THE SPACE TRILOGY - Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra & That Hideous Strength. C. S. Lewis
bent action—or else, he says, it would be a possible action—for him to kill you all and bring us here. He says he would feel no pity. He is saying again that perhaps they would be able to keep moving from one world to another and wherever they came they would kill everyone. I think he is now talking about worlds that go round other suns. He wants the creatures born from us to be in as many places as they can. He says he does not know what kind of creatures they will be.’
‘I may fall,’ said Weston. ‘But while I live I will not, with such a key in my hand, consent to close the gates of the future on my race. What lies in that future, beyond our present ken, passes imagination to conceive: it is enough for me that there is a Beyond.’
‘He is saying,’ Ransom translated, ‘that he will not stop trying to do all this unless you kill him. And he says that though he doesn’t know what will happen to the creatures sprung from us, he wants it to happen very much.’
Weston, who had now finished his statement, looked round instinctively for a chair to sink into. On Earth he usually sank into a chair as the applause began. Finding none—he was not the kind of man to sit on the ground like Devine—he folded his arms and stared with a certain dignity about him.
‘It is well that I have heard you,’ said Oyarsa. ‘For though your mind is feebler, your will is less bent than I thought. It is not for yourself that you would do all this.’
‘No,’ said Weston proudly in Malacandrian. ‘Me die. Man live.’
‘Yet you know that these creatures would have to be made quite unlike you before they lived on other worlds.’
‘Yes, yes. All new. No one know yet. Strange! Big!’
‘Then it is not the shape of body that you love?’
‘No. Me no care how they shaped.’
‘One would think, then, that it is for the mind you care. But that cannot be, or you would love hnau wherever you met it.’
‘No care for hnau. Care for man.’
‘But if it is neither man’s mind, which is as the mind of all other hnau—is not Maleldil maker of them all?—nor his body, which will change—if you care for neither of these, what do you mean by man?’
This had to be translated to Weston. When he understood it, he replied:
‘Me care for man—care for our race—what man begets——’ He had to ask Ransom the words for race and beget.
‘Strange!’ said Oyarsa. ‘You do not love any one of your race—you would have let me kill Ransom. You do not love the mind of your race, nor the body. Any kind of creature will please you if only it is begotten by your kind as they now are. It seems to me, Thick One, that what you really love is no completed creature but the very seed itself: for that is all that is left.’
‘Tell him,’ said Weston when he had been made to understand this, ‘that I don’t pretend to be a metaphysician. I have not come here to chop logic. If he cannot understand—as apparently you can’t either—anything so fundamental as a man’s loyalty to humanity, I can’t make him understand it.’
But Ransom was unable to translate this and the voice of Oyarsa continued:
‘I see now how the lord of the silent world has bent you. There are laws that all hnau know, of pity and straight dealing and shame and the like, and one of these is the love of kindred. He has taught you to break all of them except this one, which is not one of the greatest laws; this one he has bent till it becomes folly and has set it up, thus bent, to be a little, blind Oyarsa in your brain. And now you can do nothing but obey it, though if we ask you why it is a law you can give no other reason for it than for all the other and greater laws which it drives you to disobey. Do you know why he has done this?’
‘Me think no such person—me wise, new man—no believe all that old talk.’
‘I will tell you. He has left you this one because a bent hnau can do more evil than a broken one. He has only bent you; but this Thin One who sits on the ground he has broken, for he has left him nothing but greed. He is now only a talking animal and in my world he could do no more evil than an animal. If he were mine I would unmake his body, for the hnau in it is already dead. But if you were mine I would try to cure you. Tell me, Thick One, why did you come here?’
‘Me tell you. Make man live all the time.’
‘But are your wise men so ignorant as not to know that Malacandra is older than your own world and nearer its death? Most of it is dead already. My people live only in the handramits; the heat and the water have been more and will be less. Soon now, very soon, I will end my world and give back my people to Maleldil.’
‘Me know all that plenty. This only first try. Soon they go on another world.’
‘But do you not know that all worlds will die?’
‘Men go jump off each before it deads—on and on, see?’
‘And when all are dead?’
Weston was silent. After a time Oyarsa spoke again.
‘Do you not ask why my people, whose world is old, have not rather come to yours and taken it long ago.’
‘Ho! Ho!’ said Weston. ‘You not know how.’
‘You are wrong,’ said Oyarsa. ‘Many thousands of thousand years before this, when nothing yet lived on your world, the cold death was coming on my harandra. Then I was in deep trouble, not chiefly for the death of my hnau—Maleldil does not make them long-livers—but for the things which the lord of your world, who was not yet bound, put into their minds. He would have made them as your people are now—wise enough to see the death of their kind approaching but not wise enough to endure it. Bent counsels would soon have risen among them. They were well able to have made sky-ships. By me Maleldil stopped them. Some I cured, some I unbodied——’
‘And see what come!’ interrupted Weston, ‘you now very few—shut up in handramits—soon all die.’
‘Yes,’ said Oyarsa, ‘but one thing we left behind us on the harandra: fear. And with fear, murder and rebellion. The weakest of my people does not fear death. It is the Bent One, the lord of your world, who wastes your lives and befouls them with flying from what you know will overtake you in the end. If you were subjects of Maleldil you would have peace.’
Weston writhed in the exasperation born of his desire to speak and his ignorance of the language.
‘Trash! Defeatist trash!’ he shouted at Oyarsa in English; then, drawing himself up to his full height, he added in Malacandrian, ‘You say your Maleldil let all go dead. Other one, Bent One, he fight, jump, live—not all talkee-talkee. Me no care Maleldil. Like Bent One better: me on his side.’
‘But do you not see that he never will nor can,’ began Oyarsa, and then broke off, as if recollecting himself. ‘But I must learn more of your world from Ransom, and for that I need till night. I will not kill you, not even the Thin One, for you are out of my world. To-morrow you shall go hence again in your ship.’
Devine’s face suddenly fell. He began talking rapidly in English.
‘For God’s sake, Weston, make him understand. We’ve been here for months—the Earth is not in opposition now. Tell him it can’t be done. He might as well kill us at once.’
‘How long will your journey be to Thulcandra?’ asked Oyarsa.
Weston, using Ransom as his interpreter, explained that the journey, in the present position of the two planets, was almost impossible. The distance had increased by millions of miles. The angle of their course to the solar rays would be totally different from that which he had counted upon. Even if by a hundredth chance they could hit the Earth, it was almost certain that their supply of oxygen would be exhausted long before they arrived.
‘Tell