Уолтер Тевис: The Man Who Fell to Earth

“It is a pity, isn’t it?” He groped for a newly placed gin bottle, found it, poured. Pouring gin, he said, “Do you see Betty Jo often, Nathan?”

“Yes. Betty Jo and I live together now.”

Newton took a sip from his drink. “As lovers?”

Bryce laughed softly. “Yes, as lovers, Mr. Newton.”

Newton’s face had become impassive, with the impassivity that Bryce had learned was a mask for his feelings. “Then life goes on.”

“Well, what in the name of heaven do you expect?” Bryce said. “Of course life goes on.”

Suddenly Newton began to laugh. Bryce was astonished; he had never heard him laugh before. Then, still trembling with the wave of laughter, Newton said, “It’s a good thing. She won’t be lonely now. Where is she?”

“At home in Louisville, with her cats. Drunk probably.”

Newton’s voice was steady again. “Do you love her?”

“You’re trying to be stupid,” Bryce said. He had not liked the laughter. “She’s a good woman. I’m happy with her.”

Newton smiled now, gently. “Don’t misunderstand my laughing, Nathan. I think it’s a fine thing, the two of you. Are you married?”

“No. I’ve thought about it.”

“By all means marry her. Marry her and go off on a honeymoon. Do you need money?”

“That’s not why I haven’t married her. But I could use some money, yes. Do you want to give me some?”

Newton laughed again. He seemed greatly pleased. “By all means, yes. How much do you want?”

Bryce took a drink. “A million dollars.”

“I’ll write you a check,” Newton groped in his shirt pocket, pulled out a check book, set it on the table. It was from the Chase Manhattan Bank. “I used to watch that show about the million dollar check on television.” he said. “Back home.” He pushed the check toward Bryce. “You fill it out and I’ll sign it.”

Bryce took his Woolworth ballpoint pen from his pocket and wrote his name on the check and then the figures $1,000,000. Then he wrote out, carefully. One Million Dollars. He pushed the book across the table. “It’s made out,” he said.

“You’ll have to direct my hand.”

So Bryce stood up, walked around the table, placed the pen in Newton’s hand and held it while the Anthean wrote out. Thomas Jerome Newton, in a clear, steady hand.

Bryce put the check in his billfold. “Do you remember.” Newton said, “a motion picture, shown on television, called A Letter to Three Wires? ”

“No.”

“Well I learned to write English longhand from a photograph of that letter, twenty years ago on Anthea. We had clear reception, from several channels, of that motion picture.”

“You have good clear handwriting.”

Newton smiled. “Of course I have. We did everything extremely well. Nothing was overlooked, and I worked very hard to become an imitation human being.” He turned his face up toward Bryce’s, as if he could actually see him. “And of course I succeeded.”

Bryce, saying nothing, returned to his seat. He felt that he should show sympathy, or something, but he felt nothing at all. So he remained quiet.

“Where will you and Betty Jo go? With the money?”

“I don’t know. Maybe to the Pacific, to Tahiti. We’ll probably take an air-conditioner with us.”

Newton was beginning to smile the moon smile, the unearthly Anthean smile, again. “And stay drunk, Nathan?”

Bryce was uneasy. “We might try that,” he said. He did not really know what he was going to do with a million dollars. People were supposed to ask themselves what they would do if someone gave them a million dollars, but he never had asked himself that. Maybe they would, indeed, go to Tahiti and stay drunk in a hut, if there were any huts in Tahiti anymore. If not, they could stay at the Tahiti Hilton.

“Well, I wish you Godspeed,” Newton said. And then, “I’m glad I could do something with the money. I have an awful lot of money.”

Bryce stood up to leave, feeling tired and a little drunk. “And there’s no chance…?”

Newton smiled up at him even more strangely than before; the mouth beneath the glasses and hat was like an awkwardly curved line in a child’s drawing of a smile. “Of course, Nathan,” he said. “Of course there’s a chance.”

“Well,” Bryce said. “I thank you for the money.”

Because of the dark glasses Bryce could not see Newton’s eyes, but it seemed to him as though Newton were looking everywhere. “Easy come, easy go, Nathan,” he said. “Easy come, easy go.” Newton began to tremble. His angular body began to lean forward and the felt hat fell silently on the table, showing his chalk-white hair. Then his Anthean head fell on to his spindly Anthean arms and Bryce saw that he was crying.

For a moment Bryce stood quiet, staring at him. Then he walked around the table and, kneeling, laid his arm across Newton’s back, and held him gently, feeling the light body trembling in his hands like the body of a delicate, fluttering, anguished bird.

The bartender had come over and when Bryce looked up the bartender said, “I’m afraid that the fellow needs help.”

“Yes,” Bryce said. “Yes, I guess he does.”

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