Out Of The Silent Planet (18 page)

On Weston's hypothesis his action ought to have been impressive. Unfortunately for him, no one
else shared his theory of the elderly hross's behaviour. The hross who was well known to all
of them, including Ransom - had not come with the funeral procession. It had been in its place
since dawn. Doubtless it intended no disrespect to Oyarsa; but it must be confessed that it
had yielded, at a much earlier stage in the proceedings, to an infirmity which attacks elderly
hnau of all species, and was by this time enjoying a profound and refreshing slumber. One of
its whiskers twitched a little as Weston shouted in its face, but its eyes remained shut.

The voice of Oyarsa spoke again. 'Why do you speak to him?' it said. 'It is I who ask you.
Why have you killed my hnau?'

'You let us go, then we talkee-talkee,' bellowed Weston at the sleeping hross. 'You think we no
power, think you do all you like. You no can. Great big headman in sky he send us. You no do
what I say, he come, blow you all up - Pouff! Bang!'

'I do not know what bang means,' said the voice. 'But why have you killed my hnau?'

'Say it was an accident,' muttered Devine to Weston in English.

'I've told you before,' replied Weston in the same language. 'You don't understand how to deal
with natives. One sign of yielding and they'll be at our throats. The only thing is to
intimidate them.'

'All right! Do your stuff; then,' growled Devine. He was obviously losing faith in his partner.

Weston cleared his throat and again rounded on the elderly hross.

'We kill him,' he shouted 'Show what we can do. Everyone who no do all we say pouff! bang! -
kill him same as that one. You do all we say and we give you much pretty things. See! See!'
To Ransom's intense discomfort, Weston at this point whipped out of his pocket a brightly
coloured necklace of beads, the undoubted work of Mr Woolworth, and began dangling it in front
of the faces of his guards, turning slowly round and round and repeating, 'Pretty, pretty!
See! See!'

The result of this manoeuvre was more striking than Weston himself had anticipated. Such a roar
of sounds as human ears had never heard before - baying of hrossa, piping of pfifltriggi, booming
of sorns - burst out and rent the silence of that august place, waking echoes from the distant
mountain walls. Even in the air above them there was a faint ringing of the eldil voices. It
is greatly to Weston's credit that though he paled at this he did not lose his nerve.

'You no roar at me,' he thundered. 'No try make me afraid. Me no afraid of you.'

'You must forgive my people,' said the voice of Oyarsa - and even it was subtly changed but
they are not roaring at you. They are only laughing.

But Weston did not know the Malacandrian word for laugh: indeed, it was not a word he understood
very well in any language Ransom, biting his lips with mortification, almost prayed that one
experiment with the beads would satisfy the scientist; but that was because he did not know
Weston. The latter saw that the clamour had subsided. He knew that he was following the most
orthodox rules for frightening and then conciliating primitive races; and he was not the man
to be deterred by one or two failures. The roar that went up from the throats of all spectators
as he again began revolving like a slow motion picture of a humming-top, occasionally mopping
his brow with his left hand and conscientiously jerking the necklace up and down with his right,
completely drowned anything he might be attempting to say; but Ransom saw his lips moving and
had little doubt that he was working away at 'Pretty, pretty!' Then suddenly the sound of
laughter almost redoubled its volume. The stars in their courses were fighting against Weston.
Some hazy memory of efforts made long since to entertain an infant niece had begun to penetrate
his highly trained mind. He was bobbing up and down from the knees and holding his head on one
side; he was almost dancing; and he was by now very hot indeed. For all Ransom knew he was
saying 'Diddle, diddle, diddle.'

It was sheer exhaustion which ended the great physicist's performance - the most successful of
its kind ever given on Malacandra - and with it the sonorous raptures of his audience. As
silence returned Ransom heard Devine's voice in English: 'For God's sake stop making a buffoon
of yourself Weston,' it said. 'Can't you see it won't work?'

'It doesn't seem to be working,' admitted Weston, 'and I'm inclined to think they have even
less intelligence than we supposed. Do you think, perhaps, if I tried it just once again - or
would you like to try this time?'

'Oh, Hell!' said Devine, and, turning his back on his partner, Sat down abruptly on the ground,
produced his cigarette case and began to smoke.

'I'll give it to the witch-doctor,' said Weston during the moment of silence which Devine's
action had produced among the mystified spectators; and before anyone could stop him he took
a step forward and attempted to drop the string of beads round the elderly hross's neck. The
hross's head was, however, too large for this operation and the necklace merely settled on
its forehead like a crown, slightly over one eye. It shifted its head a little, like a dog
worried with flies, snorted gently, and resumed its sleep.

Oyarsa's voice now addressed Ransom. 'Are your fellow-creatures hurt in their brains, Ransom
of Thulcandra?' it said. 'Or are they too much afraid to answer my questions?'

'I think, Oyarsa,' said Ransom,, 'that they do not believe you are there. And they believe that
all these hnau are - are like very young cubs. The thicker hman is trying to frighten them and
then to please them with gifts.'

At the sound of Ransom's voice the two prisoners turned sharply around. Weston was about to
speak when Ransom interrupted him hastily in English: 'Listen, Weston. It is not a trick. There
really is a creature there in the middle - there where you can see a kind of light, or a kind
of something, if you look hard. And it is at least as intelligent as a man - they seem to live
an enormous time. Stop treating it like a child and answer its questions. And if you take my
advice, you'll speak the truth and not bluster.'

'The brutes seem to have intelligence enough to take you in, anyway,' growled Weston; but it
was in a somewhat modified voice that he turned once more to the sleeping hross - the desire
to wake up the supposed witch-doctor was becoming an obsession - and addressed it.

'We sorry we kill him,' he said, pointing to Hyoi. 'No go to kill him. Sorns tell us bring man,
give him your big head. We got away back into sky. He come' (here he indicated Ransom) 'with us.
He very bent man, run away, no do what sorns say like us. We run after him, get him back for
sorns, want to do what we say and sorns tell us, see? He not let us. Run away, run, run. We
run after. See a big black one, think he kill us, we kill him - pouff! bang! All for bent man.
He no run away, he be good, we no run after, no kill big black one, see? You have bent man -
bent man make all trouble - you plenty keep him, let us go. He afraid of you, we no afraid.
Listen -'

At this moment Weston's continual bellowing in the face of the hross at last produced the effect
he had striven for so long. The creature opened its eyes and stared mildly at him in some
perplexity. Then, gradually realizing the impropriety of which it had been guilty, it rose
slowly to its standing position, bowed respectfully to Oyarsa, and finally waddled out of
the assembly still carrying the necklace draped over its right ear and eye. Weston, his mouth
still open, followed the retreating figure with his gaze till it vanished among the stems
of the grove.

It was Oyarsa who broke the silence... 'We have had mirth enough,' he said, 'and it is time to
hear true answers to our questions. Something is wrong in your head, hnau from Thulcandra. There
is too much blood in it. Is Firikitekila here?'

'Here Oyarsa,' said a pfifltrigg.

'Have you in your cisterns water that has been made cold?'

'Yes, Oyarsa.'

'Then let this thick hnau be taken to the guesthouse and let them bathe his head in cold water.
Much water and many times. Then bring him again. Meanwhile I will provide for my killed hrossa.'

Weston did not clearly understand what the voice said - indeed, he was still too busy trying
to find out where it came from - but terror smote him as he found himself wrapped in the strong
arms of the surrounding hrossa and forced away from his place. Ransom would gladly have shouted
out some reassurance, but Weston himself was shouting too loud to hear him. He was mixing English
and Malacandrian now, and the last that was heard was a rising scream of 'Pay for this - pouff!
bang! - Ransom, for God's sake - Ransom! Ransom!'

'And now -' said Oyarsa, when silence was restored, 'let us honour my dead hnau.'

At his words ten of the hrossa grouped themselves about the biers. Lifting their heads, and
with no signal given as far as Ransom could see, they began to sing.

To every man, in his acquaintance with a new art, there comes a moment when that which before
was meaningless first lifts, as it were, one corner of the curtain that hides its mystery, and
reveals, in a burst of delight which later and fuller understanding can hardly ever equal, one
glimpse of the indefinite possibilities within. For Ransom, this moment had now come in his
understanding of Malacandrian song. Now first he saw that its rhythms were based on a different
blood from ours, on a heart that beat more quickly, and a fiercer internal heat. Through his
knowledge of the creatures and his love for them he began, ever so little, to hear it with their
ears. A sense of great masses moving at visionary speeds, of giants dancing, of eternal sorrows
eternally consoled, of he knew not what and yet what he had always known, awoke in him with the
very first bars of the deep-mouthed dirge, and bowed down his spirit as if the gate of heaven
had opened before him.

'Let it go hence,' they sang. 'Let it go hence, dissolve and be no body. Drop it, release it,
drop it gently, as a stone is loosed from fingers drooping over a still pool. Let it go down,
sink, fall away. Once below the surface there are no divisions, no layers in the water yielding
all the way down; all one and all unwounded is that element. Send it voyaging; it will not come
again. Let it go down; the hnau rises from it. This is the second life, the other beginning.
Open, oh coloured world, without weight, without shore. You are second and better; this was
first and feeble. Once the worlds were hot within and brought forth life, but only the pale plants,
the dark plants. We see their children when they grow today, out of the sun's light in the sad
places. After, the heaven made grow another kind of worlds; the high climbers, the brighthaired
forests, cheeks of flowers. First were the darker, then the brighter. First was the worlds' brood,
then the suns' brood.'

This was as much of it as he contrived later to remember and could translate. As the song ended
Oyarsa said: 'Let us scatter the movements which were their bodies. So will Maleldil scatter all
worlds when the first and feeble is worn.'

He made a sign to one of the pfifltriggi, who instantly arose and approached the corpses. The
hrossa, now singing again but very softly, drew back at least ten paces. The pfifltrigg touched
each of the three dead in turn with some small object that appeared to be made of glass or
crystal and then jumped away with one of his frog-like leaps. Ransom closed his eyes to protect
them from a blinding light and felt something like a very strong wind blowing in his face, for
a fraction of a second. Then all was calm again, and the three biers were empty.

'God! That would be a trick worth knowing on earth,' said Devine to Ransom. 'Solves the
murderer's problem about the disposal of the body, eh?'

But Ransom, who was thinking of Hyoi, did not answer him; and before he spoke again everyone's
attention was diverted by the return of the unhappy Weston among his guards.

THE hross who headed this procession was a conscientious creature and began at once explaining
itself in a rather troubled voice.

'I hope we have done right, Oyarsa,' it said. 'But we do not know. We dipped his head in the cold
water seven times, but the seventh time something fell off it. We had thought it was the top of
his head, but now we saw it was a covering made of the skin of some other creature. Then some
said we had done your will with the seven dips, and others said not. In the end we dipped it
seven times more. We hope that was right. The creature talked a lot between the dips, and most
between the second seven, but we could not understand it.'

'You have done very well, Hnoo,' said Oyarsa. 'Stand away that I may see it, for now I will
speak to it.'

The guards fell away on each side. Weston's usually pale face, under the bracing influence of
the cold water, had assumed the colour of a ripe tomato, and his hair, which had naturally not
been cut since he reached Malacandra, was plastered in straight, lank masses across his forehead.
A good deal of water was still dripping over his nose and ears. His expression unfortunately
wasted on an audience ignorant of terrestrial physiognomy - was that of a brave man suffering
in a great cause, and rather eager than reluctant to face the worst or even to provoke it. In
explanation of his conduct it is only fair to remember that he had already that morning endured
all the terrors of an expected martyrdom and all the anticlimax of fourteen compulsory cold
douches. Devine, who knew his man, shouted out to Weston in English: 'Steady, Weston. These
devils can split the atom or something pretty like it. Be careful what you say to them and don't
let's have any of your bloody nonsense.'

'Huh!' said Weston. 'So you've gone native too?'

'Be silent,' said the voice of Oyarsa. 'You, thick one, have told me nothing of yourself so I will
tell it to you. In your own world you have attained great wisdom concerning bodies and by this
you have been able to make a ship that can cross the heaven; but in all other things you have
the mind of an animal. When first you came here, I sent for you, meaning you nothing but honour.
The darkness in your mind filled you with frar. Because you thought I meant evil to you, you
went as a beast goes against a beast of some other kind, and snared this Ransom. You would
give him up to the evil you feared. Today, seeing him here, to save your own life, you would
have given him to me a second time, still thinking I meant him hurt. These are your dealings with
your own kind. And what you intend to my people, I know. Already you have killed some. And you
have come here to kill them all. To you it is nothing whether a creature is hnau or not. At
first I thought this was because you cared only whether a creature had a body like your own;
but Ransom has that and you would kill him as lightly as any of my hnau. I did not know that
the Bent One had done so much in your world and still I do not understand it. If you were mine,
I would unbody you even now. Do not think follies; by my hand Maleldil does greater things than
this, and I can unmake you even on the borders of your own world's air. But I do not yet resolve
to do this. It is for you to speak. Let me see if there is anything in your mind besides fear
and death and desire.'