Andromeda (A Space-Age Tale) вк-1

by Ivan Yefremov

  Transmission from Earth raced through space to Tantra and the planet greeted the victory over the gloom of the iron star and over the gloom of icy Pluto. Specially written songs and symphonies in honour of Tantra and Amat were performed.

  The Cosmos resounded with triumphant melodies. Stations on Mars, Venus and the asteroids called the ship, their chords merging with the general chorus of homage to the heroes.

  ‘“Tantra… Tantra…” came, at last, the voice from the Council’s control post. “You may land on El Homra!”

  The Central Cosmic Port was situated where there had formerly been a desert in North Africa and the spaceship made its way there through the sun-drenched atmosphere of Earth.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SYMPHONY IN F-MINOR, COLOUR TONE 4.75 μ

  The wall of the broad verandah facing south towards the sea was made of sheets of transparent plastic. The pale diffused light from the ceiling complemented rather than rivalled the moonlight, softening its dense black shadows. Almost the whole maritime expedition had gathered on the verandah, only the very youngest members of the expedition were still frolicking in the moonlit sea. Cart Sann, the artist, was there with his beautiful model. Frith Don, the Director of the expedition, shook back his long, golden hair as he told the people about the horse Miyiko had found. When they made tests of the material from which it was made in order to calculate the weight to he lifted they got the most unexpected results. Under the superficial layer of some alloy the statue was pure gold. If the horse were cast solid then its weight, after allowance had been made for water displacement, would be four hundred tons. Special vessels with powerful salvage gear had been sent for — an unexpected development from a pleasant afternoon’s swim enjoyed by Miyiko Eigoro and Darr Veter. Somebody asked how so much valuable metal could have been used so foolishly. One of the older historians recalled a legend discovered in the historical archives telling of the disappearance of the gold reserves of a whole country, and that at a time when gold was the monetary expression of labour values. Certain criminal rulers, guilty of tyranny and the impoverishment of the people, had been forced to flee to another country — in those days there were obstacles called frontiers preventing contact between nations — and before absconding they gathered together the entire gold reserve and cast a statue from it and placed it in the busiest square of the country’s chief city. Nobody was able to find the gold. The historian presumed that in those days nobody had been able to find the precious metal under the layer of the cheap alloy.

  The story caused some excitement. The find of a large quantity of gold was a fine gift to mankind. Although the heavy metal had long ceased to serve as a symbol of value it was still very necessary in electrical instruments, medicines and, especially, for the manufacture of anameson.

  In a small group in a corner outside the verandah sat Veda Kong, Darr Veter, the artist, Chara Nandi and Evda Nahl. Renn Bose sat down bashfully beside them after his fruitless attempts to find Mven Mass.

  "You were right when you said that artists, or rather, art in general, must always inevitably lag behind the rapid advance of knowledge and technique,” said Darr Veter.

  ‘“You didn’t understand me,” objected Cart Saun. “Art has already corrected its errors and understood its duty to mankind. Art has ceased to create oppressive monumental forms, to depict brilliance and majesty that do not exist in reality, for all that was purely superficial. Art’s most important duty has become the development of man’s emotional side, since only art can rightly attune the human psyche and prepare it for the acceptance of the most complicated impressions. Who does not know how wonderfully easy it is to understand something when you have been pretuned by music, colour or form, and how inaccessible the human spirit is when you try to force a way into it. You historians know better than anybody else how much mankind has suffered through a lack of understanding of the necessity to train and develop the emotional side of the psyche.”

  “There was a period in the past when art craved abstract forms,” Veda Kong put in.

  “Art craved abstract forms in imitation of the intellect that had gained priority over everything else. Art, however, cannot find expression in the abstract, with the exception, of course, of music, and that occupies a special place and is concrete in its own way. Art in those days was on the wrong track.”

  "What do you believe to be the right track?”

  “I believe that art should be a reflection of the struggle and anxieties of life in people’s feelings, at times it should illustrate life but under the control of a common purposefulness. This purposefulness, in other words, is beauty, without which I cannot see happiness or a meaning for life. Without it art can easily degenerate into mere fanciful invention, especially if the artist has an insufficient knowledge of life and of history.”

  “I have always wanted art to help conquer and change the world and not merely to sense the world,” added Darr Veter. “I agree with that, but with one proviso,” said Cart Sann. “Art shouldn’t treat the outside world alone; it’s more important to treat of man’s inner world, his emotions, his education. With an understanding of all contradictions….”

  Evda Nahl placed her strong, warm hand on Darr Veter’s.

  “What dream have you renounced today?” At first Veter wanted to put her off, but realized that with Evda equivocation was impossible. And so he pretended to be absorbed in the artist’s discourse.

  “Those who have seen the mass art of the past,” continued the artist, “cinema films, recordings of theatre shows, exhibitions of pictures, know how marvellously refined, elegant, purged of all superfluities our present-day spectacles, dances and pictures seem by contrast. I am not comparing them with the periods of decay, of course.”

  “He’s clever but too verbose,” whispered Veda Kong. “It’s difficult for an artist to express in words or formulas those complicated phenomena that he sees and selects from his environment,” Chara Nandi said in his defence and Evda Nahl nodded approvingly.

  “What I want to do is something like this,” continued Cart Sann, “I want to collect into one image the pure grains of the wonderful genuineness of feeling, form and colour scattered among many people. I want to restore the ancient images by the highest expression of the beauty of each of the races of the distant past that have gone into the makeup of mankind today. The Daughter of Gondwana is unity with nature, a subconscious knowledge of the connections between things and phenomena, a complex of senses and feelings interlaced with instincts.

  “The Daughter of Thetis, the Mediterranean, has strongly developed emotions that are fearlessly expansive and infinitely varying; here there is a different degree of the union with nature, through emotions, the power of Eros — that is how I imagine her. The ancient civilizations of the Mediterranean, the Cretan, Etruscan, Hellenic and Proto-Indian — gave rise to the type of man who, alone of all others, could have created that civilization that stemmed from the rule of woman. I had the best of luck when I discovered Chara: she is by pure accident a combination of the traits of ancestors from amongst the Graeco-Cretans of antiquity and the later peoples of Central India.”

  Veda smiled at the correctness of her guess and Darr Veter whispered to her that it would be hard to find a better model.

  “If my Daughter of the Mediterranean turns out a success then I must go on to the third part of the plan — I must paint the golden- or flaxen-haired northern woman, with her calm and transparent eyes, tall, somewhat slow in her movements, her glance straightforward as she looks out at the world like one of the ancient Russian, Scandinavian or English women. Only when that is finished shall I be able to start on the synthesis, the image of the present-day woman in which I shall have to portray the best features of each of those ancestors.”

  “Why do you only paint ‘daughters’ and no ‘sons’?” asked Veda, smiling mysteriously.

  “Is there any need for me to explain that by the laws of physiology the beautiful is always more finished and more refined
in woman?” frowned the artist.

  “When you are ready to paint your third picture, your Daughter of the North, take a good look at Veda Kong,” began Evda Nahl, “you’ll hardly….”

  The artist rose swiftly to his feet.

  “D’you think I’m blind? I am struggling against myself to prevent that image becoming part of me at a time when I am full of another. But Veda….”

  “Is dreaming of music,” continued Veda. “What a pity there is only a solar piano here and it’s silent at night.”

  “Is that the piano with a system of semi-conductors that works from sunlight?” asked Renn Bose, leaning over the arm of his chair. “If it is, I can switch it over to use the current of the receiver.”

  “Will it take long?” asked Veda, pleased at the opportunity.

  “It would take about an hour.”

  “Then don’t bother. The news broadcast on the world circuit begins in an hour and we want to see and hear it. We’ve been busy the past two evenings and haven’t switched on the receiver.”

  “Then sing us something, Veda,” asked Darr Veter. “Cart Sann has the eternal stringed instrument, the one that dates back to feudal society in the Dark Ages.”

  “Guitar,” guessed Chara Nandi.

  “Who’ll play? I’ll try myself, perhaps I can manage.”

  “I’ll play.” Chara Nandi volunteered to go for the guitar.

  “We’ll run together,” suggested Frith Don. Chara roguishly tossed back her mass of black hair. Sherliss pulled a lever moving back the side wall of the verandah giving them a view of the eastern corner of the bay. Frith Don ran with long strides. Chara ran with her head thrown back and soon fell behind but in the end they arrived at the studio together, plunged into the un-lighted entrance and a second later reappeared to skim along the edge of the sea, stubborn and swift-footed. Frith Don was the first to reach the verandah but Chara vaulted over the open side partition and was first in the room. Veda clapped her hands in admiration. “But Frith Don won last year’s decathlon!” “And Chara Nandi was graduated from the Higher School of Dance, both departments. Ancient and Modern,” retorted Cart Sann, in the same tone.

  “Veda and I studied dancing too, but only in the lower grades,” sighed Evda Nahl.

  “Everybody passes the lower grade nowadays,” said the artist teasingly.

  Chara ran her fingers lightly over the strings, sticking out her small, firm chin. The guitar hummed low, pensive notes. The young woman’s high-pitched voice combined longing and challenge. She sang a new song, one that had just come from the southern zone, a song of an unfulfilled dream. Veda’s low contralto joined in and became the beam around which Chara’s voice coiled and quivered. It was a magnificent duet, the two singers were absolute opposites and yet they complemented each other perfectly. Darr Veter turned his gaze from one to the other unable to decide to whom the singing was most becoming — Veda, who stood leaning her elbows on the receiver and her head bowed under the weight of a mass of blonde hair that glittered silver in the moonlight, or Chara, leaning forward with the guitar on her round, bare knees, with a face tanned by the sun in which the white of her teeth and the bluish whites of her eyes stood out in sharp contrast.

  The song finished, Chara picked idly at the strings. Darr Veter clenched his teeth — she was strumming the song that had once separated him from Veda, a song that was now painful to her, too.

  She plucked at the strings spasmodically, the chords following each other and dying before they could merge. It was a jerky melody, like the splashes of waves falling on the beach, spreading over the sand for an instant and then rolling back, one after another, to the black depths of the sea. Chara was quite unaware of anything, her clear voice gave life to the words of love that flew out into the icy void of the Cosmos from star to star, trying to find, to understand, to feel where he was… he who had gone into the Cosmos for the great deed of discovery — he would never return — let it be so, if only for one moment.she could know what was happening to him, help him with a whispered word, a kind thought, a greeting!

  Veda remained silent and Chara felt there was something wrong, she broke off the song, jumped up, tossed the guitar to the artist and went over to where the fair-haired woman was standing, her head bowed guiltily.

  Veda smiled.

  “Dance for me, Chara.”

  The latter nodded obediently but Frith Don stopped her.

  “The dances can wait, there’s a transmission beginning now."

  On the roof of the building a telescopic pipe was put up on which there were two metal sheets at right angles to each other surmounted by a circular structure with eight hemispheres arranged around its circumference. The room was filled with the mighty sounds of the world information service.

  “The discussion of the project introduced by the Academy of Directed Radiation continues,” said a man on the screen. “The project provides for the substitution of electronic recording for the linear alphabet. The project is not being universally supported. The chief objection is the intricacy of the reading apparatus. The book will cease to be a friend to accompany men everywhere. Despite all its apparent advantages the project will probably be rejected!”

  “It’s been discussed for a long time,” said Renn Bose.

  “A big contradiction,” answered Darr Veter, “on the one hand, there is the tempting simplicity of the writing and, on the other, the difficulty of reading.”

  The man on the screen continued:

  “Yesterday’s report is confirmed — Cosmic Expedition No. 37 has been heard from. They are returning….”

  Darr Veter was staggered by the strength of his own contrasting emotions. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Veda Kong slowly rise to her feet, her eyes opening wider and wider. With the keen ears of a lover Darr Veter caught the sound of her spasmodic breathing.

  “… from the direction of square four hundred and one the ship has just come out of the negative field at one-hundredth of a parsec from Neptune’s orbit. The expedition has been delayed through an encounter with a black sun. There have been no losses of life! The speed of the ship.’“ said the news reader in conclusion, “is about five-sixths of the absolute unit. The expedition is expected at Triton in eleven days!.. Listen for reports of their marvellous discoveries!”

  The broadcast continued. There were other items of news but nobody listened to them any more. They crowded round Veda, congratulating her. She smiled, her cheeks were burning but there was anxiety hidden deep down in her eyes. Darr Veter also approached. Veda felt the firm pressure of his hand and met his eyes, direct and sincere. Not for a long time had he looked at her like that and she understood the sadness of his former attitude towards her and she realized that at that moment he read something else in her face besides joy.

  Darr Veter slowly released her hand, smiled in a way all his own, inimitably open and frank, and walked away. Her companions from the expedition were excitedly discussing the news. Veda remained inside the circle of people but watched Darr Veter out of the corner of her eye. She saw Evda Nahl go up to him and a moment later they were joined by Renn Bose.

  “We must find Mven Mass, he still doesn’t know the news!” exclaimed Darr Veter, as though he had suddenly remembered. “Come along with me, Evda. And what about you, Renn?”

  “I’ll come too,” said Chara Nandi as she came up.

  “May I?”

  They went down towards the gently lapping waves. Darr Veter stopped, turned his face to the cool breeze and sighed deeply. Turning round he met Evda Nahl’s eyes.

  “I’m going away without returning to the house,” he said in answer to her unasked question. Evda took him by the arm. For some time they walked on in silence.

  “I’ve been thinking… must you?” whispered Evda, “but I suppose you must, I suppose you’re right. If Veda…” Evda stopped, but Darr Veter squeezed her hand understandingly and pressed it to his cheek. Renn Bose followed on their heels, carefully edging away from Chara who, with a
slightly mocking smile, ogled him with her big eyes and swayed her body exaggeratedly as she walked with long steps beside him. Evda laughed a scarcely audible laugh and suddenly offered the physicist her free arm. Rcnn Bose seized it with a predatory movement that seemed funny in that bashful fellow.

  “Where are we to look for your friend?” asked Chara, stopping at the edge of the water. Darr Veter looked round in the bright moonlight and saw fresh footprints on the strip of wet sand. They were made at exactly the same intervals and the soles were turned outward symmetrically with such precision that the footprints seemed to be the work of a machine.

  “He went that way,” said Darr Veter pointing towards some big boulders.

  “Yes, those are his footprints,” confirmed Evda Nahl.

  “Why are you so sure?” asked Chara, doubtfully. “Look at the-regularity of the paces, that’s how primitive hunters walked… or those who have inherited their traits. It seems to me that Mven, despite all his learning, is closer to nature than any of us… although… I don’t know about you; Chara.” Evda turned to the girl who was pondering over something.

  “Me? Oh, no!” She pointed forward and exclaimed, “There he is!”

  The huge figure of the African, shining like polished black marble in the moonlight, appeared on the nearest boulder. Mven Mass was shaking his fists energetically as though he were threatening somebody. The powerful muscles of his mighty body rose and fell and rolled beneath his gleaming skin.

  “He’s like the spirit of the night from the children’s tales,” whispered Chara excitedly. Mven Mass noticed the people approaching him, jumped down from his rock and soon appeared before them with his clothes on. In a few words Darr Veter explained what had happened and Mven Mass expressed a desire to see Veda Kong.

  “Go over there with Chara,” said Evda, “and we’ll stay down here for a little while.” Darr Veter made a gesture of farewell and saw by Mven’s face that he had understood. A burst of something like childishness egged Mven on to whisper words of farewell that had long since gone out of usage. Darr Veter was touched by this gesture and walked away, deep in thought, accompanied by the silent Evda. Renn Bose hesitated for a while in some confusion and then followed behind Mven Mass and Chara.