computer existed
independently of me; that meant that the Station and its
inhabitants really existed too.
As I was closing the drawer, I noticed that it was stuffed with
sheets of paper covered with hastily scribbled sums. A single
glance told me that someone had already attempted an experiment
similar to mine and had asked the satellite, not for information
about the galactic meridians, but for the measurements of Solaris's
albedo at intervals of forty seconds.
I was not mad. The last ray of hope was extinguished. I
unplugged the transmitter, drank the remains of the soup in the
vacuum flask, and went to bed.
5 RHEYA
Desperation and a sort of dumb rage had sustained me while
working with the computer. Now, overcome with exhaustion, I could
not even remember how to let down a mechanical bed. Forgetting to
push back the clamps, I hung on to the handle with all my weight
and the mattress tumbled down on top of me.
I tore off my clothes and flung them away from me, then
collapsed on to the pillow, without even taking the trouble to
inflate it properly. I fell asleep with the lights on.
I reopened my eyes with the impression of having dozed off for
only a few minutes. The room was bathed in a dim red light. It was
cooler, and I felt refreshed.
I lay there, the bedclothes pushed back, completely naked. The
curtains were half drawn, and there, opposite me, beside the
window-pane lit by the red sun, someone was sitting. It was Rheya.
She was wearing a white beach dress, the material stretched tightly
over her breasts. She sat with her legs crossed; her feet were
bare. Motionless, leaning on her sun-tanned arms, she gazed at me
from beneath her black lashes: Rheya, with her dark hair brushed
back. For a long time, I lay there peacefully gazing back at her.
My first thought was reassuring: I was dreaming and I was aware
that I was dreaming. Nevertheless, I would have preferred her not
to be there. I closed my eyes and tried to shake off the dream.
When I opened them again, Rheya was still sitting opposite me.
Her lips were pouting slightly—a habit of hers—as
though she were about to whistle; but her expression was serious. I
thought of my recent speculations on the subject of dreams.
She had not changed since the day I had seen her for the last
time; she was then a girl of nineteen. Today, she would be
twenty-nine. But, evidently, the dead do not change; they remain
eternally young. She went on gazing at me, an expression of
surprise on her face. I thought of throwing something at her, but,
even in a dream, I could not bring myself to harm a dead
person.
I murmured: "Poor little thing, have you come to visit me?"
The sound of my voice frightened me; the room, Rheya, everything
seemed extraordinarily real. A three-dimensional dream, colored in
half-tones…. I saw several objects on the floor which I had
not noticed when I went to bed. When I wake up, I told myself, I
shall check whether these things are still there or whether, like
Rheya, I only saw them in a dream.
"Do you mean to stay for long?" I asked. I realized that I was
speaking very softly, like someone afraid of being overheard. Why
worry about eavesdroppers in a dream?
The sun was rising over the horizon. A good sign. I had gone to
bed during a red day, which should have been succeeded by a blue
day, followed by another red day. I had not slept for fifteen hours
at a stretch. So it was a dream!
Reassured, I looked closely at Rheya. She was silhouetted
against the sun. The scarlet rays cast a glow over the smooth skin
of her left cheek and the shadows of her eyelashes fell across her
face. How pretty she was! Even in my sleep my memory of her was
uncannily precise. I watched the movements of the sun, waiting to
see the dimple appear in that unusual place slightly below the
corner of the lips. All the same, I would have preferred to wake
up. It was time I did some work. I closed my eyelids tightly.
I heard a metallic noise, and opened my eyes again. Rheya
independently of me; that meant that the Station and its
inhabitants really existed too.
As I was closing the drawer, I noticed that it was stuffed with
sheets of paper covered with hastily scribbled sums. A single
glance told me that someone had already attempted an experiment
similar to mine and had asked the satellite, not for information
about the galactic meridians, but for the measurements of Solaris's
albedo at intervals of forty seconds.
I was not mad. The last ray of hope was extinguished. I
unplugged the transmitter, drank the remains of the soup in the
vacuum flask, and went to bed.
5 RHEYA
Desperation and a sort of dumb rage had sustained me while
working with the computer. Now, overcome with exhaustion, I could
not even remember how to let down a mechanical bed. Forgetting to
push back the clamps, I hung on to the handle with all my weight
and the mattress tumbled down on top of me.
I tore off my clothes and flung them away from me, then
collapsed on to the pillow, without even taking the trouble to
inflate it properly. I fell asleep with the lights on.
I reopened my eyes with the impression of having dozed off for
only a few minutes. The room was bathed in a dim red light. It was
cooler, and I felt refreshed.
I lay there, the bedclothes pushed back, completely naked. The
curtains were half drawn, and there, opposite me, beside the
window-pane lit by the red sun, someone was sitting. It was Rheya.
She was wearing a white beach dress, the material stretched tightly
over her breasts. She sat with her legs crossed; her feet were
bare. Motionless, leaning on her sun-tanned arms, she gazed at me
from beneath her black lashes: Rheya, with her dark hair brushed
back. For a long time, I lay there peacefully gazing back at her.
My first thought was reassuring: I was dreaming and I was aware
that I was dreaming. Nevertheless, I would have preferred her not
to be there. I closed my eyes and tried to shake off the dream.
When I opened them again, Rheya was still sitting opposite me.
Her lips were pouting slightly—a habit of hers—as
though she were about to whistle; but her expression was serious. I
thought of my recent speculations on the subject of dreams.
She had not changed since the day I had seen her for the last
time; she was then a girl of nineteen. Today, she would be
twenty-nine. But, evidently, the dead do not change; they remain
eternally young. She went on gazing at me, an expression of
surprise on her face. I thought of throwing something at her, but,
even in a dream, I could not bring myself to harm a dead
person.
I murmured: "Poor little thing, have you come to visit me?"
The sound of my voice frightened me; the room, Rheya, everything
seemed extraordinarily real. A three-dimensional dream, colored in
half-tones…. I saw several objects on the floor which I had
not noticed when I went to bed. When I wake up, I told myself, I
shall check whether these things are still there or whether, like
Rheya, I only saw them in a dream.
"Do you mean to stay for long?" I asked. I realized that I was
speaking very softly, like someone afraid of being overheard. Why
worry about eavesdroppers in a dream?
The sun was rising over the horizon. A good sign. I had gone to
bed during a red day, which should have been succeeded by a blue
day, followed by another red day. I had not slept for fifteen hours
at a stretch. So it was a dream!
Reassured, I looked closely at Rheya. She was silhouetted
against the sun. The scarlet rays cast a glow over the smooth skin
of her left cheek and the shadows of her eyelashes fell across her
face. How pretty she was! Even in my sleep my memory of her was
uncannily precise. I watched the movements of the sun, waiting to
see the dimple appear in that unusual place slightly below the
corner of the lips. All the same, I would have preferred to wake
up. It was time I did some work. I closed my eyelids tightly.
I heard a metallic noise, and opened my eyes again. Rheya
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