Unearthly Neighbors

by Chad Oliver

  Wasn’t there a hidden price-tag on their way of life too? What would the characteristics of such a culture have to be?

  Obviously, there were certain advantages. There would be a closeness with other people, a harmony with life. Above all, there would be a kind of inner security, a peace. But the technique of dream interpretation depended in the final analysis on a static, unchanging society. Dreams did not come out of nowhere. As long as nothing changed, the old ways would work—you could understand the dreams, rely on them, trust the ancient commands they gave you.

  But if you started to dream about a spaceship?

  Or strange men with rifles?

  Or men and women with alien customs?

  Wouldn’t the single basic fear of a secure society be the threat of insecurity, of change? What could you do when your dreams held no answers?

  You would fear the coming of strangers with a dark, cold terror. They would strike at the very roots of your existence. How could you possibly trust them when all they offered were words?

  Words were not enough.

  Contact was not enough—indeed, it might be fatal.

  Protestations of friendliness were not enough.

  I know what I must do.

  The way is plain.

  But can I trust myself, and all the things that have made me what I am? Is the bridge strong enough to hold us both?

  It was no good trying to put it off. It had to be done. The next move was up to him.

  Monte spent one last night in his cave, resting. Then he walked out into another of the glorious mornings of Sirius Nine, ate some of the pemmican he had prepared, and drank some water. He was ready.

  He felt a certain affection for the little cave, and the symbolism of the place was not lost on him. Apart from that, he had always loved the high places. He was convinced that there were two basically different kinds of people—those who were drawn to the lowlands and those who found rest only in the mountains. If he could have his life to live over again, he decided, he would live more of it in the mountains where the air was clear and a man could touch the sky.

  He looked down upon the green grasslands that rolled away to the darker green and yellow that lined the river. It was peaceful here, despite everything that had happened. Even the air seemed less irritating, and the rawness had left his throat. Could he not just once live up to the best that was in him, no matter what the cost?

  Man had met man for the first time. The patterns of future history might well be determined by what happened here. And the universe was huge, swimming with islands of life. There was more at stake here than even the destinies of Earth and Walonka. There were other worlds, other men. Man had need of all the friends he could find, and one day he too would be judged.

  Monte shrugged. It was a lot to ask of any one man. But perhaps it always came down to just one man, one decision, in the end…

  He grinned at the crumpled pieces of the spacesuit, still heaped on the rocky ledge. He wouldn’t be needing them any longer.

  He started down the trail.

  He was amused at his self-styled role as a man of destiny. He was well aware that he was not the ideal man for the part. It was too bad, he thought wryly, that he could not have walked naked from the cave. That would have been a dandy symbol, a real corker, the very stuff of legends.

  Unhappily, he couldn’t risk the sunburn; he needed his clothes.

  A parboiled hero! There was one for the books.

  He walked on through the tall grasses, stroking his beard, smiling to himself.

  16

  Monte crossed the river without incident. He retraced his steps to the clearing where he and Charlie had pitched their camp and was surprised to find it just as they had left it. Somehow, he had expected it to show the same changes he sensed in himself. That terrible day in the rain—surely that had been a million years ago, in another time, another age…

  He stopped only long enough to pick up his pipe and tobacco. He clamped the pipe between his teeth and savored the delicious smoke. If they ever stood him against a wall before a firing squad, he thought, he would ask for a last pipe.

  It was all very strange, just as life itself was strange. It hadn’t been very long ago that he had given up his pipe for fear of frightening the natives. Now, when he was about to walk the same path he had walked before, the pipe no longer mattered.

  He had learned something, at least.

  The externals didn’t count.

  He moved into the forest. The great trees closed in around him, whispering with activity, but he ignored them. He went on to the field where he had first glimpsed Volmay so long ago—where he had offered him food and seen the first of the Merdosini. He found the path which led into the woods, the dark path that for him would always hold the echoes of blackness and rain and the wind that swept the roof of the world.

  He located the hollow tree.

  Volmay was sitting in front of it, his naked body gleaming in a fugitive patch of sunlight. His old head had fallen forward on his striped chest. He was asleep.

  Dreaming?

  As soon as Monte stepped into view, Volmay stirred and opened his eyes.

  “Hello, Volmay.”

  “Monte. I speak your name. I dreamed that you would come.”

  “You did not wait for me.”

  Volnay smiled. “I waited here.”

  “I came as soon as I could.”

  “Yes. I knew that you would come. I wanted you to come. And yet I did not know—do not know—”

  “What?”

  “Whether it is good. I am an old man; I am confused. Nothing seems certain to me. I am very sorry about the—other.”

  “That is done.”

  “Perhaps.” Volmay frowned; deep lines stood out on his face. “I am sorry about all of the others. But I am only one man.” He groped for words. He looked very tired.

  “We are alike, you and I. We have both tried to do things that are hard for us to do. It is never easy to act alone. It is easier to flow with the tide, is that not so?”

  “There are times when a man must swim against the current. I am ashamed that it took me so long. I was afraid.”

  “But you came to me. And now I have come to you.”

  The old man sighed. “It is not enough.”

  “No. We two can do nothing. I know that. I have come to—offer—myself.”

  The old man stood up. He looked at Monte with dark, sad eyes. “I do not understand your words.”

  “Sometimes a battle cannot be won by fighting. There are men of my people who found that out long before I was born. Sometimes a fight can only be won by a sacrifice, a surrender.”

  “That is a strange idea.”

  “Volmay, your people can see into my mind, is that not so?”

  “If it is your wish. They cannot do it against you will.”

  “It is my will. I offer myself to them. I will hold back nothing. I want them to examine me. I want them to see for themselves what I am.”

  “And what are you, Monte?”

  He laughed. “I am a man. I hope that is enough.” Volmay turned away. “How can you trust us, after what we have done? I can promise nothing. I do not know what will happen to you.”

  Monte sat down before the entrance to the hollow tree. It was warm in the sunlight. He refilled his pipe and puffed on it until the tobacco caught. “It seems to me that my people came here to you, not the other way around. We are the intruders. This is your world. It is only right that I should be on trial here, as you would be on trial if you came to our world. That is the way of things. I will accept your verdict.”

  The old man sat down beside him. “You will have no choice.”

  “I have already made my choice.”

  “I do not know. We are so very different…”

  “Are we? I thought so, once. But the first step must be taken. One of us must have faith. Or else—”

  “What?”

  “I have not the words to tell you.”

>   “There will be—unhappiness?”

  “More than that, Volmay. There are forces at work here that we are powerless to stop, you and I. Our two peoples have met. We will never be entirely separate again; this I know. We two are the beginning of a long, long story. We will not live to see the end of it—perhaps it will never end. If we can trust each other, we can be friends. If we fear each other, we must be enemies.”

  “Perhaps it was wrong of you to come. We did not ask you here.”

  “Who is to say? It may be that one day your children’s children will be thankful that we came to you. In any event, we are here.”

  “Do you think we will ever be thankful that you came?”

  “I do not know. That is the truth.”

  “You are very strange. Why did you come here? It must have been a long, hard journey.”

  “Why do you dream in the sun? Why do you live in a hollow tree? We are what we are. My people, Volmay—they are a restless people. They have always been restless. To us, the stars were a challenge. Can you understand that?”

  “The stars?” Volmay smiled. “The stars are the stars. They have always been there to light the darkness. But sometimes, at night, when the world is still, I have climbed high into the trees and looked at them and wondered…”

  “You do understand.”

  “I am not sure. I have always felt closest to the stars when I was alone, not moving. I have always felt closest to the stars when the night wind touched my face. Can you get nearer to the stars than that?”

  “I don’t know. How can I explain—”

  “Yes. Exactly. Words—they are nothing. But, Monte, I must ask something of you. I do not know so many things.”

  “I will try to answer you.”

  He smiled an old, tired smile. “How can you trust yourself? You know nothing of your own mind. How can you know what my people will see in you? Your dreams…”

  “There is no other way.”

  Volmay looked at him. “There is hope. Yes. You survived an attack on your mind—you were strong enough to withstand it. That is surprising. There is something in you that carried you through. There is hope in that.”

  “I’d like to know myself what that something is.”

  “Yes. It is good for a man to know himself; I cannot imagine living otherwise. But my people are afraid. It will be very hard for them not to find evil in you. Do you understand that?”

  “I understand. We are the same way, when we are afraid.”

  “And you are not afraid any longer?”

  “I’m scared to death. But I’m more afraid of not trying.”

  “You will be very helpless, my friend. I would not want to be the cause of more harm coming to you.”

  “You have agreed that there is no other way.”

  “That is true.”

  “Then you must take me to the village and explain to them. Or if the time is wrong for the village, take me to the men.”

  Volmay looked at him with new interest. “You have learned about us.”

  He felt an odd thrill of pride, as though he had been given a professional compliment.

  “Very well.” the old man looked up into the trees. He squinted his eyes as though concentrating. He did not speak for a long minute. Monte followed his gaze and saw one of the little reddish-brown animals hiding in the branches, its huge eyes peering down at Volmay. He only caught a glimpse of the creature before it disappeared.

  “I have sent a message,” Volmay said. “All will be ready.”

  “Thank you.”

  The old man stood up and moved toward the tree. “We will eat together now. Then we will sleep. In the morning, we will go.”

  Monte followed him into the hollow tree.

  It was high noon when they reached the village. The white furnace of the sun hung suspended in the middle of the sky, as though reluctant to move on. The eroded brown rock walls of the canyon reflected the light like smudged and ancient mirrors. The waterfall at the head of the canyon was an oasis of coolness, and the silver-flecked stream that snaked across the canyon floor looked familiar and eternal and inviting.

  The cave-eyes of tunnels and rock shelters watched them from the gray and brown rock faces of the cliffs.

  In a sense, everything was just as it had been before—and yet it was all different, completely different. There were no children playing down along the river, no people going about the seemingly aimless tasks of everyday living.

  There was an air of taut expectancy in the village.

  There was an aura of fear and suspicion and waiting.

  The Merdosi had built a great fire on a ledge of rock that jutted out over the canyon. They had all gathered around the leaping flames in a circle of naked bodies and dark, staring eyes.

  Monte followed Volmay up a twisting trail. He could not face the eyes that watched him. He looked at his feet and walked steadily forward.

  He felt naked, exposed, alone.

  He could find nothing in himself to cling to, nothing to help him.

  He was beyond comfort, beyond science, beyond reason.

  He was on trial, on trial before an alien judge and an alien jury. He did not know their standards of right and wrong, guilt and innocence. He did not even know what he had done, or had not done. He did not know what he was.

  And through him all the people of Earth were on trial. Who was he to offer himself as the representative of a world? Surely, there were better men…

  But if you really knew all there was to know about any man on Earth, would you invite him into your home?

  He walked through the circle of eyes and stood with his back to the flames. It was very hot. He did not know whether or not he could stand it.

  A young man with vertical blue stripes painted on his naked chest stood before him. He held out a gourd that was filled with a dark and fragrant liquid.

  “Drink,” the man said. “Drink and let your mind be open. It is the way.”

  Monte lifted the gourd to his lips and drank the stuff down. It tasted like heavy wine.

  The fire blazed beneath him. The circle of eyes pressed closer, closer…

  The sky began to spin.

  I will not hide. I will let them in. I want them to know, to see, to share…

  Black darkness and white light, all mixed up together.

  Eyes.

  They were in his mind, staring.

  17

  Knock knock.

  “Who’s there?”

  Art.

  “Art who?”

  Art I fact!

  (Laughter.)

  WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME? WHO AM I?

  There. There you are. See? You are still Monte Stewart. I am Monte Stewart. When the mind is confronted with something totally new it interprets it in terms of an analogue…

  IS THIS AN ANALOGUE?

  Call it what you will. Look. Listen.

  Question: Is this what you have hidden all your life, kept sealed up inside of you?

  Answer: Yes. I am ashamed. I was ashamed.

  (Laughter.)

  Q: Don’t you know how small it is, how trivial?

  A: I didn’t know.

  Q: You know so much and so little. Are these the names you are trying to show us? Judas? Pizarro? Hitler?

  A: Those are some of the names.

  Q: Einstein? Tolstoy? Ghandi?

  A: Those are some of the names.

  (Snapshot: An ugly mushroom cloud, shadows pressed into concrete.)

  Q: That is the hydrogen bomb?

  A: Not that one. Only an atomic bomb. We used it twice.

  (Snapshot: A beagle puppy in an animal shelter. A kid with big round eyes. The puppy wags its white-flagged tail.)

  Q: Merdosini?

  A: Only a pet.

  Music.

  Q: What is that?

  A: Swan Lake. The Original Dixieland One-Step. Stardust. John Henry. Scheherazade. The Streets of Laredo.

  Q: What is anthropology?

  A: The stud
y of man.

  (Laughter.)

  Q: What is this Exhibit A you keep thinking about? A: It is evidence in a trial.

  Q: A trial?

  A: In a court of law.

  Q: Law?

  CONFUSION. A MAN IS INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY! A MAN HAS THE RIGHT TO CONFRONT HIS ACCUSER! THEY USED TO CHOP OFF YOUR HEAD IF YOU STOLE A RABBIT!

  Q: Why did you come here, to Walonka?

  A: We have been searching for men like ourselves.

  Q: Why?

  A: I don’t know. We gave each other many reasons. Perhaps because the universe is vast and man is small.

  Q: You needed us?

  A: That was a part of it. And there was the excitement…

  Q: Like music?

  A: Like music.

  (A child’s thought: “He’s funny! He’s funny!” And a mother-thought: “That’s not nice!”)

  Q: Why do you smoke a pipe?

  (Laughter. His laughter.)

  Q: What is another world?

  A: Earth is another world.

  Q: Where is the Earth?

  (Snapshot: Stars like fireflies in a great night. Empty miles lost in darkness. Round green islands floating, shining through necklaces of white clouds.)

  A: It is far away.

  Q: There were people like us on your world once?

  A: No, not like you.

  Q: But people who did not live as you live?

  A: Yes.

  Q: Why do you call them primitive?

  CHAOS. TARZAN SWINGS ON A VINE, FLEXING HIS BICEPS. “ME MAN, YOU GIRL.” A NEANDERTHAL SCRATCHES HIS HIDE AND PEERS FROM HIS CAVE. A MAN DRESSED IN SKINS, WORKING BY THE LIGHT OF A STONE LAMP, PAINTS ON A ROCK WALL DEEP BENEATH THE EARTH. AN INDIAN PRAYS TO THE SUN. AN OLD ESKIMO MAN CRAWLS OUT ON THE ICE TO DIE.

  Q: What happened to these people on your Earth? A: Some were killed, hunted down like animals. Some were put on reservations. Some were only—changed. Q: Will this not happen to us, if your people come? A: No! No! I don’t think so.

  O: Why?

  A: We have changed, we have grown up.