View from Another Shore : European Science Fiction Read online

plants or animals . . . or something else. I really thought for a minute I recognized a weird green octopus, like the one who appeared in the

  cage, but I’m not sure. Luckily, none of that crap got too close to us.

  And then the molasses started to get thicker, and it was getting hard

  to breathe. My mouth and nostrils were full of it, and I really thought

  I was finished. Then we found ourselves floating along its surface, as if we were being carried along by a warm and very salty sea (because I

  don’t know how to swim, is that it?). Above us, there was this purple

  sky again, very luminous, almost phosphorescent, which was really

  weird, since there wasn’t any sun. We floated on our backs for a long

  time, and then bit by bit the molasses disappeared, but it wasn’t like a

  swimming pool emptying out—it was as if it was slowly evaporating,

  breaking up into pools that moved over the ground like patches of fog.

  And we never got wet at all . . .

  Then we found ourselves standing on our own two feet again, but

  not on the white plain. On the contrary, the ground was as black as

  coal, and it didn’t seem to be very solid, since our feet sank right

  through the surface up to the ankles. Like walking through a layer of

  very fine dust. After a minute, enormous balls began to roll all around

  us on the black plain. They came from the horizon, and disappeared as

  quickly as they had come. It was terrifying. At first I thought we were

  going to be crushed, but actually they were shooting by at some

  distance from us. They must have been a good couple of hundred yards

  in diameter, and they kept changing colour. Sometimes they were

  white, sometimes blue, red, yellow, orange, sometimes they took on a

  weird colour I wouldn’t begin to know what to name. But the worst

  thing was the noise they made. A drumroll of thunder. Up until then

  we hadn’t heard any sounds at all on this planet, even if everything did

  keep changing from one minute to the next. But this made a noise in

  my head loud enough to drive me crazy. Like bowling balls, except

  that we were right in the alley and the balls were as big as houses. And

  then like everything else it quietened down, and the last balls

  disappeared at the edge of the black plain. It was at this moment

  that I realized that the plain was tilting in the distance, all around the horizon. After a couple of minutes it looked like big walls of coal were

  rising toward the sky. Soon I felt like I was standing in the crater of a

  Observation of Quadragnes

  65

  volcano, and then there was nothing more over us but a small bright

  circle, like a purple sun in the middle of all this blackness—and then it was absolutely dark. Much worse that the darkest night. Like being in

  a completely sealed-off room. I didn’t know what to do, I felt her hands

  all over my shoulders, scratching me. I wanted to talk to her, but I

  couldn’t even hear the sound of my own voice, as if I’d turned into a

  deaf-mute. I couldn’t even hear her screeching. I think there must

  have been something there in the dark, because it began to stink, a real

  putrid odour, it choked me. I had to vomit . . . but then the smell went

  away after a while and all of a sudden, in the dark, a cube appeared,

  just like that, a brilliant silvery cube that was absolutely visible even though it was pitch black. Naturally I couldn’t tell how big or how far

  away it was. Then there was another, and another, a whole pile of

  them appeared in the dark and began to pile themselves up one on top

  of the other, like when a kid piles up building blocks. Lucky for us we

  didn’t see the hand that was piling them up! Little by little the cubes

  were getting closer to us, and soon we were surrounded on all sides by

  these blocks, it wasn’t dark at all any more, and I thought we were

  about to be crushed to death by the last block, which would fit right in

  the spot where we were. But luckily it remained empty, and it was a

  good minute before I realized that the part that had remained empty

  was in fact our cell, and that its walls, floor and ceiling were the sides of the blocks piled together.

  Then the worst thing of all happened. But that—I can’t talk about

  it. I can hardly think about it . . . There aren’t any words to explain the horror that appeared in the cell. My God! . . . I’d seen my share of

  unbelievable things since I’d been on Mars . . . But this! When I think

  of it, I get the shakes and my heart starts thumping again. The woman

  had a real nervous breakdown and almost took out one of my eyes

  with her nails while I was trying to calm her down. Luckily it didn’t

  stay too long, but, my God! . . . Where do they find these things? They

  seem to be real jokers, these Martians . . . And why are they showing

  us all these monsters? Do they want us to die of fear?

  I’ve had it up to here!

  If I could just get out of this place . . .

  And now everything is quiet, but the broad’s on my back again,

  blubbering, and she wants me to be her little lover boy. What a life . . .

  Esu.

  Taking advantage of a position necessary for the growth of certain

  tardy radicles on the upper surface of the dorzz, I gave my attention to

  66

  J.-P. Andrevon

  a new experiment on the Quadragnes. Not daring to let them out of

  their cage, I projected simulacra of environment of the A-1 Superior

  zone, so as to be able to observe their reactions to a model series of

  situations and settings forming the usual backdrop of our existence. I

  hoped in this way to obtain a positive result, which would perhaps

  have permitted me to integrate the Quadragnes in one of the three-

  dimensional inserts of the Sphere, in company with other familiar

  animals captured in the lower spheres.

  Unfortunately, this experiment was a total failure: from all indica-

  tions the Quadragnes are incapable of adapting themselves to a milieu

  that differs in the slightest from the surroundings of their primitive

  existence. In short, these stupid animals do not seem to be happy

  except in their cage . . . Whether it was on the defalcating geyser of the transverse Arce-de-Creuse, whether it was in the nourmance of the

  Miol Vector or between the demionyctisized Olphases of the Pyrre-

  Bouge, the Quadragnes did not display the least glimmer of intelli-

  gence in attempting to understand their new environment. The

  cervical captours even registered the waves characteristic of the

  most total panic.

  As a last resort—although the thought of physical contact with

  these repulsive animals hardly enchanted me—I materialized myself

  personally in their cage. The result was disastrous: the Quadragnes

  emitted piercing sounds and gave themselves up to frantic gesticula-

  tions, as if my presence inspired in them an active terror. I did not

  linger in this trying proximity. The Quadragnes are manifestly

  incapable of perceiving the radiance of a superior being . . .

  I am going to return to my dorzz, which gives me infinitely more

  satisfaction.

  Eso.

  (along with many others!) add to the file of incomprehensible

  enigmas which the behaviour of the Quadragnes gives rise
to.

  Quadragne B, who seemed to me to manifest an abnormal agitation,

  performed a series of mimic actions on Quadragne A which ordinarily

  precede copulation (caresses of the upper paws, play of the jaws).

  Quadragne A disengaged himself, followed by his congener. After a

  new tentative on the part of B, A struck her violently and she went to

  squat in a distant part of the cage. B subsequently made a series of

  piercing sounds, while a clear liquid flowed from her eyes. She then

  stretched herself on the floor and began to rub her pectoral excres-

  cences and inside her cleft with her upper paws, until she uttered

  Observation of Quadragnes

  67

  several of these plaintive sounds of copulation. At no point, however,

  did A intervene.

  I do not seek to logically analyse these latest facts any more than

  the general activity of the Quadragnes, which seems to me to be

  governed by the most impenetrable incoherence and stupidity. I will

  have to consider some radical solution of their problem.

  *

  *

  *

  *

  *

  The broad is really starting to get on my nerves. I never have been

  able to stand the same woman for more than eight days.

  My God, if they’d just let us go!

  *

  *

  *

  *

  *

  As if the waking nightmares which our torturers inflict on us weren’t

  enough!. . . But now, my companion in misfortune has turned away

  from me. Lord! Why multiply my torments? Why have I been

  permitted to taste the joys of the flesh, to leave me prey now to the

  torments of frustration?

  But perhaps it was a trial to which You subjected me? A trial in

  which I stumbled . . . Like Eve tasting the forbidden fruits of the Tree

  of Knowledge, I innocently tasted the fruits of lust. I was ignorant of

  the most sacred law of the married woman. I have committed the sin

  of adultery.

  Oh! Martial . . . Forgive me!

  Esou.

  I have decided to end my observations here, for I am convinced that I

  will learn nothing more of interest from these two Quadragnes. The

  renewal of their atmosphere and the preparation of their nutrients

  takes considerable time, and there is no question of my continuing

  thus for such meagre results. During their next nocturnal unconscious

  period, I will expose them to a C+ ray, which will end their existence

  immediately and without pain.

  I have nonetheless had the foresight to register the cervical influxes

  of these creatures. Perhaps one day it will be possible to decode them

  and retranscribe them into a clear language, which would permit a

  great step forward in the study and comprehension of the Quad-

  ragnes.

  And who knows—perhaps later on, in the course of the next

  68

  J.-P. Andrevon

  transference to Lower Sphere C X 66, I might decide to amuse myself

  by capturing two other Quadragnes with the substance extractor. But

  for a change, I would take care to obtain two individuals of the same

  ‘sex’—two A Quadragnes, for example. Observation of their cohabita-

  tion would doubtlessly hold other surprises in store for me.

  Signed: Blue of Blue-Earth Peer

  translated by FRANK ZERO

  DENMARK

  The Good Ring

  SVEND A

  ˚ GE MADSEN

  A man named Stig is ploughing. He stoops over even though his back

  resists the effort. When he straightens up again the ring that he has

  bent over to pick up lies in his hand, a ring made to fit a finger.

  As soon as he has the ring Stig knows that it is no ordinary ring. He

  considers throwing it away so as not to tempt fate, but he simply

  cannot help examining it more closely. Although almost no air is

  stirring, it seems as if a gale is blowing through the circumference of

  the ring. He tries to put it on his finger but the blast is too strong and prevents him from doing so. Only when he turns the ring around and

  puts it on with the wind rather than against it does he succeed.

  Stig goes on with his ploughing. He is tired, the soil is hard, and he

  is sweating. He would like to stop, but he still has a long way to go.

  Stig curses the bad luck that brought him to this place.

  When finally he is on the way home after his heavy labour and is

  preoccupied with thoughts about the miserable way things are ar-

  ranged in this world, he suddenly hears voices around him. Nothing

  of this kind has ever happened to him when he has been alone. He is

  alone now.

  The voices come from his left hand. When he tries to distinguish

  between them he perceives one that reminds him of his own, a voice

  that in a cheerful tone utters some incomprehensible words, some-

  thing like ‘I believe the Brain is with me’. A second voice laughs

  uproariously while a woman squeals. A third mutters the same words

  over and over again.

  ‘That’s all I need’, Stig says to himself. ‘Now I’m going out of my

  mind.’

  When Stig reaches home there is a woman in his house. She is

  complaining. The woman is Karen, and she is his wife. Dog-tired, he

  lashes out at her, but Karen ducks in a practised manner without once

  interrupting her flow of reproaches.

  Stig wearily closes his eyes. When he opens them again he sees a

  letter lying in front of him. He opens it and finds, not to his surprise, that it contains a bill for a sizeable amount.

  ‘Who arranged the world this way, anyhow?’, he says to himself

  70

  Svend A

  ˚ ge Madsen

  while casting a look of recrimination upward. ‘And what have I done

  that I should deserve to drag out such a miserable existence here?’

  In a sudden fit of anger he seizes a half-filled mug and flings it

  towards the wall. Karen dodges, although the mug is not thrown in

  her direction. She calms down, with just as much ill grace as she can

  muster up.

  Stig picks up a fragment from the mug with which to scrape the

  scabs of the sores on his arm. The sores begin to bleed, but he pays no

  attention to them.

  ‘Go out and get something fit to eat’, he snarls at Karen. ‘And don’t

  come back until you’ve found something.’

  Karen sputters and grumbles, but goes.

  As soon as she is outside Stig locks the door. He rummages through

  the house and finds a rope that looks usable. He gets up on a rickety

  stool, manages to get the rope tossed around a crossbeam, then fastens

  it securely around his neck.

  He shakes his fist at the world around him.

  ‘Now I’m through slaving for you!’, he mutters.

  He leaps, the stool overturns, the rope goes taut. Whereupon the

  crossbeam breaks and Stig tumbles to the floor with a loud crash.

  But he does not have time to complain, for when he falls something

  happens to the ring on his finger. It has grazed the floor, and now it

  begins to grow larger with incredible speed. It becomes so large that it

  slips down around Stig’s arm. It continues to increase in size, and

  soon it is
so big that he is drawn through it as if by a violent gust of

  wind.

  *

  *

  *

  *

  *

  Everything is white, and there is nothing. Stig finds himself in

  nothing and on nothing. There is no earth beneath his feet, no sky

  above his head.

  Until he discovers a spherical object in front of him. It is two or

  three times the size of his head.

  ‘Just a moment’, says the sphere, beginning to change form, ‘Let

  me see now—these damned gadgets!’

  Slowly two eyes, a nose, and a mouth appear on the surface of the

  sphere.

  ‘Now you’ll undoubtedly find me more to your liking’, the mouth

  says with a smile.

  The sphere resembles a child’s drawing of a face. One eye is a little

  The Good Ring

  71

  smaller than the other. Stig discovers that he has no aches or pains,

  that he is neither tired nor hungry. He puts his hand up to his throat.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘We are a short distance from a planet. I thought you’d find it

  agreeable here. If you’re cold we can get a little closer to it.’

  ‘No thanks, I feel fine. Was it you who brought me here?’

  ‘Yes. It was my ring. You can call me Krr. There is such a sound in

  your language, isn’t there?’

  Stig nods. ‘What are you?’

  ‘I am a Brain’, says the sphere. It wrinkles its forehead and smiles.

  ‘You’re familiar with the theory of evolution—first the amoeba, then

  fish and mammals, and then man. And little by little, less and less

  work for man to do, and more and more things to speculate about. In

  other words, less and less body and more and more brain. Eventually

  one becomes able to imagine anything. This, for example . . .’

  Suddenly Stig whirls around four times in space.

  ‘Stop it!’, he yells in exasperation.

  ‘It’s a little difficult to explain how it’s done’, says Krr. ‘But this is approximately the place.’

  A speck of light appears on the sphere to indicate the place.

  ‘We Brains, of course, can read one another’s thoughts. We switch

  on lights for those we want to reveal to others. Consequently we have

  no need for eyes or a mouth. These eyes that you see I have assumed

  merely for your sake—I don’t actually see with them. Do they look

  natural?’

  He blinks one eye.

  ‘Couldn’t you somehow have managed to keep arms and legs?’,