The Best of Gerald Kersh (22 page)

The light was fading. Keeping his right eye on the ground-floor window of the house into which Baby had disappeared, Mr Wainewright stepped sideways into the road. He put his right hand under his coat and chuckled. Then he heard something coming. He hesitated, leapt backwards – saw that the truck had swerved into the middle of the street to miss him, and tried to jump back to the pavement.

But the driver, having seen his first leap in that treacherous autumnal light, spun back to the left-hand side of the road, and knocked Mr Wainewright down.

The light truck squealed to a standstill as its rear wheels came back to the surface of the road with a soft,
sickening jolt. Somewhere a woman screamed, and a man shouted. A policeman came running, and as he ran he switched on the beam of an electric torch which waggled in front of him.

A few minutes later an ambulance came, with a high, flat clangor of bells. Mr Wainewright was carried away.

He was horribly crushed. But he also had a
knife-wound
. A long, wide, triangular cook’s knife – what they call a French knife – was embedded in his stomach.

The surgeon came to the conclusion that Mr
Wainewright
must have been carrying the knife in his inside breast pocket.

*

When, at last, Mr Wainewright opened his eyes he knew that he was dying. He did not know how he knew, but he knew. A cool hand was upon his left arm, and he could discern – in a big, shadowy place – a white coat and a white face.

‘I killed Sid Tooth,’ he said.

‘There, there,’ said a voice.

‘I tell you I killed Sid Tooth!’

‘That’s all right, there, there …’

Something pricked his left arm, hesitated, went in deep, and threw out a sort of cold dullness.

Pain receded, tingled, and went away.

Mr Wainewright said: ‘I swear I did it. Believe me, do please believe me – I did it!’

‘There, there, there,’ said a whisper.

Looking down at his blank, white, featureless face, the surgeon was reminded of the dial of a ruined clock, a mass-produced clock picked to bits by a spoiled child, and not worth repairing.

W
E
were loading bananas into the
Claire
Dodge
at Puerto Pobre, when a feverish little fellow came aboard. Everyone stepped aside to let him pass – even the soldiers who guard the port with nickel-plated Remington rifles, and who go barefoot but wear polished leather leggings. They stood back from him because they believed that he was afflicted-of-God, mad; harmless but dangerous; best left alone.

All the time the naphtha flares were hissing, and from the hold came the reverberation of the roaring voice of the foreman of the gang down below crying: ‘Fruta! Fruta!
FRUTA!’
The leader of the dock gang bellowed the same cry, throwing down stem after stem of brilliant green bananas. The occasion would be memorable for this, if for nothing else – the magnificence of the night, the bronze of the negro foreman shining under the flares, the jade green of that fruit, and the mixed odours of the waterfront. Out of one stem of bananas ran a hairy grey spider, which frightened the crew and broke the banana-chain, until a Nicaraguan boy, with a laugh, killed it with his foot. It was harmless, he said.

It was about then that the madman came aboard,
unhindered
, and asked me: ‘Bound for where?’

He spoke quietly and in a carefully modulated voice; but there was a certain blank, lost look in his eyes that suggested to me that I keep within ducking distance of
his restless hands which, now that I think of them, put me in mind of that grey, hairy, bird-eating spider.

‘Mobile, Alabama,’ I said.

‘Take me along?’ he asked.

‘None of my affair. Sorry. Passenger myself,’ I said. ‘The skipper’s ashore. Better wait for him on the wharf. He’s the boss.’

‘Would you happen, by any chance, to have a drink about you?’

Giving him some rum, I asked: ‘How come they let you aboard?’

‘I’m not crazy,’ he said. ‘Not actually … a little fever, nothing more. Malaria, dengue fever, jungle fever, rat-bite fever. Feverish country, this, and others of the same nature. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Goodbody, Doctor of Science of Osbaldeston University. Does it convey nothing to you? No? Well then; I was assistant to Professor Yeoward. Does
that
convey anything to you?’

I said: ‘Yeoward, Professor Yeoward? Oh yes. He was lost, wasn’t he, somewhere in the upland jungle beyond the source of the Amer River?’

‘Correct!’ cried the little man who called himself Goodbody. ‘I saw him get lost.’

Fruta! 
–
Fruta!
–
Fruta! 
–
Fruta!
came the voices of the men in the hold. There was rivalry between their leader and the big black stevedore ashore. The flares spluttered. The green bananas came down. And a kind of sickly sigh came out of the jungle, off the rotting river – not a wind, not a breeze – something like the foul breath of high fever.

Trembling with eagerness and, at the same time,
shaking
with fever chills, so that he had to use two hands to
raise his glass to his lips – even so, he spilled most of the rum – Doctor Goodbody said: ‘For God’s sake, get me out of this country – take me to Mobile – hide me in your cabin!’

‘I have no authority,’ I said, ‘but you are an American citizen; you can identify yourself; the Consul will send you home.’

‘No doubt. But that would take time. The Consul thinks I am crazy too. And if I don’t get away, I fear that I really will go out of my mind. Can’t you help me? I’m afraid.’

‘Come on, now,’ I said. ‘No one shall hurt you while I’m around. What are you afraid of?’

‘Men without bones,’ he said, and there was something in his voice that stirred the hairs on the back of my neck. ‘Little fat men without bones!’

I wrapped him in a blanket, gave him some quinine, and let him sweat and shiver for a while, before I asked, humouring him: ‘What men without bones?’

He talked in fits and starts in his fever, his reason
staggering
just this side of delirium:

‘… What men without bones? … They are nothing to be afraid of, actually. It is they who are afraid of you. You can kill them with your boot, or with a stick…. They are something like jelly. No, it is not really fear – it is the nausea, the disgust they inspire. It overwhelms. It paralyses! I have seen a jaguar, I tell you – a full-grown jaguar – stand frozen, while they clung to him, in hundreds, and ate him up alive! Believe me, I saw it. Perhaps it is some oil they secrete, some odour they give out … I don’t know …’

Then, weeping, Doctor Goodbody said: ‘Oh,
nightmare
– nightmare – nightmare! To think of the depths
to which a noble creature can be degraded by hunger! Horrible, horrible!’

‘Some debased form of life that you found in the jungle above the source of the Amer?’ I suggested. ‘Some degenerate kind of anthropoid?’

‘No, no, no.
Men!
Now surely you remember Professor Yeoward’s ethnological expedition?’

‘It was lost,’ I said.

‘All but me,’ he said. ‘… We had bad luck. At the Anaña Rapids we lost two canoes, half our supplies and most of our instruments. And also Doctor Terry, and Jack Lambert, and eight of our carriers….

‘Then we were in Ahu territory where the Indians use poison darts, but we made friends with them and bribed them to carry our stuff westward through the jungle … because, you see, all science starts with a guess, a rumour, an old wives’ tale; and the object of Professor Yeoward’s expedition was to investigate a series of Indian folk tales that tallied. Legends of a race of gods that came down from the sky in a great flame when the world was very young….

‘Line by criss-cross line, and circle by concentric circle, Yeoward localised the place in which these tales had their root – an unexplored place that has no name
be
cause
the Indians refuse to give it a name, it being what they call a “bad place”.’

His chills subsiding and his fever abating, Doctor Goodbody spoke calmly and rationally now. He said, with a short laugh: ‘I don’t know why, whenever I get a touch of fever, the memory of those boneless men comes back in a nightmare to give me the horrors….

‘So, we went to look for the place where the gods came down in flame out of the night. The little tattooed
Indians took us to the edge of the Ahu territory and then put down their packs and asked for their pay, and no consideration would induce them to go further. We were going, they said, to a very bad place. Their chief, who had been a great man in his day, sign-writing with a twig, told us that he had strayed there once, and drew a picture of something with an oval body and four limbs, at which he spat before rubbing it out with his foot in the dirt. Spiders? we asked. Crabs? What?

‘So we were forced to leave what we could not carry with the old chief against our return, and go on
unaccompanied
, Yeoward and I, through thirty miles of the rottenest jungle in the world. We made about a quarter of a mile in a day … a pestilential place! When that stinking wind blows out of the jungle, I smell nothing but death, and panic….

‘But, at last, we cut our way to the plateau and climbed the slope, and there we saw something
marvellous
. It was something that had been a gigantic machine. Originally it must have been a pear-shaped thing, at least a thousand feet long and, in its widest part, six hundred feet in diameter. I don’t know of what metal it had been made, because there was only a dusty
outline
of a hull and certain ghostly remains of unbelievably intricate mechanisms to prove that it had ever been. We could not guess from where it had come; but the impact of its landing had made a great valley in the middle of the plateau.

‘It was the discovery of the age! It proved that
countless
ages ago, this planet had been visited by people from the stars! Wild with excitement, Yeoward and I plunged into this fabulous ruin. But whatever we touched fell away to fine powder.

‘At last, on the third day, Yeoward found a
semicircular
plate of some extraordinarily hard metal, which was covered with the most maddeningly familiar diagrams. We cleaned it, and for twenty-four hours, scarcely pausing to eat and drink, Yeoward studied it. And, then, before the dawn of the fifth day he awoke me, with a great cry, and said: “It’s a map, a map of the heavens, and a chart of a course from Mars to Earth!”

‘And he showed me how those ancient explorers of space had proceeded from Mars to Earth, via the Moon…. To crash on this naked plateau in this green hell of a jungle? I wondered. “Ah, but was it a jungle then?” said Yeoward. “This may have happened five million years ago!”

‘I said: “Oh, but surely! it took only a few hundred years to bury Rome. How could this thing have stayed above ground for five thousand years, let alone five million?” Yeoward said: “It didn’t. The earth swallows things and regurgitates them. This is a volcanic region. One little upheaval can swallow a city, and one tiny peristalsis in the bowels of the earth can bring its remains to light again a million years later. So it must have been with the machine from Mars …”

‘“I wonder who was inside it,” I said. Yeoward replied: “Very likely some utterly alien creatures that couldn’t tolerate the Earth, and died, or else were killed in the crash. No skeleton could survive such a space of time.”

‘So, we built up the fire, and Yeoward went to sleep. Having slept, I watched. Watched for what? I didn’t know. Jaguars, peccaries, snakes? None of these beasts climbed up to the plateau; there was nothing for them up there. Still, unaccountably, I was afraid.

‘There was the weight of ages on the place.
Respect
old
age,
one is told…. The greater the age, the deeper the respect, you might say. But it is not respect; it is dread, it is fear of time and death, sir! … I must have dozed, because the fire was burning low – I had been most careful to keep it alive and bright – when I caught my first glimpse of the boneless men.

‘Starting up, I saw, at the rim of the plateau, a pair of eyes that picked up luminosity from the fading light of the fire.
A
jaguar,
I thought, and took up my rifle. But it could not have been a jaguar because, when I looked left and right I saw that the plateau was ringed with pairs of shining eyes … as it might be, a collar of opals; and there came to my nostrils an odour of God knows what.

‘Fear has its smell as any animal-trainer will tell you. Sickness has its smell – ask any nurse. These smells compel healthy animals to fight or to run away. This was a combination of the two, plus a stink of vegetation gone bad. I fired at the pair of eyes I had first seen. Then, all the eyes disappeared while, from the jungle, there came a chattering and a twittering of monkeys and birds, as the echoes of the shot went flapping away.

‘And then, thank God, the dawn came. I should not have liked to see by artificial light the thing I had shot between the eyes.

‘It was grey and, in texture, tough and gelatinous. Yet, in form, externally, it was not unlike a human being. It had eyes, and there were either vestiges – or rudiments – of head, and neck, and a kind of limbs.

‘Yeoward told me that I must pull myself together; overcome my “childish revulsion”, as he called it; and look into the nature of the beast. I may say that he kept a long way away from it when I opened it. It was my job
as zoologist of the expedition, and I had to do it.
Microscopes
and other delicate instruments had been lost with the canoes. I worked with a knife and forceps. And found? Nothing: a kind of digestive system enclosed in very tough jelly, a rudimentary nervous system, and a brain about the size of a walnut. The entire creature, stretched out, measured four feet.

‘In a laboratory I could tell you, perhaps, something about it … with an assistant or two, to keep me
company
. As it was, I did what I could with a hunting-knife and forceps, without dyes or microscope, swallowing my nausea – it was a nauseating thing! – memorising what I found. But, as the sun rose higher, the thing liquefied, melted, until by nine o’clock there was nothing but a glutinous grey puddle, with two green eyes swimming in it…. And these eyes – I can see them now – burst with a thick
pop,
making a detestable sticky ripple in that puddle of corruption….

‘After that, I went away for a while. When I came back, the sun had burned it all away, and there was nothing but something like what you see after a dead jellyfish has evaporated on a hot beach. Slime. Yeoward had a white face when he asked me: “What the devil is it?” I told him that I didn’t know, that it was something outside my experience, and that although I pretended to be a man of science with a detached mind, nothing would induce me ever to touch one of the things again.

‘Yeoward said: “You’re getting hysterical,
Goodbody
. Adopt the proper attitude. God knows, we are not here for the good of our health. Science, man, science! Not a day passes but some doctor pokes his fingers into fouler things than that!” I said: “Don’t you
believe it. Professor Yeoward, I have handled and dissected some pretty queer things in my time, but this is something repulsive. I have nerves? I dare say. Maybe we should have brought a psychiatrist … I notice, by the way, that you aren’t too anxious to come close to me after I’ve tampered with that thing. I’ll shoot one with pleasure, but if you want to investigate it, try it
yourself
and see!”

‘Yeoward said that he was deeply occupied with his metal plate. There was no doubt, he told me, that this machine that had been had come from Mars. But, evidently, he preferred to keep the fire between himself and me, after I had touched that abomination of hard jelly.

‘Yeoward kept himself to himself, rummaging in the ruin. I went about my business, which was to
investigate
forms of animal life. I do not know what I might have found, if I had had – I don’t say the courage,
because
I didn’t lack that – if I had had some company. Alone, my nerve broke.

‘It happened one morning. I went into the jungle that surrounded us, trying to swallow the fear that choked me, and drive away the sense of revulsion that not only made me want to turn and run, but made me afraid to turn my back even to get away. You may or may not know that, of all the beasts that live in that jungle, the most impregnable is the sloth. He finds a stout limb, climbs out on it, and hangs from it by his twelve steely claws; a tardigrade that lives on leaves. Your tardigrade is so tenacious that even in death, shot through the heart, it will hang on to its branch. It has an immensely tough hide covered by an impenetrable coat of coarse, matted hair. A panther or a jaguar is helpless against the
passive resistance of such a creature. It finds itself a tree, which it does not leave until it has eaten every leaf, and chooses for a sleeping place a branch exactly strong enough to bear its weight.