He could not disentangle himself.
“The originals,” said Snow, in a loud whisper.
“Yes, the originals. But when the situation no longer corresponds to the normal faculties of . . . er . . . the original, the Phi-creature suffers a sort of ‘disconnection of consciousness,’ followed immediately by unusual, non-human manifestations . . .”
“It’s true,” I said, “and we can amuse ourselves drawing up a catalogue of the behavior of . . . of these creatures – a totally frivolous occupation!”
“I’m not sure of that,” protested Sartorius. I suddenly realized why he irritated me so much: he didn’t talk, he lectured, as though he were in the chair at the Institute. He seemed to be incapable of expressing himself in any other way. “Here we come to the question of individuality,” he went on, “of which, I am quite sure, the ocean has not the smallest inkling. I think that the . . . er . . . delicate or shocking aspect of our present situation is completely beyond its comprehension.”
“You think its activities are unpremeditated?”
I was somewhat bewildered by Sartorius’s point of view, but on second thought, I realized that it could not be dismissed.
“No, unlike our colleague Snow, I don’t believe there is malice, or deliberate cruelty . . .”
Snow broke in:
“I’m not suggesting it has human feelings, I’m merely trying to find an explanation for these continual reappearances.”
With a secret desire to nag poor Sartorius, I said:
“Perhaps they are plugged into a contrivance which goes round and round, endlessly repeating itself, like a gramophone record . . .”
“Gentlemen, I beg you, let us not waste time! I haven’t yet finished. In normal circumstances, I would have felt it premature to present a report, even a provisional one, on the progress of my research; in view of the prevailing situation, however, I think I may allow myself to speak out. I have the impression – only an impression, mark you – that Dr. Kelvin’s hypothesis is not without validity. I am alluding to the hypothesis of a neutrino structure . . . Our knowledge in this field is purely theoretical. We did not know if there was any possibility of stabilizing such structures. Now a clearly defined solution offers itself to us. A means of neutralizing the magnetic field that maintains the stability of the structure . . .”
A few moments previously, I had noticed that the screen was flickering with light. Now a split appeared from top to bottom of the left-hand side. I saw something pink move slowly out of view. Then the lens-cover slipped again, disclosing the screen.
Sartorius gave an anguished cry:
“Go away! Go away!”
I saw his hands flapping and struggling, then his forearms, covered by the wide sleeves of the laboratory gown. A bright golden disc shone out for an instant, then everything went dark. Only then did I realize that this golden disc was a straw hat . . .
I took a deep breath.
“Snow?”
An exhausted voice replied:
“Yes, Kelvin . . .” Hearing his voice, I realized that I had become quite fond of him, and that I preferred not to know who or what his companion was. “That’s enough for now, don’t you think?” he said.
“I agree.” Before he could cut off, I added quickly: “Listen, if you can, come and see me, either in the operating room or in my cabin.”
“OK, but I don’t know when.”
The conference was over.
8 THE MONSTERS
I woke up in the middle of the night to find the light on and Rheya crouched at the end of the bed, wrapped in a sheet, her shoulders shaking with silent tears. I called her name and asked her what was wrong, but she only curled up tighter.
Still half asleep, and barely emerged from the nightmare which had been tormenting me only a moment before, I pulled myself up to a sitting position and shielded my eyes against the glare to look at her. The trembling continued, and I stretched out my arms, but Rheya pushed me away and hid her face.
“Rheya . . .”
“Don’t talk to me!”
“Rheya, what’s the matter?”
I caught a glimpse of her tear-stained face, contorted with emotion. The big childish tears streamed down her face, glistened in the dimple above her chin and fell onto the sheets.
“You don’t want me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard . . .”
My jaw tightened: “Heard what? You don’t understand.”
“Yes I do. You said I wasn’t Rheya. You wanted me to go, and I would, I really would . . . but I can’t. I don’t know why. I’ve tried to go, but I couldn’t do it. I’m such a coward.”
“Come on now . . . .” I put my arms round her and held her with all my strength. Nothing mattered to me except her: everything else was meaningless. I kissed her hands, talked, begged, excused myself and made promise after promise, saying that she had been having some silly, terrible dream. Gradually she grew calmer, and at last she stopped crying and her eyes glazed, like a woman walking in her sleep. She turned her face away from me.
“No,” she said at last, “be quiet, don’t talk like that. It’s no good, you’re not the same person any more.” I started to protest, but she went on: “No, you don’t want me. I knew it before, but I pretended not to notice. I thought perhaps I was imagining everything, but it was true . . . you’ve changed. You’re not being honest with me. You talk about dreams, but it was you who were dreaming, and it was to do with me. You spoke my name as if it repelled you. Why? Just tell me why.”
“Rheya, my little . . . .”
“I won’t have you talking to me like that, do you hear? I won’t let you. I’m not your little anything, I’m not a child. I’m . . . .”
She burst into tears and buried her face in the pillow. I got up. The ventilation hummed quietly. It was cold, and I pulled a dressing-gown over my shoulders before sitting next to her and taking her arm: “Listen to me, I’m going to tell you something. I’m going to tell you the truth.”
She pushed herself upright again. I could see the veins throbbing beneath the delicate skin of her neck. My jaw tightened once more. The air seemed to be colder still, and my head was completely empty.
“The truth?” she said. “Word of honor?” I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came. ‘Word of honor’ . . . it was our special catch-phrase, our old way of making an unconditional promise. Once these words had been spoken, neither of us was permitted to lie, or even to take refuge behind a half-truth. I remembered the period when we used to torture each other in an exaggerated striving for sincerity, convinced that this ingenuous honesty was the precondition of our relationship.
“Word of honor, Rheya,” I answered gravely, and she waited for me to continue. “You have changed too – we all change. But that is not what I wanted to say. For some reason that neither of us understands, it seems that . . . you are forced to stay near me. And that’s fine with me, because I can’t leave you either . . .”
“No, Kris. The change is not in you,” Rheya whispered. “It’s me. Something is wrong. Perhaps it has to do with the accident?”
She looked at the dark, empty rectangle of the door. The previous evening, I had removed the shattered remains – a new one would have to be fitted. Another thought struck me:
“Have you been managing to sleep?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have dreams . . . I don’t know whether they really are dreams. Perhaps I’m ill. I lie there and think, and . . .”
“What?”
“I have strange thoughts. I don’t know where they come from.”
It took all my self-control to steady my voice and tell her to go on, and I found myself tensing for her answer as if for a blow in the face.
“They are thoughts . . .” She shook her head helplessly. “. . . all around me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I get a feeling as if they were not from inside myself, but somewhere further away. I can’t explain it, can’t put words to it . . .”
I broke in almost involuntarily: “It must be some kind of dream.” Then, back in control again: “And now, we put the light out and we forget our problems until morning. Tomorrow we can invent some new ones if you like. OK?”
She pressed the switch, and darkness fell between us. Stretched out on the bed, I felt her warm breathing beside me, and put my arms round her.