Stanisław Lem: Solaris

What should I do?

I was already fifteen minutes late. One more time, from the door I took in the whole room. It was only now that I noticed a folding bunk stowed vertically against the wall — it was hidden by a map of Solaris. Something had been hung behind the map. It was a miniature tape recorder in a case. I took out the recorder and returned the case to where it had been before. I checked the counter — almost an entire reel had been used up. I slipped the recorder into my pocket.

Once again, for a second I stood by the door, my eyes closed, listening intently to the silence that reigned outside. Nothing. I opened the door; the corridor looked like a black chasm. It was only when I took off the dark glasses that I saw the faint ceiling lighting. I closed the door behind me and set off left, to the radio station.

I was close to the circular chamber from which corridors branched off like the spokes of a wheel. As I was passing a narrow side hallway leading, I think, to the bathrooms, I caught sight of a large, indistinct figure that almost merged into the background.

I stood rooted to the ground. From the far end of the side passage a huge black woman was coming towards me with an unhurried waddling gait. I saw the whites of her eyes glinting and at almost exactly the same moment I heard the soft slap of her bare feet. She had nothing on but a skirt that glistened yellow, as if it were made of straw. She had massive pendulous breasts, and her black arms were as thick as a normal person’s thighs. She passed three feet from me without so much as a glance and walked off, her elephantine rump swaying like one of those steatopygic Stone Age sculptures found in anthropological museums. At the place where the corridor curved, she turned to the side and disappeared into Gibarian’s cabin. When she opened the door, for a split second she stood in the brighter light coming from inside. Then the door closed softly and I was on my own. I took my left wrist in my right hand and squeezed with all my might, till the bones cracked. I looked around distractedly. What had just happened? What had that been? All at once, as if I’d been struck, I recalled Snaut’s warning. What was it supposed to mean? Who had that monstrous Aphrodite been? Where had she come from? I took one, only one, step towards Gibarian’s cabin, and froze. I knew only too well I wasn’t going to go in there. I sniffed the air with flared nostrils. Something was wrong, something was out of place. That was it! I’d instinctively expected the distinct, repulsive odor of her sweat, but even when she passed a couple of feet from me I hadn’t smelled a thing.

I don’t know how long I stood there leaning against the cold metal wall. The Station was plunged in silence, the only audible sound the distant drone of the air conditioning compressors.

I slapped myself lightly in the face and slowly made my way to the radio station. When I pressed down on the door handle, I heard a voice say sharply:

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Kelvin.”

He was sitting at a table between a pile of aluminum crates and the transmission console, eating meat concentrate straight from the can. I don’t know why he’d chosen to set up quarters in the radio station. I stood at the door, dazed, staring at his regularly chewing jaws, and suddenly realized I was hungry. I went up to the shelves, took the least dusty plate from a pile and sat down opposite him. For some time we ate without speaking. Then Snaut stood up, took a thermos flask from a wall cabinet and poured us each a cup of hot bouillon. Putting the thermos down on the floor, as there was no room on the table, he asked:

“Have you seen Sartorius?”

“No. Where is he?”

“Upstairs.”

Upstairs was the laboratory. We continued eating in silence, till the metal scraped at the bottom of the empty can. Night reigned in the radio station. The window was tightly covered from the outside; the room was lit by four circular fluorescent ceiling lamps. Their reflections quivered in the plastic cover of the console.

Red capillaries marked the taut skin on Snaut’s cheekbones. Now he was wearing a tattered loose black sweater.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No? Why would it be?”

“You’re sweating.”

I wiped my forehead with my hand. It was true — I was dripping with sweat. It must have been a reaction to the shock I’d just had. He scrutinized me. Should I tell him? I’d rather he’d have shown more trust in me. Who was playing against whom, and in what incomprehensible way?

“It’s hot here,” I said. “I thought your air conditioning would be working better.”

“It’ll catch up in an hour or so. Are you sure it’s only from the heat?” He looked up at me. I chewed my food steadily as if I hadn’t noticed.

“What do you mean to do?” he asked finally, after we were done eating. He dropped the full dishes and the empty cans in the sink by the wall and came back to his chair.

“I’ll fit in with your plans,” I replied impassively. “You have a research program, right? Some new kind of stimulus, apparently X-rays or something like that?”

“X-rays?” He raised his eyebrows. “Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t remember. Someone told me. On the Prometheus maybe. Why? Is it already under way?”

“I don’t know the details. It was Gibarian’s idea. He started it with Sartorius. But how could you know about it?”

I shrugged.

“You don’t know the details? You should have been part of it; I mean, it’s partly your area…” I trailed off. He said nothing. The whine from the air conditioning quieted down, but the temperature remained at a tolerable level. There was merely a permanent high tone hanging in the air, like the buzz of a dying fly. Snaut stood, went up to the console and began flipping switches senselessly, since the main lever was in the off position. He fooled around like this for a while then, still with his back to me, he remarked:

“It’ll be necessary to complete the formalities regarding the… you know.”

“Is that so?”

He turned and looked at me as if close to rage. I can’t say I was deliberately trying to needle him, but not understanding any part of the game that was being played here I preferred to be guarded. His bony Adam’s apple moved up and down beneath the black turtleneck of his sweater.

“You were in Gibarian’s room,” he said abruptly.

I jerked my head as if to say, “Let’s say I was.”

I wanted him to go on.

“Who was there?”

He knew about her!

“No one. Who could have been there?” I asked.

“So why wouldn’t you let me in?”

I smiled.

“I got scared. After your warning, when the handle moved I grabbed it instinctively. Why didn’t you say it was you? I’d have let you in.”

“I thought it was Sartorius,” he said unsurely.

“What of it?”

“What do you think about… what happened there?” he said, answering a question with a question.

I hesitated.

“You must know better than me. Where is he?”

“In the cold room,” he replied immediately. “We moved him there right away in the morning… because of the heat.”

“Where did you find him?”

“In a locker.”

“In a locker? He was dead already?”

“His heart was still beating, but he wasn’t breathing. He was in his death throes.”

“Did you try to save him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He paused.

“I was too late. He died before I could lie him down.”

“He was standing in the closet? In amongst those overalls?”

“Yes.”

He went up to a small desk in the corner and fetched a sheet of paper that had been lying on it. He placed it in front of me.