Into the Green Prism

by A. Hyatt Verrill

  As we turned the prism, the donkey, followed by the dog, raced past the outlying houses and dashed pell-mell into the village. If a full grown Megatherium in chase of a Dinosaur should suddenly appear in the center of New York, and should rush down Broadway, it could not create greater consternation and excitement than the unheralded apparitions of the burro and the dog in the Indian village. Never before had the villagers seen such beasts. To their eyes, no doubt, they appeared gigantic, ferocious monsters. With one accord every man, woman and child in sight dropped whatever they were doing, and screaming—although of course their terrified cries were inaudible to us—they dashed headlong for the temple. Pushing and crowding, tumbling over one another in their panic, heedless of everything but to reach the sacred precincts and the protection of their gods, they streamed from the village, and in an instant the burro and dog were left in sole and undisputed possession of the scene.

  We both roared with laughter. It was like a comic movie, and yet I was at heart deeply sorry for the poor people who must have been frightened out of their wits.

  Fortunately, however, the two beasts did not take it into their heads to follow the crowd or to approach the temple. Once more amid familiar scenes and in the presence of Indians to whom he was accustomed, the burro halted and, seeing a bundle of some vegetables dropped by the fleeing inhabitants, he at once helped himself and began feeding as unconcernedly as though he had been there all his life. And the dog, now that his mission was done and he had successfully brought the donkey to the village, abandoned the burro and, sniffing about, at last threw himself down in the shade of a house, perfectly at home.

  Meanwhile, from their refuge in the temple, the Indians were watching with mingled fear and curiosity to see what the next move of the two creatures would be. And, realizing how the two beasts must have appeared to him, I could not but admire the courage of the high-priest who, pushing his way through the crowd, descended the temple steps and. holding aloft his golden emblem, advanced slowly towards the two animals, as if to exorcise them.

  At that moment Kora appeared. I heard Ramon's short, indrawn breath as he caught sight of her, and again I felt the blood rush to my temples as I gazed upon her. For an instant she hesitated, glancing about as if wondering what had caused the excitement. Then she caught sight of the two strange beasts and I saw her start. But there was no terror, no fear in her eyes. Almost at the same instant the dog saw her. His stumpy tail wagged furiously, and springing to his feet, he leaped forward, fawning and barking. To us, familiar with the ways of dogs, he was very obviously intent on making friends with the princess. But to her he must have seemed a very terrible monster about to attack her. But Kora did not shrink, did not retreat. Though her face paled, she stood her ground, and we knew by their attitudes and expressions that a wail of despair arose from the watching people who expected to see their beloved princess torn to bits and devoured before their horrified eyes.

  Then a strange, though perfectly natural, thing happened. The dog cowered at her feet, wagging his tail. nuzzling her ankles, rolling on the ground like a playful puppy anxious for a patting, and Kora, as though she had all her life been accustomed to dogs, bent and patted the creature's head.

  I would have given a great deal to have been able to hear the shout that must have arisen from the Indians’ throats as they saw this seeming miracle. But even if we could not hear them, we could see them as, with one accord, they prostrated themselves in adoration of their princess and her seemingly supernatural powers.

  But I doubt if Kora heard or saw them. She glanced once more at the complacently feeding burro and then, as if drawn by some irresistible force, she turned slowly until she faced us, and lifting her face, gazed steadily towards us. Slowly her lips parted in a happy smile, and into her wonderful eyes came a look of ineffable happiness and joy.

  "Dios en cielo!" gasped Ramon, "She knows! She sees! Oh, Kora, Sumak Nusta! I come—apecha uarcu cuel tak huam ira oka Kora."

  With a wild longing cry he threw out his arms as though to clasp the princess to his breast. He had forgotten where he was, had forgotten the prism. His arms knocked the crystal to one side, and village, people, Kora and all vanished.

  For a space he stood there, silent, intent, his eyes fixed upon the spot where the princess had stood. Then a deep breath that was almost a sob shook him. He ran his hand across his eyes, and slowly, as if going out of a trance, he came back to earth.

  "Now at last do you believe?" he asked in a hoarse half-whisper. "Now do you doubt, amigo mio? You have seen. The burro and the dog have survived, unharmed, unchanged except in size. So I, too, shall survive, unharmed, unaltered, except in size. Nothing can now restrain me. Soon I shall be with Kora. And did you see, amigo? Did you see her look at me? Can you longer doubt, can you longer question, that she knows I am here, that she is waiting for me, that she loves me?"

  I bowed my head to the inevitable, "No," I said slowly. "No, I cannot doubt now. How she knows of your presence, how she knows you are here, I cannot explain, I do not know. But little as I know of women, yet I know that no woman's eyes, no woman's lips can speak so eloquently of joy and of love save when she knows her beloved one is near and is gazing at her. And I can no longer raise an objection to your determination, Ramon. I have faith, I believe that you can accomplish your desire. But even if I felt you might fail, if I felt you might be destroyed, I would not try to dissuade you. No, Ramon, if I were in your place, if I knew that such a glorious being as Kora awaited me and loved me. I, weather-beaten old bachelor as I am, would take the step. May God be with you, Ramon, and may He bless you both."

  CHAPTER XIV

  Ramon was a changed man. He seemed to have been given a new lease on life, to have thrown years from his shoulders. He whistled, he sang, he fairly capered. He bad been through a terrible strain. He had worked almost beyond human endurance. He had, no doubt, been as worried, as troubled, over the outcome of our experiment as I had been. And now that it was over, now that it had proved successful, now that he felt assured that he could reduce himself to the minute dimensions of Kora's people, the reaction was terrific.

  He gabbled and chattered incessantly. He talked English, Spanish and Hualla by turn, and. had I not known it was an impossibility, I should have thought he was slightly intoxicated. For that matter, he was no doubt intoxicated with excitement, with joy, with love, and not with alcohol.

  "At once I must prepare the prism," he declared, as he calmed down a bit. "I must make it with extreme care. But did you see, did you notice, that the dog and the burro were of precisely the right proportions compared with the people?”

  I had, and I had vaguely wondered at it, and now that Ramon brought the matter up, I wondered still more. It was certainly remarkable that he had so calculated an unknown factor that both the animals had been reduced to precisely the right size, both in relation to each other and to the minute Indians.

  "Yes," I replied, "you did that most cleverly—or was it just luck?"' Ramon laughed. "Neither, amigo," he declared. "Do you not remember that the prism we used for the dog was of only two hundred diameters' power, whereas that which operated upon the burro was over five hundred? No, there is a feature of the prism that you do not yet grasp, that I knew nothing of, but that I now know, and that makes all much easier, much simpler, much surer. The fact is, my friend, that the Manabinite can reduce objects only to one definite size, to one hard and fast fraction of the original size. There is the secret, the wonder of it!"

  "You mean," I demanded, "that, no matter what the size of the prism may be, the result is the same as far as the dimensions of the reduced object are concerned!

  "Not the same dimensions," chuckled Ramon. "But the proportionate dimensions. No matter what sized or what powered prism we might have used, the dog in his reduced form would have been exactly the same size —a certain definite proportion to his original natural size. I feel sure of it. It could not be otherwise. And that is why my last doubts, my last fears are cast a
side. Now there is no question of any miscalculation, no question of my being reduced too much or not enough. I will be exactly the same size in proportion to my present size as Kora and her people are in proportion to normal people. And, amigo, I feel sure of another thing. It will amaze you. astonish you; it may arouse your ridicule and your doubts. But I feel it is a fact. Those Indians—those microscopic people were once normal; they were reduced by the same means which I shall use to reduce myself with!"

  I halted in my tracks and stared at Professor Amador in utter astonishment. "Now you are mad!" I declared. "Why, you know as well as I do that they are still living—in the same way as did the Manabis hundreds—thousands of years ago; that they could never have existed as normal-sized Indians. What got that insane notion into your head?'

  "You don't understand,'' he grinned. "I do not mean that those particular individuals—Kora included— were ever normal in size and were reduced. But their ancestors were. I can see it all now; I can understand everything. They knew the use of Manabinite. They used prisms of the mineral for making their gold heads, for doing their astounding sculptures. Perhaps they possessed vast quantities of it, perhaps they worshipped it and had a huge mass of it in their temple. Then, one day, probably by accident, the note that causes the Manabinite to exert its strange powers was made by some flute or some pipe, and instantly every person in the focal plane was reduced.

  "Possibly many escaped. Very probably only comparatively few were transformed to microscopic midgets. But those that remained were terrified. Their friends had vanished before their eyes. Also, their mass of Manabinite had vanished. To them the place was bewitched, filled with devils. Nothing could induce them to remain. They left, wandered far and wide, died out or were absorbed by other tribes, while, all unknown to them, their fellows remained here, invisible but unharmed. No doubt they had a hard time of it at first. All their metal objects, their stone implements had been left behind, for you have seen, amigo, that only animal matter is affected. The dog's pan was left behind, the rope with which we had thought of fastening him remained. So, as I say, they must have had a hard time of it. They had no tools, no weapons, no implements—probably no garments except their feathers, their rawhide sandals and perhaps woolen ponchos. But they retained their knowledge of their arts, their religion, their civilization, and with Indian stoicism and dogged determination, they went at it. For some reason—J do not pretend to say what— the reduced size was inherited, and so, through the ages, they have gone on, decreasing or increasing perhaps, but living, dying, being born microscopic Manabis. That, amigo mio, is the explanation; at least that is my theory. Have you a better one?"

  "No, I have not," I admitted. "Possibly you may be right. I cannot conceive of any human beings created so minute. And since I have witnessed the incredible happenings here, nothing seems too fantastic or remarkable. Personally I do not see any reason why it should not have been as you say. The only point is, whether a condition brought about by such artificial means is perpetuated by inheritance. Still it must have been if the people were originally normal and were reduced as you assume. It would be manifestly impossible for microscopic women to give birth to full-sized children, and preposterous to think of microscopic infants growing up to normal-sized adults. And, if your theory is correct, it might also account for the scarcity of the Manabinite and the absence of finished prisms."

  Thinking it over now, in my present surroundings, here in my library among my books, my papers and my pictures, looking back upon it while the roar of New York's traffic comes to my ears, with the phantasmal forms of great skyscrapers and vast apartment houses like dream-castles in the summer haze, with the honk of motor-horns sounding from the street below, the whole affair seems dreamy, unreal, almost ridiculous. To imagine myself calmly, seriously discussing the probability of men and women being bodily transformed to minute, invisible beings; to think of arguing on the chances of a fellow scientist being able to reduce himself to the same size, savors of a deranged mind and utter nonsense. At times I can scarcely convince myself that anything of the sort ever occurred, or that I personally ever actually witnessed the things I have described. But there is Ramon's violin, there is his beloved quena, there is the ingenious device he made for focussing and adjusting the Manabinite prism through which we viewed the princess and her people. There also, locked in the safe-deposit vault of the museum, is that great golden bead, and finally, there is the fact that Professor Amador has disappeared from the sight of men. But I am getting ahead of my story, am anticipating, though, after all, it makes little difference, for everyone knows he has gone, and my narrative was undertaken with the avowed intention of explaining his disappearance.

  But to resume. Though it all appears so dim, so unreal, so visionary now, yet, at the time, it seemed quite, natural and matter-of-fact to discuss Ramon's theory. As I have said, we had become accustomed to weird, incredible things, and nothing seemed either impossible or improbable.

  At all events, whether or not he was right in his surmises, it really made little difference. The all important matter, the tremendous, the dramatic feature of it all was Ramon's intended sacrifice; if such I may call it.

  And, for the next few days, all his efforts and attentions were centered on making his preparations for the climax of his lifetime. I aided him as much as possible—despite my inmost desire to hinder, to prevent him from carrying out his plans. But even when I was not devoting my services to his cause, I could not put my mind to anything else. I was restless, nervous, uneasy. I was about to lose a very dear and valued friend, no matter what happened. Regardless of what the ultimate result might be to him, there could be but one result as far as I was concerned. I had not the least doubt that he would vanish. To be sure, if, after he had gone, I looked through the prism and saw him happy and content with the princess, I need not grieve for him. But suppose I did not see him, never learned his fate? Even so, worrying would do no good, and though I could not control my uneasiness, my nerves, yet I did manage to put my worries and my pessimistic fears aside. After all, death is not the worst thing that can befall a man, and Ramon would not be the first to die for science or for love of a woman.

  He, however, was absolutely confident and was not in the least nervous. The only thing that troubled him was the necessary delay in making the prism. Although he insisted—and offered what I admitted were undeniable proofs—that neither the size nor the power of the prisms affected the size of the reduced objects, yet, for some reason or other, he was determined to make a large prism, the largest, in fact, of any, with the exception of the one through which we viewed the Indians. Indeed, he cast covetous eyes upon this, and even hinted that he might use it. But here I was adamant. I was bound that I would follow out my promise to see if he attained his goal, and I felt that I was warranted in insisting that I should at least have the satisfaction of knowing whether or not he survived his experiment.

  Besides, I could not see the sense in destroying the prism just to make a larger one, when, according to his own statements, a small prism would serve his purposes just as well.

  But, as I have said, Ramon at times could be as obstinate and as set in his ways as any pure-blooded aborigine, and this was one of those times. He had made up his mind to have a large prism and have it he would, even though he raved and ranted and complained over the time that slipped by. So much of the Manabinite had already been exhausted in our numerous tests that comparatively little remained. But there was the lens he had made, there were a number of small fragments, and very patiently and skillfully Ramon cut, ground and polished these, fitting the angular pieces together to form one prism, until at last he had produced a prism almost as large as the one we had preserved.

  "If you are wrong in your theory," I declared, "you will have made a great mistake in constructing a device of that size. Of course, if the power of magnification bears no relation to the power of reduction, then you are quite all right. But, Ramon, if you have erred, if there is any ratio be
tween the two, then you will be reduced far too much for Kora ever to see you."

  "I am not worrying over that," he assured me. "In the first place I am convinced that the size and power has no bearing on the scale of reduction, as I pointed out days ago. And in the second place, although this prism is larger than the others, its magnifying power is certainly no greater—possibly less. The quality of the mineral is inferior—I have foolishly used the best in my experiments—and a compound prism does not possess the power of a prism made from a single mass of mineral."

  ''Well, it's your affair, not mine," I said resignedly, "but I am anxious to see you successful and to know that you and the princess are happy. When do you expect to take the final step?"

  "Tomorrow," he announced. "I shall attempt it just after the birth of the sun ceremony, when Kora appears in the plaza."

  "I'm afraid you'll terrify the people as much as did the burro and the dog," I said. "And are you sure about your clothing? It would be rather embarrassing, to say the least, if you suddenly appeared before the princess and her maidens in a state of nature."

  Ramon laughed. "Don't think I haven't foreseen that," he assured me. "Animal matter of any kind responds to the prism, and I shall wear nothing but wool. In fact, I have decided to attire myself as nearly as possible like the Indians. I shall wear my Quichua poncho, my sandals, and a woven woolen llauto or headband. My great regret is that I must leave my violin behind. That, I feel sure, will not be reduced."

  Of course, during all this time, we had not failed to watch our friends of Kora's village. In fact, since the arrival of the donkey and the dog, we had been intensely interested in events that transpired there. As soon as the princess had demonstrated that the dog was friendly, the people had evidently taken courage, for when we next looked into the prism, we found them once again in their village, working and playing as usual, with the donkey near at hand and the dog frolicking among them. But we had to laugh at the transformation of the two, particularly the burro. Whether the people regarded the donkey as a deity or a gift from the gods, I do not know. But he was obviously looked upon as sacred. From head to tail he had been glorified. Brilliant feathers or objects resembling feathers, which I strongly suspected were the scales from the wings of some minute microlepidoptera (butterflies), adorned his ears. His head was almost concealed under gold ornaments; golden bands were around his legs; his brushy little tail was wound with bright-colored strings, and his shaggy body was clothed in a shimmering iridescent blanket. The dog was not so elaborately attired; probably he had resented being hampered and had ripped off most of his decorations; but he, too, was gay with colored streamers and a collar of gold beads.