Rama: The Omnibus

by Arthur C. Clarke

  Suddenly there was a blinding light at Johann’s back. An instant later he felt a terrible, searing hot wind that knocked him off his seat, onto the floor of the boat. When he looked up, already feeling the burning pain in his back, Sister Beatrice was lying facedown across her pair of seats. Johann reached over to help her. At that moment he heard an enormous sound behind him.

  His ears ringing, Johann looked in the direction of the noise. He saw a giant fireball, awesome and terrifying, with a mushroom-shaped cloud rising rapidly above it.

  Beatrice was now sitting up, staring at the boiling cloud in the sky. “Hiroshima,” she said.

  Johann shuddered the moment he saw her. The right side of her face was a brilliant pink, and some of the skin had already started to peel.

  “Oh, my God,” he said. “Your face—it’s burned.”

  “I know,” Sister Beatrice said. She screwed up her face and winced from the pain. “I can feel it.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Johann asked.

  Beatrice reached over into the river and grabbed some water in her cupped hand. She splashed it against the raw skin on her face. Johann watched her with a feeling of utter horror and helplessness. Beatrice winced a second time. Then she took a deep breath and shrugged.

  “I can’t think of anything, Brother Johann,” she said. “But thank you for asking.”

  Johann looked behind him again, in the direction the boat was moving. The monstrous cloud continued to expand and race upward. On both sides of the bank people were now scurrying about and pointing in the direction of the cloud.

  He felt Beatrice’s light touch on his shoulder. “Your back is badly burned, Johann,” she said.

  He had been so deeply in shock and so concerned about Beatrice that he had been oblivious to his own pain. Now that she called attention to it, however, Johann realized that his back felt as if it were on fire. Suddenly he also noticed for the first time the desperate cries that were all around them, coming from the people on the shore.

  Near them on the left bank two young Japanese children, both wailing at a high pitch and holding their faces, plunged into the river and started swimming toward them. Johann watched their frantic strokes with a bizarre fascination. He cringed as they drew near the boat. Their disfigurement was awful.

  “We must help them,” Sister Beatrice said.

  Johann was near panic. Although he had heard what Beatrice had said, he did not understand what she meant.

  “We must help them,” she repeated. “Hand them an oar."

  Johann mechanically picked up an oar and put it gently into the water near where the two children were swimming. They grabbed the oar and moved along it toward the boat.

  “Now pick the children up and bring them into the boat,” Sister Beatrice said. She spoke slowly and softly, aware from Johann’s eyes and body language that he was having considerable difficulty coping with the confusion around him.

  Johann sat on his knees and extended his long arms into the water. First he reached the little girl. He lifted her with his forearms and handed her to Beatrice. The girl dripped water all over Beatrice’s robe and began to wail as soon as she caught her breath. Sister Beatrice cradled the girl in her arms and brought the water jug to her lips. “There, there,” she said in Japanese, “everything is going to be all right.”

  Johann had momentarily forgotten about the boy. The oar brushed against his legs, nearly slipping out of the boat, and Johann grabbed it just in time. The boy was now flailing around in the water. Johann leaned over the edge of the boat, almost losing his balance, and retrieved the boy.

  Beatrice handed Johann the water vessel. He studied the way she was holding the girl and copied her. The cries from the boy began to diminish when Johann gave him some water to drink. The boy, about seven or eight years old, stared at Johann with wide-open eyes as he sucked at the drinking tube.

  Both children were badly burned over the upper half of their bodies. The smell of the seared flesh was sickening. Johann fought against nausea as he tried to comfort the boy.

  They had passed under another bridge. There were now many people swimming in the water around them, all burned and most crying out for assistance. Beatrice motioned for Johann to hand the boy over to her. “Try to help the others, Brother Johann,” she said. “We still have plenty of room in the boat.”

  The black rain began before Johann could reach an old woman struggling to follow the oar. The droplets of thick, dark muck fell out of strange clouds, unlike any Johann or Beatrice had ever seen, that apparently had been created by the atomic bomb. The black raindrops splattered the old woman’s face as Johann pulled her into the boat.

  When he handed her the water jug, the old woman at first turned away. She spat twice into her hand. With a look of astonishment and bewilderment the old woman showed Johann the three teeth that had come out with her spittle. While she was drinking, she touched her head and a thick tuft of hair fell out.

  The black rain continued. People swam up to both sides of the boat. Johann began pulling them in, one by one, and passing the water vessel to the newcomers. The boat filled rapidly. The drinking water was almost gone. Sister Beatrice pointed over to the shore.

  “I think we should go over there,” she said.

  On a gentle, grassy slope along the riverbank, a makeshift outdoor hospital had been established. Lying in rows on the grass were over a hundred people, most of them suffering from terrible burns. Two doctors and a nurse were racing from patient to patient, injecting painkillers and spreading a cream on the burned skin. Occasionally one of the doctors lingered over a patient long enough to perform a quick examination. Sometimes he would then drape a cloth over the face of the victim he had just examined.

  The black rain ceased while Johann was guiding the boat to shore with the oar. Many of their passengers did not have enough strength to disembark on their own. Johann carried each of them up the slope and laid them gently in one of the rows. Sister Beatrice, meanwhile, was talking to the Japanese doctors and the nurse about what she could do to help. The entire time she was carrying in her arms that first little girl who had swum to their boat. When she at length laid the girl gently down upon the grass and placed a small cloth over her innocent face, Johann saw Sister Beatrice cry for the first time.

  He walked over to comfort her. “It’s all right, Brother Johann,” she said, forcing a smile and wiping away her tears. “God has given her release from her pain.”

  Beatrice told Johann that the lead doctor had requested that the dead be removed, and placed in the back of a nearby truck. That would create more room on the grassy slope for those who were still alive. For nearly an hour Johann lifted weightless dead bodies and carried them fifty to a hundred meters to the truck. During this time Sister Beatrice helped the nurses, moving among the wailing patients with her bright smile, trying to assuage their physical and emotional pain.

  Some of the dead were children. Some were very old. Johann found himself wondering, each time he stooped to lift another victim, what kind of life that person had had, or might have had if he or she had lived to be an adult. When he had already earned twenty victims to the truck, he picked up a beautiful young pregnant woman. For some reason, thinking about this particular woman and her unborn child, and imagining the anticipatory joy in their family that had been interrupted by this man-made disaster, caused Johann’s emotional reservoir to overflow. Tears came into his eyes and ran down his cheeks. They continued to flow steadily until he had removed all the dead from the slope.

  Johann looked for Sister Beatrice after he was finished with his task. He found her singing Japanese songs with a group of burned children. Her eyes were also red and swollen and her face was covered in white.

  “Turn around, please,” Sister Beatrice said to Johann as soon as she saw him. He jumped when her hands first touched his back. “Some Japanese soldiers have arrived to help,” she said as she rubbed the cream gently against Johann’s fried skin. “We are
no longer absolutely necessary here.”

  They shared a short silence. “Never, Sister Beatrice,” Johann then said, “have I experienced anything even remotely like this… I had no idea it was so horrible.”

  “The reality of Hiroshima was much, much worse, she said. “I once read an eyewitness account… God’s angels have given us only a small taste. So that we never forget.”

  While she was applying the soothing cream Johann thought again about all the dead bodies he had carried in the last hour. Tears were again swimming freely in his eyes when he turned around to face Sister Beatrice.

  “Thank you,” he said. He saw that she was studying his face. “I’m not crying from the pain, Sister—” he began.

  “I know, Brother Johann,” she interrupted. “These tears are coming straight from your heart.”

  6

  Johann and Beatrice returned to their boat after more soldiers and additional medical personnel arrived. As soon as they were onboard, the boat edged out into deeper water. The river soon made a sharp turn and entered another dark tunnel.

  “Did you have a chance to talk to the Japanese nurse?” Sister Beatrice asked while they were in the tunnel.

  “No,” Johann replied. “I was too busy with the bodies.”

  “She looked exactly like our Satoko,” Beatrice said. “She even talked like her… It was eerie. Once I mistakenly called her Satoko and she gave me a curious look.”

  “And what do you think is happening to us now?” Johann asked after a short silence.

  “I don’t know, Brother Johann,” Sister Beatrice said. “But I’m certain it wasn’t chance that the nurse looked like Satoko. Whatever we are experiencing has definitely been personalized for us.”

  When they came out of the tunnel they encountered artificial daylight again. For a while the boat moved slowly along the left side of the river. On the bank beside them was a two-lane highway, with a thick forest on the other side of the road. On Beatrice’s right, on the far side of the river, a towering white stucco wall rose high above the water. Johann and Beatrice were discussing the random red stripes on the stucco wall when the boat pulled over to the shore on the left and suddenly stopped.

  They looked at each other for a few seconds and then climbed out of the boat. They walked up the small bank and stood beside the highway. “What should we do now?” Johann asked after they had been standing for a minute or two.

  Sister Beatrice laughed. “Are you still so impatient, Brother Johann?” she said. “Have you learned nothing yet?”

  Johann grinned. “Maybe a little,” he said.

  “‘He also serves who only stands and waits,’” Beatrice quoted.

  “That’s not my style,” Johann said. “And not yours either, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Voilà,” Beatrice said as a car appeared on the horizon heading in their direction.

  The car, a near-new 1937 Volkswagen, slowed gradually as it approached them. The driver studied the unlikely pair standing beside the country road for several seconds before deciding to stop. The dark-haired man then leaned across the car, with the motor still running, and rolled down the window.

  “Kann, ich Sie helfen?” he asked.

  “Vielleicht,” Johann answered. He was not surprised, after having seen the car, that the man spoke to him in German. Following a quick introductory exchange, Johann explained to the man that both Sister Beatrice and he had been burned in an accident a couple of hours before and thought it might be a good idea to have a doctor look at their injuries.

  “Jawohl,” the man said. “Ich bin Arzt. Ich heisse Helmut Goldschlag… If you would like, I can take you to my office in town and give you an examination.”

  Sister Beatrice climbed into the front seat beside Dr. Goldschlag. Johann tried to make himself comfortable in the tiny backseat.

  Soon after the car began to move, Johann informed Dr. Goldschlag that his friend was an American nun who spoke only a little German. The doctor glanced over at Sister Beatrice from time to time during the drive. “I know it hurts,” he said after several minutes, “but your face looks much worse than it is. You’ll be surprised by how fast it will heal.”

  Initially Johann did not talk very much, limiting himself to translating Dr. Goldschlag’s occasional comments for Beatrice. Later, however, after the road began winding through the woods and passing occasional signs identifying that they were in the Black Forest region of Germany, Johann leaned forward and carried on a steady conversation with the amiable doctor.

  Johann told Dr. Goldschlag that he was a civil engineer from Berlin, and that Sister Beatrice’s family and his had been friends for many years. According to Johann’s story, Beatrice and he had rented a boat for the day so that they could have their own private tour of the Schwarzwald. Although Johann did not explain any details, he suggested to Dr. Goldschlag that their burns had resulted from an accident with the extra fuel on the boat.

  During the conversation their driver often referred to his wife, Stella, and his daughter, Elke. “We are going to spend this coming weekend up at Hinterzarten,” he said with a broad smile. “I have just driven up there today, in fact, to make certain that all the arrangements are in order.”

  They approached a country restaurant on the left. “Möchten Sie etwas zu essen?” Dr. Goldschlag asked. “Or would you rather continue on to my office and have your burns treated right away?”

  After Johann and Beatrice both said that they were hungry, the doctor pulled the car into the small parking area. Four other cars were parked in the same dirt lot. One was marked with a large, official-looking insignia that Johann did not recognize. Dr. Goldschlag noticed the car and its insignia while they were walking toward the restaurant. He hesitated a moment, a frown upon his face, and then returned briefly to the car. When he rejoined Johann and Sister Beatrice, he was wearing an armband signifying that he was Jewish. “It’s the law,” he said grimly.

  The large, converted farmhouse contained both a shop and a restaurant. The shop was full of cuckoo clocks of all shapes and sizes. Sister Beatrice and Johann spent a few minutes browsing through the clock collection while Dr. Goldschlag was in the rest room. As soon as the doctor returned, several of the cuckoo clocks signaled that it was exactly noon. All three of them enjoyed the elaborate displays, laughing at the antics of the carved wooden figures marking the time.

  Dr. Goldschlag’s laugh abruptly vanished, however, as they approached the main room of the restaurant. Beside the entrance was a simple sign. JUDEN VERBOTEN, it said.

  “I will wait for you in the car,” Helmut Goldschlag said.

  “Absolutely not,” Johann said immediately. “We will not eat without you.”

  Sister Beatrice, who had seen the sign and understood the gist of the conversation, followed the two men out the door and into the parking area. As Dr. Goldschlag turned his car onto the highway, all three of them noticed a tall blond man in a greenish uniform, staring at them from the doorway of the restaurant.

  The talk in the car was about politics. Dr. Goldschlag told Johann and Sister Beatrice that his office had been destroyed a year earlier and he had been told he could no longer practice medicine in Germany. He had salvaged some of his equipment and supplies, however, and was still seeing many of his patients, most of whom were not Jewish, in the two back rooms of his house.

  “My brother, who is also a doctor, went to the United States in 1935,” he said, “just after the Nuremberg laws were promulgated. He was one of the lucky ones. Stella, Elke, and I have been trying to obtain emigration permits for almost two years. My wife and daughter have even become fluent in English. But it’s hopeless. The Americans are no longer accepting ordinary Jewish refugees.”

  When they reached the outskirts of a small town, Dr. Goldschlag turned down a dirt road on the left. Soon thereafter he stopped in front of a large, typical German house.

  “This is my home,” he said proudly. “My wife and I have lived here since our marriage eight year
s ago.”

  He took them in the back entrance of his house and then disappeared briefly. When the door to the small room where Johann and Sister Beatrice were waiting was opened again, the doctor was accompanied by a woman and a six-year-old girl. Johann’s recognition was instant. Stella Goldschlag was an exact reproduction of Sylvie Demirel, the wife of Johann’s Turkish engineering friend Bakir from Berlin.

  “These are my jewels,” Helmut Goldschlag said as Johann struggled to control his emotions. “Stella, Elke, I would like for you to meet Johann Eberhardt and Sister Beatrice.”

  The bright-eyed little girl was not shy. “What happened to your face?” she said to Sister Beatrice in perfect English.

  Beatrice bent down to the girl’s level. “I burned it,” she said softly. “That’s why I have come to see your father. He is going to make it better.”

  “I’m preparing some lunch,” Stella Goldschlag announced. “After Helmut has examined you, would you please join us?”

  “We would be honored,” Johann replied. He continued to stare at Frau Goldschlag until she left the room.

  Dr. Goldschlag cleaned their wounds thoroughly and applied a soothing salve. The whole process was very painful for Johann and Sister Beatrice. They both endured the examination without comment, however, expecting, based on their experiences of the last two days, that at any moment some new and untoward event would occur.

  They talked hurriedly during the minute or so that the doctor left them alone in the examining room. Johann and Sister Beatrice asked themselves if they should try to warn Dr. Goldschlag, by explaining to him that they were from the future and knew for certain what was going to happen to all the Jews who remained in Germany.

  “I don’t think that’s what we’re here for,” Sister Beatrice said. “Besides, how could he believe such a fantastic story?”