The Man Who Fell to Earth

“No.” Then, suddenly, Newton’s face fell into its older, more composed, more human appearance. “Or yes, I suppose I do want to, Nathan. But not enough. Not enough.”

“Then what about your own people? What about your family?”

Newton smiled that unearthly smile again. “I imagine they’ll all die. But, then, they’ll probably outlive you.”

Bryce was surprised at his own words. “Did they ruin your mind when they ruined your eyes, Mr. Newton?”

Newton’s expression did not alter. “You don’t know anything at all about my mind, Nathan. That’s because you’re a human being.”

“You’ve changed, Mr. Newton.”

Newton laughed softly. “Into what, Nathan? Have I changed into something new, or back into something old?”

Bryce did not know what to say to this, and he kept silent.

Newton poured himself a small drink and set it on the table. Then he said. “This world is doomed as certainly as Sodom, and I can do nothing whatever about it.” He hesitated. “Yes, a part of my mind is ruined.”

Bryce, searching for protest, said, “The ship…”

“The ship is useless. It had to be finished on time, and now there isn’t enough time. Our planets won’t be close enough to one another for seven more years. They are already moving apart. And the United States would never let me build it. If I built it they would never let me launch it. And if I did launch it they would arrest the Antheans who returned on it, and probably blind them. And ruin their minds…”

Bryce finished his drink. “You said you had a weapon.”

“Yes, I said that. I was lying. I don’t have any weapon.”

“Why should you lie…?”

Newton leaned forward, putting his elbows carefully on the table. “Nathan. Nathan. I was afraid of you then. I am afraid now. I have been afraid of all manner of things every moment I have spent on this planet, on this monstrous, beautiful, terrifying planet with all its strange creatures and its abundant water, and all of its human people. I am afraid now. I will be afraid to die here.”

He paused, and then when Bryce still said nothing, began to talk again. “Nathan, think of living with the monkeys for six years. Or think of living with the insects, of living with the shiny, busy, mindless ants.”

Bryce’s mind, for several minutes, had been becoming extremely clear. “I think you’re lying, Mr. Newton. We aren’t insects to you. Maybe we were at first, but we aren’t now.”

“Oh yes, I love you, certainly. Some of you. But you’re insects anyway. However, I may be more like you than I am like me.” He smiled his old, wry smile. “After all, you’re my field of research, you humans. I’ve studied you all my life.”

Abruptly the bartender called to them. “You fellows want clean glasses?”

Newton drained his. “By all means,” he said, “bring us two clean glasses, Mr. Elbert.”

While Mr. Elbert was sopping the table with a large orange rag Newton said, “Mr. Elbert. I’ve decided not to try to save us, after all.”

“That’s too bad,” Elbert said. He set the clean glasses on the damp table. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It is a pity, isn’t it?” He groped for a newly placed gin bottle, found it, poured. Pouring gin, he said, “Do you see Betty Jo often, Nathan?”

“Yes. Betty Jo and I live together now.”

Newton took a sip from his drink. “As lovers?”

Bryce laughed softly. “Yes, as lovers, Mr. Newton.”

Newton’s face had become impassive, with the impassivity that Bryce had learned was a mask for his feelings. “Then life goes on.”

“Well, what in the name of heaven do you expect?” Bryce said. “Of course life goes on.”

Suddenly Newton began to laugh. Bryce was astonished; he had never heard him laugh before. Then, still trembling with the wave of laughter, Newton said, “It’s a good thing. She won’t be lonely now. Where is she?”

“At home in Louisville, with her cats. Drunk probably.”

Newton’s voice was steady again. “Do you love her?”

“You’re trying to be stupid,” Bryce said. He had not liked the laughter. “She’s a good woman. I’m happy with her.”

Newton smiled now, gently. “Don’t misunderstand my laughing, Nathan. I think it’s a fine thing, the two of you. Are you married?”

“No. I’ve thought about it.”

“By all means marry her. Marry her and go off on a honeymoon. Do you need money?”

“That’s not why I haven’t married her. But I could use some money, yes. Do you want to give me some?”

Newton laughed again. He seemed greatly pleased. “By all means, yes. How much do you want?”

Bryce took a drink. “A million dollars.”

“I’ll write you a check,” Newton groped in his shirt pocket, pulled out a check book, set it on the table. It was from the Chase Manhattan Bank. “I used to watch that show about the million dollar check on television.” he said. “Back home.” He pushed the check toward Bryce. “You fill it out and I’ll sign it.”

Bryce took his Woolworth ballpoint pen from his pocket and wrote his name on the check and then the figures $1,000,000. Then he wrote out, carefully. One Million Dollars. He pushed the book across the table. “It’s made out,” he said.

“You’ll have to direct my hand.”