Robert Sheckley: Aspects of Langranak

1

I can't describe this place without describing me. Nor can I describe me without telling you about the place. But which should I start with? Perhaps I ought to describe both of us together. But I doubt if I could manage that. Perhaps I am incapable of describing anything.

Still, I am on an alien planet -- a situation which is commonly considered interesting. And I am an individual, which is also supposed to be interesting. And I am certainly capable of writing down my impressions. I don't know why I can't bring it all together.

Perhaps I should start with a description of my inability to describe anything. But I seem to have done that, for whatever it's worth.

I think I will start with spires.

The main city here is called Langranak. It is notable for its spires. From the vantage-point of a hill some five miles outside the city, the aspect is one of a multiplicity of spires. They are all shapes and sizes and colours. I have been told that Venice also has many spires, and Istanbul as well. Spires present a pleasing aesthetic pattern, no matter what their arrangement. The spires of Langranak present a definitely alien aspect. I think that is all I have to say about spires.

I am individual from Earth of average size and shape. I suppose I am like a lot of people. I am unusual in that I am on an alien planet.

I spend most of my time inside the spaceship. Great pains were taken to make this spaceship homelike and cosy. The main lounge looks like Holiday Inn. The galley is reminiscent of a Howard Johnson's, and the bedroom might have been taken from a New England country inn. I feel pretty good in this spaceship. I used to laugh at American decor, but I don't any longer. I like my spaceship very much just as it is. The hot dogs are from Nathan's. Only the hot buttered corn on the cob is not up to Earth standards. They still haven't licked that problem.

Nothing much happens here. That is the part I wanted to avoid mentioning. My idea of a story is that it should have adventure and conflict and problems and resolutions. That's the kind of story I like to read. But nothing much happens to me. Here I am on an alien planet surrounded by alien beings, and nothing much happens to me. Nevertheless, I still believe I have a story here. Christ knows, I have all of the ingredients.

Yesterday I had an interview with the chief magistrate of Langranak. We discussed transspatial friendship. We both agreed that our races ought to be friends. We also talked about interstellar trade, which we both agreed upon in principle. But in fact, there doesn't seem to be much that we have that they want, and vice-versa. Not enough to justify the high freighting costs. I mean, they have a whole planet in which to manufacture what they need, and so do we. So we had to merely agree in principle.

We had more progress when we talked about a tourist interchange programme. These people like to travel, and so do our people. The costs would be extremely high, but some people could afford it. Anyhow, it would be a beginning.

I sit in my spaceship and do a lot of reading. I read many books on Zen Buddhism, and also on Yoga and on Tibetan and Hindu mysticism. `Enter the silence as often as possible, stay in it as long as possible'. That's what it's all about, really. Methods of stopping your mind from chattering. `One-pointedness'. I want all of that very much, but my mind refuses to stay still. I have random thoughts, emotions, sensations. Sometimes I can control all of that for five minutes at a time. But that doesn't give me much of a feeling of accomplishment. I suppose I need a guru. But that is impossible due to my circumstances. I thought about making inquiries here for a teacher. But I won't be here long enough to make it worthwhile. It always seems to be that way.

Nothing seems very strange here, really. People buy things and sell things. They work at various jobs. There are a few beggars. It all seems quite comprehensible. I don't understand everything, of course; but I don't understand everything at home, either. I wish I could say, `What these people do about this is simply incredible'. But nothing strikes me as especially incredible. They go about their work and live their lives, and I do the same, and it all seems pretty normal. I have to keep on reminding myself that I am on an alien planet. Not that I can ever forget it, of course. It's just that I can't seem to get into the sense o wonder.

Last night there was an eclipse. I had planned to go out and see it but fall asleep over a book and missed the thing. Not that it matters. The ship's cameras recored it automatically and I'll catch it on replay.

I pulled myself together today and went out to visit the ruins. People have been urging me to see them. I am very glad that I went. The ruins, which are believed to be of a civilisation some thousands of years vanished, are situated approximately ten miles from the outskirts of Langranak. They are very extensive. They were covered with intricate carving and bas-relief figures of various creatures which my guide told me do not literally exist. There also were statues, quite grotesque and stylised. The guide said that these had once been worshipped as gods, but were no longer. There were also several labyrinths which once had a religious significance.

I took photographs of all of these things. Light conditions were average. I used a Nikon with a 50-mm lens, occasionally switching to a 90-mm lens.

Late in the day my guide pointed out the interesting fact that nowhere in all the intricate carvings was there any use of the parallelogram. The builders of these ruins may have considered the parallelogram to be aesthetically unpleasing or religiously taboo. It is also conceivable that they simply had not discovered the parallelogram shape, although they made extensive use of the square and the rectangle. No one knows for sure.

Investigation is still going on. Clarification of this point should throw a great deal of light on the psychology of this ancient and mysterious people.

Holiday today. I went into the city and sat at one of the cafes and drank what passes for coffee around here and watched people pass. It was a very colourful spectacle. According to the brochure, this holiday is in celebration of an important military victory over a neighbouring country. The two countries now seem to be on good terms, or at least fair terms. But it is hard to be sure about things like that.

There are three important and distinct racial stocks living in this city. The older inhabitants look like Englishmen, the older immigrants look like Frenchmen, and the new immigrants look like Turks. There are various tensions between these groups. Regional dress, once prominent here, has died out except for special holidays. Everybody regrets the passing of the old customs.

Sometimes, in the evening, I get sad and homesick. On those nights I can't get to sleep I read and listen to tapes. I watch a movie on the ship's projector. Then I take a sleeping pill. A couple of pills, actually. I think it's because I'm homesick. But then I remember that I used to feel the same way at home. I used sleeping pills at home, too.