"That Hideous Strength" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lewis Clive Staples)

III

Mr. MacPhee had a little room on the ground floor at the Manor which he called his office, and to which no woman was ever admitted except under his own conduct; and in this tidy but dusty apartment he sat with Jane Studdock shortly before dinner that evening, having invited her there to give her what he called “a brief, objective outline of the situation.”

“I should premise at the outset, Mrs. Studdock,” he said, “that I have known the Director for a great many years and that for most of his life he was a philologist. I’m not just satisfied myself that philology can be regarded as an exact science, but I mention the fact as a testimony to his general intellectual capacity. And, not to forejudge any issue, I will not say, as I would in ordinary conversation, that he has always been a man of what you might call an imaginative turn. His original name was Ransom.”

“Not Ransom’s Dialect and Semantics?” said Jane.

“Aye. That’s the man,” said MacPhee. “Well, about six years ago-I have all the dates in a wee book there, but it doesn’t concern us at the moment-came his first disappearance. He was clean gone-not a trace of him for about nine months. I thought he’d most likely been drowned bathing or something of the kind. And then one day what does he do but turn up again in his rooms at Cambridge and go down sick and into hospital for three months more. And he wouldn’t say where he’d been except privately to a few friends.”

“Well?” said Jane eagerly.

“He said,” answered MacPhee, producing his snuff-box and laying great emphasis on the word said, “He said he’d been to the planet Mars.”

“You mean he said this . . . while he was ill?”

“No, no. He says so still. Make what you can of it, that’s his story.”

“I believe it,” said Jane.

MacPhee selected a pinch of snuff with as much care as if those particular grains had differed from all the others in his box and spoke before applying them to his nostrils.

“I’m giving you the facts,” he said. “He told us he’d been to Mars, kidnapped, by Professor Weston and Mr. Devine-Lord Feverstone as he now is. And by his own account he’d escaped from them-on Mars, you’ll understand-and been wandering about there alone for a bit. Alone.”

“It’s uninhabited, I suppose?”

“We have no evidence on that point except his own story. You are doubtless aware, Mrs. Studdock, that a man in complete solitude even on this earth-an explorer, for example-gets into very remarkable states of consciousness. I’m told a man might forget his own identity.”

“You mean he might have imagined things on Mars that weren’t there?”

“I’m making no comments,” said MacPhee. “I’m merely recording. By his own accounts there are all kinds of creatures walking about there; that’s maybe why he has turned this house into a sort of menagerie, but no matter for that. But he also says he met one kind of creature there which specially concerns us at this moment. He called them eldils.”

“A kind of animal, do you mean?”

“Did ever you try to define the word animal, Mrs. Studdock?”

“Not that I remember. I meant, were these things . . . well, intelligent? Could they talk?”

“Aye. They could talk. They were intelligent, for-bye, which is not always the same thing.”

“In fact these were the Martians?”

“That’s just what they weren’t, according to his account. They were on Mars, but they didn’t rightly belong there. He says they are creatures that live in empty space.”

“But there’s no air.”

“I’m telling you his story. He says they don’t breathe. He said also that they don’t reproduce their species and I don’t die. But you’ll observe that even if we assume the rest of his story to be correct this last statement could not rest on observation.”

“What on earth are they like?”

“I’m telling you how he described them.”

“I mean, what do they look like?”

“I’m not just exactly prepared to answer that question,” said MacPhee.

“Are they perfectly huge?” said Jane almost involuntarily.

MacPhee blew his nose and continued. “The point Mrs. Studdock,” he said,” is this. Dr. Ransom claims that he has received continual visits from these creatures since he returned to Earth. So much for his first disappearance. Then came the second. He was away for more than a year and that time he said he’d been in the planet Venus-taken there by these eldils.”

“Venus is inhabited by them, too?”

“You’ll forgive me observing that this remark shows you have not grasped what I’m telling you. These creatures are not planetary creatures at all. Supposing them to exist, you are to conceive them floating about the depth of space, though they may alight on a planet here and there; like a bird alighting on a tree, you understand. There’s some of them, he says, are more or less permanently attached to particular planets, but they’re not native there. They’re just a clean different kind of thing.”

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Jane asked, “They are, I gather, more or less friendly?”

“That is certainly the Director’s idea about them, with one important exception.”

“What’s that?”

“The eldils that have for many centuries concentrated on our own planet. We seem to have had no luck at all in choosing our particular complement of parasites. And that, Mrs. Studdock, brings me to the point.”

Jane waited. It was extraordinary how MacPhee’s manner almost neutralised the strangeness of what he was telling her.

“The long and the short of it is,” said he, “that this house is dominated either by the creatures I’m talking about, or by a sheer delusion. It is by advices he thinks he has received from eldils that the Director has discovered the conspiracy against the human race; and what’s more, it’s on instructions from eldils that he’s conducting the campaign-if you can call it conducting! It may have occurred to you to wonder, Mrs. Studdock, how any man in his senses thinks we’re going to defeat a powerful conspiracy by sitting here growing winter vegetables and training performing bears. It is a question I have propounded on more than one occasion. The answer is always the same: we’re waiting for orders.”

“From the eldils? It was them he meant when he spoke of his Masters?”

“I doubt it would be; though he doesn’t use that word in speaking to me.”

“But, Mr. MacPhee, I don’t understand. I thought you said the ones on our planet were hostile.”

“That’s a very good question,” said MacPhee, “but it’s not our own ones that the Director claims to be in communication with. It’s his friends from outer space. Our own crew, the terrestrial eldils, are at the back of the whole conspiracy. You are to imagine us, Mrs. Studdock, living on a world where the criminal classes of the eldils have established their headquarters. And what’s happening now, if the Director’s views are correct, is that their own respectable kith and kin are visiting this planet to red the place up.”

“You mean that the other eldils, out of space, actually come here-to this house?”

“That is what the Director thinks.”

“But you must know whether it’s true or not.”

“How?”

“Have you seen them?”

“That’s not a question to be answered Aye or No. I’ve seen a good many things in my time that weren’t there or weren’t what they pretended to be; rainbows and reflections and sunsets, not to mention dreams. And there’s hetero-suggestion too. I will not deny that I have observed a class of phenomena in this house that I have not yet fully accounted for. But they never occurred at a moment when I had a note-book handy or any facilities for verification.”

“Isn’t seeing believing?”

“It may be-for children or beasts,” said MacPhee.

“But not for sensible people, you mean?”

“My uncle, Dr. Duncanson,” said MacPhee, “whose name may be familiar to you-he was Moderator of the General Assembly over the water, in Scotland-used to say, ‘Show it me in the word of God.’ And then he’d slap down the big Bible on the table. It was a way he had of shutting up people that came to him blathering about religious experiences. And granting his premises, he was quite right. I don’t hold his views, Mrs. Studdock, you understand, but I work on the same principles. If anything wants Andrew MacPhee to believe in its existence, I’ll be obliged if it will present itself in full daylight, with a sufficient number of witnesses present, and not get shy if you hold up a camera or a thermometer.”

“You have seen something, then?”

“Aye. But we must keep an open mind. It might be a hallucination. It might be a conjuring trick . . .”

“By the Director?” asked Jane angrily. Mr. MacPhee once more had recourse to his snuff box. “Do you really expect me,” said Jane, “to believe that the Director is that sort of man? A charlatan?”

“I wish, ma’am,” said MacPhee, “you could see your way to consider the matter without constantly using such terms as believe. Obviously, conjuring is one of the hypotheses that any impartial investigator must take into account. The fact that it is a hypothesis specially uncongenial to the emotions of this investigator or that, is neither here nor there. Unless, maybe, it is an extra ground for emphasising the hypothesis in question, just because there is a strong psychological danger of neglecting it.”

“There’s such a thing as loyalty,” said Jane. MacPhee, who had been carefully shutting up the snuff box, suddenly looked up with a hundred Covenanters in his eyes.

“There is, ma’am,” he said. “As you get older you will learn that it is a virtue too important to be lavished on individual personalities.”

At that moment there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” said MacPhee, and Camilla entered.

“Have you finished with Jane, Mr. MacPhee?” she said. “She promised to come out for a breath of air with me before dinner.”

“Och, breath of air your grandmother!” said MacPhee with a gesture of despair. “Very well, ladies, very well. Away out to the garden. I doubt they’re doing something more to the purpose on the enemy’s side. They’ll have all this country under their hands before we move, at this rate.”

“I wish you’d read the poem I’m reading,” said Camilla.

“For it says in one line just what I feel about this waiting:

Fool,

All lies in a passion of patience, my lord’s rule.”

“What’s that from?” asked Jane.

“Taliessin through Logres “

“Mr. MacPhee probably approves of no poets except Burns.”

“Burns!” said MacPhee with profound contempt opening the drawer of his table with great energy and producing a formidable sheaf of papers. “If you’re going to the garden, don’t let me delay you, ladies.”

“He’s been telling you?” said Camilla, as the two girls went together down the passage. Moved by a kind of impulse which was rare to her experience, Jane seized her friend’s hand as she answered “Yes!” Both were filled with some passion, but what passion they did not know. They came to the front door, and as they opened it a sight met their eyes which, though natural, seemed at the moment apocalyptic.

All day the wind had been rising and they found themselves looking out on a sky swept almost clean. The air was intensely cold; the stars severe and bright. High above the last rags of scurrying cloud hung the Moon in all her wildness-not the voluptuous moon of a thousand southern love-songs, but the huntress, the untameable virgin, the spear-head of madness. If that cold satellite had just then joined our planet for the first time, it could hardly have looked more like an omen. The wildness crept into Jane’s blood.

“That Mr, MacPhee . . .” said Jane, as they walked steeply uphill to the very summit of the garden.

“I know,” said Camilla: and then, “You believed it?”

“Of course.”

“How does Mr. MacPhee explain the Director’s age?”

“You mean his looking-or being-- so young-if you call it young?”

“Yes. That is what people are like who come back from the stars. Or at least from Perelandra. Paradise is still going on there; make him tell you about it some time. He will never grow a year or a month older again.”

“Will he die?”

“He will be taken away, I believe. Back into Deep Heaven. It has happened to one or two people, perhaps about six, since the world began.”

“Camilla!”

“Yes.”

“What-what is he?”

“He’s a man, my dear. And he is the Pendragon of Logres. This house, all of us here, and Mr. Bultitude and Pinch, are all that’s left of Logres: all the rest has become merely Britain. Go on. Let’s go right to the top. How it’s blowing. They might come to him to-night.”