The Germans on Venus

by Brian Stableford

  She raised her steel-blue eyes towards him. “You won’t hit me, will you?”

  “No, no! Come on, come with me.”

  Taking her by the arm, Aloysius led her gently into the garden, looking at her and thinking about Truphemus’ theories regarding the cerebro-spinal nervous system.

  “How did it happen?”

  “I don’t know, Papa. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see anything…”

  “Don’t lie! A girl of your age….that is to say, no, a big girl like you…”

  Netty resumed weeping even harder, crying: “I’m not lying. It wasn’t me!”

  Nothing was more singular than the appearance of her face as she pronounced these words. Its lines, perfect in their regularity, were deformed by the contortions of a despair more apparent than real. It was the grimace of a child on the face of a woman—something that resembled a mask of Madness. Aloysius looked at it with an expression of profound discouragement.

  Truphemus came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “A word!” he said.

  “I’m all yours,” murmured the doctor. And, drawing away from the young woman slightly, he came closer to the rotund Truphemus.

  “Perhaps,” said the latter, “there might be a way.”

  “Be careful! Be careful!” cried Aloysius with an indescribable expression of terror. Pointing at Netty, who was lying on the ground making little piles of sand with her bare hands, he added: “We’ve already tempted Nature too far. She’ll avenge herself.”

  “Is it really Doctor Aloysius that I hear?” Trufemus went on. “Is it really that superior intelligence, for which science has no secrets, and who does not admit the insolubility of any problem? Don’t you understand that every human work is in need of improvement? Haven’t we achieved anything? Isn’t that body the most admirable work of art that science has ever produced? I can’t pretend that the mind doesn’t leave much to be desired, but the fault is evidently reparable. What would you say to a delicate operation, the idea of which struck me only a moment ago? It’s evident that the cerebral matter that fills Netty’s skull is insufficient or badly-conformed. That’s what, in my humble opinion, it’s important to determine. It’s easy to do: it’ll be sufficient to make a circular incision with a sharp instrument, which will detach part of your daughter’s skull…”

  “Shut up!” howled Aloysius. “Executioner! Torturer!” Losing control of himself, he hurled himself on Truphemus.

  The latter, alarmed, took a few steps backwards.

  At that moment, someone knocked loudly on the door to the street.

  VIII

  Frank Kerry to Edward B***, in Baltimore.

  My dear friend, I don’t know if I’m mad or dreaming, but, in truth, I’m experiencing new sensations, of which nothing in my life until now had gave me the feeblest glimpse. Is it love, then, that has taken possession of me? I leave it to you to give a name to this transformation in me. One single thought absorbs my entire mind. Infinity seems to be nothing next to that finity whose name is beloved, dark light next to brightness!

  In my last letter, I told you that I had tried in vain to get close to the one who had become my entire life, my entire hope. This is what happened. For the first time since my arrival on the hill in Hoboken, I had emerged from my Thebaïd—and, orientating myself by means of the observations I had made from my terrace. I headed for the Elysian Fields. There, encountering a few passers-by, I asked them for directions—but I forgot, at first, that I was faced with limited natures, incapable of understanding the sensations that were oppressing me. I spoke as if I were writing to you. No one understood. Fortunately, I remembered that science gave me a sure means of determining the exact situation of the glass palace.

  I returned home, and with the aid of a sextant. I made a minute calculation, which indicated to me, within a few yards, the point for which I was headed—and then I went back. My calculations had not deceived me. I recognized the walls of the grounds, and the house facing the road. I tell you—I, who had the unprecedented boldness to hurl myself, a lost soul, into the abysms of the whirling ether, felt myself, faced with a simple door, the most timid and feeblest of children.

  First, I wanted to know who the inhabitants of the house were. I made enquiries of the few neighbors—rather distant ones, besides—who might be able to give me a little information. It seemed that, in general, I was not very welcome. I could only obtain vague details; I thought at first that people were mocking me.

  The house about which I was asking questions had a diabolical reputation in the neighborhood, and it was easy to see, in the attitude of my interlocutors, that they would have much preferred not to talk about it. It was obvious that it inspired an inexpressible terror in everyone. As for its inhabitants, it was impossible for me to obtain any precise information. Two old men, considered to be the demons of that unknown inferno, were described to me as the sole occupants of the property, along with a little girl two or three years old. I spoke in vain, in covert terms—so fearful was I to profane the angel of my dream—of the young woman I had glimpsed. The boldest assured me that there had never been a young woman in the house—unless, he added, some she-devil had come to join the party….

  What remained for me beyond doubt was that there was a mysterious shadow overhanging the whole affair, and I became all the more ardent to pierce it.

  I resolved, before presenting myself directly at Quiet House—that’s the name of the dwelling—to find out everything I could by myself. I slipped around the walls of the grounds. A few strangely-formed trees extended their branches over the top of the wall, which as not I good repair, offering an opportunity to scale it. It was there that I determined to establish my observation-post.

  The first time that my hands and feet assisted me in that painful ascent, my heart was beating so violently that I thought I would be unable to attain my goal—but when I raised my head, I thought I saw once again in the celestial azure the adorable form of the One who was calling me, and I redoubled my efforts. Finally, I attained the summit of the wall, and I plunged my avid gaze into the grounds.

  I had not been mistaken. The glass palace existed. It really was that violet color, soft and pale at the same time, which glistened in the sunlight. And finally, I saw…her!

  But what was she doing? I confess that, at that moment, I thought I was no longer master of my reason, and today I am asking myself again whether what I saw might not have been a trick of my imagination. She was sitting at the foot of a tree, leaning forwards, in such a fashion that her admirable blonde hair was trailing on the ground. She was scraping the sand with her slender fingers, and when she had formed a little heap she took it in her hands and threw into a zinc bucket that she had beside her. Then she overturned the half-full bucket on the ground, lifted it up, stamped on the ground, sat down again and began heaping up the sand and filling the bucket all over again.

  An innocent occupation, but one whose strangeness struck me immediately. I stayed there for an hour, hoping that my presence might finally be perceived. Vain illusion! The sand went continually from the ground to the bucket, to fall back from the bucket to the ground. I studied her. Oh, my friend, how much more beautiful she was than anything of which I had dreamed! What purity of form, what diaphanousness there was in that charming creature! The position in which I found myself, however, was becoming extremely uncomfortable. I had perched on the thickest bough of one of the trees touching the wall, and after this long pause, with the wood digging into my flesh, I felt numbness take possession of my entire being. My hands were having trouble holding on to the wood that served me as a point of support. It was necessary to end it! But I as so afraid of frightening her—that dear and perfect creature who was still dreaming as she macerated her dust!

  I called out to her once; she did not hear. Then, becoming bolder, I cried: “Angel escaped from Heaven, adorable creature whom humanity does not have the right to count among its imperfect creatures…!”

  This time, she had hear
d. She raised her head—and what a face, my friend! No, although I am a wanderer, as a poet once said, in my starry dreams, although the dazzling perspectives of sidereal space have opened before me, no, never had a beauty more profound, more intoxicating, imposed itself on my being…I was dazzled, mad with admiration and love.

  It is evidently that state of overexcitement that disturbed my mind to the point of rendering me prey to the most grotesque hallucination that was every produced. Don’t believe what you are about to read. It was not; it could not be.

  It seemed to me—I insist on the evident illusion—that, while looking at me with an expression that was both surprised and alarmed, she contracted her face into a comical grimace, and that, putting her hand to her nose in a vulgar gesture that I cannot describe without insulting her…she stuck her tongue out at me!!!

  Is it not evident that fatigue had obliterated the faculty of vision? But how can it be that our feeble nature is so far from mastery of itself that it can create such phantoms? I felt faint. I half-closed my eyes, and let myself fall back on the other side of the wall. Then I ran, as fast as my legs could carry me, to shut myself up in my house. I was fearful of mental alienation, whose iron fingers were beginning to dig into my brain. I was in desperate need of rest; I wanted to fall into a momentary oblivion to take the pressure off my nerves.

  Sleep came.

  When I awoke, I was saved…

  I was saved; I had calmed down. And the first effort of my reason proved to me the insanity of what I thought I had seen. She, a grimacer! As well suppose that the sky, the stars and planets might indulge in epileptic convulsions. It was an error, born of an unhealthy brain…and I was so profoundly convinced of it that I got down on my knees, with my arms extended towards the glass pavilion, and begged the pardon of the insulted angel.

  Then I was remorseful. By what right had I permitted myself to play the role of spy? Why had I attempted to surprise my beloved? Were my intentions not purer than the heavens of which she is a visible emanation? I had to repair my fault and enter the door of that house into which I had sought to introduce myself like a malefactor. Thus, as soon as the night had refreshed my senses, my resolution as made; I put on my best suit and went to Quiet House.

  I knocked violently on the door. It seemed to me that every blow of the knocker echoed dolorously in my soul.63

  IX

  “Someone’s at the door!” said Truphemus, scarcely recovered from the fright that Aloysius’ abrupt movement had given him.

  The latter made no reply. The knocking became louder.

  “Someone’s at the door!” Truphemus repeated. “Shall I open it?”

  “Go to the Devil!” cried Aloysius.

  Truphemus had a character so well-conformed that he welcomed these words as consent. It must also be admitted that he was not displeased to find a pretext for breaking of a conversation so badly begun. Hazard favored him in that respect, since Quiet House never had visitors, and he hastened to take advantage of the stroke of luck. He had, however, not taken account of a very particular circumstance. It had been so long since the door had been opened, and the hinges and metal fittings had so completely rusted up, that he strove in vain to pull the batten towards him. The visitor was still knocking.

  “Enough! Enough!” cried Truphemus, on a note belonging to an as-yet-undiscovered octave. He had seized the interior door-knob with both hands, and was pulling hard, with his feet braced on the floor, but in vain.

  Meanwhile, Aloysius, recovering from his fit of exasperation, heard the racket. He took it into his head to discover the cause. At the first glance, he divined Truphemus’ difficulty. “Hold on!” he shouted to him. And, passing his long and fleshless arms around his companion’s waist, he tugged on Truphemus, who was tugging on the door.

  “Push!” they shouted at the visitor.

  The visitor gave the door a vigorous kick; the batten opened; the hinges turned—but the movement was so abrupt that Truphemus fell backwards on top of Aloysius, who fell down. As they fell, they knocked over two enormous demijohns—fortunately empty—which broke, upsetting a rack of retorts in their turn. There was a rattling sound, and an indescribable confusion of men and shards of glass…upon which Frank Kerry, the blond resident of the Hoboken hill, gazed in profound astonishment.

  Falling is easy. Getting up again is more complicated—though less so for Aloysius than his companion. Aloysius succeeded in getting to his feet quite rapidly, but Truphemus, in view of his rotundity, found himself in the situation of a tortoise awkwardly posed on its back. Aloysius took him by the arm, but in vain; the scientist’s back slid along the floor, no projection serving as a point of support. He uttered plaintive and desperate squeals.

  “Wait,” said Frank to Aloysius. “I’ll help you.” He seized the other arm and placed his foot against one of Truphemus’ feet. Aloysius did likewise, and the two of them, releasing a vigorous “Hup!” succeeded in replacing the ball on its axis. It oscillated briefly, then became motionless. It was done.

  Then the three individuals looked at one another, without saying a word.

  Truphemus was definitely a man of strong character; he was the first to recover his self-possession. Bowing to he young man, he said: “Thank you, sir. Please come in. Would you care to tell us the object of your visit?”

  Frank bowed to the man who had addressed him, and followed the two scientists. “I wanted to talk to you.” he said, “about a matter of the utmost importance.”

  “Let’s go into my study,” said Aloysius.

  Chains and pulleys grated, to Frank’s great surprise, and a short while afterwards the three men were in Aloysius’ private box.

  “Go on, sir!” said the scientist.

  “I’m not superfluous?” asked Truphemus.

  “Oh,” said Aloysius, addressing himself to the young man, “I have no secrets from my companion.”

  Frank was not without a certain feeling of embarrassment. What surprised him most was that his beloved was dependent, by virtue of family ties or some other circumstance, on one of these two scarcely seductive individuals. “One of you,” he said, finally, “must be the father of a charming, adorable young woman that lives in this house?”

  “That’s me,” said Aloysius.

  “Very well! Sir, I come, as an honest man, to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. My name is Frank Kerry, I’m rich, my position is independent, and all of my life’s happiness is in your hands…”

  He would have continued, but he was prevented from doing so by a bizarre occurrence. At the first words of his request, Truphemus had crossed his arms and closed his eyes; then little strident whistling noises had begun to escape from his lips. A sort of dull rumbling had begun in Aloysius’ throat. These two sounds had merged, in contrasting tones, and increased in volume. There had been a sudden explosion.

  The two scientists were laughing, and laughing. Truphemus’ abdomen inflated and deflated like trampoline on which a clown was bouncing; Aloysius’ entire body was shaking, its various parts clicking like a multiplicity of castanets…

  And Frank looked at them, interrupted, bewildered, asking himself what was so violently funny about a lover of the infinite asking to be united with the most beautiful creation of natural forces…

  Patiently, however, he waited. A few words were beginning to escape the breathless lips of the two scientists.

  “In marriage!” said Aloysius.

  “At her age!” added Truphemus.

  “A bride!”

  “Five years old!”

  While the two chemists recovered from this nervous shock, and Frank braced himself to listen to the necessary explanations, all of a sudden…

  X

  Events were happening down below of a character that presented a very particular interest.

  When Truphemus, hearing knocking at the door, had gone back into the house, followed a few minutes later by Aloysius, Netty, whom they had left weeping profusely and screaming at the top of h
er voice, had immediately raised her head. Looking through her splayed fingers, she had convinced herself that the affair of the broken windows would have no consequences. Then she started laughing and executing one of those naïve dances—rudiments of the choreographic art—that only children can imagine. Then, placing the index-finger of her right hand on the index finger of her left, extended in the direction of the house, she manifested by that gesture, repeated several times, the scant importance that she attached to paternal wrath, even admitting that it existed.

  Afterwards, doubtless to give vent to the exasperation to which she found herself prey, she started running around the garden, plucking flowers, throwing them into the air and then trampling them. Then she returned to the pavilion, where she tore up a few soft furnishings—but these salutary exercises appeared insufficient to repair her lost tranquility. Suddenly, her face took on an indescribable expression of satisfaction; her gaze was turned towards the house at that moment. There, for the first time in three months, the door—by courtesy of a forgetfulness that must be attributed to Aloysius’ troubled state of mind—stood open.

  Netty approached the door on tiptoe and stretched out her neck. It was at that moment that the pulleys were drawing up the scientists and the young man in the box in question.

  The spectacle that the young girl had before her eyes certainly had nothing seductive about it; on seeing her pause hesitantly at the top of the staircase leading down into the cellar, one might have thought her an exile from some celestial world, gazing curiously into the antechamber of an infernal place.

  She listened. Not a sound. She was alone. She undoubtedly felt a certain dread, but her curiosity was so powerful! She had so often desired to penetrate these hermetically-sealed rooms! Abruptly she decided…she moved forwards, hesitantly extending one foot, then the other, her ears continually alert. She eventually found herself in the laboratory.