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Ebook has 2195 lines and 136225 words, and 44 pages

THE FACES OUTSIDE

BY BRUCE McALLISTER

They were all that was left of humanity--if they were still human!

I wanted to call her Soft Breast, because she is soft when I hold her to me. But the Voice told me to call her Diane. When I call her Diane, I have a pleasant feeling, and she seems closer to me. She likes the name "Diane". The Voice knew what was best, of course, as it always does.

I must mate with her every day, when the water is brightest. The Voice says so. It also says that I am in a "tank", and that the water is brightest when the "sun" is over the "tank". I do not understand the meaning of "sun", but the Voice says that "noon" is when the "Sun" is over the "tank". I must mate with Diane every "noon".

The Voice then says that the Faces are watching us, as we sometimes watch the porpoises. It took a very long time to grow used to having the Faces watch us, as Diane and I came together, but we learned to do it as simply as we swim and sleep.

But Diane does not have babies. I am very sad when I see the porpoises and whales with their young. Diane and I sleep together in the Cave; Diane is very warm and soft. We sleep in happiness, but when we are awake, we are lonely. I question the Voice about a baby for Diane, but the Voice is always silent.

I grow to hate the Faces in the "view-ports". They are always watching, watching. The Voice says that they are enemies, and bad. The Faces have not tried to hurt me: but I must think of them as enemies because the Voice says so. I ask bad, like the shark? The Voice says, no, worse than the sharks and eels. It says that the Faces are evil.

The "tank" must be high, because the water is high. I have gone once to the surface, and, although I could get used to it, the light was too much for my eyes. It took me two hundred and seventy kicks to the surface; it took me three thousand steps from our Cave to the opposite "side". The "tank" is very large, otherwise the whales would not be happy.

The fish are many, but the dangers are few. I have seen the sharks kill. But the shark does not come near me if I see it and am afraid. Sometimes I have caught it sneaking up behind me, but when I turn it leaves quickly. I have questioned the Voice about why the sharks leave. It does not know. It has no one to ask.

Today the "sun" must be very large, or powerful, or bright, because the water is brighter than most days.

When I awoke Diane was not beside me. The rock of the Cave is jagged, so as I make my way from our bed of cool and slick seaweed, toward the entrance, I scrape my leg on the fifth kick. Not much blood comes from the cut. That is fortunate, because when there is blood the sharks come.

Diane has grabbed the tail of a porpoise, and both are playing. Diane and I love the porpoises. Sometimes we can even hear their thoughts. They are different from the other fish; they are more like us. But they have babies and we do not.

Diane sees me and, wanting to play, swims behind a rock and looks back, beckoning. I make a grab at her as I sneak around the rock. But she darts upward, toward the surface, where her body is a shadow of beauty against the lighter water above her. I follow her, but she ducks and I sail past her. Diane pulls up her legs, knees under her chin, and puts her arms around them. She then drops like a rock toward the "floor".

I have caught a porpoise by his top fin. He knows my wish, so he speeds toward Diane, circles her and butts her soft thighs with his snout. She laughs, but continues to stay in a ball, her black hair waving. She is very beautiful.

I try to pry her arms from around her legs gently, but she resists. I must use force. Diane does not mind when I do; because she knows I love her.

I pull her arms away, and slip my arms under hers, kissing her on the lips for a long time. Struggling to free herself, laughing again, she pokes me sharply with her elbow and escapes my arms. I am surprised. She quickly puts her arms around my neck, pulls herself to my back and links her slim legs around my middle. She is pretending that I am a porpoise. I laugh. She pinches me to go ahead. I swim upward, but her thoughts tell me she wants to go to the Cave.

I understand. I carry her through the water very slowly, feeling the warmth and nipples of her breasts pressed against my back as she rests her head on my shoulder and smiles.

The Faces continue to stare. Many times I have searched for a word to show my hatred for them. I shall find it somehow, though. Sooner or later.

"What count of planets had the Terrans infested?" The furry humanoid leaned over the desk and stared, unblinking, at the lesser humanoid in the only other chair in the room. His gaze was dropped as he scratched informally at the heavy fur at his wrist. He raised his gaze again.

"And the count of planets destroyed?"

The room was cooled, and a large-eyed female with silky, ochrous fur--very desirable to the majority of humanoids--entered with two flared glasses of an odorless, transparent liquid--very desirable to the majority of humanoids. The lesser humanoid was being treated exceptionately well.

"Affirmative," the assistant mumbled.

"Contented," came the automatic reply, and the assistant began, "The two humans were perfect for the Plan, I repeat. Before the Energi received the message of the race destruction, it was imperative that we establish an agent on Energa, near the Force Domes. We assumed that the 'aquarium' would be placed on Energa, in the greatest center. That was correct, but negatively yet knowing for certainty, we perpetuated the Plan, with the 'aquarium' as the basis.

"Quite," was the reply. "And concerning the method of info-interception?"

The assistant continued without hesitation, embarrassed by his incompetency, "A hyper-complex spheroid with radio interceptors, a-matter viewers and recorders and the general intelligence instruments of micro-size was placed in the cranium of the male mutant. The spheroid has negative direct control over the organism. Size was too scarce for use on trivialities. Then an agent was placed behind the larger controls at our end of the instruments."

"And you are the agent?"

"Hyper-contentedly affirmative."

I have done two things today. I have found the word for my hatred of the Faces. The Voice gave it to me. When I asked the Voice, it laughed and told mba cesante se desesperaba. Iba a las sesiones del Congreso y hac?a mucho ruido en la tribuna aplaudiendo a la oposici?n. Sal?a de Madrid con recados secretos. No hablaba m?s que de la que se iba a armar, de una cosa tremenda..., ?me entiende usted?>>.

El anciano, despu?s de tragarse la mitad de la atm?sfera del cuarto, hizo signos afirmativos, arqueando las cejas y sonriendo como hombre conocedor de las debilidades de sus semejantes.

<

--Cartas al Soberano, al Santo Padre, a los embajadores y ministros. Por ah? empiezan muchos.

--Todo sea por Dios--dijo, con emoci?n el viejo, al ver que Isidora se interrump?a para llorar--. Pero ?qu? es eso, hija m?a, comparado con lo que Cristo padeci? por nosotros?

--Mi madre muri? en aquellos d?as--prosigui? Isidora, casi completamente ahogada por el llanto--. Aquel d?a, ?oh Dios m?o, qu? d?a!, mi padre hizo los disparates m?s atroces; no llor?, no se afect? nada. Cuando mi madre expir? en mis brazos, ?l dio dos o tres paseos por el cuarto, y mir?ndome con unos ojos..., ?Jes?s, qu? ojos!..., me dijo: <>. No puedo recordar estas cosas; me muero de pena. Fue preciso encerrarle aqu?. Un pariente bastante acomodado que ten?amos en el Tomelloso se condoli? de m? y ofreci? dar la pensi?n de segunda. Yo me fui a la Mancha con ?l, y mi hermanito se qued? aqu? con una t?a de mi madre. Pasado alg?n tiempo, mi t?o el can?nigo se olvid? de pagar la pensi?n. Es el mejor de los hombres; pero tiene unas rarezas...>>.

Desde la mitad de esta relaci?n, ya ten?a Isidora que beberse las l?grimas entre palabra y palabra. El bendito se?or que la o?a, enternecido de tanta desdicha, levantose de su asiento y dio algunos pasos para vencer su emoci?n.

<

--Y todo cuanto he padecido ha sido injusto--a?adi? ella prontamente, sorbiendo tambi?n una regular porci?n de aire, porque todo es contagioso en este mundo--. No s? si me explicar? bien; quiero decir que a m? no me correspond?a compartir las penas y la miseria de Tom?s Rufete, porque aunque le llamo mi padre, y a su mujer mi madre, es porque me criaron, y no porque yo sea verdaderamente su hija. Yo soy...>>.

Se detuvo bruscamente por temor de que su natural franco y expansivo la llevase, sin pensarlo, a una revelaci?n indiscreta. Pero el escribiente, con esa rapacidad de pensamiento que distingue a los hombres perspicaces, se apoder? de la idea apenas indicada, y dijo as?:

<>.

?De qu? manera tan clara relampague? el orgullo en el semblante de Isidora al o?r aquellas palabras! Su rubor leve pas? pronto. Sus labios vacilaron entre la sonrisa de vanidad y la denegaci?n impuesta por las conveniencias.

<

--Hija m?a--dijo el anciano con vivacidad--, una de las enfermedades del alma que m?s individuos trae a estas casas es la ambici?n, el af?n de engrandecimiento, la envidia que los bajos tienen de los altos, y eso de querer subir atropellando a los que est?n arriba, no por la escalera del m?rito y del trabajo, sino por la escala suelta de la intriga, o de la violencia, como si dij?ramos, empujando, empujando...>>.

No bien hizo el venerable sujeto esta sustanciosa observaci?n, que indicaba tanto juicio como experiencia, march? con acompasado y no muy lento andar hacia el rinc?n opuesto del despacho. Reflexionaba Isidora en aquellas sabias palabras, fijos los ojos en las rayas de la estera de cordoncillo; pero su pena y la situaci?n en que estaba la reclamaron, y volvi? a suspirar y a asombrarse de que el Director tardase tanto. Cuando alz? los ojos, el anciano pasaba por delante de ella en direcci?n de la mesa; en seguida pasaba de nuevo en direcci?n del ?ngulo. Sin advertir que el buen se?or estaba muy agitado, sin duda por hacerse generosamente part?cipe de las penas que hab?a o?do referir, Isidora se distra?a un poco, pues por grande que sea una desdicha y por mucho que embargue y ahogue, hay momentos en que deja libre el esp?ritu para que d? un par de vueltas o paseos por el campo de la distracci?n, y se fortifique antes de volver al martirio. Un dilatado aburrimiento, un largo per?odo de antesala, ayudan este fen?meno del alma.

Como en el despacho aquel reinaban el silencio y la calma; como en el pasar y repasar del anciano escribiente hab?a algo de oscilaci?n de p?ndulo; como, adem?s, del propio interior de Isidora se derivaba una dulce somnolencia que aletargaba su dolor, la joven se entretuvo, pues, un ratito contemplando la habitaci?n. ?Qu? bonito era el mapa de Espa?a, todo lleno de rayas divisorias y compartimientos, de columnas de n?meros que sub?an creciendo, de rengloncitos estad?sticos que bajaban achic?ndose, de c?rculos y banderolas se?alando pueblos, ciudades y villas! En la regi?n azul que representaba el mar, multitud de barquitos precedidos de flechas marcaban las l?neas de navegaci?n, y por la gran vi?eta de la cabecera menudeaban las locomotoras, los vapores, los faros, y adem?s muelles llenos de fardos, chimeneas de f?bricas, ruedas dentadas, globos geogr?ficos, todo presidido por un melenudo y furioso le?n y una se?ora con las carnes bastante m?s descubiertas de lo que la honestidad exige... ?Qu? silencio tan hondo y suave se aposentaba en la sosegada estancia, y c?mo se sent?a el ambiente puro del campo! S?lo cuando se abr?a la puerta entraba un eco lejano y horripilante de risas y gritos que no eran como los gritos y risas del mundo. ?Y cu?ntos y cu?n bonitos libros encerraba el armario de caoba, sobre el cual gallardeaba un busto de yeso! Aquel se?or blanco sin ni?as en los ojos, con los hombros desnudos como una dama escotada, deb?a de ser alguno de los muchos sabios que hubo en tiempos remotos, y en ?l, en el estante de los libros y en el mapa gr?fico--estad?stico se cifraba toda la sabidur?a de los siglos.

En este reconocimiento del lugar emple? Isidora menos de un minuto. De pronto se fij? en el anciano, que segu?a pasando por delante de ella con rapidez creciente, y se asombr? de ver la agitaci?n de sus manos, el temblor de sus labios y la vivacidad de sus ojos, apariencias muy distintas de aquella su anterior facha bondadosa y simp?tica. Par?ndose ante Isidora, exclam? con palabra torpe y muy conmovida:

<

--?Yo!--murmur? Isidora, llena de espanto.

--?S?!--dijo el otro alzando la voz--, usted me est? insultando; usted me est? insultando>>.

El disparatado juicio, la voz alterada del viejo, su agitaci?n creciente, fueron un rayo de luz para Isidora. Se levant? buscando la puerta; corri? hacia ella despavorida. El terror le daba alas. Entre tanto el anciano gritaba:

<>.

Isidora sali? al pasillo cuando llegaba el Director, que al instante comprendi? la causa de su miedo. Sonriendo, la tom? de la mano para obligarla a entrar.

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