulted from the fact that elections were associated with some mystic and superstitious， perhaps even criminal， ceremonies. We have nothing to conceal or to be ashamed of； we celebrate our election openly， honestly， in daylight. I see them all vote for the Well-Doer， and everybody sees me vote for the Well-Doer. How could it be otherwise， since "all" and "T" are one "we"？ How ennobling， sincere， lofty this is， compared with the cowardly， thievish "secrecy" of the ancients！ And how much more expedient！ For even admitting for a moment the impossible—that is， the outbreak of some dissonance in our customary unity—our unseen Guardians are always right there among us， are they not， to register the Numbers who might fall into error and save them from any further false steps？ The United State is theirs， the Numbers"！ And besides...
Through the wall to my left a she.Number before the mirror door of the closet； she is hastily unbuttoning her unif. For a second， swiftly—eyes， lips， two sharp， pink...the curtains fell. Within me， all that happened yesterday instantly awoke， and now I no longer know what I meant to say by "besides..." I no longer wish to—I cannot. I want one thing. I want I-330， I want her every minute， every second， to be with me， with no one else. All that I wrote about Unanimity is of no value； it is not what I want； I have a desire to cross it out， to tear it to pieces and throw it away. For I know （be it a sacrilege， yet it is the truth） that a glorious Day is possible only with her and only when we are side by side， shoulder to shoulder. Without her tomorrow"s sun will appear to me only as a little circle cut out of a tin sheet， and the sky a sheet of tin painted blue， and I myself...I snatched the telephone receiver.
"I-330， are you there？"
"Yes， it is I. Why so late."？"
"Perhaps not too late yet. I want to ask you ... I want you to be with me tomorrow—dear！"
I said "Dear" in a very low voice. And for some reason a thing I saw this morning at the docks flashed through my mind： just for fun someone had put a watch under the hundred-ton sledge hammer.... A swing， a breath of wind in the face， and the silent， hundred-ton， knife-like weight on the breakable watch...
A silence. I thought I heard someone"s whisper in I-330"s room. Then her voice：
"No， I cannot. Of course you understand that I myself...No， I cannot."Why？" You shall see tomorrow."
Night.
