Philip Dick - Upon the Dull Earth

“Worms! That’s what you always call me.”

“Of course you’re a worm. We’re all worms—grubby worms creeping over the crust of the Earth, through dust and dirt.”

“Why should blood bring them?”

“Because it’s life and they’re attracted by life. Blood is uisge-beatha —the water of life.”

“Blood means death! A trough of spilled blood . . .”

“It’s not death. When you see a caterpillar crawl into its cocoon, do you think it’s dying?”

Walter Everett was standing in the doorway. He stood listening to his daughter, his face dark. “One day,” he said hoarsely, “they’re going to grab her and carry her off. She wants to go with them. She’s waiting for that day.”

“You see?” Silvia said to Rick. “He doesn’t understand either.” She shut off the Silex and poured coffee. “Coffee for you?” she asked her father.

“No,” Everett said.

“Silvia,” Rick said, as if speaking to a child, “if you went away with them, you know you couldn’t come back to us.”

“We all have to cross sooner or later. It’s part of our life.”

“But you’re only nineteen,” Rick pleaded. “You’re young and healthy and beautiful. And our marriage—what about our marriage?” He half-rose from the table. “Silvia, you’ve got to stop this!”

“I can’t stop it. I was seven when I saw them first.” Silvia stood by the sink, gripping the Silex, a faraway look in her eyes. “Remember, Daddy? We were living back in Chicago. It was winter. I fell, walking home from school.” She held up a slim arm. “See the scar? I fell and cut myself on the gravel and slush. I came home crying—it was sleeting and the wind was howling around me. My arm was bleeding and my mitten was soaked with blood. And then I looked up and saw them.”

There was silence.

“They want you,” Everett said wretchedly. “They're flies—bluebottles, hovering around, waiting for you. Calling you to come along with them.”

“Why not?” Silvia’s gray eyes were shining and her cheeks radiated joy and anticipation. “You’ve seen them, Daddy. You know what it means. Transfiguration—from clay into gods!”

Rick left the kitchen. In the living room, the two sisters stood together, curious and uneasy. Mrs. Everett stood by herself, her face granite-hard, eyes bleak behind her steel-rimmed glasses. She turned away as Rick passed them.

“What happened out there?” Betty Lou asked him in a taut whisper. She was fifteen, skinny and plain, hollow-cheeked, with mousy, sand-colored hair. “Silvia never lets us come out with her.”

“Nothing happened,” Rick answered.

Anger stirred the girl’s barren face. “That’s not true. You were both out there in the garden, in the dark, and—”

“Don’t talk to him!” her mother snapped. She yanked the two girls away and shot Rick a glare of hatred and misery. Then she turned quickly from him.

Rick opened the door to the basement and switched on the light. He descended slowly into the cold, damp room of concrete and dirt, with its unwinking yellow lights hanging from dust-covered wires overhead.

In one corner loomed the big floor furnace with its mammoth hot air pipes. Beside it stood the water heater and discarded bundles, boxes of books, newspapers and old furniture, thick with dust, encrusted with strings of spider webs.

At the far end were the washing machine and spin dryer. And Silvia’s pump and refrigeration system.

From the workbench Rick selected a hammer and two heavy pipe wrenches. He was moving toward the elaborate tanks and pipes when Silvia appeared abruptly at the top of the stairs, her coffee cup in one hand.

She hurried quickly down to him. “What are you doing down here?” she asked, studying him intently. “Why that hammer and those two wrenches?”

Rick dropped the tools back onto the bench. “I thought maybe this could be solved on the spot.”

Silvia moved between him and the tanks. “I thought you understood. They’ve always been a part of my life. When I brought you with me the first time, you seemed to see what—”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Rick said harshly, “to anybody or anything—in this world or any other. I’m not going to give you up. ”

“It’s not giving me up!” Her eyes narrowed. “You came down here to destroy and break everything. The moment I’m not looking you’ll smash all this, won’t you?”

“That’s right.”

Fear replaced anger on the girl’s face. “Do you want me to be chained here? I have to go on—I’m through with this part of the journey. I’ve stayed here long enough.”

“Can’t you wait?” Rick demanded furiously. He couldn’t keep the ragged edge of despair out of his voice. “Doesn’t it come soon enough anyhow?”

Silvia shrugged and turned away, her arms folded, her red lips tight together. “You want to be a worm always. A fuzzy, little creeping caterpillar.”

“I want you .”

“You can’t have me!” She whirled angrily. “I don’t have any time to waste with this.”

“You have higher things in mind,” Rick said savagely.

“Of course.” She softened a little. “I’m sorry, Rick. Remember Icarus? You want to fly, too. I know it.”

“In my time.”

Why not now? Why wait? You’re afraid.” She slid lithely away from him, cunning twisting her red lips. “Rick, I want to show you something. Promise me first—you won’t tell anybody.”

“What is it?”

“Promise?” She put her hand to his mouth. “I have to be careful. It cost a lot of money. Nobody knows about it. It’s what they do in China—everything goes toward it.”

“I’m curious,” Rick said. Uneasiness flicked at him. “Show it to me.”

Trembling with excitement, Silvia disappeared behind the huge, lumbering refrigerator, back into the darkness behind the web of frost-hard freezing coils. He could hear her tugging and pulling at something. Scraping sounds, sounds of something large being dragged out.

“See?” Silvia gasped. “Give me a hand, Rick. It’s heavy. Hardwood and brass—and metal lined. It’s hand-stained and polished. And the carving—see the carving! Isn't it beautiful?”

“What is it?” Rick demanded huskily.

“It’s my cocoon,” Silvia said simply. She settled down in a contented heap on the floor, and rested her head happily against the polished oak coffin.

Rick grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to her feet. “You can’t sit with that coffin, down here in the basement with—” He broke off. “What’s the matter?”

Silvia’s face was twisting with pain. She backed away from him and put her finger quickly to her mouth. “I cut myself—when you pulled me up—on a nail or something.” A thin trickle of blood oozed down her fingers. She groped in her pocket for a handkerchief.

“Let me see it.” He moved toward her, but she avoided him. “Is it bad?” he demanded.

“Stay away from me,” Silvia whispered.

“What’s wrong? Let me see it!”

“Rick,” Silvia said in a low, intense voice, “get some water and adhesive tape. As quickly as possible.” She was trying to keep down her rising terror. “I have to stop the bleeding.”

“Upstairs?” He moved awkwardly away. “It doesn’t look too bad. Why don’t you . . .”

“Hurry.” The girl’s voice was suddenly bleak with fear. “Rick, hurry !”

Confused, he ran a few steps.

Silvia’s terror poured after him. “No, it’s too late,” she called thinly. “Don’t come back—keep away from me. It’s my own fault. I trained them to come. Keep away! I’m sorry, Rick. Oh —” Her voice was lost to him, as the wall of the basement burst and shattered. A cloud of luminous white forced its way through and blazed out into the basement.