“And maybe models of parts of the maze and ramp would be built and made part of the exhibit,” Peter said.
“I’ve always thought that dioramas should play a more prominent part in museum exhibits than they have so far. We’ll insist on dioramas—different rooms or corridors of the maze you got trapped in made into dioramas, our classroom a diorama, and sections of the ramp in which I got trapped made into dioramas,” Sylvia said.
“The lines waiting to get in would reach around the block,” Peter said.
“Around two or three blocks,” Sylvia said.
“Around four or five,” Peter said.
“And, until the traveling exhibit came to an end, Kory would be complaining about having its toy taken away from it,” Sylvia said.
“We might have to insist that a model be made of that spherical object too—for Kory’s sake,” Peter said. And Sylvia agreed that a model, no matter how imperfect, would have to be made rather than deprive Kory of the magical toy the asteroid’s king had given to him.
Chapter 61: Anticipating a Problem
With the arrival of the child, the dinner-time routine changed a little bit. Surrounded by their retinue, Sylvia and Peter walked to the dining room sometimes pushing the child in its bassinet and sometimes carrying it—one of them would carry it while the other one pushed the empty bassinet into the dining room.
In some workshop existing somewhere in the bowels of the asteroid, a high chair was created. It showed up about a week after the child was born and was pushed up against the dining room table at about the center of the longest edge of the table’s rectangle.
Sylvia was carrying the child into the room that day and, seeing the high chair sitting there, was delighted. “Look, Peter. They’ve given us another present,” she said. It looked like it was made of polished mahogany coated with oil and wax. Sylvia ran a finger along the surface and bent down and smelled the material of which it was made. Then she lifted up the little table that was a part of it and set the baby down in the seat. The baby took to it readily. It kicked its legs back and forth and banged its little fists on the table’s surface and made a variety of monosyllabic noises with its mouth.
After the creatures that waited on them poured soup from the two tureens into Peter’s and Sylvia’s bowls, the one who ladled out the soup opened a metallic container that had been put between the two tureens and pulled out a little bottle that looked very much like the baby bottles found on Earth. There was a lid with a rubbery nipple on it. The bottle itself was translucent. The creature unscrewed the lid, poured into the bottle the soup that Sylvia had been given, and set the baby bottle on the little surface that belonged to the high chair. The baby reached for the bottle, wrapped its fingers around it, lifted it up into the air, turned it sideways, and began banging it against the surface on which it had been put.
Sylvia got up, picked up the baby, and carried it, nestled in her arms, to her chair at the table. She let it drink from the bottle despite wondering why her own breast milk was not considered by the creatures to be sufficient nourishment for the child.
While the child sucked from the bottle, Sylvia said to Peter, “Its poem-time. I think it’s your turn.” She was reminding him that it was his turn to recite a poem.
Peter’s choice for the night was a poem he recalled hearing as a child. His mother would come into his room and read from various children’s books to him. And, since they did not have many children’s books at home, she’d read time and again from each of the few books they had. He even recalled the name of the book from which the poem he planned to recite came. He even recalled the author’s name. He said, “Here is a poem I remember from my childhood. It comes from the book, “Where the Sidewalk Ends” and is by Shel Silverstein. I’m pretty sure I remember every word just as the author wrote it. Here it is:
Let us leave this place
Where the smoke blows black and the
Dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, and
Watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Despite not comprehending the language let alone having any idea what any of the words like “sidewalk” meant based on any experience with any such things, the child seemed to get a kick out of hearing the poem. It grabbed the bottle out of Sylvia’s hand and began raising and lowering it in a way a conductor sometimes raises and lowers a baton.
“He likes it, Kory likes it,” Sylvia joked, thinking of an old television commercial for cereal she had seen a few times and that had somehow stuck with her. She then took the bottle out of Kory’s hand and put the nipple back into his mouth and, when it got busy sucking on the nipple, proceeded to drink her own soup.
After Sylvia and Peter finished their soup, Peter said, “You know, Sylvia, I was thinking of a problem we probably will face once we arrive on the surface of the asteroid and can communicate once again with the two ships’ onboard computers. The problem is almost certain to exist. It would be good if we started thinking about it now and came up with a solution that we feel comfortable with. And if, as is likely, we meet with resistance, we’ll have to agree beforehand to insist on what we decided would be best no matter how much the computers, no doubt reflecting the instructions sent to them from Earth, insist.”
“What are you talking about, Peter?” Sylvia asked.
“They are going to want us to get into our own space ships, that is, they’ll want you and the baby to get into the one you came in and they’ll want me to get into the one I came in. They’ll want us to separate because, given the dangers inherent in space travel, they’ll want to maximize the chances of at least one of us surviving.
“But as reasonable as such a policy would seem to be to someone who has not been through what we’ve been through, the policy does not take into account the psychological and spiritual factors that are involved.
“What I mean is this: I’ll be all alone. And, though the baby would be a great consolation to you, it might not provide you everything you need in the nature of companionship either.” The anguish Peter felt from even having to imagine having to go alone on his space ship was written clearly on his face.
He continued, “The more I think about being in my ship without the two of you, the more distressed I become. Even though we would be able to communicate with each other whenever the ship was not transmitting messages back to Earth, that would not really compensate for not actually seeing you or being with or touching you for two years, maybe longer. The same goes for the baby—I want to look at him too and touch him too.
“Assuming we all make it back to Earth, I’d be something of a stranger to the child. I’d say goodbye to a baby and hello to a two-year old child who would be walking and talking and going to the toilet on his own and eating solid food. I’d miss seeing it take its first steps. I’d miss hearing it say its first words. And you too will undoubtedly change, not necessarily physically but certainly psychologically. And I will change too psychologically in ways that no doubt even I will not even be aware of.
“When we see each other again, therefore, regardless of how much and in what ways each of us has changed, we will meet as strangers. True, we might get quickly reacquainted and feel once again at ease with one another, but, on the other hand, we might not. But the fact remains that there is a risk of becoming and remaining strangers. I keep asking myself: Is that a risk I want to take? And I want to ask you: Is that a risk you want to take?
“And suppose your ship ran into trouble and you and the baby got killed while I survived. And I’d no doubt learn about the mishap via transmissions coming from your space ship, my space ship, and Earth. There I’d be all alone and hurtling through space and grieving the loss of the woman I loved and the child I was the father of and who I also loved very much. Maybe I could take it and maybe not. Maybe I’d go insane in any of a thousand different w
ays, many of which would make me useless to those so-practical ones back on Earth who would have counted on getting as much information as they could from me about what exactly happened back on that asteroid.”
Sylvia interrupted him, saying, “There’s another side of this that might actually weigh more heavily with the people back on Earth than any psychological or spiritual argument.”
“What is that?” Peter asked. He was eager to hear what she was thinking because he tended to agree with her that psychological and spiritual arguments might not work with the people back on Earth who would be inclined to regard them as being strong enough to be able to withstand adversities such as those that Peter outlined. After all, they had been carefully screened partly for the purpose of ascertaining their ability to withstand adversity. Also such ability had been strengthened during training. So, they both felt, the people who monitored this back on Earth would tend to regard any arguments pointing to psychological or spiritual limits with scorn—as signs of weakness or as mere juvenile debating points.
“You said you thought another kind of argument might work better with them. What did you have in mind?” Peter asked her.
“Well, she said, “There’s the practical side. We can appeal to their sense of practicality. Let us suppose for instance that some sort of problem did occur that was potentially serious enough to put a ship at risk. Suppose, for instance, that a tiny comet or other piece of space debris penetrated the shell of one ship, causing loss of air or doing serious damage to some crucial component like the ship’s computer or its propulsion system.
“Now, if such a catastrophe were to occur, the ship not damaged would no doubt be directed to come close enough to the ship that was damaged to make possible repair of the damaged ship by sending the passenger of the undamaged ship to the damaged one to attempt its repair. If that was out of the question, a transfer of passengers of the damaged ship to the undamaged one would no doubt be attempted.
“Under either of those scenarios, would a policy seemingly so reasonable of having us fly on separate space ships really make sense? I don’t think so. We would also be put in more rather than less danger. At worst, the danger would be the same. If the other ship was damaged and we were together, we’d proceed without having to risk problems associated with reconnoitering or transferring or space walking.
“If our ship was damaged and we were all together and the damage not too great, we might be able to make what repairs would need to be made much more quickly and better than if we were separated. And if our ship was so seriously damaged that we had to get out of it, the reconnoitering of the ships and subsequent transfer would have to occur anyway. We’d just put on our space suits, stuff the baby inside the bassinet, open one hatch, float through space, open another hatch, enter the other space ship, and be on our way. Going on separate ships would therefore cause more problems for us and the mission than going on the same ship would.”
“You know, Sylvia,” Peter said. “I guess there is a part of me that is as hard-nosed and as ridiculously practical-minded as I have supposed the people back on Earth to be. I say that because I found what you just said more convincing than my own argument was. Thank you. Your argument was brilliant in terms both of logic and tact. If they oppose us, we can stand up to them now.
“We’d just have to transfer some food and other supplies from the one ship to the other. We’d also have to bring enough fabric with us to make diapers and other clothes for the baby.”
“We agree then,” Sylvia said. “We’ll fly together. We’ll insist on it and refuse to undertake the voyage at all unless they consent to our flying together.”
“Yes, that’s another point we can raise to get our way,” Peter said. “We can tell them that the creatures have given us the option of letting us stay indefinitely with them or of taking a one-way trip to their home planet that happens to be so far away from Earth that any further contact with Earth would be, as a practical matter, impossible and that, if they insist that we travel separately, we’ll just not go back to Earth at all but will instead choose one of the other options open to us. I doubt if they’d call our bluff.”
Sheila said, “That last point drives the nail home. I have to admit that I was a little worried too that we’d have to travel separately. I know how the experts on Earth think and I assumed we’d be told we’d have to go separately. I suppose I was resigned to going along with their orders. But now that we’ve talked this over, I feel satisfied we can get our way. It makes more sense from all angles.”
“I feel much better too,” Peter said. He looked at the six creatures lined up against the wall and no doubt anxious to clear the room and escort them to their corridor. “Let’s give these guys a break. They’ve been so good to let us talk this out. It’s time we went back to our rooms.” So Peter nodded to the creatures, scooted away from the table, and stood up. And Sylvia, still holding the baby in her arms, did the same. Both felt good about having anticipated and, simply by thinking things out, solved what might have caused them much anguish and suffering—up to and including the destruction of their marriage and family.
Chapter 62: Final Offer
About a week before they were scheduled to depart for Earth, the teacher asked them to come up to its desk after class for the purpose of discussing “last-minute details.”
Class that day consisted of another of a series of presentations by sounds and symbols dealing with the history of religious belief among the creatures. This was followed by one of a series of films that showed structures where creatures had once worshipped and that showed rituals being reenacted.
The film explained that the minds of the creatures was disposed (a perfectly natural and understandable tendency) to extrapolate from what was known to what was not known. Thus, if one thing was seen to cause another thing, then the mind, extrapolating, would suppose that something else, something unknown, caused the first thing. By this logic, a creator or first cause was thought to exist and then, having been conjured up that way, was worshipped.
Also, the narrator of the film pointed out, if creatures organized themselves hierarchically, making teachers, administrators, and kings, then the mind, extrapolating, would suppose that something else, something unknown, stood above the highest of the hierarchically arranged roles. By this logic, a supreme being was thought to exist and worshipped. At times, the first cause and Supreme Being were thought to be one and the same but at other times they were thought to be two different creatures.
The film pointed out also how images of the first cause or Supreme Being varied over time. They ranged from simple geometric figures like diamonds, circles, squares and rectangles (sometimes multiplied with the figures fitting one inside of the other) to complicated geometric figures of which the favorite was an octagon because it resembled the shape of the creatures’ carapaces.
Peter and Sylvia saw images of creatures streaming into structures shaped like whatever image of an original cause or Supreme Being prevailed. They saw creatures crawling or rolling inside of cramped or august spaces and sometimes piled up inside of the spaces, reciting prayers, chanting, burning fires, or being eerily quiet. These were religious ceremonies.
At the end of each of the films and symbolic presentations, the same single line was uttered, which was this: “Having recognized the tendency of the mind to extrapolate, we have worked hard to control that tendency. While we believe the universe contains more than what can be observed and measured, we are not sure that the unobserved and unmeasured part of the universe is hierarchically arranged. Also, we no longer believe that the most interesting part of cause-and-effect is the pinpointing and singling out of a first cause when every step along the way is so interesting.”
They were treated to some music at the end of the film that they were shown.
When the film ended and their nozzles removed and after satisfying themselves that the baby was sleeping peacefully, Peter and Sylvia walked up to the desk of the teacher. Sylvia said, “You
asked to speak to us.”
The teacher turned its cart to the side and began rolling up and down along the wall of the classroom that was behind its desk. It seemed to be thinking. It then rolled away from the wall and came towards them, stopping in front of its desk. This was the first time since they had been introduced to the teacher that it had come out from behind its desk.
The teacher did something else that was unexpected. It reached out with its upper limbs and placed the tips of one of the limbs on the palm of Sylvia’s left hand and the tips of the other limb on the palm of Peter’s right hand. Both Sylvia and Peter instinctively wrapped their fingers around the tip of the skinny, black, hairy appendage that had been put in their palms.
The three of them thus were, in a sense, standing in a circle and holding hands. The teacher said, “Before saying anything more, I feel compelled to ask you if you are still determined to leave us.” After both said, “We have not changed our minds. We feel that the time has come for us to return to Earth,” the teacher pushed the tips of the limbs it had placed in their palms a little farther along the surface of their palms, far enough to wrap the tip of its limbs around their hands. It then said, “I suppose I am not surprised” and, after saying that, it pushed the tips of its upper limbs still further along the two people’s palms so that it could more completely than before enclose their hands in those tips. After doing this, the teacher said, “I have said this before and I will say it now again: we will miss you.”
“And we will miss you,” Sylvia said. “And we will miss you,” Peter repeated, then added, “We hope you do not regard our decision to depart as a rejection of you or of any of your colleagues and fellow creatures who have been good friends and kind caretakers. We are not ungrateful. It is just that the pull of our home is just too strong for us to be able to resist it. Please try to understand.”
A Theory of Gravity Page 41