Stanislaw Lem - Return from the Stars

Yes, I thought I would. I went toward the house, picked up my robe, brushed the sand from it. The hall was brightly lit. I approached her door. Perhaps she would let me in, I thought. If she let me in, I would stop caring about her. Perhaps. And perhaps that would be the end of it. Or I’d get a slap in the face. No. They were good, they were betrizated, they were not able. She would give me a glass of milk; it would do me a world of good. I must have stood there for five minutes — and recalled the caves of Kereneia, the notorious hole Olaf had talked about. That wonderful hole! Probably an old volcano. Arder had got himself wedged between some boulders and could not get out, and the lava was rising. Not lava, actually; Venturi said it was a kind of geyser — but that was later. Arder… We heard his voice. On the radio. I went down and pulled him out. God! I would have preferred that ten times over to this door. Not the slightest sound. Nothing.

If only the door had had a handle. Instead, a plate. Nothing like that on mine upstairs. I did not know whether it functioned somehow as a lock, or whether I should press it; I was still the savage from Kereneia.

I raised a hand and hesitated. And if the door did not open? I pictured my retreat: it would give me something to think about for a long time. And I felt that the longer I stood, the less strength I had, as though everything were oozing out of me. I touched the plate. It did not yield. I pressed harder.

“Is that you, Mr. Bregg?” I heard her voice. She must have been standing on the other side of the door.

“Yes.”

Silence. A half a minute. A minute.

The door opened. She stood in the doorway. Wearing a fluffy housecoat. Her hair fell over the collar. Not until now, incredibly, did I see that it was chestnut.

The door, only ajar. She held it. When I stepped forward, she backed away. By itself, without a sound, the door closed behind me.

An suddenly I realized how this must look. She watched, motionless, pale, holding the edges of her robe together, and there I was, opposite her, dripping, naked, in Olaf’s black trunks, my sandy robe in my hand — gaping…

And at the thought, I broke into a smile. I shook out the robe. Put it on, fastened it, sat down. I noticed two wet marks where I had been standing before. But I had absolutely nothing to say. What could I say? Suddenly it came to me. Like an inspiration.

“You know who I am?”

“I know.”

“Ah, you do? That’s good. From the travel office?”

“No.”

“It doesn’t matter. I am… wild, do you know that?”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Terribly wild. What is your name?”

“You don’t know?”

“Your first name.”

“Eri.”

“I am going to carry you off.”

“What?”

“Yes. Carry you off. You don’t want to be?”

“No.”

“No matter. I am. Do you know why?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t. I don’t.”

She was silent

“Nothing I can do about it,” I went on. “It happened the moment I saw you. The day before yesterday. At the table. Do you know that?”

“I know.”

“But perhaps you think that I am joking?”

“No.”

“How could you… ? No matter. Will you try to escape?”

She was silent.

“Don’t,” I asked. “It would be useless, you know. I would not leave you alone. I would like to, do you believe me?”

She was silent.

“You see, it isn’t just because I am not betrizated. Nothing matters to me, you see. Nothing. Except you. I have to see you. I have to look at you. I have to hear your voice. I have to, and I care about nothing else. Nowhere. I don’t know what will become of us. It will end badly, I suppose. But I don’t care. Because something is worthwhile now. Because I speak and you listen. Do you understand? No. How could you? You have all done away with drama, in order to live quietly. I cannot. I do not need that.”

She was silent. I took a deep breath.

“Eri,” I said, “listen… but sit down.”

She did not move.

“Please. Sit down.”

Nothing.

“It won’t hurt you to sit down.”

Suddenly I understood. I clenched my teeth.

“If you don’t want to, then why did you let me in?”

Nothing.

I got up. I took her by the shoulders. She did not resist. I sat her down in an armchair. I moved mine closer, so that our knees almost touched.

“You can do what you like. But listen. I am not to blame for this. And you most certainly are not. No one is. I did not want this. But that’s how it is. It is, you understand, a beginning. I know that I am behaving like a madman. I know it. But I’ll tell you why. You’re not going to speak to me at all now?”

“It depends,” she said.

“For that much, thank you. Yes. I know. I don’t have any right and so on. Well, what I wanted to say — millions of years ago there were these lizards, brontosaurs, atlantosaurs… Perhaps you have heard of them?”

“Yes.”

“They were giants, the size of a house. They had exceptionally long tails, three times the length of their bodies. Consequently they were unable to move the way they might have wished — lightly and gracefully. I, too, have such a tail. For ten years, for reasons unknown, I poked around among the stars. Perhaps it was not necessary. But never mind. I can’t undo it. That is my tail. You understand? I can’t behave as though it never happened, as though it never was. I don’t imagine that you are thrilled about this. About what I’ve told you and what I’m saying and have yet to say. But I see no help for it. I must have you, have you for as long as possible, and that is that. Will you say something?”

She looked at me. I thought that she turned even paler, but it could have been the lighting. She sat huddled in her fluffy robe as if she were cold. I wanted to ask her if she was cold, but again I was tongue-tied. I — oh, I was not cold.

“What would you… do… in my place?”

“Very good!” I said, encouragingly. “I imagine that I would put up a fight.”

“I cannot.”

“I know. Do you think that that makes it easier for me? I swear to you it doesn’t. Do you want me to leave now, or can I say something else? Why are you looking at me that way? You know by now, surely, that I would do anything for you. Please don’t look at me like that. The things I say, they do not mean the same as when other people say them. And you know what?”

I was terribly out of breath, as if I had been running for a long time. I held both her hands — had been holding them, for how long I did not know, perhaps from the beginning. I did not know. They were so small.

“Eri. You see, I never felt what I am feeling now. At this moment. Think of it. That terrible emptiness, out there. Indescribable. I didn’t believe I would return. No one did. We used to talk about it, but only in that way. They are still there, Tom Arder, Arne, Venturi, and are now like stones, you know, frozen stones, in the darkness. And I, too, should have remained, but if I am here and hold your hands, and can speak to you, and you hear, then perhaps this is not so bad. So base. Perhaps it isn’t, Eri! Only don’t look at me like that. I beg you. Give me a chance. Don’t think that this is — merely love. Don’t think that. It is more. More. You don’t believe me… Why don’t you believe me? I’m telling you the truth. You don’t, do you?”

She was silent. Her hands were like ice.

“You can’t, is that it? It is impossible. Yes, I know it is impossible. I knew from the first moment. I have no business being here. There should be an empty space here. I belong there. It is not my fault that I came back. Yes. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. This doesn’t exist. It doesn’t, does it? If it doesn’t concern you, then it doesn’t matter. None of it You thought that I could do with you as I liked? That isn’t what I wanted, don’t you understand? You are not a star…”