Stanisław Lem - Solaris

“Give it a rest,” I snapped. “You’re drunk.”

“Drunk? Me? What of it? Can’t a guy that dragged all his crap from one end of the Galaxy to the other to find out how much he’s worth, can’t he get drunk? Why not? I guess you believe in humanity’s mission, eh, Kelvin? Gibarian told me about you, before he grew his beard… You’re exactly the way he described… Just don’t come up to the lab, or you’ll lose your faith… Sartorius is at work there, our Faust in reverse — looking for a cure for immortality, get it? He’s the last Knight of the Holy Contact, he’s all we deserve… His previous idea was pretty good too — endless death throes. Not bad, huh? Agonia perpetua … straws… straw hats… How can you not drink, Kelvin?”

His eyes, almost completely hidden beneath their swollen lids, came to rest on Harey, who was standing motionless by the wall.

“O white Aphrodite, born of the ocean. Afflicted with greatness, your hand …,” he began to recite, and choked on his own laughter.

“Almost… word for word… eh, Kelvin?” he sputtered through his coughing.

I was still calm, but my calmness was beginning to harden into a cold rage.

“Stop it!” I hissed. “Stop it and leave!”

“You’re kicking me out? You too? You’re growing a beard, and you’re throwing me out? You don’t want me to warn you any more, to offer you advice, as one interstellar comrade to another? Kelvin, let’s open the lower hatches, we can shout to it down there, below, maybe it’ll hear us? But what’s its name? Think about it, we’ve named all the stars and the planets, but maybe they already had names? Such arrogance! Come on, let’s go down there. We can call out to it… tell it what it’s turned us into, it’ll be appalled… it’ll build us some silver symmetriads and pray for us in its own math, and throw bloody angels at us, and its suffering will be our suffering, its fear our fear, and it’ll beg us for an end. Because everything it is and everything it does is a plea for an end. Why are you not laughing? I’m just joking around. If we had more of a sense of humor as a race, things might not have gone this far. Do you know what he’s trying to do? He’s trying to punish it, this ocean, he’s trying to make it howl through every mountain… You don’t think he’ll have the courage to present his plan for the approval of that doddery old council of elders that sent us out here as redeemers of other people’s sins? You’re right, he’ll chicken out… but only because of the hat. The hat he won’t mention to anyone, he’s not that brave, our little Faust…”

I said nothing. Snaut was increasingly unsteady on his feet. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and dripping on his suit.

“Who did it? Which of us did it? Gibarian? Giese? Einstein? Plato? They were all criminals — you know? Think about it, in a rocket a person can burst like a bubble, or solidify completely, or boil, or explode in a fountain of blood so quickly he doesn’t have time to shout out, and then only his bones will be clattering against the metal, and they’ll go on circling in Newtonian orbit with an Einsteinian adjustment, our rattles of progress! And we’ll go willingly, because it’s a beautiful journey, till we arrive, and in these cabins, over this tableware, amid the immortal dishwashers, with our serried ranks of faithful lockers, our devoted toilets, here is our fulfillment… so you see, Kelvin — if I wasn’t drunk I’d not be talking like this, but someone finally ought to say it. Someone finally ought to! You’re sitting here, you child in the slaughterhouse, and your beard is growing… Whose fault is it? Answer that question yourself…”

He turned slowly and left the galley; on the threshold he grabbed hold of the door so as not to fall. Then the sound of his steps reached us from the corridor. I was avoiding Harey’s gaze, but at one moment our eyes met. I wanted to go up to her, put my arms around her, stroke her hair; but I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

The following three weeks were like the same day repeating itself, never changing; the window shades rose and fell, in the night I crawled from one nightmare to another, in the morning we got up and the game began again; though was it in fact a game? I pretended to be calm and so did Harey; this silent pact, the knowledge of our mutual deception, became our ultimate recourse. Because we talked a lot about how we were going to live on Earth, how we’d settle somewhere on the outskirts of a big city and never again leave the blue sky and green trees, and together we dreamed up the interior of our future home, and what our yard would look like, we even argued about details… the hedge, the bench… did I believe in it all even for a second? No. I knew it was impossible. I knew that. Because even if she were able to leave the Station — alive — still, it’s only humans that can land on Earth, and humans are defined by their papers. The first control would put an end to that escape. They’d want to identify her, so first of all they’d separate us and that would give her away. The Station was the only place where we could live together. Did Harey know that? For sure. Had someone told her? In light of everything that happened, probably so.

One night, through my sleep I heard Harey quietly get up. I tried to pull her back. Only by being silent, only in the darkness could we still become free for a short while, only in brief periods of distraction that the despair besieging us on every side turned into merely a momentary suspension of the torment. I don’t think she’d noticed that I was awake. Before I stretched out my hand she’d slipped out of bed. Still only half-conscious, I heard the sound of bare feet. I was overcome by a vague anxiety.

“Harey?” I whispered. I wanted to call out, but I didn’t dare. I sat up in bed. The door to the corridor was ajar. A thin strip of light cut diagonally across the cabin. I thought I could hear muffled voices. She was talking with someone? Who?

I jumped out of bed, but I was overcome by such a terrible fear that my legs refused to obey me. I stood listening for a moment. Everything was quiet. I dragged myself back to the bunk. My head was pounding. I started counting. At one thousand I broke off; the door opened soundlessly, Harey crept into the cabin and paused, as if listening for my breathing. I tried to make it even. “Kris…?” she whispered softly. I didn’t respond. She got quickly into bed. I could feel her lying there stretched out, while I lay next to her, immobile, for I don’t know how long. I tried to formulate questions, but the more time passed, the more I realized I wouldn’t be the first one to break the silence. After some time, an hour perhaps, I fell asleep.

The morning began the same as always. I cast suspicious glances at her only when she wasn’t looking. After lunch we sat side by side in front of the bay window, where low ruddy clouds could be seen drifting past. The Station moved amongst them like a sailing ship. Harey was reading a book, while I was gazing in a manner that of late had become my only respite. I noticed that if I leaned my head a certain way I could see both of us reflected in the pane, the image transparent but clear. I took my hand off the arm of my chair. In the window I saw Harey, glancing to check I was staring at the ocean, lean over the arm and press her lips to the place I’d been touching a moment before. I remained seated, unnaturally stiff, while she bowed her head over her book again.

“Harey,” I said softly, “where did you go in the night?”

“In the night?”

“Yes.”

“You… you probably dreamed it, Kris. I didn’t go anywhere.”

“You didn’t go anywhere?”

“No. You must have been dreaming it.”