Perelandra (8 page)

Ransom was thunderstruck. Had the
eldila
sent him to meet an idiot? Or an evil spirit that mocked him? Or was it after all a hallucination? – for this was just how a hallucination might be expected to behave. Then an idea occurred to him which would have taken much longer, perhaps, to occur to me or you. It might not be she who was mad but he who was ridiculous. He glanced down at himself. Certainly his legs presented an odd spectacle, for one was brownish-red (like the flanks of a Titian satyr) and the other was white – by comparison, almost a leprous white. As far as self-inspection could go, he had the same parti-coloured appearance all over – no unnatural result of his one-sided exposure to the sun during the voyage. Had this been the joke? He felt a momentary impatience with the creature who could mar the meeting of two worlds with laughter at such a triviality. Then he smiled in spite of himself at the very undistinguished career he was having on Perelandra. For dangers he had been prepared; but to be first a disappointment and then
an absurdity … Hullo! Here were the Lady and her island in sight again.

She had recovered from her laughter and sat with her legs trailing in the sea, half unconsciously caressing a gazelle-like creature which had thrust its soft nose under her arm. It was difficult to believe that she had ever laughed, ever done anything but sit on the shore of her floating isle. Never had Ransom seen a face so calm, and so unearthly, despite the full humanity of every feature. He decided afterwards that the unearthly quality was due to the complete absence of that element of resignation which mixes, in however slight a degree, with all profound stillness in terrestrial faces. This was a calm which no storm had ever preceded. It might be idiocy, it might be immortality, it might be some condition of mind to which terrestrial experience offered no clue at all. A curious and rather horrifying sensation crept over him. On the ancient planet Malacandra he had met creatures who were not even remotely human in form but who had turned out, on further acquaintance, to be rational and friendly. Under an alien exterior he had discovered a heart like his own. Was he now to have the reverse experience? For now he realised that the word ‘human’ refers to something more than the bodily form or even to the rational mind. It refers also to that community of blood and experience which unites all men and women on the Earth. But this creature was not of his race; no windings, however intricate, of any genealogical tree could ever establish a connection between himself and her. In that sense, not one drop in her veins was ‘human’. The universe had produced her species and his quite independently.

All this passed through his mind very quickly, and was speedily interrupted by his consciousness that the light was changing. At first he thought that the green Creature had, of herself, begun to turn bluish and to shine with a strange electric radiance. Then he noticed that the whole landscape was a blaze of blue and purple – and almost at the same time that the two islands were not so close together as they had been. He glanced at the sky. The many-coloured furnace of the shortlived evening was kindled all about him. In a few minutes it would be pitch black … and the islands were drifting apart. Speaking slowly in that ancient language, he cried out to her, ‘I am a stranger. I come in peace. Is it your will that I swim over to your land?’

The Green Lady looked quickly at him with an expression of curiosity.

‘What is “peace”?’ she asked.

Ransom could have danced with impatience. Already it was visibly darker and there was no doubt now that the distance between the islands was increasing. Just as he was about to speak again a wave rose between them and once more she was out of sight; and as that wave hung above him, shining purple in the light of the sunset, he noticed how dark the sky beyond it had become. It was already through a kind of twilight that he looked down from the next ridge upon the other island far below him. He flung himself into the water. For some seconds he found a difficulty in getting clear of the shore. Then he seemed to succeed and struck out. Almost at once he found himself back again among the red weeds and bladders. A moment or two of violent struggling followed and then he was free – and swimming steadily – and then,
almost without warning, swimming in total darkness. He swam on, but despair of finding the other land, or even of saving his life, now gripped him. The perpetual change of the great swell abolished all sense of direction. It could only be by chance that he would land anywhere. Indeed, he judged from the time he had already been in the water that he must have been swimming
along
the space between the islands instead of across it. He tried to alter his course; then doubted the wisdom of this, tried to return to his original course, and became so confused that he could not be sure he had done either. He kept on telling himself that he must keep his head. He was beginning to be tired. He gave up all attempts to guide himself. Suddenly, a long time after, he felt vegetation sliding past him. He gripped and pulled. Delicious smells of fruit and flowers came to him out of the darkness. He pulled harder still on his aching arms. Finally he found himself, safe and panting, on the dry, sweet-scented, undulating surface of an island.

Ransom must have fallen asleep almost as soon as he landed, for he remembered nothing more till what seemed the song of a bird broke in upon his dreams. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was a bird indeed, a long-legged bird like a very small stork, singing rather like a canary. Full daylight – or what passes for such in Perelandra – was all about him, and in his heart such a premonition of good adventure as made him sit up forthwith and brought him, a moment later, to his feet. He stretched his arms and looked around. He was not on the orange-coloured island, but on the same island which had been his home ever since he came to this planet. He was floating in a dead calm and therefore had no difficulty in making his way to the shore. And there he stopped in astonishment. The Lady’s island was floating beside his, divided only by five feet or so of water. The whole look of the world had changed. There was no expanse of sea now visible – only a flat wooded landscape as far as the eye could reach in every direction. Some ten or twelve of the islands, in fact, were here lying together and making a short-lived continent. And there walking before him, as if on the other side of a brook, was the Lady herself – walking with her head a little bowed and her hands occupied in plaiting together some blue
flowers. She was singing to herself in a low voice but stopped and turned as he hailed her and looked him full in the face.

‘I was young yesterday,’ she began, but he did not hear the rest of her speech. The meeting, now that it had actually come about, proved overwhelming. You must not misunderstand the story at this point. What overwhelmed him was not in the least the fact that she, like himself, was totally naked. Embarrassment and desire were both a thousand miles away from his experience: and if he was a little ashamed of his own body, that was a shame which had nothing to do with difference of sex and turned only on the fact that he knew his body to be a little ugly and a little ridiculous. Still less was her colour a source of horror to him. In her own world that green was beautiful and fitting; it was his pasty white and angry sunburn which were the monstrosity. It was neither of these; but he found himself unnerved. He had to ask her presently to repeat what she had been saying.

‘I was young yesterday,’ she said. ‘When I laughed at you. Now I know that the people in your world do not like to be laughed at.’

‘You say you were young?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you not young today also?’

She appeared to be thinking for a few moments, so intently that the flowers dropped, unregarded, from her hand.

‘I see it now,’ she said presently. ‘It is very strange to say one is young at the moment one is speaking. But tomorrow I shall be older. And then I shall say I was
young today. You are quite right. This is great wisdom you are bringing, O Piebald Man.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This looking backward and forward along the line and seeing how a day has one appearance as it comes to you, and another when you are in it, and a third when it has gone past. Like the waves.’

‘But you are very little older than yesterday.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I mean,’ said Ransom, ‘a night is not a very long time.’

She thought again, and then spoke suddenly, her face lightening. ‘I see it now,’ she said. ‘You think times have lengths. A night is always a night whatever you do in it, as from this tree to that is always so many paces whether you take them quickly or slowly. I suppose that is true in a way. But the waves do not always come at equal distances. I see that you come from a wise world … if this is wise. I have never done it before – stepping out of life into the Alongside and looking at oneself living as if one were not alive. Do they all do that in your world, Piebald?’

‘What do you know about other worlds?’ said Ransom.

‘I know this. Beyond the roof it is all deep heaven, the high place. And the low is not really spread out as it seems to be’ (here she indicated the whole landscape) ‘but is rolled up into little balls: little lumps of the low swimming in the high. And the oldest and greatest of them have on them that which we have never seen nor heard and cannot at all understand. But on the younger Maleldil has made to grow the things like us, that breathe and breed.’

‘How have you found all this out? Your roof is so dense that your people cannot see through into Deep Heaven and look at the other worlds.’

Up till now her face had been grave. At this point she clapped her hands and a smile such as Ransom had never seen changed her. One does not see that smile here except in children, but there was nothing of the child about it there.

‘Oh, I see it,’ she said. ‘I am older now. Your world has no roof. You look right out into the high place and see the great dance with your own eyes. You live always in that terror and that delight, and what we must only believe you can behold. Is not this a wonderful invention of Maleldil’s? When I was young I could imagine no beauty but this of our own world. But He can think of all, and all different.’

‘That is one of the things that is bewildering me,’ said Ransom. ‘That you are not different. You are shaped like the women of my own kind. I had not expected that. I have been in one other world beside my own. But the creatures there are not at all like you and me.’

‘What is bewildering about it?’

‘I do not see why different worlds should bring forth like creatures. Do different trees bring forth like fruit?’

‘But that other world was older than yours,’ she said.

‘How do you know that?’ asked Ransom in amazement.

‘Maleldil is telling me,’ answered the woman. And as she spoke the landscape had become different, though with a difference none of the senses would identify. The light was dim, the air gentle, and all Ransom’s body was bathed in bliss, but the garden world where he stood seemed to be packed quite full, and as if an unendurable
pressure had been laid upon his shoulders, his legs failed him and he half sank, half fell, into a sitting position.

‘It all comes into my mind now,’ she continued. ‘I see the big furry creatures, and the white giants – what is it you called them? – the
sorns
, and the blue rivers. Oh, what a strong pleasure it would be to see them with my outward eyes, to touch them, and the stronger because there are no more of that kind to come. It is only in the ancient worlds they linger yet.’

‘Why?’ said Ransom in a whisper, looking up at her.

‘You must know that better than I,’ she said. ‘For was it not in your own world that all this happened?’

‘All what?’

‘I thought it would be you who would tell me of it,’ said the woman, now in her turn bewildered.

‘What are you talking about?’ said Ransom.

‘I mean,’ said she, ‘that in your world Maleldil first took Himself this form, the form of your race and mine.’

‘You know that?’ said Ransom sharply. Those who have had a dream which is very beautiful but from which, nevertheless, they have ardently desired to awake, will understand his sensations.

‘Yes, I know that. Maleldil has made me older to that amount since we began speaking.’ The expression on her face was such as he had never seen, and could not steadily look at. The whole of this adventure seemed to be slipping out of his hands. There was a long silence. He stooped down to the water and drank before he spoke again.

‘Oh, my Lady,’ he said, ‘why do you say that such creatures linger only in the ancient worlds?’

‘Are you so young?’ she answered. ‘How could they come again? Since our Beloved became a man, how
should Reason in any world take on another form? Do you not understand? That is all over. Among times there is a time that turns a corner and everything this side of it is new. Times do not go backward.’

‘And can one little world like mine be the corner?’

‘I do not understand. Corner with us is not the name of a size.’

‘And do you,’ said Ransom with some hesitation – ‘and do you know
why
He came thus to my world?’

All through this part of the conversation he found it difficult to look higher than her feet, so that her answer was merely a voice in the air above him. ‘Yes,’ said the voice. ‘I know the reason. But it is not the reason you know. There was more than one reason, and there is one I know and cannot tell to you, and another that you know and cannot tell to me.’

‘And after this,’ said Ransom, ‘it will all be men.’

‘You say it as if you were sorry.’

‘I think,’ said Ransom, ‘I have no more understanding than a beast. I do not well know what I am saying. But I loved the furry people whom I met in Malacandra, that old world. Are they to be swept away? Are they only rubbish in the Deep Heaven?’

‘I do not know what
rubbish
means,’ she answered, ‘nor what you are saying. You do not mean they are worse because they come early in the history and do not come again? They are their own part of the history and not another. We are on this side of the wave and they on the far side. All is new.’