Fletcher Pratt (2 page)

I cogitated. "It might be some system of learning while you're asleep. Didn't they try something like that with sailors at Pensacola? Seems to me I read somewhere they learned radio with head-sets on while they were in bed." *

*
He is again perfectly right. The experiment
of
teaching navy men radio while asleep was tried at Pensacola, and with complete success. The sailors were unable to remember what, they had heard while asleep, but on waking were able to send and receive radio messages with remarkable skill, though they had had almost no previous training.

"And you think he wants to learn English that way? All right, let's try it."

Turning the pages and clearing his throat, Merrick began:

"Antonio: in sooth I know not why I am so sad—"
the opening lines of "The Merchant of Venice." Friday settled himself down with a contented smile.

I left a ruddy moon deeper in space Than all your candles. I would gabo.

Tell me, do you possess it in this deed?"

It was all so grotesquely intelligible-unintelligible that both of us laughed. "What is he trying to say?" asked Merrick. "And what is gabo?"

"Haven't the slightest idea," I answered, thinking of the last question first. "But I think he's trying to tell us that he came from another planet."

"Another planet!" cried Merrick. "Why ... still, that would explain ... there's that heat-ray—"

I turned to the man who had described himself as Ashembe. "Am I not right?" I asked.

He stared for a moment, his brows wrinkling with concentration. Then:

"Ah, who will now unriddle me this tongue?

Right? Planet? What are these? I only know

I left a deed—"

It was as bad as the first effort, but at all events communication of a kind had been established. Ashembe continued to speak in blank verse; you could see him winding up for the effort as it were, before each speech, his Ups moving silently, his brows wearing an expression of intense concentration. He used his newly acquired English with a terrible accent and with so many misplaced words that we only understood a third of what he was saying; but with patience and interest to aid us we managed to make out the general drift.

As I recall that first day's conversation, it turned upon quite unimportant matters. The Shakespearean vocabulary is no doubt extensive, but so much of it is given to the expression of the abstract passions of love, grief and hate that there is little left with which to carry on an ordinary conversation. And in this technical age one would find amazing gaps if he were to try to discuss things, using only the words found in "The Merchant of Venice."

Even worse than his paucity of English words was the. wealth of metaphor with which Ashembe found it necessary to clothe the most simple statements, and the archaic character of Elizabethan English as a medium for expressing just what he wanted. "Leaden casket" was the best phrase he could find to describe his vehicle (whatever it was) and he kept referring to the place from which he had come as a "moon" or a "deed," doubtless remembering the
"so shines a good deed in a naughty world"
line in the play.

Unraveling these difficulties consumed the greater part-of the day. What we finally made out of it all was that he had come from another planet; and that he wished to exchange valuable formulae for "gabo." What "gabo" was, neither of us had any idea, except that it was apparently some metal, judging from Ashembe's description of it as "glittering more than gold."

He confirmed that his radio helmet in some mysterious way enabled him to learn things while asleep, helping him' appraise ideas as well as words, and thus enabling him to learn a new language in remarkably quick time. He was particularly anxious to have us read more to him on scientific and technical subjects.

Fortunately, there was, among the few books we maintained at Joyous Gard, an old set of the International Encyclopedia that Merrick had once purchased in a moment of aberration, and had brought up here to help us identify various plants and insects. When we managed to communicate to Ashembe that we had a compendium of worldly knowledge, he was off on the instant for his helmet, explaining in a good many splurges of oratorical blank verse that he wanted to begin absorbing it at once.

That evening Merrick took up the task of reading to him, while I set about the obtruding necessity of food, and from then far into the night we kept at is ceaselessly, skipping all the articles that were historical, literary or merely of interest to the curious, and confining ourselves to technical and scientific matters—which, it must be admitted, we understood very badly ourselves. In the morning Ashembe put us at it again, this time discarding his helmet and trying to learn to read by the ordinary method.

"My father's people have for long and long unable been to extract attainments (knowledge?) by images of the glittering eye. So thoroughly have we become imbued with the use of the Tensal (his helmet, apparently) that the method of the printed page to us is lost. But in reading from your book, the children of your thought creep feebly on their hands and knees, and I would even follow the book myself, gramercy."

"The children of your thought?" repeated Merrick. "The image of the mind whereof you speak," said Ashembe. "You read to me,
'the brontosaurusis a sauropod'
but in my mind I see you have in yours no picture of the brontosaurus, nor of sauropods. All, all is words, beyond the ken of vacant heads."

"I like that," murmured Merrick. "Vacant heads!" "Have I unwitting wrought your senses harm?" queried Ashembe, with anxious courtesy. "I crave forgiveness. Read me further." And that evening, like the previous one, saw us alternating at the International Encyclopedia while our guest from another planet slumbered before the fireplace.

"Your information-book is faithless," Ashembe told us the next morning. "It halteth always at the verge—I would dig deeper in your mines of knowledge. Do you sense more?"

"Not much more than the encyclopedia, I'm afraid," I-said. "Neither of us is well posted on science, except for a little corner of knowledge. I have looked into the fungi some, and Merrick understands birds."

A light seemed to dawn on our visitor. "My friends, I have not asked you of your argosies," he said. "What they are? It is improbable that you are to sciences of me unknown?"

"Argosies?" I asked, not quite comprehending. "An argosy is a ship—something that moves on water."

"Forgive the halting utterance of my tongue," said Ashembe. "Argosies—I would inquire your arts, your merchandise." He moved his hands, helplessly.

"Oh, he means what do we do," Merrick broke in. "I am a lawyer"—there was no comprehension on Ashembe's face—"that is, I ... well, see here. The relations between men are governed by rules. I am one of those who interpret the rules. Suppose there are two men. Each of them says, 'This is mine.' One of them comes to me and I try to find out if it really belongs to him. If it does, I present proof and they give it to him."

"Oh, hell," said Ashembe (for some reason he had acquired the idea that this was a particularly fine way to begin a sentence) "you are an arbiter of destiny. I comprehend. May you be happy." He touched his forehead and bent his knees in the formal gesture of congratulation we had seen him use but once or twice before. "In my world such are high art men and are held in great honor. To you they bring their arguments; you say to one 'You are right. It is yours.' Like Portia. Tell me, is this the meaning in your tongue?"

"No, not quite." said Merrick patiently. "The man who decides is the judge. In this country he is assisted by twelve other men who are called the jury. All I do is bring the truth out for the judge and jury. I represent only one side of the argument."

"The other man of the argument, he does also have a lawyer?" queried Ashembe, in some astonishment. "Improbable! Twelve—fifteen men for one dispute. But you are great in art to thus give your time to others. By what art do all these earn their gold and good? They are workers with hands?"

"No," Merrick went on, patiently. "The man I am representing pays me, and the man on the other side pays his lawyer. The judge is paid by the State, but the costs of the action are supposed to be paid by whoever loses the case. Judges don't have anything else to do."

"Important!" declared our guest. "You gain gold by coming
to
judgment. But how do you decide aright? The man you represent might be wrongdoing, but have great lawyer. In my world it would be crime to give any man of justice money. It would make man with best brains always serve those with most gold. Your men in argument why not tell stories immediately to the judge and the jury? Else judge and jury make mistakes."

"They do that all right," said Merrick, "but how do you make sure that a man knows all the law in your courts?" "We have the arbiter of destiny, like a judge," said Ashembe. "The men of the argument tell their ownership to him. If they disagree he names a—a pollave, who around him gathers all the facts. All men are made to leave their arts and come at the pollave's call. But only high art men are made arbiters of destinies. The laws, the rules, we teach them to children. So many they are in this country you need interpreters and representatives?"

Merrick nodded.

"Important! Such would be crime in my world. Like crime of giving money to justice men.... Blit hold! I recollection. Long many years ago we decided arguments like you, save for one word. The lawyer on the wrong side from him they took gold equal in direct proportion to that gained by the right side of the argument. Thus all lawyer was sure to be on the right side. But that was long many years ago. Your judge and jury is very behind." He dismissed the subject, and, turning to where I stood grinning at Merrick's discomfiture, asked me, "Your art, what is he?"

I answered, "When a man wants to go into business and has not money enough, he borrows from others and agrees to pay their money back together with more out of the profits of his business. These promises he puts in writing, and the writings are called bonds. I sell them to people who wish to lend money."

"How is it good to you?" asked Ashembe. "Gramercy for your courtesy, my friends," he went on with a smile, "I do not well understand the meanings of your primitive institutions. They give you gold for sell these promises to pay back money lended?"

"That's it," I said. "You see, it's not always easy to sell bonds. The men who have money may not want to lend it or they may not know anything about the man who is going into business. So I have to tell them how good a thing it would be for them to loan the money on these bonds." "No scientific board is yours? Improbable! You sell them something they do not want and they give you gold for doing it. Your world is strange....I do not understand. On my world, when man would go into the business he must be permitted by scientific board, who look at his attainment of art of business and ask, 'Is the business necessary?' If he need articles, scientific board produces them, but not make him pay out his profits on work to parasites."

It seemed about time to draw the conversation to a close.

We sat on a ledge of rock among green-black shadows from the pines. All about was the fluid splendor of late summer, hot and unquiet, with an indefinable feel of life and movement even in its silences. Ashembe, uncomfortably warm, dipped his hand in the water and drew it across his forehead.

"Yours is the hot nation," he said.

Merrick grinned. "You ought to be in New York," said he. "This is just cool enough to be pleasant."

"In my world is colder," our visitor went on, as though he had been interrupted while telling something. "Gabo is great necessity. We shall how otherwise keep ourselves warmed and lighted. Our sun burns small with resultant decrease in illumination and calories. Locked in all atoms are reservoirs of power and light, but only from the atom of gabo do we secure the means of release ec—ec—economically. Therefore of our little mine of gabo we expend much in sending scientific to other worlds for great quantity."

"So that's why you came," I said. "I wondered, but it wasn't quite polite to ask."

"Which is polite?" inquired Ashembe innocently. "Is it the local moral code? In my country, if man wishes to know informatively he asks."

"Not a moral code," I attempted to explain (I was always being caught in something like this by our wide-awake and inquisitive visitor) "but a code of—well, manners. Politeness indicates that one is of good breeding, of good behavior, will not do things that offend other people. It's a social code."

"But you have those who offend others because they are not of the good breeding?" asked Ashembe, dabbing his hand in the water. "Astonish! In my country the social code is more simplicity. It is the rule always to be fair. Your polite code must be very complication."

"It is," Merrick chipped in with feeling. "It is not polite to ask people about their reasons for doing things because a good many people do things or have reasons for doing things that they do not care to admit. They might feel them a trifle discreditable."

"Improbable!" said Ashembe. "In my country could not be. Attend—my entire name are Koumar Ashembe Bodrog Fotas. Koumar Ashembe are merely personal. Bodrog indicates I am of the hereditary exploring * or war-fight science. Fotas indicate my rank in identical class. All the people thus named in my country. But speak—actions of crime are they still so many that people conceal not only thoughts but also actions? You do not eliminate crime tendency children?"