abyss seemed to open beneath, as when an elevator begins to move.
She watched the glass start to slide along the tabletop, spill on the rug
. . . Then; a pain in her shoulder, her forehead knocked against
something . . . Fog. Red and blue globes. Roaring of motors gone wild.
‘Mirko!’, she cried, raising herself. The door to the cockpit seemed
bolted shut. She squeezed the hostile handle and, lurching, tried to
pull the door open. An emptiness inside her chest, a moment of
balance, then the absurd feeling of weightlessness. She saw Mirko’s
back, his hands tense on the throttle, the clouds racing towards them
like dream vapours.
Now Mirko was talking. In fact, he was shouting, but she wasn’t
aware of it. She pressed herself against the back of her seat, clenched
her teeth and braced herself for the crash.
The aircraft plummeted like a corkscrew.
When she opened her eyes next, she saw a white cloud in the
middle of the sky. A vulture circled far up. She was lying stretched out
on her back, and something moist and fresh was pressed against her
brow. She raised an arm, touched her face, temples, and removed the
handkerchief soaked with water. Then she rolled over on her side.
Mirko was on his feet, over by the wrecked fuselage. Behind him, a
cyclopean wall of red rock rose over the landscape.
‘What happened?’, she asked weakly.
The pilot stretch out his arms. ‘I don’t know’, he said, shaking his
head; ‘I can’t understand it. All of a sudden the controls weren’t
responding, the craft lost altitude, and then we were in a tailspin. I
managed to regain control by a miracle, but it was too late. Look at
the skid we took before we banged up against this rock!’
Sophie pulled herself up, rubbing her bruised shoulder.
‘Do you have any idea where we are?’
Mirko lowered his eyes.
‘This is the Grand Canyon’, he said. ‘We’re in one of the side
chasms. This is one of the most inaccessible areas, but the Bright
Angel Trail shouldn’t be too far away. . .’
Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘The Grand Canyon?’
For a moment she was speechless. Then she burst out laughing.
Good Night, Sophie
193
‘The Grand Canyon!’, she repeated. ‘That’s very funny! In fact it’s
unbelievable.’
‘What’s unbelievable?’
‘Don’t play dumb, Mirko. The engine failure, the forced landing,
here, right in the middle of the Grand Canyon . . . Just like the film I
made last year, Ecstasy. You do remember it, don’t you?’
Suddenly a suspicion crossed her mind.
‘Tell me something’, she said, frowning. ‘You didn’t by any chance
do it on purpose, did you! I mean, there are an awful lot of
coincidences here. You’re a real pilot, and I may not be a Persian
princess but on the other hand I am Sophie Barlow. You wanted to
get marooned out here with me, didn’t you? You planned it to
happen just like the film.’
Mirko puffed up indignantly. He turned his back on her and went
over to the aircraft. Shifting aside the twisted pieces of fuselage, he
managed to crawl into the cabin. He tossed out a pile of equipment,
two blankets, two back-packs, a plastic canteen, a tin of synthetic
food, a flashlight. He emerged from the wreck with the bottle of
brandy in one hand and a heavy piece of equipment in the other.
‘Let’s go’, he said. ‘Carry as much of this as you can.’
‘Go where?’
‘Surely you don’t want to rot out here among the rocks. We have to
get to the main canyon. Phantom Ranch must be more than fifty
miles east of here, but there’s always some stupid sentimental tourist
who will come west to take a picture of the pretty view.’
‘Did you try radioing?’
‘The radio’s broken. Get a move on. Take what you need and let’s
get out of here.’
He moved fast, his stride long and springy. He had tucked the
brandy bottle into his hip pocket, and he marched along stooping
slightly under the burden of his pack, in which he had placed a
battery and the heavy electronic device.
Sophie stumbled along behind him, carrying the food and water
containers.
Half an hour later, they came to a halt. Sophie was out of breath,
her eyes were pleading. Mirko stared straight ahead. It was clear that
the woman was a hindrance to him, the classical ball and chain which
he could not get rid of.
‘Walk slower, Mirko.’
The man looked at the sky, which was filling up with menacing
clouds.
194
Lino Aldani
‘Let’s go’, he said. ‘In a couple of hours it’s going to be pitch black.’
When they reached the main canyon, they could hardly see any-
thing. Mirko pointed up at a place in the rocky wall, red and brown as
a piece of burning paper.
‘The cave’, he said reverently.
‘The cave’, Sophie repeated. ‘Just like in the film. Everything is just
like in the film, Mirko.’
He helped her up the cliff, and lowered his pack to the floor of the
black hole that opened into the rock.
She watched him as he clambered down the sandstone and granite
crags, rooting out the dried-up shrubs, making big bundles of them
and dragging them up to the cave entrance. ‘It’ll be cold in a while’,
he said. ‘We’ll have to start a fire.’
He lit the flashlight and inspected the cave. It was about fifteen
yards deep, and bent at right angles in the middle. He set the bundle
of kindling right in the elbow of the cave, and lit the fire with savage
delight.
They ate in silence, in the dark and glowing cave, under an
enormous fluttering bat’s wing.
‘I opened your pack’, Sophie said. ‘While you were down gathering
kindling. I saw what you have inside there. An Amplex! What did you
need to bring that along for?’
‘It’s worth 120 coupons’, Mirko said. ‘For an actress like you, that’s
a pittance. But it takes me three months to earn that much, you see?’
He picked up the metal box and the reel case.
‘Well?’, Sophie asked, curious. ‘What are you up to now?’
‘I’m going to the rear of the cave. I have a right to my privacy, don’t
I?’
Yes, but what do you need the Amplex for? What are you up to,
Mirko?’
The man snorted. When Sophie grabbed the reel case, he didn’t put
up a fight. Passive, he let the woman go through his reels at her
leisure, let her read the descriptions printed on the plastic boxes.
‘But these are all my films, Mirko? My heavens, you have every
single one of them! Blue Skies, Seduction, Adventure in Ceylon. There’s
even a matrix, the matrix for Ecstasy. Is that your favourite Oneirofilm, Mirko?’
Mirko lowered his eyes without answering. Sophie closed the reel
box. A matrix was a luxury relatively few people could permit
themselves. The ordinary Oneirofilm, once viewed, was useless,
because the Amplex demagnetized the tape as it ran throug
h. But a
Good Night, Sophie
195
matrix lasted forever, it was practically indestructible. For that reason, it cost a small fortune.
‘When did you buy it?’, Sophie asked.
The man shrugged, annoyed. ‘Oh, quit it’, he snapped. ‘You’re too
curious. What do you want me to say? Your films sell millions of
copies to millions and millions of consumers. I’m just one of them. I
bought a matrix of Ecstasy. So what? What’s so strange about that?
There was something about it that I liked. I—’
‘Go on’, Sophie urged, squeezing his arm.
‘A day doesn’t pass that I don’t watch it’, the pilot said tartly. ‘So
now why don’t you leave me alone, go to sleep, because in a little
while it will be daylight and we have to cover quite a few miles. I’m
going to the back of the cave.’
‘With the Amplex?’
‘Yes, for God’s sake. What’s it to you? I want to enjoy my film in
peace.’
Sophie gulped. A sudden feeling a frustration passed through her,
as if all desire to live had left her. This is impossible, she thought. This can’t be happening to me. What do I want, anyway, from this man
who has a thousand reasons not to care a hoot about me?
She felt a desire to hurt him, to heap abuse on his head, to slap his
face. But the image of Mirko embracing her broke through her
inhibitions and spread through her mind.
‘I’m here’, she was surprised to hear herself say in a seductive tone.
Mirko wheeled round.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, I’m here, Mirko. Tonight you don’t need that reel.’
‘I don’t need it?’
‘No. You can have me, just like in the dream. Even better than in
the dream . . .’
Mirko started to snicker. ‘It’s not the same thing’, he said. ‘And
don’t be ridiculous with this Anti-Dream League propaganda of yours.
Who are you trying to kid, anyway?’
‘I’ll say it again: Mirko, you can have me.’
‘And I still say it’s not the same thing.’
‘Mirko!’, the woman pleaded, beside herself. ‘You need me, every
day you run through that matrix, and you dream, dream, you keep
on dreaming of this cave, the firelight, my kisses, this body of mine
which I’ve just offered you. This is exactly like the film, you stupid
fool. What are you waiting for? I can do everything that’s in that film,
even more, and it will be for real . . .’
196
Lino Aldani
For a moment Mirko wavered, then he shook his head. He turned
and moved off toward the back of the cave.
‘Mirko!’, she cried, exasperated. ‘I am Sophie Barlow! Sophie
Barlow, don’t you understand?’
She pulled down the zipper of her overalls. Her shoulders shrugged
out of the cloth shell, and she quickly pulled off the suit and threw it
on the ground.
‘Look at me!’, she shouted. And as he turned around, she
uncovered her breasts.
The fire burned brightly, red and green tongues lapping upward,
emitting a penetrating odour of the primeval jungle. She watched the
man’s hands clench into fists, his lips trembling, as if in a long,
wearisome struggle.
Mirko hesitated a moment longer, then threw the matrix in the fire
and ran toward her.
*
*
*
*
*
First the blue light came and then the red. Then blue again. When the
reel came to an end, the set turned off automatically.
Sophie lifted off the Amplex helmet. Her temples were perspiring,
her heart pounding in spasms. All her extremities were trembling,
particularly her hands. She couldn’t keep them still. Never in her life
had he lived a ‘dream’ with such intensity, an Oneirofilm that forced
her to be herself. She must thank Bradley right way.
She rang him up on the videophone. But faced with the image of
the supervisor, the words stuck in her throat; she stammered, truly
moved. Finally she started to cry.
Bradley waited patiently.
‘A little present, Sophie. Just a trinket. When an actress reaches the
peak of her career she deserves far greater rewards. And you will have
them, Sophie. You will have all the recognition that’s due you.
Because the system is perfect. There’s no going back.’
‘Yes, Bradley. I—’
‘It will go away, Sophie. It happens to all actresses sooner or later.
The last obstacle to overcome is always vanity. Even you felt that a
man ought to prefer you to a dream. You fell into the most dangerous
of all heresies, but we caught it in time and rushed to correct it. With a little gift. That matrix will help you to get over this crisis.’
‘Yes, Bradley. Please thank everybody for me, the machinist, the
technicians, the director, everybody who was involved in making this
Oneirofilm. Above all, thank the actor who played the pilot.’
Good Night, Sophie
197
‘He’s a new fellow. A real live wire, no?’
‘Well, thank him for me. I had some beautiful moments. And thank
you too, Bradley. I can imagine how much time and money this film
cost you. It’s perfect. I’ll keep it in the slot of honour in my Oneirofilm collection.’
‘Nonsense, Sophie. You belong to the ruling class. You can allow
yourself a personal Oneirofilm from time to time. We have always
helped each other out, haven’t we? —But there’s one thing I want
you to bear in mind.’
‘What’s that, Bradley?’
‘That matrix. That’s more than a gift. It’s meant to be a warning.’
‘Okay, Bradley. I get your point.’
‘Don’t forget it. Nothing is better than dreaming. And only in
dreams can you deceive yourself to the contrary. I’m sure that after
five or six viewings you will get the point and toss that matrix in the
wastebasket.’
She nodded, in tears.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow at nine in the screening room.’
‘Yes, Bradley, tomorrow at nine in the screening room. Good night,
Bradley.’
‘Good night, Sophie.’
translated by L. K. CONRAD
RUSSIA
The Proving Ground
SEVER GANSOVSKY
1
The first men came on a small cutter.
The water at the shore was muddy and motionless and smelled of
rotting seaweed. Green waves boiled up over the reefs and beyond
these stretched the warm surface of the blue sea; from it the wind
blew day and night without ceasing. Above the beach stood spear-
tipped bamboos and, behind them, towering palms. Spirited crabs
dashed out from under stones and threw themselves on the tiny fish
that were stranded by the waves.
The three men from the cutter conducted a leisurely examination
of the near part of the island. They were watched by the disturbed and
suspicious Indians who lived here with their families in a small
village.
‘It looks like the kind of thing we want’, said one of the strangers.
‘The nearest island is three miles away; there are no sea lanes or
air
lanes nearby, and the area is generally rather quiet. It will probably
please the brass; but you never know how they’ll react.’
‘We won’t find anything better’, said the second. He turned to the
third man, who was an interpreter: ‘Tell the Indians to leave the
island. Explain that they can come back in about a week.’
The interpreter, a thin man with tinted glasses, nodded and
stumped off across the resisting sand to the village.
The first man opened a map case and took out an aerial photograph
of the island, along with pencil and ruler; he studied the photograph
for a while. ‘We can put the billets here, and the canteen next to
them. The firing trenches go over there, and the dugout in that
direction. They can set up their installation on that hill; it’s about
550 yards from the dugout.’
‘What’s the whole thing supposed to be?’, the second man asked.
The first shrugged and kept his eyes on the photograph. ‘How
should I know? I’m supposed to reconnoitre the island. Somebody
else brings in the equipment. That’s none of our business, right?’ He
The Proving Ground
199
sighed and tore open a package of chewing gum. ‘What heat! Where’s
that interpreter?’
The interpreter returned half an hour later. ‘I can’t do anything
with them. They refuse to leave. They say they’ve always lived here.’
‘Did you tell them there would be military manoeuvres on the
island?’
‘Do you think they can understand that? They have no words in
their language for such ideas. They can’t even get the idea of a
‘‘forbidden area’’.’
‘Okay’, said the second man, ‘let’s go. We’ve found the island and
warned the natives. They’ll clear out soon enough when the equip-
ment starts landing.’
They trudged down to the cutter and shoved off with the boatman’s
help. Ten minutes later they had disappeared over the horizon.
For a while the waves breaking on the shore tossed the chewing
gum wrapper back and forth. The Indians came and gazed after the
departing cutter for a long time. A child ran after the bit of silvery
gum wrapper, but the chief of the tribe, a man with wind-carved face
and powerfully muscled body, scolded him.
Strange people, these white men! None of them ever does a
complete job. They had said: ‘Go away’. But why? The tall thin
View from Another Shore : European Science Fiction Page 32
