Solaris (20 page)

Rheya and I were sitting in the kitchen two days later when Snow
came in. He was dressed as people dress on Earth after their day's
work, and looked like a different person, taller and older. He did
not look at us, or pull up a chair, but stood at the table, opened
a can of meat and began cramming it down between mouthfuls of
bread. His jacket sleeve brushed against the greasy top of the
can.

"Look out, Snow, your sleeve!"

"What?" he grunted, then went on stuffing himself with food as
if he had not eaten for days. He poured out a glass of wine, drank
it at a gulp, sighed, and wiped his lips. Then he looked at me with
bloodshot eyes, and mumbled:

"So you've stopped shaving? Ah…"

Rheya cleared the table. Snow swayed on his heels, then pulled a
face and sucked his teeth noisily, deliberately exaggerating the
action. He stared at me insistently:

"So you've decided not to shave?" I made no reply. "Believe me,"
he went on, "you're making a mistake. That was how it started with
him to…"

"Go and lie down."

"What? Just when I feel like talking? Listen, Kelvin, perhaps it
wishes well…perhaps it wants to please us but doesn't quite
know how to set about the job. It spies out desires in our brains,
and only two per cent of mental processes are conscious. That means
it knows us better than we know ourselves. We've got to reach an
understanding with it. Are you listening? Don't you want to?
Why?"—he was sobbing by now—"why don't you shave?"

"Shut up!…you're drunk."

"Me, drunk? And what if I am? Just because I drift about from
one end of space to another and poke my nose into the cosmos, does
that mean I'm not allowed to get drunk? Why not? You believe in the
mission of mankind, don't you, Kelvin? Gibarian told me about you
before he started letting his beard grow…It was a very good
description. Just don't go to the lab, if you don't want to lose
your faith. It belongs to Sartorius—Faust in
reverse…he's looking for a cure for immortality! He is the
last knight of the Holy Contact, the man we need. His latest
discovery is pretty good too…prolonged dying. Not bad, eh?
Agonia perpetua
…of the straw…the
straw hats and still you don't drink, Kelvin?"

He raised his swollen eyelids and looked at Rheya, who was
standing quite still with her back to the wall. Then he began
chanting:

"O fair Aphrodite, child of Ocean, your divine hand…" He
choked with laughter. "It fits, eh, Kel…vin…"

He broke off in a fit of coughing.

"Shut up! Shut up and get out!" I grated through clenched
teeth.

"You're chucking me out? You too? You don't shave and you chuck
me out? What about my warnings, and my advice? Interstellar
colleagues ought to help each other! Listen Kelvin, let's go down
and open the traps and call out. It might hear us. But what's its
name? We have named all the stars and all the planets, even though
they might already have had names of their own. What a nerve! Come
on, let's go down. We'll shout it such a description of the trick
it's played us that it will be touched. It will make us silver
symmetriads, pray to us in calculus, send us its blood-stained
angels. It will share our troubles and terrors, and beg us to help
it die. It is already begging us, imploring us. It implores us to
help it die with every one of its creations. You're not
amused…but you know I'm just a joker. If man had more of a
sense of humor, things might have turned out differently. Do you
know what he wants to do? He wants to punish this ocean, hear it
screaming out of all its mountains at once. If you think he'll
never have the nerve to submit his plan to that bunch of doddering
ancients who sent us here to redeem sins we haven't committed,
you're right—he is afraid. But he is only afraid of the
little hat. He won't let anybody see the little hat, he won't dare,
not Faust…"

I said nothing. Snow's swaying increased. Tears were streaming
down his cheeks and onto his clothes. He went on:

"Who is responsible? Who is responsible for this situation?
Gibarian? Giese? Einstein? Plato? All criminals…Just you
think, in a rocket a man takes the risk of bursting like a balloon,
or freezing, or roasting, or sweating all his blood out in a single
gush, before he can even cry out, and all that remains is bits of
bone floating inside armored hulls, in accordance with the laws of
Newton as corrected by Einstein, those two milestones in our
progress. Down the road we go, all in good faith, and see where it
gets us. Think about our success, Kelvin; think about our cabins,
the unbreakable plates, the immortal sinks, legions of faithful
wardrobes, devoted cupboards…I wouldn't be talking this way
if I weren't drunk, but sooner or later somebody was bound to say
it, weren't they? You sit there like a baby in a slaughterhouse,
and you let your beard grow…Who's to blame? Find out for
yourself."

He turned slowly and went out, putting an arm out against the
doorpost to steady himself. Then his footsteps died away along the
corridor.

I tried not to look at Rheya, but my eyes were drawn to hers in
spite of myself. I wanted to get up, take her in my arms and stroke
her hair. I did not move.

Another three weeks. The shutters rose and fell on time. I was
still a prisoner in my nightmares, and every morning the play began
again. But was it a play? I put on a feigned composure, and Rheya
played the same game. The deception was mutual and deliberate, and
our agreement only contributed to our ultimate evasion. We talked
about the future, and our life on Earth on the outskirts of some
great city. We would spend the rest of our lives among green trees
and under a blue sky, and never leave Earth again. Together we
planned the lay-out of our house and garden and argued over details
like the location of a hedge or a bench.

I do not believe that I was sincere for a single instant. Our
plans were impossible, and I knew it, for even if Rheya could leave
the Station and survive the voyage, how could I have got through
the immigration checks with my clandestine passenger? Earth admits
only human beings, and even then only when they carry the necessary
papers. Rheya would be detained for an identity check at the first
barrier, we would be separated, and she would give herself away at
once. The Station was the one place where we could live together.
Rheya must have known that, or found it out.

One night I heard Rheya get out of bed silently. I wanted to
stop her; in the darkness and silence we occasionally managed to
throw off our despair for a while by making each other forget.
Rheya did not notice that I had woken up. When I stretched my hand
out, she was already out of bed, and walking bare-foot towards the
door. Without daring to raise my voice, I whispered her name, but
she was outside, and a narrow shaft of light shone through the
doorway from the corridor.

There was a sound of whispering. Rheya was talking to
somebody…but whom? Panic overtook me when I tried to stand
up, and my legs would not move. I listened, but heard nothing. The
blood hammered through my temples. I started counting, and was
approaching a thousand when there was a movement in the doorway and
Rheya returned. She stood there for a second without moving, and I
made myself breathe evenly.

"Kris?" she whispered.

I did not answer.

She slid quickly into bed and lay down, taking care not to
disturb me. Questions buzzed in my mind, but I would not let myself
be the first to speak, and made no move. The silent questioning
went on for an hour, maybe more. Then I fell asleep.

The morning was like any other. I watched Rheya furtively, but
could not see any change in her behavior. After breakfast, we sat
at the big panoramic window. The Station was hovering among purple
clouds. Rheya was reading, and as I stared out I suddenly noticed
that by holding my head at a certain angle I could see us both
reflected in the window. I took my hand off the rail. Rheya had no
idea that I was watching her. She glanced at me, obviously decided
from my posture that I was looking at the ocean, then bent to kiss
the place where my hand had rested. In a moment she was reading her
book again.

"Rheya," I asked gently, "where did you go last night?"

"Last night?"

"Yes."

"You…you must have been dreaming, Kris. I didn't go
anywhere."

"You didn't leave the cabin?"

"No. It must have been a dream."

"Perhaps…yes, perhaps I dreamt it."

The same evening, I started talking about our return to Earth
again, but Rheya stopped me:

"Don't talk to me about the journey again, Kris. I don't want to
hear any more about it, you know very well…"

"What?"

"No, nothing."

After we went to bed, she said that she was thirsty:

"There's a glass of fruit-juice on the table over there. Could
you give it to me?" She drank half of it then handed it to me.

"I'm not thirsty."

"Drink to my health then," she smiled.

It tasted slightly bitter, but my mind was on other things. She
switched the light off.

"Rheya…If you won't talk about the voyage, let's talk
about something else."

"If I did not exist, would you marry?"

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I was by myself for ten years and I didn't marry
again. Let's not talk about that…" My head was spinning as
if I had been drinking too much.

"No, let's talk about it. What if I begged you to?"

"To marry again? Don't be silly, Rheya. I don't need anybody
except you."

I felt her breath on my face and her arms holding me:

"Say it another way."

"I love you."

Her head fell to my shoulder, and I felt tears.

"Rheya, what's the matter?"

"Nothing…nothing…nothing…" Her voice echoed
into silence, and my eyes closed.

The red dawn woke me with a splitting head and a neck so stiff
that I felt as if the bones were welded together. My tongue was
swollen, and my mouth felt foul. Then I reached out for Rheya, and
my hand touched a cold sheet.

I sat up with a start.

I was alone—alone in bed and in the cabin. The concave
window reflected a row of red suns. I dragged myself out of bed and
staggered over to the bathroom, reeling like a drunkard and
propping myself up on the furniture. It was empty. So was the
workshop.

"Rheya!"

Calling, running up and down the corridor.

"Rheya!" I screamed, one last time, then my voice gave out. I
already knew the truth…

I do not remember the exact sequence of events after that, as I
stumbled half naked through all the length and breadth of the
Station. It seems to me that I even went into the refrigeration
section, searched through the storage rooms, hammered with my fists
on bolted doors, then came back again to throw myself against doors
which had already resisted me. I half-fell down flights of steps,
picked myself up and hurried onwards. When I reached the double
armoured doors which opened onto the ocean I was still calling,
still hoping that it was a dream. Somebody was standing by me.
Hands took hold of me and pulled me away.

I came to my senses again lying on a metal table in the little
workshop and gasping for breath. My throat and nostrils were
burning with some alcoholic vapor, my shirt was soaked in water,
and my hair plastered over my skull.

Snow was busy at a medicine cupboard, shifting instruments and
glass vessels which clattered with an unbearable din. Then his face
appeared, looking gravely down into my eyes.

"Where is she?"

"She is not here."

"But…Rheya…"

He bent over me, brought his face closer, and spoke very slowly
and clearly:

"Rheya is dead."

"She will come back," I whispered.

Instead of dreading her return, I wanted it. I did not attempt
to remind myself why I myself had once tried to drive her away, and
why I had been so afraid of her return.

"Drink this."

Snow held out a glass, and I threw it in his face. He staggered
back, rubbing his eyes, and by the time he opened them again I was
on my feet and standing over him. How small he was…

"It was you."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on Snow, you know what I mean. It was you who met her the
other night. You told her to give me a sleeping pill…What
has happened to her? Tell me!"

He felt in his shirt-pocket and took out an envelope. I snatched
it out of his hand. It was sealed, and there was no inscription.
Inside was a sheet of paper folded twice, and I recognized the
sprawling, rather childish handwriting:

"My darling, I was the one who asked him. He is a good man. I am
sorry I had to lie to you. I beg you to give me this one
wish—hear him out, and do nothing to harm yourself. You have
been marvellous."

There was one more word, which she had crossed out, but I could
see that she had signed "Rheya."

My mind was now absolutely clear. Even if I had wanted to scream
hysterically, my voice had gone, and I did not even have the
strength to groan.

"How…?"

"Later, Kelvin. You've got to calm down."

"I'm calm now. Tell me how."

"Disintegration."

"But…what did you use?"

"The Roche apparatus was unsuitable. Sartorius built something
else, a new destabilizer. A miniature instrument, with a range of a
few yards."

"And she…"

"She disappeared. A pop, and a puff of air. That's all."

"A short-range instrument…"

"Yes, we didn't have the resources for anything bigger."

The walls loomed over me, and I shut my eyes.

"She will come back."

"No."

"What do you know about it?"

"You remember the wings of foam? Since that day, they do not
come back."

"You killed her," I whispered.

"Yes…In my place, what else would you have done?"

I turned away from him and began pacing up and down the room.
Nine steps to the corner. About turn. Nine more rapid steps, and I
was facing Snow again.

"Listen, we'll write a report. We'll ask for an immediate link
with the Council. It's feasible, and they'll accept—they
must. The planet will no longer be subject to the four-power
convention. We'll be authorized to use any means at our disposal.
We can send for anti-matter generators. Nothing can stand up
against them, nothing…" I was shouting now, and blinded with
tears.

"You want to destroy it? Why?"

"Get out, leave me alone!"

"No, I won't get out."

"Snow!" I glared at him, and he shook his head. "What do you
want? What am I supposed to do?" He walked back to the table.

"Fine, we'll draw up a report."

I started pacing again.

"Sit down!"

"I'll do what I like!"

"There are two distinct questions. One, the facts. Two, our
recommendations."

"Do we have to talk about it now?"

"Yes, now."

"I won't listen, you hear? I'm not interested in your
distinctions."

"We sent our last message about two months ago, before
Gibarian's death. We'll have to establish exactly how the 'visitor'
phenomena function…"

I grabbed his arm:

"Will you shut up!"

"Hit me if you like, but I will not shut up."

"Oh, talk away, if it gives you pleasure…" I let him
go.

"Good, listen. Sartorius will want to conceal certain facts. I'm
almost certain of it."

"And what about you? Won't you conceal anything?"

"No. Not now. This business goes further than individual
responsibilities. You know that as well as I do. 'It' has given a
demonstration of considered activity. It is capable of carrying out
organic synthesis on the most complex level, a synthesis we ourselves
have never managed to achieve. It knows the structure, micro-structure
and metabolism of our bodies…"

"All right…But why stop there? It has performed a series
of…experiments on us. Psychic vivisection. It has used
knowledge which it stole from our minds without our consent."

"Those are not facts, Kelvin. They are not even propositions.
They are theories. You could say that it has taken account of
desires locked into secret recesses of our brains. Perhaps it was
sending us…presents."

"Presents! My God!" I shook with a fit of uncontrollable
laughter.

"Take it easy!" Snow took hold of my hand, and I tightened my
grip until I heard bones cracking. He went on looking at me without
any change of expression. I let go, and walked over to a corner of
the workshop:

"I'll try to get hold of myself."

"Yes, of course. I understand. What do we ask them?"

"I leave it to you…I can't think straight right now. Did
she say anything—before?"

"No, nothing. If you want my opinion, from now on we stand a
chance."

"A chance? What chance?" I stared at him, and light suddenly
dawned. "Contact? Still Contact? Haven't you had enough of this
madhouse? What more do you need? No, it's out of the question.
Count me out!"

"Why not," he asked quietly. "You yourself instinctively treat
it like a human being, now more than ever. You hate it."

"And you don't?"

"No, Kelvin. It is blind."—I thought that I might not have
heard him correctly—"…or rather it 'sees' in a
different way from ourselves. We do not exist for it in the same
sense that we exist for each other. We recognize one another by the
appearance of the face and the body. That appearance is a
transparent window to the ocean. It introduces itself directly into
the brain."

"Right, what if it does? What are you driving at? It succeeded
in recreating a human being who exists only in my memory, and so
accurately that her eyes, her gestures, her voice…"

"Don't stop. Talk."

"I'm talking…Her voice…because it is able to read
us like a book. You see what I mean?"

"Yes, that it could make itself understood."

"Doesn't that follow?"

"No, not necessarily. Perhaps it used a formula which is not
expressed in verbal terms. It may be taken from a recording
imprinted on our minds, but a man's memory is stored in terms of
nucleic acids etching asynchronous large-moleculed crystals. 'It'
removed the deepest, most isolated imprint, the most 'assimilated'
structure, without necessarily knowing what it meant to us.
Suppose, I'm capable of reproducing the architecture of a
symmetriad, and I know its composition and have the requisite
technology…I create a symmetriad and I drop it into the
ocean. But I don't know why I'm doing so, I don't know its
function, and I don't know what the symmetriad means to the
ocean…"

"Yes. You may be right. In that case it wished us no harm, and
it was not trying to destroy us. Yes, it's possible…and with
no intention…"

My mouth began to tremble.

"Kelvin!"

"All right, don't get worried. You are kind, the ocean is kind.
Everybody is kind. But why? Explain that. Why has it done this?
What did you say…to her?"