Free Solaris by Stanislaw Lem Page A

Everyone told me that it must have happened like that, or else it had been a spontaneous decision, the result of a sudden depression. But people knew nothing of what I had said to her five days earlier; they did not know that, in order to twist the knife more cruelly, I had taken away my belongings and that she, as I was closing my suitcases, had said, very calmly: "I suppose you know what this means?" And I had pretended not to understand, even though I knew quite well what she meant; I thought her too much of a coward, and had even told her as much… And now she was lying across the bed, looking at me attentively, as though she did not know that it was I who had killed her.
    "Well?" she asked. Her eyes reflected the red sun. The entire room was red. Rheya looked at her arm with interest, because I had been examining it for so long, and when I drew back she laid her smooth, cool cheek in the palm of my hand.
    "Rheya," I stammered, "it's not possible…"
    "Hush!"
    I could sense the movement of her eyes beneath their closed lids.
    "Where are we, Rheya?"
    "At home."
    "Where's that?"
    One eye opened and shut again instantly. The long lashes tickled my palm.
    "Kris."
    "What?"
    "I'm happy."
    Raising my head, I could see part of the bed in the washbasin mirror: a cascade of soft hair—Rheya's hair—and my bare knees. I pulled towards me with my foot one of the misshapen objects I had found in the box and picked it up with my free hand. It was a spindle, one end of which had melted to a needle-point. I held the point to my skin and dug it in, just beside a small pink scar. The pain shot through my whole body. I watched the blood run down the inside of my thigh and drip noiselessly on to the floor.
    What was the use? Terrifying thoughts assailed me, thoughts which were taking a definite shape. I no longer told myself: "It's a dream." I had ceased to believe that. Now I was thinking: "I must be ready to defend myself."
    I examined her shoulders, her hip under the close-fitting white dress, and her dangling naked feet. Leaning forward, I took hold of one of her ankles and ran my fingers over the sole of her foot.
    The skin was soft, like that of a newborn child.
    I knew then that it was not Rheya, and I was almost certain that she herself did not know it.
    The bare foot wriggled and Rheya's lips parted in silent laughter.
    "Stop it," she murmured.
    Cautiously I withdrew my hand from under the cheek and stood up. Then I dressed quickly. She sat up and watched me.
    "Where are your things?" I asked her. Immediately, I regretted my question.
    "My things?"
    "Don't you have anything except that dress?"
    From now on, I would pursue the game with my eyes open. I tried to appear unconcerned, indifferent, as though we had parted only yesterday, as though we had never parted.
    She stood up. With a familiar gesture, she tugged at her skirt to smooth out the creases. My words had worried her, but she said nothing. For the first time, she examined the room with an enquiring, scrutinizing gaze. Then, puzzled, she replied:
    "I don't know." She opened the locker door. "In here, perhaps?"
    "No, there's nothing but work-suits in there."
    I found an electric point by the basin and began to shave, careful not to take my eyes off her.
    She went to and fro, rummaging everywhere. Eventually, she came up to me and said:
    "Kris, I have the feeling that something's happened…"
    She broke off. I unplugged the razor, and waited.
    "I have the feeling that I've forgotten something," she went on, "that I've forgotten a lot of things. I can only remember you. I … I can't remember anything else."
    I listened to her, forcing myself to look unconcerned.
    "Have I… Have I been ill?" she asked.
    "Yes … in a way. Yes, you've been slightly ill."
    "There you are then. That explains my lapses of memory."
    She had brightened up again. Never shall I be able to describe how I felt then. As I watched her moving about the room, now smiling, now serious, talkative one