"Maybe you think that we are being managed by some enlightened capitalists? I regret to say that they are the most ordinary, stupid moneymakers. Their studios release a mass of pictures every year. Let me tell you a story about the boss of one such firm.

"Once he came to his acquaintances and announced with joy:

"'You know, my wife has such beautiful hands that they are already sculpting a bust of them.'

"They say that one of his actresses, to whom he was paying ten thousand dollars a week (stars receive a dizzying, swinish honorarium, but there is no philanthropy here—a star who receives ten thousand dollars a week brings her boss at least as many thousands of dollars a week of clear profit), invited him for lunch at her castle, which she had purchased in France. Before lunch the building was shown to the old man. He conscientiously felt the silk wallpaper, touched the bed, tested the resilience of the mattresses, attentively examined the turrets. But he was especially interested in the ancient sundial. When it was explained to him how it worked, he was greatly elated and exclaimed:

"Well done! What are they going to invent next!"

"You see, we have to deal with people who are so ignorant that they think the sundial is the latest invention. Such is their level of knowledge, their cultural level. And these people do not confine themselves merely to giving money for the production of a picture. No, they interfere in everything, suggest corrections, change plots. They tell us how to make pictures. Well, I have told you so many sad things that I guess it will last you for a while. You know what, let's get into the machine and go for a ride, freshen up a bit."

We drove out of the city to an alternate reservoir which assures Los Angeles of a water supply in case of damage to the water-transmission station. The night was black. In the stillness of the darkness we actually rested up and recovered from the frightful tales of Hollywood.

On the way back to the city our companion asked:

"Have you seen in the Warner Bros, studio the house of Marion Davies, the famous star? Hearst brought that house over, stone by stone, from somewhere thousands of miles away—maybe even from Europe!"

Returning to our Hollywood Hotel, we slept a cast-iron sleep, devoid of visions, rest and calm—well, in a word, of everything that makes sleep wonderful.

38 Pray, Weigh Yourself, and Pay

THE PREPARATION for Christmas assumed greater and greater proportions. Millions of turkeys and turkey cocks were killed, dressed, and displayed in stores, enchanting Hollywoodites with the yellowish subcutaneous fat and the lilac stamps of the sanitary inspection placed on the turkey breasts.

We have already remarked that an American Christmas is a holiday that has nothing in common with religion. On that day it is not the birth of the Lord God that is celebrated. This holiday is in honour of the traditional Christmas turkey. On that day the Lord, smiling bashfully, retreats to secondary importance.

The worship of the turkey is connected also with one other strange custom—the presentation of gifts to one another. An advertising campaign of many years, cleverly organized by the merchants, has brought matters to such a pass that the presentation of gifts has been transformed for the population into something in the nature of a duty from which commerce derives unheard-of profits. All the old stork, which accumulates throughout the year in various stores, is sold in several days at higher prices. The stores are full of people. The CUSTOMERS, having gone stark mad, grab anything they see. Every American presents gifts, but not only to his wife, his children, or his friends. The main thing is to present gifts to your superiors. The motion-picture actor presents gifts to his director, film operator, sound operator, and make-up man. The office girl presents gifts to her boss, the writer presents gifts to his publisher, the journalist presents gifts to his editor. Most of the gifts go from the lower ranks up the social ladder, and sometimes bear the rather frank aspect of a bribe.

Gifts also pass on the descending line—from superiors to inferiors— but that is a thin stream by comparison with the mighty fountain of love and respect which beats from below upward.

The actor presents his make-up man with two bottles of good champagne, figuring that for the rest of the year the latter will make him up especially well; a gift is presented to the director, to maintain a friendship that is useful, to the operators, that they may remember to film him at the best angles and record his voice as well as possible.

The selection of the gift is a subtle matter. It is necessary to know exactly what gift should be made, and to whom; otherwise, instead of gratitude, the gift may yield a grudge. The gift fever causes Americans a lot of trouble, costs them a lot; but then, it does present the merchants with paradisiacal moments and weeks.

People present each other with cigars, wines, perfumes, scarves, gloves, trinkets. Delivery boys fly all over the city, bearing gifts wrapped in special Christmas paper. Trucks distribute nothing but gifts. Preceded by orchestras, in the handsome uniform of generals, red-nosed Santa Clauses with a cotton beard, wrapped in a naphthalene storm, ride through the city. Boys run after this god of gifts. The grown-ups groan at the sight of the Christmas grandfather, and with an effort remember to whom else they must bear offerings. God forbid that they should forget someone!—or for the rest of the year important business relations would be spoiled.

As a matter of fact, it is only on such occasions, during the feverish pre-Christmas days, that the name of God is mentioned. But God has no bearing whatever on Christmas itself. He is not even allowed to come near it.

In America there are many religions and many gods. Millions of people want to believe in something, so scores of mighty church organizations offer them their services.

The old and, if one may say so, the European religions, suffer because Of a certain abstraction. Let them stay in Europe, on that old and decrepit continent. In America, side by side with skyscrapers, electric washing machines, and other attainments of the age, they somehow pale into in-significance. Something more contemporaneous, something more infective, and, let us speak-honestly and frankly, something more business-like than eternal bliss in heaven for a righteous life on earth is needed.

In that respect, the most Americanized is a sect which calls itself Christian Science. It has millions of adherents, and essentially is something in the nature of a colossal hospital, only without doctors and medicines. Christian Science is great and wealthy. In many towns and cities remarkable temples with beautiful banklike porticos belong to it.

Christian Science does not ask that people await an endlessly long time for reward in heaven. It transacts its business right here on earth. The religion is practical and convenient. It says:

"Are you ill? Do you have rupture? Believe in God and your rupture will pass!"

Christianity as a science, as something which brings immediate benefit! The average American understands that, it reaches his comprehension, which is befogged by years of unendurable and hurried work. Religion which is as useful as electricity. That's good. One can believe in that.

"Well, all right! But suppose the rupture does not go away?"

"That means that your faith is insufficient, that you have not sufficiently given yourself to God. Believe in Him—and He will help you in everything."

He will help you in everything. In New York we happened to go into one of the Christian Science churches in the centre of the city. A small group of people were sitting on benches, listening to an elderly gentleman dressed in a good tailored suit (in America, a made-to-order suit is a sign of affluence).