"Out of the Silent Planet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lewis Clive Staples)

XX

THE hross who headed this procession was a conscientious creature and began at once explaining itself in a rather troubled voice.

“I hope we have done right, Oyarsa,” it said. “But we do not know. We dipped his head in the cold water seven times, but the seventh time something fell off it. We had thought it was the top of his head, but now we saw it was a covering made of the skin of some other creature. Then some said we had done your will with the seven dips, and others said not. In the end we dipped it seven times more. We hope that was right. The creature talked a lot between the dips, and most between the second seven, but we could not understand it.”

“You have done very well, Hnoo,” said Oyarsa. “Stand away that I may see it, for now I will speak to it.”

The guards fell away on each side. Weston’s usually pale face, under the bracing influence of the cold water, had assumed the colour of a ripe tomato, and his hair, which had naturally not been cut since he reached Malacandra, was plastered in straight, lank masses across his forehead. A good deal of water was still dripping over his nose and ears. His expression-unfortunately wasted on an audience ignorant of terrestrial physiognomy-was that of a brave man suffering in a great cause, and rather eager than reluctant to face the worst or even to provoke it. In explanation of his conduct it is only fair to remember that he had already that morning endured all the terrors of an expected martyrdom and all the anticlimax of fourteen compulsory cold douches. Devine, who knew his man, shouted out to Weston in English.

“Steady, Weston. These devils can split the atom or something pretty like it. Be careful what you say to them and don’t let’s have any of your bloody nonsense.”

“Huh !” said Weston. “So you’ve gone native too?”

“Be silent,” said the voice of Oyarsa. “You, thick one, have told me nothing of yourself, so I will tell it to you. In your own world you have attained great wisdom concerning bodies and by this you have been able to make a ship that can cross the heaven; but in all other things you have the mind of an animal. When first you came here, I sent for you, meaning you nothing but honour. The darkness in your mind filled you with fear. Because you thought I meant evil to you, you went as a beast goes against a beast of some other kind, and snared this Ransom. You would give him up to the evil you feared. Today, seeing him here, to save your own life, you would have given him to me a second time, still thinking I meant him hurt. These are your dealings with your own kind. And what you intend to my people, I know. Already you have killed some. And you have come here to kill them all. To you it is nothing whether a creature is hnau or not. At first I thought this was because you cared only whether a creature had a body like your own; but Ransom has that and you would kill him as lightly as any of my hnau. I did not know that the Bent One had done so much in your world and still I do not understand it. If you were mine, I would unbody you even now. Do not think follies; by my hand Maleldil does greater things than this, and I can unmake you even on the borders of your own world’s air. But I do not yet resolve to do this. It is for you to speak. Let me see if there is anything in your mind besides fear and death and desire.”

Weston turned to Ransom. “I see,” he said, “that you have chosen the most momentous crisis in the history of the human race to betray it.” Then he turned in the direction of the voice.

“I know you kill us,” he said. “Me not afraid. Others come, make it our world-” But Devine had jumped to his feet, and interrupted him.

“No, no, Oyarsa,” he shouted. “You no listen him. He very foolish man, he have dreams. We little people, only want pretty sun-bloods. You give us plenty sun-bloods, we go back into sky, you never see us no more. All done, see?”

“Silence,” said Oyarsa. There was an almost imperceptible change in the light, if it could be called light, out of which the voice came, and Devine crumpled up and fell back on the ground. When he resumed his sitting position he was white and panting.

“Speak on,” said Oyarsa to Weston.

“Me no . . . no . . .” began Weston in Malacandrian and then broke off. “I can’t say what I want in their accursed language,” he said in English.

“Speak to Ransom and he shall turn it into our speech,” said Oyarsa.

Weston accepted the arrangement at once. He believed that the hour of his death was come and he was determined to utter the thing-almost the only thing outside his own science-which he had to say. He cleared his throat, almost he struck a gesture, and began:

“To you I may seem a vulgar robber, but I bear on my shoulders the destiny of the human race. Your tribal life with its stone-age weapons and beehive huts, its primitive coracles and elementary social structure, has nothing to compare with our civilization-with our science, medicine and law, our armies, our architecture, our commerce, and our transport system which is rapidly annihilating space and time. Our right to supersede you is the right of the higher over the lower. Life-”

“Half a moment,” said Ransom in English. “That’s about as much as I can manage at one go.” Then, turning to Oyarsa, he began translating as well as he could. The process was difficult and the result-which he felt to be rather unsatisfactory-was something like this:

“Among us, Oyarsa, there is a kind of hnau who will take other hnaus'food and-and things, when they are not looking. He says he is not an ordinary one of that kind. He says what he does now will make very different things happen to those of our people who are not yet born. He says that, among you, hnau of one kindred all live together and the hrossa have spears like those we used a very long time ago and your huts are small and round and your boats small and light and like our old ones, and you have one ruler. He says it is different with us. He says we know much. There is a thing happens in our world when the body of a living creature feels pains and becomes weak, and he says we sometimes know how to stop it. He says we have many bent people and we kill them or shut them in huts and that we have people for settling quarrels between the bent hnau about their huts and mates and things. He says we have many ways for the hnau of one land to kill those of another and some are trained to do it. He says we build very big and strong huts of stones and other things-like the pfifltriggi. And he says we exchange many things among ourselves and can carry heavy weights very quickly a long way. Because of all this, he says it would not be the act of a bent hnau if our people killed all your people.”

As soon as Ransom had finished, Weston continued.

“Life is greater than any system of morality; her claims are absolute. It is not by tribal taboos and copy-book maxims that she has pursued her relentless march from the amoeba to man and from man to civilization.”

“He says,” began Ransom, “that living creatures are stronger than the question whether an act is bent or good-no, that cannot be right-he says it is better to be alive and bent than to be dead-no-he says, he says-I cannot say what he says, Oyarsa, in your language. But he goes on to say that the only good thing is that there should be very many creatures alive. He says there were many other animals before the first men and the later ones were better than the earlier ones; but he says the animals were not born because of what is said to the young about bent and good action by their elders. And he says these animals did not feel any pity.”

“She-” began Weston.

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Ransom, “but I’ve forgotten who She is.”

“Life, of course,” snapped Weston. “She has ruthlessly broken down all obstacles and liquidated all failures and today in her highest form-civilized man-and in me as his representative, she presses forward to that interplanetary leap which will, perhaps, place her for ever beyond the reach of death.”

“He says,” resumed Ransom, “that these animals learned to do many difficult things, except those who could not; and those ones died and the other animals did not pity them. And he says the best animal now is the kind of man who makes the big huts and carries the heavy weights and does all the other things I told you about; and he is one of these and he says that if the others all knew what he was doing they would be pleased. He says that if he could kill you all and bring our people to live in Malacandra, then they might be able to go on living here after something had gone wrong with our world. And then if something went wrong with Malacandra they might go and kill all the hnau in another world. And then another-and so they would never die out.”

“It is in her right,” said Weston, “the right, or, if you will, the might of Life herself, that I am prepared without flinching to plant the flag of man on the soil of Malacandra: to march on, step by step, superseding, where necessary, the lower forms of life that we find, claiming planet after planet, system after system, till our posterity-whatever strange form and yet unguessed mentality they have assumed-dwell in the universe wherever the universe is habitable.”

“He says,” translated Ransom, “that because of this it would not be a bent action-or else, he says, it would be a possible action-for him to kill you all and bring us here. He says he would feel no pity. He is saying again that perhaps they would be able to keep moving from one world to another and wherever they came they would kill everyone. I think he is now talking about worlds that go round other suns. He wants the creatures born from us to be in as many places as they can. He says he does not know what kind of creatures they will be.”

“I may fall,” said Weston. “But while I live I will not, with such a key in my hand, consent to close the gates of the future on my race. What lies in that future, beyond our present ken, passes imagination to conceive: it is enough for me that there is a Beyond.”

“He is saying,” Ransom translated, “that he will not stop trying to do all this unless you kill him. And he says that though he doesn’t know what will happen to the creatures sprung from us, he wants it to happen very much.”

Weston, who had now finished his statement, looked round instinctively for a chair to sink into. On Earth he usually sank into a chair as the applause began. Finding none-he was not the kind of man to sit on the ground like Devine-he folded his arms and stared with a certain dignity about him.

“It is well that I have heard you,” said Oyarsa. “For though your mind is feebler, your will is less bent than I thought. It is not for yourself that you would do all this.”

“No,” said Weston proudly in Malacandrian. “Me die. Man live.”

“Yet you know that these creatures would have to be made quite unlike you before they lived on other worlds.”

“Yes, yes. All new. No one know yet. Strange! Big!”

“Then it is not the shape of body that you love?”

“No. Me no care how they shaped.”

“One would think, then, that it is for the mind you care. But that cannot be, or you would love hnau wherever you met it.”

“No care for hnau. Care for man.”

“But if it is neither man’s mind, which is as the mind of all otherhnau-is not Maleldil maker of them all?-nor his body, which will change-if you care for neither of these, what do you mean by man?”

This had to be translated to Weston. When he understood it, he replied:

“Me care for man-care for our race-what man begets-” He had to ask Ransom the words for race and beget.

“Strange!” said Oyarsa. “You do not love any one of your race-you would have let me kill

Ransom. You do not love the mind of your race, nor the body. Any kind of creature will please you if only it is begotten by your kin as they now are. It seems to me, Thick One, that what you really love is no completed creature but the very seed itself: for that is all that is left.”

“Tell him,” said Weston when he had been made to understand this, “that I don’t pretend to be a metaphysician. I have not come here to chop logic. If he cannot understand-as apparently you can’t either-anything so fundamental as a man’s loyalty to humanity, I can’t make him understand it.”

But Ransom was unable to translate this and the voice of Oyarsa continued:

“I see now how the lord of the silent world has bent you. There are laws that all hnau know, of pity and straight dealing and shame and the like, and one of these is the love of kindred. He has taught you to break all of them except this one, which is not one of the greatest laws; this one he has bent till it becomes folly and has set it up, thus bent, to be a little, blind Oyarsa in your brain. And now you can do nothing but obey it, though if we ask you why it is a law you can give no other reason for it than for all the other and greater laws which it drives you to disobey. Do you know why he has done this?”

“Me think no such person-me wise, new man-no believe all that old talk.”

“I will tell you. He has left you this one because a bent hnau can do more evil than a broken one. He has only bent you; but this Thin One who sits on the ground he has broken, for he has left him nothing but greed. He is now only a talking animal and in my world he could do no more evil than an animal. If he were mine I would unmake his body, for the hnau in it is already dead. But if you were mine I would try to cure you. Tell me, Thick One, why did you come here?”

“Me tell you. Make man live all the time.”

“But are your wise men so ignorant as not to know that Malacandra is older than your own world and nearer its death? Most of it is dead already. My people live only in the handramits; the heat and the water have been more and will be less. Soon now, very soon, I will end my world and give back my people to Maleldil.”

“Me know all that plenty. This only first try. Soon they go on another world.”

“But do you not know that all worlds will die?”

“Men go jump off each before it deads-on and on, see?”

“And when all are dead?”

Weston was silent. After a time Oyarsa spoke again.

“Do you not ask why my people, whose world is old, have not rather come to yours and taken it long ago.”

“Ho! Ho!” said Weston. “You not know how.”

“You are wrong,” said Oyarsa. “Many thousands of thousand years before this, when nothing yet lived on your world, the cold death was coming on my harandra. Then I was in deep trouble, not chiefly for the death of my hnau-Maleldil does not make them long-livers-but for the things which the lord of your world, who was not yet bound, put into their minds. He would have made them as your people are now-wise enough to see the death of their kind approaching but not wise enough to endure it. Bent counsels would soon have risen among them. They were well able to have made sky-ships. By me Maleldil stopped them. Some I cured, some I unbodied-”

“And see what come!” interrupted Weston. “You now very few-shut up in handramits-soon all die.”

“Yes,” said Oyarsa, “but one thing we left behind us on the harandra: fear. And with fear, murder and rebellion. The weakest of my people does not fear death. It is the Bent One, the lord of your world, who wastes your lives and befouls them with flying from what you know will overtake you in the end. If you were subjects of Maleldil you would have peace.”

Weston writhed in the exasperation born of his desire to speak and his ignorance of the language.

“Trash! Defeatist trash!” he shouted at Oyarsa in English; then, drawing himself up to his full height, he added in Malacandrian, “You say your Maleldil let all go dead. Other one, Bent One, he fight, jump, live-not all talkee-talkee. Me no care Maleldil. Like Bent One better: me on his side.”

“But do you not see that he never will nor can,” began Oyarsa, and then broke off, as if recollecting himself. “But I must learn more of your world from Ransom, and for that I need till night. I will not kill you, not even the thin one, for you are out of my world. Tomorrow you shall go hence again in your ship.”

Devine’s face suddenly fell. He began talking rapidly in English.

“For God’s sake, Weston, make him understand. We’ve been here for months-the Earth is not in opposition now. Tell him it can’t be done. He might as well kill us at once.”

“How long will your journey be to Thulcandra?” asked Oyarsa.

Weston, using Ransom as his interpreter, explained that the journey, in the present position of the two planets, was almost impossible. The distance had.increased by millions of miles. The angle of their course to the solar rays would be totally different from that which he had counted upon. Even if by a hundredth chance they could hit the Earth, it was almost certain that their supply of oxygen would be exhausted long before they arrived.

“Tell him to kill us now,” he added.

“All this I know,” said Oyarsa. “And if you stay in my world I must kill you: no such creature will I suffer in Malacandra. I know there is small chance of your reaching your world; but small is not the same as none. Between now and the next noon choose which you will take. In the meantime, tell me this. If you reach it at all, what is the most time you will need?”

After a prolonged calculation, Weston, in a shaken voice, replied that if they had not made it in ninety days they would never make it, and they would, moreover, be dead of suffocation.

“Ninety days you shall have,” said Oyarsa. “My sorns and pfiflriggi will give you air (we also have that art) and food for ninety days. But they will do something else to your ship. I am not minded that it should return into the heaven if once it reaches Thulcandra. You, Thick One, were not here when I unmade my dead hrossa whom you killed: the Thin One will tell you. This I can do, as Maleldil has taught me, over a gap of time or a gap of place. Before your sky-ship rises, my sorns will have so dealt with it that on the ninetieth day it will unbody, it will become what you call nothing. If that day finds it in heaven your death will be no bitterer because of this; but do not tarry in your ship if once you touch Thulcandra. Now lead these two away, and do you, my children, go where you will. But I must talk with Ransom.”