“If Schiaparelli is right there’d be perpetual day on one side of her and perpetual night on the other?”
He nodded, musing. “It’d be a funny frontier,” he said presently. “Just think of its You’d come to a country of eternal twilight, getting colder and darker every mile you went. And then presently you wouldn’t be able to go farther because there’d be no more air. I wonder can you stand in the day, just on the right side of the frontier, and look into the night which you can never reach? And perhaps see a star or two-the only place you could see them, for of course in the Day-Lands they would never be visible . . . Of course if they have a scientific civilisation they may have diving-suits or things like submarines on wheels for going into the Night.”
His eyes sparkled, and even I, who had been mainly thinking of how I should miss him and wondering what chances there were of my ever seeing him again, felt a vicarious thrill of wonder and of longing to know. Presently he spoke again.
“You haven’t yet asked me where you come in,” he said. “Do you mean I’m to go too?” said I, with a thrill of exactly the opposite kind.
“Not at all. I mean you are to pack me up, and to stand by to unpack me when I return-if all goes well.”
“Pack you? Oh, I’d forgotten about that coffin affair. Ransom, how on earth are you going to travel in that thing? What’s the motive power? What about air-and food-and water? There’s only just room for you to lie in it.”
“The Oyarsa of Malacandra himself will be the motive power. He will simply move it to Venus. Don’t ask me how. I have no idea what organs or instruments they use. But a creature who has kept a planet in its orbit for several billions of years will be able to manage a packing-case!”
“But what will you eat? How will you breathe?”
“He tell me [sic] I shall need to do neither. I shall be in some Mate of suspended animation, as far as I can make out. I can’t understand him when he tries to describe it. But that’s his affair.”
“Do you feel quite happy about it?” said I, for a sort of horror was beginning once more to creep over me.
“If you mean, Does my reason accept the view that he will (accidents apart) deliver me safe on the surface of Perelandra? I lie answer is Yes,” said Ransom. “If you mean, Do my nerves and my imagination respond to this view?-I’m afraid the answer is No. One can believe in anaesthetics and yet feel in a panic when they actually put the mask over your face. I think I feel as a than who hclieves in the future life feels when lie is taken out to face. a firing party. Perhaps it’s good practice.”
“And I’m to pack you into that accursed thing?” said I. “Yes,” said Ransom. “That’s the first step. We must get out into the garden as soon as the sun is up and point it so that there are no trees or buildings in the way. Across the cabbage bed will do. Then I get in-with a bandage across my eyes, for those walls won’t keep out all the sunlight once I’m beyond the air-and you screw me down. After that, I think you’ll just see it glide off.”
“And then?”
“Well, then comes the difficult part. You must hold yourself in readiness to come down here again the moment you are summoned, to take off the lid and let me out when I return.”
“When do you expect to return?”
“Nobody can say. Six months-a year-twenty years. That’s the trouble. I’m afraid I’m laying a pretty heavy burden on you.”
“I might be dead.”
“I know. I’m afraid part of your burden is to select a successor: at once, too. There are four or five people whom we can trust.”
“What will the summons be?”
“Oyarsa will give it. It won’t be mistakable for anything else. You needn’t bother about that side of it. One other point. I’ve no particular reason to suppose I shall come back wounded. But just in case-if you can find a doctor whom we can let into the secret, it might be just as well to bring him with you when you come down to let me out.”
“Would Humphrey do?”
“The very man. And now for some more personal matters. I’ve had to leave you out of my will, and I’d like you to know why.”
“My dear chap, I never thought about your will till this moment.”
“Of course not. But I’d like to have left you something. The reason I haven’t, is this. I’m going to disappear. It is possible I may not come back. It’s just conceivable there might be a murder trial, and if so one can’t be too careful. I mean, for your sake. And now for one or two other private arrangements.”
We laid our heads together and for a long time we talked about those matters which one usually discusses with relatives and not with friends. I got to know a lot more about Ransom than I had known before, and from the number of odd people whom he recommended to my care, “If ever I happened to be able to do anything”, I came to realise the extent and intimacy of his charities. With every sentence the shadow of approaching separation and a kind of graveyard gloom began to settle more emphatically upon us. I found myself noticing and loving all sorts of little mannerisms and expressions in him such as we notice always in a woman we love, but notice in a man only as the last hours of his leave run out or the date of the probably fatal operation draws near. I felt our nature’s incurable incredulity; and could hardly believe that what was now so dose so tangible and (in a sense) so much at my command, would in a few hours be wholly inaccessible, an image-soon, even an elusive image-in my memory. And finally a sort of shyness fell between us because each knew what the other was feeling. It had got very cold.
“We must be going soon,” said Ransom.
“Not till he-the Oyarsa-comes back,” said I-though, indeed, now that the thing was so near I wished it to be over.
“He has never left us,” said Ransom, “he has been in the cottage all the time.”
“You mean he has been waiting in the next room all these hours?”
“Not waiting. They never have that experience. You and I are conscious of waiting, because we have a body that grows tired or restless, and therefore a sense of cumulative duration. Also we can distinguish duties and spare time and therefore have a conception of leisure. It is not like that with him. He has been here all this time, but you can no more call it waiting than you can call the whole of his existence waiting. You might as well say that a tree in a wood was waiting, or the sunlight waiting on the side of a hill.” Ransom yawned. “I’m tired,” he said, “and so are you. I shall sleep well in that coffin of mine. Come. Let us lug it out.”
We went into the next room and I was made to stand before the featureless flame which did not wait but just was, and there, with Ransom as our interpreter, I was in some fashion presented and with my own tongue sworn in to this great business. Then we took down the blackout and let in the grey, comfortless morning. Between us we carried out the casket and the lid, so cold they seemed to burn our fingers. There was a heavy dew on the grass and my feet were soaked through at once. The eldil was with us, outside there, on the little lawn; hardly visible to my eyes at all in the daylight. Ransom showed me the clasps of the lid and how it was to be fastened on, and then there was some miserable hanging about, and then the final moment when he went back into the house and reappeared, naked; a tall, white, shivering, weary scarecrow of a man at that pale, raw hour. When he had got into the hideous box he made me tie a thick black bandage round his eyes and head. Then he lay down. I had no thoughts of the planet Venus now and no real belief that I should see him again. If I had dared I would have gone back on the whole scheme: but the other thing-the creature that did not wait-was there, and the fear of it was upon me. With feelings that have since often returned to me in nightmare I fastened the cold lid down on top of the living man and stood back. Next moment I was alone. I didn’t see how it went. I went back indoors and was sick. A few hours later I shut up the cottage and returned to Oxford.
Then the months went past and grew to a year and a little more than a year, and we had raids and bad news and hopes deferred and all the earth became full of darkness and cruel habitations, till the night when Oyarsa came to me again. After that there was a journey in haste for Humphrey and me, standings in crowded corridors and waitings at small hours on windy platforms, and finally the moment when we stood in clear early sunlight in the little wilderness of deep weeds which Ransom’s garden had now become and saw a black speck against the sunrise and then, almost silently, the casket had. glided down between us. We flung ourselves upon it and had the lid off in about a minute and a half.
“Good God! All smashed to bits,” I cried at my first glance of the interior.
