...what in the hell is going on here...argh. |
The Eyes Have It
Phillip K. Dick
It was quite by accident I
discovered this incredible invasion of Earth by lifeforms from another planet.
As yet, I haven't done anything about it; I can't think of anything to do. I
wrote to the Government, and they sent back a pamphlet on the repair and maintenance
of frame houses. Anyhow, the whole thing is known; I'm not the first to
discover it. Maybe it's even under control.
I was sitting in my easy-chair,
idly turning the pages of a paperbacked book someone had left on the bus, when
I came across the reference that first put me on the trail. For a moment I
didn't respond. It took some time for the full import to sink in. After I'd comprehended,
it seemed odd I hadn't noticed it right away.
The reference was clearly to a
nonhuman species of incredible properties, not indigenous to Earth. A species,
I hasten to point out, customarily masquerading as ordinary human beings. Their
disguise, however, became transparent in the face of the following observations
by the author. It was at once obvious the author knew everything. Knew everything--and
was taking it in his stride. The line (and I tremble remembering it even now)
read:
...his eyes slowly roved about
the room.
Vague chills assailed me. I tried
to picture the eyes. Did they roll like dimes? The passage indicated not; they
seemed to move through the air, not over the surface. Rather rapidly,
apparently. No one in the story was surprised. That's what tipped me off. No
sign of amazement at such an outrageous thing. Later the matter was amplified.
...his eyes moved from person to
person.
There it was in a nutshell. The
eyes had clearly come apart from the rest of him and were on their own. My
heart pounded and my breath choked in my windpipe. I had stumbled on an accidental
mention of a totally unfamiliar race. Obviously non-Terrestrial. Yet, to the characters
in the book, it was perfectly natural--which suggested they belonged to the
same species.
And the author? A slow suspicion
burned in my mind. The author was taking it rather too easily in his stride. Evidently, he felt this was quite a usual
thing. He made absolutely no attempt to conceal this knowledge. The story
continued:
...presently his eyes fastened on
Julia.
Julia, being a lady, had at least
the breeding to feel indignant. She is described as blushing and knitting her
brows angrily. At this, I sighed with relief. They weren't _all_
non-Terrestrials. The narrative continues:
...slowly, calmly, his eyes
examined every inch of her.
Great Scott! But here the girl
turned and stomped off and the matter ended. I lay back in my chair gasping
with horror. My wife and family regarded me in wonder.
"What's wrong, dear?"
my wife asked.
I couldn't tell her. Knowledge
like this was too much for the ordinary run-of-the-mill person. I had to keep
it to myself. "Nothing," I gasped. I leaped up, snatched the book,
and hurried out of the room.
***
In the garage, I continued
reading. There was more. Trembling, I read the next revealing passage:
...he put his arm around Julia.
Presently she asked him if he would remove his arm. He immediately did so, with
a smile.
It's not said what was done with
the arm after the fellow had removed it. Maybe it was left standing upright in
the corner. Maybe it was thrown away. I don't care. In any case, the full
meaning was there, staring me right in the face.
Here was a race of creatures
capable of removing portions of their anatomy at will. Eyes, arms--and maybe
more. Without batting an eyelash. My knowledge of biology came in handy, at
this point.
Obviously they were simple
beings, uni-cellular, some sort of primitive single-celled things. Beings no
more developed than starfish. Starfish can do the same thing, you know.
I read on. And came to this
incredible revelation, tossed off coolly by the author without the faintest
tremor:
...outside the movie theater we
split up. Part of us went inside, part over to the cafe for dinner.
Binary fission, obviously.
Splitting in half and forming two entities.
Probably each lower half went to
the cafe, it being farther, and the upper halves to the movies. I read on,
hands shaking. I had really stumbled onto something here. My mind reeled as I
made out this passage:
...I'm afraid there's no doubt
about it. Poor Bibney has lost his head again.
Which was followed by:
...and Bob says he has utterly no
guts.
Yet Bibney got around as well as
the next person. The next person, however, was just as strange. He was soon
described as:
...totally lacking in brains.
***
There was no doubt of the thing
in the next passage. Julia, whom I had thought to be the one normal person,
reveals herself as also being an alien life form, similar to the rest:
...quite deliberately, Julia had
given her heart to the young man.
It didn't relate what the final
disposition of the organ was, but I didn't really care. It was evident Julia
had gone right on living in her usual manner, like all the others in the book.
Without heart, arms, eyes, brains, viscera, dividing up in two when the
occasion demanded. Without a qualm.
...thereupon she gave him her
hand.
I sickened. The rascal now had
her hand, as well as her heart. I shudder to think what he's done with them, by
this time.
...he took her arm.
Not content to wait, he had to
start dismantling her on his own.
Flushing crimson, I slammed the
book shut and leaped to my feet. But not in time to escape one last reference
to those carefree bits of anatomy whose travels had originally thrown me on the
track:
...her eyes followed him all the
way down the road and across the meadow.
I rushed from the garage and back
inside the warm house, as if the accursed things were following me. My wife and
children were playing Monopoly in the kitchen. I joined them and played with
frantic fervor, brow feverish, teeth chattering.
I had had enough of the thing. I
want to hear no more about it. Let them come on. Let them invade Earth. I don't
want to get mixed up in it.
I have absolutely no stomach for
it.
End
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