plants or animals . . . or something else. I really thought for a minute I recognized a weird green octopus, like the one who appeared in the
cage, but I’m not sure. Luckily, none of that crap got too close to us.
And then the molasses started to get thicker, and it was getting hard
to breathe. My mouth and nostrils were full of it, and I really thought
I was finished. Then we found ourselves floating along its surface, as if we were being carried along by a warm and very salty sea (because I
don’t know how to swim, is that it?). Above us, there was this purple
sky again, very luminous, almost phosphorescent, which was really
weird, since there wasn’t any sun. We floated on our backs for a long
time, and then bit by bit the molasses disappeared, but it wasn’t like a
swimming pool emptying out—it was as if it was slowly evaporating,
breaking up into pools that moved over the ground like patches of fog.
And we never got wet at all . . .
Then we found ourselves standing on our own two feet again, but
not on the white plain. On the contrary, the ground was as black as
coal, and it didn’t seem to be very solid, since our feet sank right
through the surface up to the ankles. Like walking through a layer of
very fine dust. After a minute, enormous balls began to roll all around
us on the black plain. They came from the horizon, and disappeared as
quickly as they had come. It was terrifying. At first I thought we were
going to be crushed, but actually they were shooting by at some
distance from us. They must have been a good couple of hundred yards
in diameter, and they kept changing colour. Sometimes they were
white, sometimes blue, red, yellow, orange, sometimes they took on a
weird colour I wouldn’t begin to know what to name. But the worst
thing was the noise they made. A drumroll of thunder. Up until then
we hadn’t heard any sounds at all on this planet, even if everything did
keep changing from one minute to the next. But this made a noise in
my head loud enough to drive me crazy. Like bowling balls, except
that we were right in the alley and the balls were as big as houses. And
then like everything else it quietened down, and the last balls
disappeared at the edge of the black plain. It was at this moment
that I realized that the plain was tilting in the distance, all around the horizon. After a couple of minutes it looked like big walls of coal were
rising toward the sky. Soon I felt like I was standing in the crater of a
Observation of Quadragnes
65
volcano, and then there was nothing more over us but a small bright
circle, like a purple sun in the middle of all this blackness—and then it was absolutely dark. Much worse that the darkest night. Like being in
a completely sealed-off room. I didn’t know what to do, I felt her hands
all over my shoulders, scratching me. I wanted to talk to her, but I
couldn’t even hear the sound of my own voice, as if I’d turned into a
deaf-mute. I couldn’t even hear her screeching. I think there must
have been something there in the dark, because it began to stink, a real
putrid odour, it choked me. I had to vomit . . . but then the smell went
away after a while and all of a sudden, in the dark, a cube appeared,
just like that, a brilliant silvery cube that was absolutely visible even though it was pitch black. Naturally I couldn’t tell how big or how far
away it was. Then there was another, and another, a whole pile of
them appeared in the dark and began to pile themselves up one on top
of the other, like when a kid piles up building blocks. Lucky for us we
didn’t see the hand that was piling them up! Little by little the cubes
were getting closer to us, and soon we were surrounded on all sides by
these blocks, it wasn’t dark at all any more, and I thought we were
about to be crushed to death by the last block, which would fit right in
the spot where we were. But luckily it remained empty, and it was a
good minute before I realized that the part that had remained empty
was in fact our cell, and that its walls, floor and ceiling were the sides of the blocks piled together.
Then the worst thing of all happened. But that—I can’t talk about
it. I can hardly think about it . . . There aren’t any words to explain the horror that appeared in the cell. My God! . . . I’d seen my share of
unbelievable things since I’d been on Mars . . . But this! When I think
of it, I get the shakes and my heart starts thumping again. The woman
had a real nervous breakdown and almost took out one of my eyes
with her nails while I was trying to calm her down. Luckily it didn’t
stay too long, but, my God! . . . Where do they find these things? They
seem to be real jokers, these Martians . . . And why are they showing
us all these monsters? Do they want us to die of fear?
I’ve had it up to here!
If I could just get out of this place . . .
And now everything is quiet, but the broad’s on my back again,
blubbering, and she wants me to be her little lover boy. What a life . . .
Esu.
Taking advantage of a position necessary for the growth of certain
tardy radicles on the upper surface of the dorzz, I gave my attention to
66
J.-P. Andrevon
a new experiment on the Quadragnes. Not daring to let them out of
their cage, I projected simulacra of environment of the A-1 Superior
zone, so as to be able to observe their reactions to a model series of
situations and settings forming the usual backdrop of our existence. I
hoped in this way to obtain a positive result, which would perhaps
have permitted me to integrate the Quadragnes in one of the three-
dimensional inserts of the Sphere, in company with other familiar
animals captured in the lower spheres.
Unfortunately, this experiment was a total failure: from all indica-
tions the Quadragnes are incapable of adapting themselves to a milieu
that differs in the slightest from the surroundings of their primitive
existence. In short, these stupid animals do not seem to be happy
except in their cage . . . Whether it was on the defalcating geyser of the transverse Arce-de-Creuse, whether it was in the nourmance of the
Miol Vector or between the demionyctisized Olphases of the Pyrre-
Bouge, the Quadragnes did not display the least glimmer of intelli-
gence in attempting to understand their new environment. The
cervical captours even registered the waves characteristic of the
most total panic.
As a last resort—although the thought of physical contact with
these repulsive animals hardly enchanted me—I materialized myself
personally in their cage. The result was disastrous: the Quadragnes
emitted piercing sounds and gave themselves up to frantic gesticula-
tions, as if my presence inspired in them an active terror. I did not
linger in this trying proximity. The Quadragnes are manifestly
incapable of perceiving the radiance of a superior being . . .
I am going to return to my dorzz, which gives me infinitely more
satisfaction.
Eso.
(along with many others!) add to the file of incomprehensible
enigmas which the behaviour of the Quadragnes gives rise
to.
Quadragne B, who seemed to me to manifest an abnormal agitation,
performed a series of mimic actions on Quadragne A which ordinarily
precede copulation (caresses of the upper paws, play of the jaws).
Quadragne A disengaged himself, followed by his congener. After a
new tentative on the part of B, A struck her violently and she went to
squat in a distant part of the cage. B subsequently made a series of
piercing sounds, while a clear liquid flowed from her eyes. She then
stretched herself on the floor and began to rub her pectoral excres-
cences and inside her cleft with her upper paws, until she uttered
Observation of Quadragnes
67
several of these plaintive sounds of copulation. At no point, however,
did A intervene.
I do not seek to logically analyse these latest facts any more than
the general activity of the Quadragnes, which seems to me to be
governed by the most impenetrable incoherence and stupidity. I will
have to consider some radical solution of their problem.
*
*
*
*
*
The broad is really starting to get on my nerves. I never have been
able to stand the same woman for more than eight days.
My God, if they’d just let us go!
*
*
*
*
*
As if the waking nightmares which our torturers inflict on us weren’t
enough!. . . But now, my companion in misfortune has turned away
from me. Lord! Why multiply my torments? Why have I been
permitted to taste the joys of the flesh, to leave me prey now to the
torments of frustration?
But perhaps it was a trial to which You subjected me? A trial in
which I stumbled . . . Like Eve tasting the forbidden fruits of the Tree
of Knowledge, I innocently tasted the fruits of lust. I was ignorant of
the most sacred law of the married woman. I have committed the sin
of adultery.
Oh! Martial . . . Forgive me!
Esou.
I have decided to end my observations here, for I am convinced that I
will learn nothing more of interest from these two Quadragnes. The
renewal of their atmosphere and the preparation of their nutrients
takes considerable time, and there is no question of my continuing
thus for such meagre results. During their next nocturnal unconscious
period, I will expose them to a C+ ray, which will end their existence
immediately and without pain.
I have nonetheless had the foresight to register the cervical influxes
of these creatures. Perhaps one day it will be possible to decode them
and retranscribe them into a clear language, which would permit a
great step forward in the study and comprehension of the Quad-
ragnes.
And who knows—perhaps later on, in the course of the next
68
J.-P. Andrevon
transference to Lower Sphere C X 66, I might decide to amuse myself
by capturing two other Quadragnes with the substance extractor. But
for a change, I would take care to obtain two individuals of the same
‘sex’—two A Quadragnes, for example. Observation of their cohabita-
tion would doubtlessly hold other surprises in store for me.
Signed: Blue of Blue-Earth Peer
translated by FRANK ZERO
DENMARK
The Good Ring
SVEND A
˚ GE MADSEN
A man named Stig is ploughing. He stoops over even though his back
resists the effort. When he straightens up again the ring that he has
bent over to pick up lies in his hand, a ring made to fit a finger.
As soon as he has the ring Stig knows that it is no ordinary ring. He
considers throwing it away so as not to tempt fate, but he simply
cannot help examining it more closely. Although almost no air is
stirring, it seems as if a gale is blowing through the circumference of
the ring. He tries to put it on his finger but the blast is too strong and prevents him from doing so. Only when he turns the ring around and
puts it on with the wind rather than against it does he succeed.
Stig goes on with his ploughing. He is tired, the soil is hard, and he
is sweating. He would like to stop, but he still has a long way to go.
Stig curses the bad luck that brought him to this place.
When finally he is on the way home after his heavy labour and is
preoccupied with thoughts about the miserable way things are ar-
ranged in this world, he suddenly hears voices around him. Nothing
of this kind has ever happened to him when he has been alone. He is
alone now.
The voices come from his left hand. When he tries to distinguish
between them he perceives one that reminds him of his own, a voice
that in a cheerful tone utters some incomprehensible words, some-
thing like ‘I believe the Brain is with me’. A second voice laughs
uproariously while a woman squeals. A third mutters the same words
over and over again.
‘That’s all I need’, Stig says to himself. ‘Now I’m going out of my
mind.’
When Stig reaches home there is a woman in his house. She is
complaining. The woman is Karen, and she is his wife. Dog-tired, he
lashes out at her, but Karen ducks in a practised manner without once
interrupting her flow of reproaches.
Stig wearily closes his eyes. When he opens them again he sees a
letter lying in front of him. He opens it and finds, not to his surprise, that it contains a bill for a sizeable amount.
‘Who arranged the world this way, anyhow?’, he says to himself
70
Svend A
˚ ge Madsen
while casting a look of recrimination upward. ‘And what have I done
that I should deserve to drag out such a miserable existence here?’
In a sudden fit of anger he seizes a half-filled mug and flings it
towards the wall. Karen dodges, although the mug is not thrown in
her direction. She calms down, with just as much ill grace as she can
muster up.
Stig picks up a fragment from the mug with which to scrape the
scabs of the sores on his arm. The sores begin to bleed, but he pays no
attention to them.
‘Go out and get something fit to eat’, he snarls at Karen. ‘And don’t
come back until you’ve found something.’
Karen sputters and grumbles, but goes.
As soon as she is outside Stig locks the door. He rummages through
the house and finds a rope that looks usable. He gets up on a rickety
stool, manages to get the rope tossed around a crossbeam, then fastens
it securely around his neck.
He shakes his fist at the world around him.
‘Now I’m through slaving for you!’, he mutters.
He leaps, the stool overturns, the rope goes taut. Whereupon the
crossbeam breaks and Stig tumbles to the floor with a loud crash.
But he does not have time to complain, for when he falls something
happens to the ring on his finger. It has grazed the floor, and now it
begins to grow larger with incredible speed. It becomes so large that it
slips down around Stig’s arm. It continues to increase in size, and
soon it is
so big that he is drawn through it as if by a violent gust of
wind.
*
*
*
*
*
Everything is white, and there is nothing. Stig finds himself in
nothing and on nothing. There is no earth beneath his feet, no sky
above his head.
Until he discovers a spherical object in front of him. It is two or
three times the size of his head.
‘Just a moment’, says the sphere, beginning to change form, ‘Let
me see now—these damned gadgets!’
Slowly two eyes, a nose, and a mouth appear on the surface of the
sphere.
‘Now you’ll undoubtedly find me more to your liking’, the mouth
says with a smile.
The sphere resembles a child’s drawing of a face. One eye is a little
The Good Ring
71
smaller than the other. Stig discovers that he has no aches or pains,
that he is neither tired nor hungry. He puts his hand up to his throat.
‘Where are we?’
‘We are a short distance from a planet. I thought you’d find it
agreeable here. If you’re cold we can get a little closer to it.’
‘No thanks, I feel fine. Was it you who brought me here?’
‘Yes. It was my ring. You can call me Krr. There is such a sound in
your language, isn’t there?’
Stig nods. ‘What are you?’
‘I am a Brain’, says the sphere. It wrinkles its forehead and smiles.
‘You’re familiar with the theory of evolution—first the amoeba, then
fish and mammals, and then man. And little by little, less and less
work for man to do, and more and more things to speculate about. In
other words, less and less body and more and more brain. Eventually
one becomes able to imagine anything. This, for example . . .’
Suddenly Stig whirls around four times in space.
‘Stop it!’, he yells in exasperation.
‘It’s a little difficult to explain how it’s done’, says Krr. ‘But this is approximately the place.’
A speck of light appears on the sphere to indicate the place.
‘We Brains, of course, can read one another’s thoughts. We switch
on lights for those we want to reveal to others. Consequently we have
no need for eyes or a mouth. These eyes that you see I have assumed
merely for your sake—I don’t actually see with them. Do they look
natural?’
He blinks one eye.
‘Couldn’t you somehow have managed to keep arms and legs?’,
View from Another Shore : European Science Fiction Page 13
