Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (26 page)

"In
the
matter
of
sepulture,
for
instance,
I
could
see
no
signs
of crematoria
nor
anything
suggestive
of
tombs.
But
it
occurred
to
me that,
possibly,
there
might
be
cemeteries
(or
crematoria)
somewhere beyond
the
range
of
my
explorings.
This,
again,
was
a
question
I deliberately
put
to
myself,
and
my
curiosity
was
at
first
entirely
defeated
upon
the
point.
The
thing
puzzled
me,
and
I
was
led
to
make a
further
remark,
which
puzzled
me
still
more:
that
aged
and
infirm among
this
people
there
were
none.

"I
must
confess
that
my
satisfaction
with
my
first
theories
of
an automatic
civilisation
and
a
decadent
humanity
did
not
long
endure. Yet
I
could
think
of
no
other.
Let
me
put
my
difficulties.
The
several big
palaces
I
had
explored
were
mere
living
places,
great
dining-halls and
sleeping
apartments.
I
could
find
no
machinery,
no
appliances of
any
kind.
Yet
these'
people
were
clothed
in
pleasant
fabrics
that
must at times need renewel, and their sandals, though undecorated, were fairly
complex specimens of metalwork. Somehow such things must be made. And the
little people displayed no vestige of a creative tendency. There were no shops,
no workshops, no sign of importations among them. They spent all their time in
playing gently, in bathing in the river, in making love in a half-playful
fashion, in eating fruit and sleeping. I could not see how things were kept
going.

"Then,
again, about the Time Machine: something, I knew not what, had taken it into
the hollow pedestal of the White Sphinx. Why? For the life of me I could not
imagine. Those waterless wells, too, those flickering pillars. I felt I lacked
a clue. I felt—how shall I put it? Suppose you found an inscription, with
sentences here and there in excellent plain English, and interpolated
therewith, others made up of words, of letters even, absolutely unknown to you?
Well, on the third day of my visit, that was how the world of Eight Hundred and
Two Thousand Seven Hundred and One presented itself to me!

"That
day, too, I made a friend—of a sort. It happened that, as I was watching some
of the little people bathing in a shallow, one of them was seized with cramp
and began drifting downstream. The main current ran rather swiftly, but not too
strongly for even a moderate swimmer. It will give you an idea, therefore, of
the strange deficiency in these creatures, when I tell you that none made the
slightest attempt to rescue the weakly crying little thing which was drowning
before their eyes. When I realised this, I hurriedly slipped off my clothes,
and, wading in at a point lower down, I caught the poor mite and drew her safe
to land. A little rubbing of the limbs soon brought her round, and I had the
satisfaction of seeing she was all right before I left her. I had got to such a
low estimate of her kind that I did not expect any gratitude from her. In that,
however, I was wrong.

"This
happened in the morning. In the afternoon I met my little woman, as I believe
it was, as I was returning towards my centre from an exploration, and she
received me with cries of delight and presented me with a big garland of
flowers—evidently made for me and me alone. The thing took my imagination. Very
possibly I had been feeling desolate. At any rate I did my best to display my
appreciation of the gift. We were soon seated together in a little stone
arbour, engaged in conversation, chiefly of smiles. The creature's friendliness
affected me exactly as a child's might have done. We
passed
each
other
flowers,
and
she
kissed
my
hands.
I
did
the
same to
hers.
Then
I
tried
talk,
and
found
that
her
name
was
Weena,
which, though
I
don't
know
what
it
meant,
somehow
seemed
appropriate enough.
That
was
the
beginning
of
a
queer
friendship
which
lasted a
week,
and
ended—as
I
will
tell
you!

"She
was
exactly
like
a
child.
She
wanted
to
be
with
me
always. She
tried
to
follow
me
everywhere,
and
my
next
journey
out
and about
it
went
to
my
heart
to
tire
her
down,
and
leave
her
at
last,
exhausted
and
calling
after
me
rather
plaintively.
But
the
problems
of the
world
had
to
be
mastered.
I
had
not,
I
said
to
myself,
come
into the
future
to
carry
on
a
miniature
flirtation.
Yet
her
distress
when
I
left her
was
very
great,
her
expostulations
at
the
parting
were
sometimes frantic,
and
I
think,
altogether,
I
had
as
much
trouble
as
comfort from
her
devotion.
Nevertheless
she
was,
somehow,
a
very
great comfort.
I
thought
it
was
mere
childish
affection
that
made
her cling
to
me.
Until
it
was
too
late,
I
did
not
clearly
know
what
I
had inflicted
upon
her
when
I
left
her.
Nor
until
it
was
too
late
did
I clearly
understand
what
she
was
to
me.
For,
by
merely
seeming
fond of
me,
and
showing
in
her
weak,
futile
way
that
she
cared
for
me,
the little
doll
of
a
creature
presently
gave
my
return
to
the
neighbourhood
of
the
White
Sphinx
almost
the
feeling
of
coming
home;
and I
would
watch
for
her
tiny
figure
of
white
and
gold
so
soon
as
I came
over
the
hill.