Return From the Stars by Stanisław Lem
"Bregg … tell me, what did you all expect of us? Of Earth?"
"I have no idea. I never thought about it. It was like someone talking about the hereafter or heaven: it would come, but none of us could picture it. Doctor—enough. Let's not talk about it. I did want to ask you one thing. This betrization … what exactly is it?"
"What do you know about it?"
I told him, but said nothing of how or from whom I had acquired my knowledge.
"Yes," he said, "that is more or less so, in the popular conception."
"And I…?"
"The law makes an exception in your case, because the betrization of adults can affect the health and even be dangerous. Besides which, it is considered—rightly, in my opinion—that you have passed a test … of moral attitude. And, in any event, there are so few of you."
"Doctor, one more thing. You mentioned women. Why did you say that to me? But perhaps I am taking up too much of your time."
"No, you're not. Why did I say that? Who can a man be close to, Bregg? To his parents. His children. Friends. A woman. You have neither parents nor children. You cannot have friends."
"Why?"
"I was not thinking of your comrades, although I don't know if you would want to be constantly in their company, to remember…"
"God, no! Never!"
"And so? You know two eras. In the first you spent your youth, and the second you will get to know soon enough. If we include those ten years, your experience cannot be compared with that of people your age. You cannot be on an equal footing with them. What then? Are you to live among old people? That leaves women, Bregg. Only women."
"Perhaps just one," I muttered.
"Ah, just one is difficult nowadays."
"How so?"
"Ours is a period of prosperity. Translated into the language of sexual matters this means: arbitrariness. Because you cannot acquire love or women for … money. Material factors have ceased to exist here."
"And this you call arbitrariness? Doctor!"
"Yes. No doubt you think—since I spoke of buying love—that I meant prostitution, whether concealed or in the open. No. That now belongs to the distant past. Once, success used to attract a woman. A man could impress her with his salary, his professional qualifications, his social position. In an egalitarian society that is not possible. With one or two exceptions. If, for example, you were a realist…"
"I am a realist."
The doctor smiled.
"The word has another meaning now. A realist is an actor appearing in the real. Have you been to the real?"
"No."
"Take in a couple of melodramas and you will understand what the criteria for sexual selection are today. The most important thing is youth. That is why everyone struggles for it so much. Wrinkles and gray hair, especially when premature, evoke the same kind of feelings as leprosy did, centuries ago…"
"But why?"
"It is hard for you to understand. But arguments based on reason are powerless against prevailing customs. You fail to appreciate how many factors, once decisive in the erotic sphere, have vanished. Nature abhors a vacuum; other factors had to take their place. Consider, for example, something you have become accustomed to, so accustomed that you no longer see the exceptional nature of the phenomenon: risk. It does not exist any more, Bregg. A man cannot impress a woman with heroics, with reckless deeds, and yet literature, art, our whole culture for centuries was nourished by this current: love in the face of adversity. Orpheus went to Hades for Eurydice. Othello killed for love. The tragedy of Romeo and Juliet… Today there is no tragedy. Not even the possibility of it. We eliminated the hell of passion, and then it turned out that in the same sweep, heaven, too, had ceased to be. Everything is now lukewarm, Bregg."
"Lukewarm?"
"Yes. Do you know what even the unhappiest lovers do? They behave sensibly. No impetuosity, no rivalry…"
"You mean to say all that has disappeared?" I asked. For the first time I felt a kind of superstitious dread of this world. The old doctor was silent.
"Doctor, it's not possible. Really?"
"Yes, really. And you must accept it, Bregg, like air, like water. I said that it is difficult to have just one woman. For a lifetime it is practically impossible. The average length of a marriage is roughly seven years. And that represents progress. Half a century ago, it was less than four…"
"Doctor, I don't want to take up your time. What do you advise me to do?"
"What I mentioned before: restore the original color of your hair. It sounds trivial, I know. But it is important. I am embarrassed to be giving you such advice. Embarrassed not for myself. But what can I…?"
"Thank you. Really. One last thing. Tell me, how do I look out on the street? To the people on the street? What is there about me…?"
"Bregg, you are Different. First, there is your size. Something out of the Iliad. Antediluvian proportions. It could even be an opportunity, although you know, don't you, the fate of those who are too different?"
"I know."
"You are a little too big. I do not remember such people even in my youth. You look now like a very tall man dressed terribly, but it is not that the clothes hang badly on you, it is just because you are so incredibly well muscled. Before the voyage, too?"
"No, doctor. It was the two g's, you understand."
"That is possible…"
"Seven years. Seven years of doubled weight. My muscles had to become enlarged, the respiratory, the abdominal, and I know the size of my neck. But otherwise I would have suffocated like a rat. They were working even while I slept. Even in hibernation. Everything weighed twice as much. That was the reason."
"The others, too? Excuse me for asking, it is my medical curiosity… Yours was the longest expedition there ever was, you know."
"I know. The others? Olaf is pretty much like me. No doubt it depends on the skeleton; I was always broad. Arder was larger. Over two meters. Yes, Arder… What was I saying? The others—well, I was the youngest and therefore able to adapt better. That at least is what Venturi said… Are you familiar with the work of Janssen?"
"Am I? It is a classic for us, Bregg."
"Really? That's funny. He was one lively little doctor… I took seventy-nine g's for a second and a half for him, did you know that?"
"Are you serious?"
I smiled.
"I have it in writing. But that was a hundred and thirty years ago. Now forty would be too much for me."
"Bregg, today no one could take twenty!"
"Why? Because of the betrization?"
He was silent. It seemed to me that he knew something but did not want to tell me. I got up.
"Bregg," he said, "since we are on the subject: be careful."
"Of what?"
"Of yourself and of others. Progress never comes free. We've rid ourselves of a thousand dangers, conflicts, but for that we had to pay. Society has softened, while you are … you can be hard. Do you understand me?"
"I do," I said, thinking of the man in the restaurant the night before who had laughed but fell silent when I walked up to him.
"Doctor," I said suddenly, "I just remembered… I met a lion last night. Two lions, in fact. Why did they do nothing to me?"
"There are no predators now, Bregg… Betrization… You met them last night? And what did you do?"
"I scratched their necks," I said and showed him how. "But that Iliad business, doctor, is an exaggeration. I was badly frightened. What do I owe you?"
"I wouldn't think of it. And if you ever need…"
"Thank you."
"But don't put if off too long," he added, almost to himself, as I was leaving. Only on the stairs did I realize what that meant: he was nearly ninety.
I went back to the hotel. In the hall was a barber. A robot, of course. I had it cut my hair. I was pretty shaggy, with a lot of hair over the ears. The temples were the grayest. When it was done, it seemed to me that I looked a little less savage. In a melodious voice th
"No," I said.
"Aprex?"
"What is that?"
"For wrinkles."
I hesitated. I felt stupid, but perhaps the doctor had been right.
"Go ahead," I agreed. It covered my face with a layer of sharp-smelling jelly that hardened into a mask. Afterward I lay under compresses, glad that my face was covered.
I went upstairs; the packages with the liquid clothing were already lying in my room. I stripped and went into the bathroom, where there was a mirror.
Yes. I could strike terror. I had not known that I looked like a circus strongman. Indented pectorals, torso, I was knotted all over. When I lifted my arm and flexed the chest, a scar as wide as the palm of my hand appeared on it. I tried to see the other, near the shoulder blade, for which I had been called a lucky bastard, because if the splinter had gone three centimeters more to the left it would have shattered my spine. I punched the plank of my stomach.
"Animal," I said to the mirror. I wanted a bath, a real one, not in the ozone wind, and looked forward to the swimming pool at the villa. I decided to dress in one of my new things, but somehow could not part with my trousers. So I put on only the white sweater, although I much preferred my old black one tattered at the elbows, and went to the restaurant.
Half the tables were occupied. I passed through three rooms to reach the terrace; from there I could see the great boulevards, the endless streams of gleeders; under the clouds, like a mountain peak, blue in the distant air, stood the Terminal.
I ordered lunch.
"What will you have?" asked the robot. It wanted to give me a menu.
"It doesn't matter," I replied. "A regular lunch."
It was only when I began to eat that I noticed that the tables around me were vacant. I had automatically sought seclusion. I had not even realized it. I did not know what I was eating. I was no longer certain that what I had decided on was good. A vacation, as if I wanted to reward myself, seeing as no one else had thought of it. The waiter approached noiselessly.
"Mr. Bregg?"
"Yes."
"You have a visitor—in your room."
"A visitor?"
I thought at once of Nais. I drank the rest of the dark, bubbling liquid and got up, feeling stares at my back as I left. It would have been nice to saw off about ten centimeters. In my room sat a young woman I had never seen before. A fluffy gray dress, a red whimsy around her arms.
"I am from Adapt," she said. "I spoke with you today."
"Ah, so that was you?"
I stiffened a little. What did they want of me now?
She sat down. And I sat down slowly.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine. I went to a doctor today, and he examined me. Everything is in working order. I have rented myself a villa. I want to do a little reading."
"Very wise. Clavestra is ideal for that. You will have mountains, quiet…"
She knew that it was Clavestra. Were they spying on me, or what? I sat motionless, waiting.
"I brought you … something from us."
She pointed to a small package on the table.
"It is our latest thing." She spoke with an animation that seemed artificial. "Before going to sleep you set this machine, and in the course of a dozen nights or so you learn, in the easiest possible way, without any effort, a great many useful things."
"Really? That's good," I said. She smiled at me. And I smiled, the well-behaved pupil.
"You are a psychologist?"
"Yes. You guessed."
She hesitated. I saw that she wanted to say something.
"Go ahead."
"You won't be angry with me?"
"Why should I be angry?"
"Because … you see … the way you are dressed is a bit…"
"I know. But I like these trousers. Maybe in time…"
"Ah, no, not the trousers. The sweater."
"The sweater?" I was surprised. "They made it for me today. It's the latest word in fashion, isn't it?"
"Yes. Except that you shouldn't have inflated it. May I?"
"Please," I said quite softly. She leaned forward in her chair, poked me lightly in the chest with straightened fingers, and let out a faint cry.
"What do you have there?"
"Other than myself, nothing," I answered with a crooked smile.
She clutched the fingers of her right hand with her left and stood up. Suddenly my calm, invested with a malicious satisfaction, became like ice.
"Why don't you sit down?"
"But… I'm terribly sorry, I…"
"Forget it. Have you been with Adapt long?"
"It's my second year."
"Aha—and your first patient?" I pointed a finger at myself. She blushed a little.
"May I ask you something?"
Her eyelids fluttered. Did she think that I would ask her out?
"Certainly."
"How do they work it so that the sky is visible at every level of the city?"
She perked up.
"Very simple. Television—that is what they called it, long ago. On the ceilings are screens. They transmit what is above the Earth—the sky, the clouds…"
"But surely the levels are not that high," I said. "Forty-story buildings stand there…"
"It is an illusion," she said, smiling. "The buildings are only partly real; their continuation is an image. Do you understand?"
"I understand how it's done, but not the reason."
"So that the people living on each level do not feel deprived. Not in any way."
"Aha," I said. "Yes, that's clever. One more thing. I'll be shopping for books. Could you suggest a few works in your field? An overview…?"
"You want to study psychology?" She was surprised.
"No, but I'd like to know what has been accomplished in all this time."
"I'd recommend Mayssen," she said.
"What is that?"
"A school textbook."
"I would prefer something larger. Abstracts, monographs—it's always better to go to the source."
"That might be too … difficult."
I smiled politely.
"Perhaps not. What would the difficulty be?"
"Psychology has become very mathematical…"
"So have I. At least, up to the point where I left off, a hundred or so years ago. Do I need to know more?"
"But you are not a mathematician."
"Not by profession, but I studied the subject. On the Prometheus. There was a lot of spare time, you know."
Surprised, disconcerted, she said no more. She gave me a piece of paper with a list of titles. When she had gone, I returned to the desk and sat down heavily. Even she, an employee of Adapt… Mathematics? How was it possible? A wild man. I hate them, I thought. I hate them. I hate them. Whom did I hate? I did not know. Everyone. Yes, everyone. I had been tricked. They sent me out, not knowing themselves what they were doing. I should not have returned, like Venturi, Arder, Thomas, but I did return, to frighten them, to walk about like a guilty conscience that no one wants. I am useless, I thought. If only I could cry. Arder knew how. He said you should not be ashamed of tears. Maybe I had lied to the doctor. I had never told anyone about that, but I was not sure whether I would have done it for anyone else. Perhaps I would have. For Olaf, later. But I was not completely sure of that. Arder! They destroyed us and we believed in them, feeling the entire time that Earth was by us, present, had faith in us, was mindful of us. No one spoke of it. Why speak of what is obvious?
I got up. I couldn't sit still. I walked from corner to corner.
Enough. I opened the bathroom door, but there was no water, of course, to splash on my face. Stupid. Hysterics.
I went back to the room and started to pack.
THREE
spent the afternoon in a bookstore. There were no books in it. None had been printed for nearly half a century. And how I had looked forward to them, after the microfilms that made up the l
The originals—crystomatrices—were not to be seen; they were kept behind pale blue enameled steel plates. So a book was printed, as it were, every time someone needed it. The question of printings, of their quantity, of their running out, had ceased to exist. Actually, a great achievement, and yet I regretted the passing of books. On learning that there were secondhand bookshops that had paper books, I went and found one. I was disappointed; there were practically no scientific works. Light reading, a few children's books, some sets of old periodicals.
I bought (one had to pay only for the old books) a few fairy tales from forty years earlier, to find out what were considered fairy tales now, and I went to a sporting-goods store. Here my disappointment had no limit. Athletics existed in a stunted form. Running, throwing, jumping, swimming, but hardly any combat sports. There was no boxing now, and what they called wrestling was downright ridiculous, an exchange of shoves instead of a respectable fight. I watched one world-championship match in the projection room of the store and thought I would burst with anger. At times I began laughing like a lunatic. I asked about American free-style, judo, ju-jitsu, but no one knew what I was talking about. Understandable, given that soccer had died without heirs, as an activity in which sharp encounters and bodily injuries came about. There was hockey, but it wasn't hockey! They played in outfits so inflated that they looked like enormous balls. It was entertaining to see the two teams bounce off each other, but it was a farce, not a match. Diving, yes, but from a height of only four meters. I thought immediately of my own (my own!) pool and bought a folding springboard, to add on to the one that would be at Clavestra. This disintegration was the work of betrization. That bullfights, cockfights, and other bloody spectacles had disappeared did not bother me, nor had I ever been an enthusiast of professional boxing. But the tepid pap that remained did not appeal to me in the least. The invasion of technology in sports I had tolerated only in the tourist business. It had grown, especially, in underwater sports.