I opened the door. The room was glowing in the red twilight2. Someone was sitting in thearmchair where Rheya had knelt. For a second or two, I was paralysed with terror, filled withan overwhelming desire to turn and run. Then the seated figure raised its head: it was Snow.
His legs crossed, still wearing the acid-stained trousers, he was looking through some papers, apile of which lay on a small table beside him. He put down those he was holding in his hand,let his glasses slide down his nose, and scowled3 up at me.
Without saying a word, I went to the basin, took the ointment out of the medicine chest andapplied it to my forehead and cheeks. Fortunately my face was not too swollen5 and my eyes,which I had closed instinctively6, did not seem to be inflamed7. I lanced some large blisters8 onmy temples and cheekbones with a sterilized9 needle; they exuded10 a serous liquid, which Imopped up with an antiseptic pad. Then I applied4 some gauze dressing11.
Snow watched me throughout these first-aid operations, but I paid no attention to him. When atlast I had finished (and my burns had become even more painful), I sat myself down in theother chair. I had first to remove Rheya's dress—that apparently12 quite normal dress which wasnevertheless devoid13 of fastenings.
Snow, his hands clasped around one bony knee, continued to observe me with a critical air.
"Well, are you ready to have a chat?" he asked.
I did not answer; I was busy replacing a piece of gauze which had slipped down one cheek.
"You've had a visitor, haven't you?""Yes," I answered curtly14.
He had begun the conversation on a note which I found displeasing15.
"And you've rid yourself of it already? Well, well! That was quick!"He touched his forehead, which was still peeling and mottled with pink patches of new skim. Iwas thunderstruck. Why had I not realized before the implications of Snow's and Sartorius's'sunburn'? No one exposed himself to the sun here.
Without noticing my sudden change of expression he went on:
"I imagine you didn't try extreme methods straight away. What did you use first—drugs,poison, judo16?""Do you want to discuss the thing seriously or play the fool? If you don't want to help, you canleave me in peace."He half-closed his eyes.
"Sometimes one plays the fool in spite of oneself. Did you try the rope, or the hammer? Or thewell-aimed ink-bottle, like Luther? No?" He grimaced17, "Aren't you a fast worker! The basin isstill intact, you haven't banged your head against the walls, you haven't even turned the roomupside down. One, two and into the rocket, just like that!" He looked at his watch.
"Consequently, we have two or three hours at our disposal…. Am I getting on your nerves?" headded, with a disagreeable smile.
"Yes," I said curtly.
"Really? Well, if I tell you a little story, will you believe me?"I said nothing.
Still with that hideous18 smile, he went on:
"It started with Gibarian. He locked himself in his cabin and refused to talk to us exceptthrough the door. And can you guess what we thought?"I remained silent.
"Naturally, we thought he had gone mad. He let a bit of it out—through the locked door—butnot everything. You may wonder why he didn't tell us that there was someone with him. Oh,suum cuique! But he was a true scientist. He begged us to let him take his chance!""What chance?""He was obviously doing his damnedest to solve the problem, to get to the bottom of it. Heworked day and night. You know what he was doing? You must know.""Those calculations, in the drawer of the radio-cabin—were they his?""Yes.""How long did it go on?""This visit? About a week…We thought he was suffering from hallucinations, or having anervous breakdown19. I gave him some scopolamine.""Gave him?""Yes. He took it, but not for himself. He tried it out on someone else.""What did you do?""On the third day we had decided20, if all else failed, to break down the door, maybe injuring hisself-esteem, but at least curing him.""Ah…""Yes.""So, in that locker….""Yes, my friend, quite. But in the meantime, we too had received visitors. We had our handsfull, and didn't have a chance to tell him what was going on. Now it's…it's become a routine."He spoke21 so softly that I guessed rather than heard the last few words.
"I still don't understand!" I exclaimed. "If you listened at his door, you must have heard twovoices.""No, we heard only his voice. There were strange noises, but we thought they came from himtoo.""Only his voice! But how is it that you didn't hear…her?""I don't know. I have the rudiments22 of a theory about it, but I've dropped it for the moment. Nopoint getting bogged23 down in details. But what about you? You must already have seensomething yesterday, otherwise you would have taken us for lunatics.""I thought it was I who had gone mad.""So you didn't see anyone?""I saw someone.""Who?"I gave him a long look—he no longer wore even the semblance24 of a smile—and answered:
"That…that black woman…" He was leaning forward, and as I spoke his body almostimperceptibly relaxed. "You might have warned me.""I did warn you.""You could have chosen a better way!""It was the only way possible. I didn't know what you would see. No one could know, no oneever knows…""Listen, Snow, I want to ask you something. You've had some experience of this…phenomenon. Will she…will the person who visited me today…?""Will she come back, do you mean?"I nodded.
"Yes and no," he said.
"What does that mean?""She…this person will come back as though nothing had happened, just as she was at thebeginning of her first visit. More precisely25, she will appear not to realize what you did to getrid of her. If you abide26 by the rules, she won't be aggressive.""What rules?""That depends on the circumstances.""Snow!""What?""Don't let's waste time talking in riddles27.""In riddles? Kelvin, I'm afraid you still don't understand." His eyes glittered. "All right, then!"he went on, brutally28. "Can you tell me who your visitor was?"I swallowed my saliva29 and turned away. I did not want to look at him. I would have preferredto be dealing30 with anyone else but him; but I had no choice. A piece of gauze came unstuckand fell on my hand. I gave a start.
"A woman who…" I stopped. "She died. An injection…""Suicide?""Yes.""Is that all?"He waited. Seeing that I remained silent, he murmured:
"No, it's not all…"I looked up quickly; he was not looking at me.
"How did you guess?" He said nothing. "It's true, there's more to it than that." I moistened mylips. "We quarrelled. Or rather, I lost my temper and said a lot of things I didn't mean. I packedmy bags and cleared out. She had given me to understand…not in so many words—when one'slived together for years it's not necessary. I was certain she didn't mean it, that she wouldn'tdare, she'd be too afraid, and I told her so. Next day, I remembered I'd left these…theseampoules in a drawer. She knew they were there. I'd brought them back from the laboratorybecause I needed them, and I had explained to her that the effect of a heavy dose would belethal. I was a bit worried. I wanted to go back and get them, but I thought that would give theimpression that I'd taken her remarks seriously. By the third day I was really worried and madeup my mind to go back. When I arrived, she was dead.""You poor innocent!"I looked up with a start. But Snow was not making fun of me. It seemed to me that I was seeinghim now for the first time. His face was grey, and the deep lines between cheek and nose wereevidence of an unutterable exhaustion31: he looked a sick man.
Curiously32 awed33, I asked him:
"Why did you say that?""Because it's a tragic34 story." Seeing that I was upset, he added, hastily: "No, no, you still don'tunderstand. Of course it's a terrible burden to carry around, and you must feel like a murderer,but…there are worse things.""Oh, really?""Yes, really. And I'm almost glad that you refuse to believe me. Certain events, which haveactually happened, are horrible, but what is more horrible still is what hasn't happened, whathas never existed.""What are you saying?" I asked, my voice faltering35.
He shook his head from side to side.
"A normal man," he said. "What is a normal man? A man who has never committed adisgraceful act? Maybe, but has he never had uncontrollable thoughts? Perhaps he hasn't. Butperhaps something, a phantasm, rose up from somewhere within him, ten or thirty years ago,something which he suppressed and then forgot about, which he doesn't fear since he knows hewill never allow it to develop and so lead to any action on his part. And now, suddenly, inbroad daylight, he comes across this thing…this thought, embodied36, riveted37 to him,indestructible. He wonders where he is…Do you know where he is?""Where?""Here," whispered Snow, "on Solaris.""But what does it mean? After all, you and Sartorius aren't criminals….""And you call yourself a psychologist, Kelvin! Who hasn't had, at some moment in his life, acrazy daydream38, an obsession39? Imagine…imagine a fetishist who becomes infatuated with,let's say, a grubby piece of cloth, and who threatens and entreats40 and defies every risk in orderto acquire this beloved bit of rag. A peculiar41 idea, isn't it? A man who at one and the same timeis ashamed of the object of his desire and cherishes it above everything else, a man who isready to sacrifice his life for his love, since the feeling he has for it is perhaps as overwhelmingas Romeo's feeling for Juliet. Such cases exist, as you know. So, in the same way, there arethings, situations, that no one has dared to externalize, but which the mind has produced byaccident in a moment of aberration43, of madness, call it what you will. At the next stage, theidea becomes flesh and blood. That's all."Stupefied, my mouth dry, I repeated:
"That's all?" My head was spinning. "And what about the Station? What has it got to do withthe Station?""It's almost as if you're purposely refusing to understand," he groaned44. "I've been talking aboutSolaris the whole time, solely46 about Solaris. If the truth is hard to swallow, it's not my fault.
Anyhow, after what you've already been through, you ought to be able to hear me out! We takeoff into the cosmos47, ready for anything: for solitude48, for hardship, for exhaustion, death.
Modesty50 forbids us to say so, but there are times when we think pretty well of ourselves. Andyet, if we examine it more closely, our enthusiasm turns out to be all sham42. We don't want toconquer the cosmos, we simply want to extend the boundaries of Earth to the frontiers of thecosmos. For us, such and such a planet is as arid51 as the Sahara, another as frozen as the NorthPole, yet another as lush as the Amazon basin. We are humanitarian52 and chivalrous53; we don'twant to enslave other races, we simply want to bequeath them our values and take over theirheritage in exchange. We think of ourselves as the Knights54 of the Holy Contact. This is anotherlie. We are only seeking Man. We have no need of other worlds. We need mirrors. We don'tknow what to do with other worlds. A single world, our own, suffices us; but we can't accept itfor what it is. We are searching for an ideal image of our own world: we go in quest of aplanet, of a civilization superior to our own but developed on the basis of a prototype of ourprimeval past. At the same time, there is something inside us which we don't like to face up to,from which we try to protect ourselves, but which nevertheless remains55, since we don't leaveEarth in a state of primal56 innocence57. We arrive here as we are in reality, and when the page isturned and that reality is revealed to us—that part of our reality which we would prefer to passover in silence—then we don't like it any more."I had listened to him patiently.
"But what on earth are you talking about?""I'm talking about what we all wanted: contact with another civilization. Now we've got it!
And we can observe, through a microscope, as it were, our own monstrous58 ugliness, our folly,our shame!" His voice shook with rage.
"So…you think it's…the ocean? That the ocean is responsible for it all? But why? I'm notasking how, I'm simply asking why? Do you seriously think that it wants to toy with us, orpunish us—a sort of elementary demonomania? A planet dominated by a huge devil, whosatisfies the demands of his satanic humors by sending succubi to haunt the members of ascientific expedition…? Snow, you can't believe anything so absurd!"He muttered under his breath.
"This devil isn't such a fool as all that…"I looked at him in amazement59. Perhaps what had happened, assuming that we had experiencedit in our right minds, had finally driven him over the edge? A reaction psychosis?
He was laughing to himself.
"Making your diagnosis60? Don't be in too much of a hurry! You've only been through oneordeal—and that a reasonably mild one.""Oh, so the devil had pity on me!"I was beginning to weary of this conversation.
"What is it you want exactly?" Snow went on. "Do you want me to tell you what this mass ofmetamorphic plasma61—x-billion tons of metamorphic plasma—is scheming against us? Perhapsnothing.""What do you mean, nothing?"Snow smiled.
"You must know that science is concerned with phenomena62 rather than causes. The phenomenahere began to manifest themselves eight or nine days after that X-ray experiment. Perhaps theocean reacted to the irradiation with a counter-irradiation, perhaps it probed our brains andpenetrated to some kind of psychic63 tumor64."I pricked65 up my ears.
"Tumor?""Yes, isolated66 psychic processes, enclosed, stifled67, encysted—foci smouldering under the ashesof memory. It deciphered them and made use of them, in the same way as one uses a recipe ora blue-print. You know how alike the asymmetric68 crystalline structures of a chromosome69 are tothose of the DNA70 molecule71, one of the constituents72 of the cerebrosides which constitute thesubstratum of the memory-processes? This genetic73 substance is a plasma which 'remembers.'
The ocean has 'read' us by this means, registering the minutest details, with the result that…well, you know the result. But for what purpose? Bah! At any rate, not for the purpose ofdestroying us. It could have annihilated74 us much more easily. As far as one can tell, given itstechnological resources, it could have done anything it wished—confronted me with yourdouble, and you with mine, for example.""So that's why you were so alarmed when I arrived, the first evening!""Yes. In fact, how do you know it hasn't done so? How do you know I'm really the same oldRatface who landed here two years ago?"He went on laughing silently, enjoying my discomfiture75, then he growled76:
"No, no, that's enough of that! We're two happy mortals; I could kill you, you could kill me.""And the others, can't they be killed?""I don't advise you to try—a horrible sight!""Is there no means of killing77 them?""I don't know. Certainly not with poison, or a weapon, or by injection…""What about a gamma pistol?""Would you risk it?""Since we know they're not human…""In a certain subjective78 sense, they are human. They know nothing whatsoever79 about theirorigins. You must have noticed that?""Yes. But then, how do you explain…?""They…the whole thing is regenerated80 with extraordinary rapidity, at an incredible speed—inthe twinkling of an eye. Then they start behaving again as…""As?""As we remember them, as they are engraved82 on our memories, following which…""Did Gibarian know?" I interrupted.
"As much as we do, you mean?""Yes.""Very probably.""Did he say anything to you?""No. I found a book in his room…"I leapt to my feet.
"The Little Apocrypha83!""Yes." He looked at me suspiciously. "Who could have told you about that?"I shook my head.
"Don't worry, you can see that I've burnt my skin and that it's not exactly renewing itself. No,Gibarian left a letter addressed to me in his cabin.""A letter? What did it say?""Nothing much. It was more of a note than a letter, with bibliographic84 references—allusions tothe supplement to the Annual and to the Apocrypha. What is this Apocrypha?""An antique which seems to have some relevance86 to our situation. Here!" He drew from hispocket a small, leatherbound volume, scuffed87 at the edges, and handed it to me.
I grabbed the little book.
"And what about Sartorius?""Him! Everyone has his own way of coping. Sartorius is trying to remain normal—that is, topreserve his respectability as an envoy88 of an official mission.""You're joking!""No, I'm quite serious. We were together on another occasion. I won't bother you with thedetails, but there were eight of us and we were down to our last 1000 pounds of oxygen. Oneafter another, we gave up our chores, and by the end we all had beards except Sartorius. Hewas the only one who shaved and polished his shoes. He's like that. Now, of course, he canonly pretend, act a part—or else commit a crime.""A crime?""Perhaps that isn't quite the right word. 'Divorce by ejection!' Does that sound better?""Very funny!""Suggest something else if you don't like it.""Oh, leave me alone!""No, let's discuss the thing seriously. You know pretty well as much as I do by now. Have yougot a plan?""No, none. I haven't the least idea what I'll do when…when she comes back. She will return, ifI've understood you correctly?""It's on the cards.""How do they get in? The Station is hermetically sealed. Perhaps the layer on the outer hull89…"He shook his head.
"The outer hull is in perfect condition. I don't know where they get in. Usually, they're therewhen you wake up, and you have to sleep eventually!""Could you barricade90 yourself securely inside a cabin?""The barricades91 wouldn't survive for long. There's only one solution, and you can guess whatthat is…"We both stood up.
"Just a minute, Snow! You're suggesting we liquidate92 the Station and you expect me to take theinitiative and accept the responsibility?""It's not as simple as that. Obviously, we could get out, if only as far as the satellite, and sendan SOS from there. Of course, we'll be regarded as lunatics; we'll be shut up in a mad-house onEarth—unless we have the sense to retract93. A distant planet, isolation94, collective derangement—our case won't seem at all out of the ordinary. But at least we'd be better off in a mentalhome than we are here: a quiet garden, little white cells, nurses, supervised walks…"Hands in his pockets, staring fixedly95 at a corner of the room, he spoke with the utmostseriousness.
The red sun had disappeared over the horizon and the ocean was a sombre desert, mottled withdying gleams, the last rays lingering among the long tresses of the waves. The sky was ablaze96.
Purple-edged clouds drifted across this dismal97 red and black world.
"Well, do you want to get out, yes or no? Or not yet?""Always the fighter! If you knew the full implications of what you're asking, you wouldn't beso insistent98. It's not a matter of what I want, it's a matter of what's possible.""Such as what?""That's the point, I don't know.""We stay here then? Do you think we'll find some way…?"Thin, sickly-looking, his peeling face deeply lined, he turned towards me:
"It might be worth our while to stay. We're unlikely to learn anything about it, but aboutourselves…"He turned, picked up his papers, and went out. I opened my mouth to detain him, but no soundescaped my lips.
There was nothing I could do now except wait. I went to the window and ran my eyes absentlyover the dark-red glimmer99 of the shadowed ocean. For a moment, I thought of locking myselfinside one of the capsules on the hangar-deck, but it was not an idea worth considering forlong: sooner or later, I should have to come out again.
I sat by the window, and began to leaf through the book Snow had given me. The glowingtwilight lit up the room and colored the pages. It was a collection of articles and treatises100 editedby an Otho Ravintzer, Ph.D., and its general level was immediately obvious. Every scienceengenders some pseudo-science, inspiring eccentrics to explore freakish by-ways; astronomyhas its parodists in astrology, chemistry used to have them in alchemy. It was not surprising,therefore, that Solaristics, in its early days, had set off an explosion of marginal cogitations.
Ravintzer's book was full of this sort of intellectual speculation102, prefaced, it is only fair to add,by an introduction in which the editor dissociated himself from some of the texts reproduced.
He considered, with some justice, that such a collection could provide an invaluable103 perioddocument as much for the historian as for the psychologist of science.
Berton's report, divided into two parts and complete with a summary of his log, occupied theplace of honor in the book.
From 14.00 hours to 16.40 hours, by expedition time, the entries in the log were laconic104 andnegative.
Altitude 3000—or 3500—2500 feet; nothing visible; ocean empty. The same words recurredover and over again.
Then, at 16.40 hours: A red mist rising. Visibility 700 yards. Ocean empty.
17.00 hours: fog thickening; visibility 400 yards, with clear patches. Descending105 to 600 feet.
17.20 hours: in fog. Altitude 600. Visibility 20-40 yards. Climbing to 1200.
17.45: altitude 1500. Pall106 of fog to horizon. Funnel-shaped openings through which I can seeocean surface. Attempting to enter one of these clearings; something is moving.
17.52: have spotted107 what appears to be a waterspout; it is throwing up a yellow foam108.
Surrounded by a wall of fog. Altitude 300. Descending to 60 feet.
The extract from Berton's log stopped at this point. There followed his case-history, or, moreprecisely, the statement dictated109 by Berton and interrupted at intervals110 by questions from themembers of the Commission of Enquiry.
BERTON: When I reached 100 feet it became very difficult to maintain altitude because of theviolent gusts111 of wind inside the cone112. I had to hang on to the controls and for a short period—about ten or fifteen minutes—I did not look outside. I realized too late that a powerfulundertow was dragging me back into the fog. It wasn't like an ordinary fog, it was a thickcolloidal substance which coated my windows. I had a lot of trouble cleaning them; that fog—or glue rather—was obstinate113 stuff. Due to this resistance, the speed of my rotor-blades wasreduced by thirty percent and I began losing height. I was afraid of capsizing on the waves; but,even at full power, I could maintain altitude but not increase it. I still had four booster-rocketsleft but felt the situation was not yet desperate enough to use them. The aircraft was shaken byshuddering vibrations114 that grew more and more violent. Thinking my rotor-blades must havebecome coated with the gluey substance, I glanced at the overload115 indicator116, but to my surpriseit read zero. Since entering the fog, I had not seen the sun—only a red glow. I continued to flyaround in the hope of emerging into one of the funnels117, which, after half an hour, was whathappened. I found myself in a new 'well,' perfectly118 cylindrical119 in shape, and several hundredyards in diameter. The walls of the cylinder120 were formed by an enormous whirlpool of fog,spiralling upwards121. I struggled to keep in the middle, where the wind was less violent. It wasthen that I noticed a change in the ocean's surface. The waves had almost completelydisappeared, and the upper layer of the fluid—or whatever the ocean is made of—wasbecoming transparent122, with murky123 streaks124 here and there which gradually dissolved until,finally, it was perfectly clear. I could see distinctly to a depth of several yards. I saw a sort ofyellow sludge which was sprouting125 vertical126 filaments127. When these filaments emerged abovethe surface, they had a glassy sheen. Then they began to exuam—they frothed—until the foamsolidified; it was like a very thick treacle129. These glutinous130 filaments merged128 and becameintertwined; great bubbles swelled131 up on the surface and slowly began to change shape.
Suddenly I realized that my machine was being driven towards the wall of fog. I had tomanoeuver against the wind, and when I was able to look down again, I saw something whichlooked like a garden. Yes, a garden. Trees, hedges, paths—but it wasn't a real garden; it was allmade of the same substance, which had hardened and by now looked like yellow plaster.
Beneath this garden, the ocean glittered. I came down as low as I dared in order to take a closerlook.
QUESTION: Did the trees and plants you saw have leaves on them?
BERTON: No, the shapes were only approximate, like a model garden. That's exactly what itwas like: a model, but lifesize. All of a sudden, it began to crack; it broke up and split into darkcrevices; a thick white liquid ran out and collected into pools, or else drained away. The'earthquake' became more violent, the whole thing boiled over and was buried beneath thefoam. At the same time, the walls of the fog began to close in. I gained height rapidly and cameclear at 1000 feet.
QUESTION: Are you absolutely sure that what you saw resembled a garden—there was noother possible interpretation132?
BERTON: Yes. I noticed several details. For example, I remember seeing a place where therewere some boxes in a row. I realized later that they were probably beehives.
QUESTION: You realized later? But not at the time, not at the moment when you actually sawthem?
BERTON: No, because everything looked as though it were made of plaster. But I sawsomething else.
QUESTION: What was that?
BERTON: I saw things which I can't put a name to, because I didn't have time to examine themcarefully. Under some bushes I thought I saw tools, long objects with prongs. They might havebeen plaster models of garden tools. But I'm not absolutely certain. Whereas I'm sure, quitecertain, that I recognized an apiary133.
QUESTION: It didn't occur to you that it might be an hallucination?
BERTON: No. I thought it was a mirage134. It never occurred to me that it was an hallucinationbecause I felt perfectly well, and I had never seen anything like it before. When I reached 1000feet and took another look at the fog, it was pitted with more irregularly shaped holes, ratherlike a piece of cheese. Some of these holes were completely hollow, and I could see the oceanwaves; others were only shallow saucers in which something was bubbling. I descendedanother well and saw—the altimeter read 120 feet—I saw a wall lying beneath the oceansurface. It wasn't very deep and I could see it clearly beneath the waves. It seemed to be thewall of a huge building, pierced with rectangular openings, like windows. I even thought Icould see something moving behind them, but I couldn't be absolutely certain of that. The wallslowly broke the surface and a mucous135 bubbling liquid streamed down its sides. Then itsuddenly broke in half and disappeared into the depths.
I regained136 height and continued to fly above the fog, the machine almost touching137 it, until Idiscovered another clearing, much larger than the previous one.
While I was still some distance away, I noticed a pale, almost white, object floating on thesurface. My first thought was that it was Fechner's flying-suit, especially as it looked vaguelyhuman in form. I brought the aircraft round sharply, afraid of losing my way and being unableto find the same spot again. The shape, the body, was moving; sometimes it seemed to bestanding upright in the trough of the waves. I accelerated and went down so low that themachine bounced gently. I must have hit the crest138 of a huge wave I was overflying. The body—yes, it was a human body, not an atmosphere-suit—the body was moving.
QUESTION: Did you see its face?
BERTON: Yes.
QUESTION: Who was it?
BERTON: A child.
QUESTION: What child? Did you recognize it?
BERTON: No. At any rate, I don't remember having seen it before. Besides, when I got closer—when I was forty yards away, or even sooner—I realized that it was no ordinary child.
QUESTION: What do you mean?
BERTON: I'll explain. At first, I couldn't understand what worried me about it; it was onlyafter a minute or two that I realized: this child was extraordinarily139 large. Enormous, in fact.
Stretched out horizontally, its body rose twelve feet above the surface of the ocean, I swear. Iremembered that when I touched the wave, its face was a little higher than mine, even thoughmy cockpit must have been at least ten feet above the ocean.
QUESTION: If it was as big as that, what makes you say it was a child?
BERTON: Because it was a tiny child.
QUESTION: Do you realize, Berton, that your answer doesn't make sense?
BERTON: On the contrary. I could see its face, and it was a very young child. Besides, itsproportions corresponded exactly to the proportions of a child's body. It was a…babe in arms.
No, I exaggerate. It was probably two or three years old. It had black hair and blue eyes—enormous blue eyes! It was naked—completely naked—like a newborn baby. It was wet, or Ishould say glossy140; its skin was shiny. I was shattered. I no longer thought it was a mirage. Icould see this child so distinctly. It rose and fell with the waves; but apart from this generalmotion, it was making other movements, and they were horrible!
QUESTION: Why? What was it doing?
BERTON: It was more like a doll in a museum, only a living doll. It opened and closed itsmouth, it made various gestures, horrible gestures.
QUESTION: What do you mean?
BERTON: I was watching it from about twenty yards away—I don't suppose I went any closer.
But, as I've already told you, it was enormous. I could see very clearly. Its eyes sparkled andyou really would have thought it was a living child, if it hadn't been for the movements, thegestures, as though someone was trying…It was as though someone else was responsible forthe gestures…QUESTION: Try to be more explicit141.
BERTON: It's difficult. I'm talking of an impression, more of an intuition. I didn't analyze142 it,but I knew that those gestures weren't natural.
QUESTION: Do you mean, for example, that the hands didn't move as human hands wouldmove, because the joints143 were not sufficiently144 supple85?
BERTON: No, not at all. But…these movements had no meaning. Each of our movementsmeans something, more or less, serves some purpose…QUESTION: Do you think so? The movements of an infant don't have much meaning!
BERTON: I know. But an infant's movements are confused, random145, uncoordinated. Themovements I saw were…er…yes, that's it, they were methodical movements. They wereperformed one after another, like a series of exercises; as though someone had wanted to makea study of what this child was capable of doing with its hands, its torso, its mouth. The facewas more horrifying146 than the rest, because the human face has an expression, and this face…Idon't know how to describe it. It was alive, yes, but it wasn't human. Or rather, the features as awhole, the eyes, the complexion147, were, but the expression, the movements of the face, werecertainly not.
QUESTION: Were they grimaces148? Do you know what happens to a person's face during anepileptic fit?
BERTON: Yes. I've watched an epileptic fit. I know what you mean. No, it was somethingquite different. Epilepsy provokes spasms149, convulsions. The movements I'm talking about werefluid, continuous, graceful…melodious, if one can say that of a movement. It's the nearestdefinition I can think of. But this face…a face can't divide itself into two—one half gay, theother sad, one half scowling150 and the other amiable151, one half frightened and the othertriumphant. But that's how it was with this child's face. In addition to that, all these movementsand changes of expression succeeded one another with unbelievable rapidity. I stayed downthere a very short time, perhaps ten seconds, perhaps less.
QUESTION: And you claim to have seen all that in such a short time? Besides, how do youknow how long you were there? Did you check your chronometer152?
BERTON: No, but I've been flying for seventeen years and, in my job, one can measureinstinctively, to the nearest second, the duration of what would be called an instant of time. It'san acquired faculty153, and essential for successful navigation. A pilot isn't worth his salt if hecan't tell whether a particular phenomenon lasts five or ten seconds, whatever thecircumstances. It's the same with observation. We learn, over the years, to take in everything ata glance.
QUESTION: Is that all you saw?
BERTON: No, but I don't remember the rest so precisely. I suppose I must already have seenmore than enough; my attention faltered154. The fog began to close in, and I had to climb. Iclimbed, and for the first time in my life I all but capsized. My hands were shaking so muchthat I had difficulty in handling the controls. I think I shouted something, called up the base,even though I knew we were not in radio contact.
QUESTION: Did you then try and get back?
BERTON: No. In the end, having gained height, I thought to myself that Fechner was probablyin the bottom of one of the wells. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what I thought. I toldmyself that everything was possible, and that it would also be possible for me to find Fechner. Idecided to investigate every clearing I came across along my route. At the third attempt I gaveup. When I had regained height, I knew it was useless to persist after what I had just seen onthis, the third, occasion. I couldn't go on any longer. I should add, as you already know, that Iwas suffering from bouts45 of nausea155 and that I vomited156 in the cockpit. I couldn't understand it; Ihave never been sick in my life.
COMMENT: It was a symptom of poisoning.
BERTON: Perhaps. I don't know. But what I saw on this third occasion I did not imagine. Thatwas not the effect of poisoning.
QUESTION: How can you possibly know?
BERTON: It wasn't an hallucination. An hallucination is created by one's own brain, wouldn'tyou say?
COMMENT: Yes.
BERTON: Well, my brain couldn't have created what I saw. I'll never believe that. My brainwouldn't have been capable of it.
COMMENT: Get on with describing what it was!
BERTON: Before I do so, I should like to know how the statements I've already made will beinterpreted.
QUESTION: What does that matter?
BERTON: For me, it matters very much indeed. I have said that I saw things which I shallnever forget. If the Commission recognizes, even with certain reservations, that my testimonyis credible81, and that a study of the ocean must be undertaken—I mean a study orientated158 in thelight of my statements—then I'll tell everything. But if the Commission considers that it is alldelusions, then I refuse to say anything more.
QUESTION: Why?
BERTON: Because the contents of my hallucinations belong to me and I don't have to give anaccount of them, whereas I am obliged to give an account of what I saw on Solaris.
QUESTION: Does that mean that you refuse to answer any more questions until the expeditionauthorities have announced their findings? You realize, of course, that the Commission isn'tempowered to take an immediate101 decision?
BERTON: Yes.
The first minute ended here. There followed a fragment of the second minute drawn159 up elevendays later.
PRESIDENT:…after due consideration, the Commission, composed of three doctors, threebiologists, a physicist160, a mechanical engineer and the deputy head of the expedition, hasreached the conclusion that Berton's report is symptomatic of hallucinations caused byatmospheric poisoning, consequent upon inflammation of the associative zone of the cerebralcortex, and that Berton's account bears no, or at any rate no appreciable161, relation to reality.
BERTON: Excuse me, what does "no appreciable relation" mean? In what proportion is realityappreciable or not?
PRESIDENT: I haven't finished. Independently of these conclusions, the Commission has dulyregistered a dissenting162 vote from Dr. Archibald Messenger, who considers the phenomenadescribed by Berton to be objectively possible and declares himself in favor of a scrupulousinvestigation.
BERTON: I repeat my question.
PRESIDENT: The answer is simple. "No appreciable relation to reality" means thatphenomena actually observed may have formed the basis of your hallucinations. In the courseof a nocturnal stroll, a perfectly sane163 man can imagine he sees a living creature in a bush stirredby the wind. Such illusions are all the more likely to affect an explorer lost on a strange planetand breathing a poisonous atmosphere. This verdict is in no way prejudicial to you, Berton.
Will you now be good enough to let us know your decision?
BERTON: First of all, I should like to know the possible consequences of this dissenting voteof Dr. Messenger's.
PRESIDENT: Virtually none. We shall carry on our work along the lines originally laid down.
BERTON: Is our interview on record?
PRESIDENT: Yes.
BERTON: In that case, I should like to say that although the Commission's decision may notbe prejudicial to me personally, it is prejudicial to the spirit of the expedition itself.
Consequently, as I have already stated, I refuse to answer any further questions.
PRESIDENT: Is that all?
BERTON: Yes. Except that I should like to meet Dr. Messenger. Is that possible?
PRESIDENT: Of course.
That was the end of the second minute. At the bottom of the page there was a note inminuscule handwriting to the effect that, the following day, Dr. Messenger had talked toBerton for nearly three hours. As a result of this conversation, Messenger had once morebegged the expedition Council to undertake further investigations164 in order to check the pilot'sstatements. Berton had produced some new and extremely convincing revelations, whichMessenger could not divulge165 unless the Council reversed its negative decision. The Council—Shannahan, Timolis and Trahier—rejected the motion and the affair was closed.
The book also reproduced a photocopy166 of the last page of a letter, or rather, the draft of a letter,found by Messenger's executors after his death. Ravintzer, in spite of his researches, had beenunable to discover if this letter had ever been sent.
"…obtuse minds, a pyramid of stupidity,"—the text began. "Anxious to preserve its authority,the Council—more precisely Shannahan and Timolis (Trahier's vote doesn't count)—hasrejected my recommendations. Now I am taking the matter up directly with the Institute; but,as you can well imagine, my protestations won't convince anybody. Bound as I am by oath, Ican't, alas167, reveal to you what Berton told me. If the Council disregarded Berton's testimony157, itwas basically because Berton has no scientific training, although any scientist would envy thepresence of mind and the gift of observation shown by this pilot. I should be grateful if youcould send me the following information by return post:
i) Fechner's biography, in particular details about his childhood.
ii) Everything you know about his family, facts and dates—he probably lost his parents whilestill a child.
iii)The topography of the place where he was brought up.
I should like once more to tell you what I think about all this. As you know, some time afterthe departure of Fechner and Carucci, a spot appeared in the centre of the red sun. Thischromospheric eruption168 caused a magnetic storm chiefly over the southern hemisphere, whereour base was situated169, according to the information provided by the satellite, and the radio linkswere cut. The other parties were scouring170 the planet's surface over a relatively171 restricted area,whereas Fechner and Carucci had travelled a considerable distance from the base.
Never, since our arrival on the planet, had we observed such a persistent172 fog or such anunremitting silence.
I imagine that what Berton saw was one of the phases of a kind of 'Operation Man' which thisviscous monster was engaged in. The source of all the various forms observed by Berton isFechner—or rather, Fechner's brain, subjected to an unimaginable 'psychic dissection173' for thepurposes of a sort of re-creation, an experimental reconstruction174, based on impressions(undoubtedly the most durable175 ones) engraved on his memory.
I know this sounds fantastic; I know that I may be mistaken. But do please help me. At themoment, I am on the Alaric, where I look forward to receiving your reply.
Yours, A."It was growing dark, and I could scarcely make out the blurred176 print at the top of the grey page—the last page describing Berton's adventure. For my part, my own experience led me toregard Berton as a trustworthy witness.
I turned towards the window. A few clouds still glowed like dying embers above the horizon.
The ocean was invisible, blanketed by the purple darkness.
The strips of paper fluttered idly beneath the air-vents. There was a whiff of ozone177 in the still,warm air.
There was nothing heroic in our decision to remain on the Station. The time for heroism178 wasover, vanished with the era of the great interplanetary triumphs, of daring expeditions andsacrifices. Fechner, the ocean's first victim, belonged to a distant past. I had almost stoppedcaring about the identity of Snow's and Sartorius's visitors. Soon, I told myself, we would ceaseto be ashamed, to keep ourselves apart. If we could not get rid of our visitors, we wouldaccustom ourselves to their presence, learn to live with them. If their Creator altered the rulesof the game, we would adapt ourselves to the new rules, even if at first we jibbed or rebelled,even if one of us despaired and killed himself. Eventually, a certain equilibrium179 would bereestablished.
Night had come; no different from many nights on Earth. Now I could make out only the whitecontours of the basin and the smooth surface of the mirror.
I stood up. Groping my way to the basin, I fumbled180 among the objects which cluttered181 up theshelf, and found the packet of cotton wool. I washed my face with a damp wad and stretchedout on the bedA moth182 fluttered its wings…no, it was the ventilator-strip. The whirring stopped, then startedup again. I could no longer see the window; everything had merged into darkness. Amysterious ray of light pierced the blackness and lingered in front of me—against the wall, orthe black sky? I remembered how the blank stare of the night had frightened me the day before,and I smiled at the thought. I was no longer afraid of the night; I was not afraid of anything. Iraised my wrist and looked at the ring of phosphorescent figures; another hour, and the blueday would dawn.
I breathed deeply, savoring183 the darkness, my mind empty and at rest.
Shifting my position, I felt the flat shape of the tape-recorder against my hip49: Gibarian, hisvoice immortalized on the spools184 of tape. I had forgotten to resurrect him, to listen to him—theonly thing I could do for him any more. I took the tape-recorder out of my pocket in order tohide it under the bed.
I heard a rustling185 sound; the door opened.
"Kris?" An anxious voice whispered my name. "Kris, are you there? It's so dark…."I answered:
"Yes, I'm here. Don't be frightened, come!"
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1
ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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sterilized
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| v.消毒( sterilize的过去式和过去分词 )；使无菌；使失去生育能力；使绝育 | |
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exuded
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| v.缓慢流出，渗出，分泌出( exude的过去式和过去分词 )；流露出对（某物）的神态或感情 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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judo
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| n.柔道 | |
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grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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bogged
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| adj.陷于泥沼的v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的过去式和过去分词 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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semblance
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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saliva
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| n.唾液，口水 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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embodied
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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daydream
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| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
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obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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entreats
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的第三人称单数 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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bouts
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| n.拳击（或摔跤）比赛( bout的名词复数 )；一段（工作）；（尤指坏事的）一通；（疾病的）发作 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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cosmos
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| n.宇宙；秩序，和谐 | |
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48
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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49
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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humanitarian
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| n.人道主义者，博爱者，基督凡人论者 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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54
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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55
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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56
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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57
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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58
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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59
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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60
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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61
plasma
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| n.血浆，细胞质，乳清 | |
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62
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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64
tumor
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| n.（肿）瘤，肿块(英)tumour | |
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65
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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66
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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68
asymmetric
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| a.不对称的 | |
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69
chromosome
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| n.染色体 | |
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70
DNA
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| (缩)deoxyribonucleic acid 脱氧核糖核酸 | |
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71
molecule
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| n.分子，克分子 | |
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constituents
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| n.选民( constituent的名词复数 )；成分；构成部分；要素 | |
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genetic
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| adj.遗传的，遗传学的 | |
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74
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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76
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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77
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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78
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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80
regenerated
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| v.新生，再生( regenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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82
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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83
apocrypha
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| n.伪经，伪书 | |
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84
bibliographic
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| 书籍解题的，著书目录的 | |
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85
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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86
relevance
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| n.中肯，适当，关联，相关性 | |
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87
scuffed
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| v.使磨损( scuff的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚走 | |
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88
envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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89
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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90
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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91
barricades
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| 路障，障碍物( barricade的名词复数 ) | |
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92
liquidate
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| v.偿付，清算，扫除；整理，破产 | |
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93
retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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94
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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95
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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96
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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97
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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98
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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99
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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100
treatises
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| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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101
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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102
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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103
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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104
laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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105
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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106
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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107
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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108
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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109
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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110
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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111
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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112
cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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113
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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114
vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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115
overload
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| vt.使超载；n.超载 | |
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116
indicator
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| n.指标；指示物，指示者；指示器 | |
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117
funnels
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| 漏斗( funnel的名词复数 )； （轮船，火车等的）烟囱 | |
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118
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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119
cylindrical
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| adj.圆筒形的 | |
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120
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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121
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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122
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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123
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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124
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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125
sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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126
vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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127
filaments
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| n.（电灯泡的）灯丝( filament的名词复数 )；丝极；细丝；丝状物 | |
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128
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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129
treacle
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| n.糖蜜 | |
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130
glutinous
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| adj.粘的，胶状的 | |
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131
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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132
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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133
apiary
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| n.养蜂场，蜂房 | |
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134
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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135
mucous
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| adj. 黏液的，似黏液的 | |
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136
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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137
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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138
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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139
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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140
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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141
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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142
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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143
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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144
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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145
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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146
horrifying
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| a.令人震惊的，使人毛骨悚然的 | |
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147
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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148
grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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149
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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150
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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151
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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152
chronometer
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| n.精密的计时器 | |
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153
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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154
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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155
nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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156
vomited
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157
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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158
orientated
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| v.朝向( orientate的过去式和过去分词 )；面向；确定方向；使适应 | |
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159
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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160
physicist
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| n.物理学家，研究物理学的人 | |
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161
appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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162
dissenting
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| adj.不同意的 | |
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163
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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164
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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165
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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166
photocopy
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| n.影印本；v.影印 | |
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167
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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168
eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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169
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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170
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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171
relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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172
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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173
dissection
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| n.分析；解剖 | |
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174
reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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175
durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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176
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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177
ozone
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| n.臭氧，新鲜空气 | |
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178
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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179
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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180
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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181
cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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182
moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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183
savoring
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的现在分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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184
spools
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| n.（绕线、铁线、照相软片等的）管( spool的名词复数 )；络纱；纺纱机；绕圈轴工人v.把…绕到线轴上（或从线轴上绕下来）( spool的第三人称单数 )；假脱机（输出或输入） | |
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185
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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