by Jan Weiss
Are you looking for a bride
for a single wedding night?
We recommend U55
You can live for a thousand years on star P7
Heavenly drink on the moon of the fourth star Z22
You will never die on star P5
Then the ball lit up again and the signs disappeared. Only one remained, bright as the sun, above the entrance to a translucent palace with fluorescent edges and ledges in all the colours of the rainbow. It read:
UNIVERSE
Brok slipped through a door into a large room where the four walls welcomed him with a riot of colours. Paintings and maps covered the walls from floor to ceiling.
Orbit trajectories of suns and stars, the parabolic paths of comets, milky nebulae with names and numbers marking the bodies floating in them. A network of planetary transport where arterial roads in space crossed the trajectories of planets. Diagrams, tariffs, price lists and travel schedules. Models of planetary systems made of glass and metal. Plastic representations of fantastic landscapes overrun with rampant vegetation.
Is this flora or crystals of celestial minerals? Or are these perhaps the inhabitants of these stars? Is this a giants' rainforest or a colony of Lilliputians?
Then Brok stopped short. Among the suspect multi-coloured fairytale shapes that assailed him from all sides, he suddenly saw an image that made him feel as if someone were caressing him with a kind hand. What an unexpected surprise! A piece of — Earth! Squares of cultivated land in familiar colours, hills covered with forests in the background and, above them, blue dissolving into the distance... in the middle of the fields, a small chapel with a red roof and doors with round peepholes.
My God, it's as if I know this landscape from somewhere. It was long, long ago that I used to stand on tiptoe looking into these round eyes of the chapel. The sad scent of the past came wafting out of those round holes, and inside, in the quiet semi-darkness, a saint was standing at the altar. Which saint? And who was that person looking at him? And when? If only he could remember how it all was then! What were the connections? What happened between the chapel and the accursed staircase where he woke up one day, with no memory and no past?
The image of that chapel was somewhere at the back of his mind, having entered through his eyes. If only he could remember! Everything would immediately. But, look! Above the landscape was the sky with three large moons, each a different colour, red, green and orange. Underneath Brok read:
A Dutch colony on the moon III
of Star S1
No need to work.
Nature will work for you!
Native dwarfs will be your servants!
But wasn't discovering the truth the easiest thing in the world for Brok to do? All the doors in Mullerdom were open for him. All the secrets would turn grey before his eyes. All illusions would melt like snow falling into fire.
XV
The different categories of emigrants · The impoverished millionaire · The lecherous Lothario · Alva, the missionary · Abbé Lar · Frank Farani
A swarm of people are milling around a glass partition with a row of small windows. It is enough to stand by one of the windows and listen. "I used to be a millionaire," says a red-haired man in tattered clothes. "Las Abela, have you heard of me? I used to own factories making engines, cars and aircraft. Then I decided — the devil himself gave me the idea — to compete with our Lord Muller. For two years I persisted, spent millions — and lost. Now I'm bankrupt. And I deserve it! I had no choice but to seek shelter in Mullerdom to avoid having to beg. Blessed be Ohisver Muller, our benefactor who takes pity on his enemies and gives them shelter and nutritious cubes!"
"Cut it short, Sir! We're busy here," hissed the man behind the partition impatiently. "Where do you wyyyant to go and how much can you spend?"
"I want wealth. Here, on our benefactor's planet, I wouldn't dare go into anything big. But I saw off a certain publican in West-Wester and saved a decent amount of mulldors, and now I can say I'm ready to start a new life on another planet. I hear that star R25 offers all the right conditions."
"Of course, on R25 you'll become another Muller. The star is young and peaceful; the natives are friendly and entirely defenceless. The going rate to get to R25 is 250 mulldors."
"I don't have that much," wailed the man in tattered clothes.
"Go for a cheaper star then. For instance, 80 mulldors will get you to S6, but don't forget to bring a fur coat!" "I don't want that!"
"Go to F1 then. A very fertile star, lots of vineyards, grapes with berries the size of your head. Unfortunately, the inhabitants have a strange smell but you'll soon get used to that."
"Why don't you cut the price by five mulldors?"
"Ask the seashell vendor to cut his price. We don't give discounts here!"
Las Abela disappeared and next came a powdered dandy in a white top hat and light grey tail coat. He had a golden jingle bell pinned to his blue tie with a pattern of stars, the latest fashion in Mullerdom. His face was suspiciously young and handsome, but his voice was that of an old man.
"I've had enough of women," he complained, "their bodies disgust me — you can't find anything new any more. The colours change — that's all. I'm looking for new shapes!" His fingers bent like claws and his nostrils quivered lasciviously.
The window smiled kindly.
"Here, have a look at some samples! Of course, not all of them are represented here. Some have bodies that are too different, with unusual forms, made of other substances, driven by different instincts, with different genders. On F9 they inseminate with their mouth, on B11 with a glance, on K12 by touching wings. On X6, they die during intercourse. On U12 they are transparent. On B3 their bodies are as hard as diamond. On H4 they flow, on S22 they burn, and on L7 they're completely invisible. How do you like this female here? She resembles a human being but her blood is cold. These here are the beauties of their species. They have only one breast, sharp as a dagger — you can cover it with a shield, of course — but look at the face! Beautiful — when you get used to it. Intercourse is possible, but no offspring. On T42 they're covered with thick white silky fur. Excellent cooks, they love alcohol, and they prefer to have intercourse with white men — they're terrified of blacks, you see. These, from M14, are really lascivious and understand our boys well. They're slender, like our schoolgirls."
This one, this's the one I want!" the young man gasped with passion. "That's where I'm going first!"
"M14 — 500 mulldors."
"Money is no object! But — when will I get back?" "In twelve months. You might not even want to come
back."
"I'll soon tire of these little girls — and then — the ones with white fur!"
The young man got his ticket and disappeared behind a purple curtain.
A man wearing a black habit with a red rope around his waist pushed his way to the window.
"My name is Richard Alva and I'm going to spread evangelical teachings on other planets," he started in a hollow, ascetic voice.
"You're welcome," came a cold reply, "as long as you have enough to pay with. Missionaries are known for haggling over the price."
"It's a matter of saving innocent beings. An angel of our Lord gave me the idea to depart without delay for L100 in the Chrysanthemum Galaxy. Those poor souls worship an old cracked porcelain pipe the first man threw away there."
"You can't go there. A missionary preaching Islam travelled there last week — and, as you know, having two roosters on one rubbish dump..."
"But think about it!" whined Alva. "Those poor souls will be led astray by a false prophet! They'll believe him and die forever! Let me go there at once before it's too late!"
The missionary leaned into the window, almost overbalancing, and thrust his clasped hands right under the agent's nose. But he got a frosty reply:
"Islam is a faith like any other!"
"But our faith is in danger!"
"All of you missionaries are difficult," the
agent sighed. "Do you think they're waiting for you there?" Why do you want to go to L100 of all places? You want to bring the light? Go to C6. It's pitch black there; the natives are blind and worship darkness. They won't be able to see you but they'll hear you perfectly well and you can perform your miracles as much as you please. I can also recommend E19. The locals are like lambs: they'll believe anything you tell them. You can be their messiah in no time. On K5 Abbé Lar was resurrected and they all agreed to be baptised at once. Frank Farani went to N22 with a circus — and guess what, he became a local god during the opening show. The whole circus troupe make excellent deities, the tent is a temple and the circus show serves as mass. What more do you want?"
The next customer is a landscape painter with a palette and dreamy eyes ready to see the glass bridges and pink waterfalls of W4. After him a smooth barber with a red goatee stiff with brilliantine, like a provocative advertising stunt. He's off to F88 where he'll preach and, with his own hand, spread the culture of combs, brushes, scalp oils and colognes among the hairy locals. A detective with a pipe is heading to K54 on the trail of a murderer. A fading film star wants to rise once more on a new sky and is on her way to cure old age on K7. An heiress is eloping with a penniless poet to L2, the planet of love. A golden-haired beauty is looking for her lover who had disappeared among the stars. A professor of botany with a beautiful sad-eyed wife and a merry knapsack on his shoulder is off to study the flora on F34. A tragic king without a throne is on a mission to find a new kingdom.
One after another, they disappear behind the screen, carrying luggage and clutching colourful tickets. They are crossing this last threshold of our world, never to return, these foolish emigrants leaving their native planet.
XVI
The lady in black · The treacherous necklace "Keep your face hidden..." · Brok takes a close look · "So I will become a princess among dwarfs... "
The last one to approach the window was a lady dressed in mourning, all in black as if she had been bathing in a starless night. Her face was covered with a heavy veil; she wore black gloves, breasts safe like a pair of ripening kernels in a still soft shell. Shoulders so thin they were almost sharp, a slender vase of hips, and shapely calves in black stockings disappearing in black lace. All this signalled youth, proud and glorious, although not a single ray of light escaped from her body.
She cast one last fearful glance around. She was the last customer. Without a word, she placed her passport on the counter. The agent looked at it, then he lifted his eyes from the photo to her face, grimacing when he encountered the black veil.
"Would you be so kind as to let me see the original?" "Is it necessary?" she asked in a low voice, hardly opening her mouth. Then she discreetly dropped a heavy pearl necklace on the counter. The agent grabbed it greedily and put on magnifying glasses to examine it thoroughly, pearl by pearl. Suddenly he laughed with two white fangs flashing in the wide gap of his mouth.
"You can keep your face hidden, Princess Tamara! The necklace betrayed you! You're running away from Gedonia!"
"You're lying!" the lady cried in alarm and her voice broke in the middle of the sentence like a fragile tree branch. The man behind the partition pretended not to hear.
"We have a warrant here for your arrest! Your passport is fake, made by Master Worke from Tiger Street!"
The princess stood there, black and motionless like darkness itself. The veil was hiding her facial expression. All that could be heard was a muffled cry. Then she pressed herself to the window, clasped her hands in front of her chest and whispered with urgency:
"Please, I beg you, don't betray me! I'll give you whatever you want. They've been preparing a terrible fate for me down there. Have mercy! Let me travel to L7! What do you want? This is everything I have."
The princess spilled the contents of her black handbag onto the counter. Among the pile of jewellery and diamonds gleamed her crown in the shape of a star, each point adorned with a large diamond.
"Is that enough?" she whispered, and then, as if she thought it was not, she revealed her face and smiled. It was a purely feminine gesture, to add the most precious jewel to that which she had already offered.
The invisible Brok had the opportunity to see her close up. What a magnificent smile she had! Her large dark blue eyes, shaded with long lashes, were the colour of a darkening sky. It was not just the colour but also their bold shape, difficult to define, that added to her exceptional exotic beauty. Her mouth, subtly wide, seductive and passionate, opened in a smile like a ripe red pod with a row of porcelain seeds. Maybe it was her youth that made her face so beautiful in its dissonance of proportion, and allowed the wide mouth to be so alluring.
The agent swept the treasures off the counter and gave her a cunning look.
"You can go then, but you won't escape Lord Muller! He'll pursue you from star to star."
"Give me a ticket to the most distant one. The last one."
"Our last stop is the Dwarf Stars in nebula ZB. Not bad, the solar system is similar to ours but in a pocket size. There's a sun a million times smaller than ours. And the planets dancing around it are the spitting image of our planet. The people living on ZB1 look just like us but smaller. One of them will fit into your handbag. But they're giants compared to their neighbours on ZB2. There, they are the size of ants. And the inhabitants of ZB3 were discovered in dust under a microscope. Which one will you choose?
"The first one, since I have no choice —"
"You'll find them to be intelligent, obedient little darlings. You'll feel like you're in a fairytale."
"But how will I hide if he follows me there?"
"You may be glad in the end if someone rescues you from the Lilliput Star. You're bound to grow tired of playing with them after a while. Here's your ticket."
"I will become the princess of dwarfs then," she sighed and disappeared behind the screen.
Brok followed her, close on her heels, full of curiosity which tickled his nostrils.
XVII
The waiting room at the gate to the universe · Λ pointless debate · "... the land of our Lord is everywhere..." · The velvet hall · Brok wants to rescue the princess
He emerged on the other side looking for an explanation. But he soon understood that between him and the truth stretched a very long white corridor through which he would have to carry the baggage of his curiosity for much longer.
White lamps overflowing with milky light, echoing steps, colliding voices, the emigrants' arms growing longer and longer with the weight of their suitcases, sacks and bags that get heavier with each moment until they begin to graze the floor. After a while, the distance stands still. A long, endless wait. — Then, at last! — Iron gates, solid and heavy, opening slowly and surely like the lid of a coffin. The protesting crowd, exhausted to the point of collapse, rushes through the gaping opening. The last to slip through was the princess followed by Brok. The gates closed behind them softly and irrevocably.
A desolate empty hall was filled with people. As if on cue, they all sat down on their luggage.
"I imagined it to be somewhat different," said the painter, his eyes darting around the empty walls as if looking for paintings.
"If at least they had benches to sit on," complained the missionary who was afraid to sit on his fragile bag. "I have a monstrance in it, chalices and crosses wrapped in vestments," he explained to the detective. "They might get damaged."
The detective rolled his pipe between his teeth with an expression of incomprehension.
"My word!" he said. "This is supposed to be the waiting room at the gates of the universe? This is what waiting rooms in almshouses look like!"
"This is how things end up when you don't distinguish between gold and wealth. On my travels around the world, I used to sit exclusively in first class, in submarines, on boats and airships. I can afford it," said the young dandy. Then he winced and dusted the sleeve of his light grey tail coat when an old lady brushed against him as she pushed her way a
cross the hall to the other end. "Stop pushing, old hag!"
The tall old lady proudly raised her white head. Her hair, parted in the middle, resembled the silver shards of a flying beetle. On top of her head sat a ridiculous little hat, held in place with a black velvet ribbon tied under her chin.
"I am Countess Kokočínová!" she said self-important-ly and looked at the arrogant youth through a gold lorgnette."
"Oh, forgive me, Your Highness, I had no idea..." The young man offered an exaggerated apology and lifted his white top hat with ironic gallantry.
"My age creates a lot of problems.," said the Countess in a conciliatory tone.
"And where is your Highness travelling to?" "Me? I'm going to L70!" "My word! — The star of love!"
The old lady tapped him coquettishly with her lorgnette.
"You rascal! The star of youth, not love! I'm going to get my youth back. Is it far?"
"Twenty mullerens. I'm not sure you'll live long enough to get there," the ex-millionaire Las Abela said sarcastically.
"But they told me it only takes three nights," the old lady was concerned.
That's possible, but don't forget that time is different in other galaxies, and the ageing process is different there, too, than under our sun."
"Everywhere is our Lord's land," the missionary chipped in. "If it is his will, you will die in Christ on the Cross. I am carrying him with me," he said and piously glanced at his bag. "I even have the holy oil with me for the last rites. Don't worry at all..."
"And I will perfume you for your coffin," said the barber and squeezed the rubber ball of a perfume flacon in her face. A shower of exotic fragrance reached everyone's dry nostrils.
"Me too, me too," cried the pink doll of a girl, suddenly and passionately wanting to smell nice in the arms of her lover.
