I Came - I Saw - I Wondered

by John Russell Fearn, Volsted Gridban

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

An imaginative satire, telling of a benign Martian explorer comes to Earth to observe humanity-and is amazed to discover how Hollywood films and popular literature have engendered an irrational xenophobia and hatred of alien visitors. Befriended by a writer and his wife, the Martian is forced to remain incognito...

Release date: March 31, 2015

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 101

Sample

THE home of Arthur and Lucy Tredgard was little different from any other home, but to them it had all the appearance of a castle. This roseate appearance was produced by the fact that they had both sweated and toiled to buy the place—and since both of them were free-lance journalists and not in receipt of any vast sums of money—or even regular salary—the achievement was of a pretty high order.

The place was a modern villa, detached, with a fair amount of unkept ground around it. It lay ten miles outside London, well back from a main road, and it was gloriously superbly peaceful. That was the vital point! Nothing ever seemed to happen, and for Arthur and Lucy, accustomed so far to noisy lodgings and the superhuman task of concentrating amidst endless din, this was a close approach to heaven.

No, nothing ever seemed to happen—until they had been in the place about a month and got it into shipshape order. Then came a change, and it had to happen on the kind of night when a change was the last thing to be expected.

Outside it was raining hard with a cold wind blowing. The late February night had shut down early and forced Arthur and Lucy to the fireside, there to work out independently their particular articles for the periodicals with which they maintained a fair connection. The only sound in the “den”—which was also the lounge, dining room and everything else—was the bumping of the wind in the chimney and Lucy’s occasional murmurings to herself as she wrote on a thick scratchpad.

Lucy was not a pretty girl, but at least she was bright and had a ready smile. At the moment she was coiled up on the settee, her tumbled brown hair fallen over her face, her right hand wielding the ballpoint pen industriously. Opposite her Arthur sat musing—a bony-kneed, introspective fellow of thirty, to whom all women outside of his beloved wife were not even worth noticing. She, to him, represented the peak of feminine perfection, because when nearly every editor in London had received one of his best articles with cold indifference she had found a final market and secured for him a high fee. That had settled it: nothing for it after that but to merge their common interest in marriage.

Momentarily the rumbling of the wind in the chimney seemed to become considerably louder. There was even a remote kind of concussion as though part of the eaves had been torn off. Lucy looked up sharply, wondering, her dark blue eyes full of questions. Arthur caught her glance suddenly and then shook his head.

“I’m not stirring from here to find what’s missing,” he declared flatly. “I’m too comfortable for one thing and on the verge of a bright idea for another.”

Lucy shrugged her slim shoulders and returned to her scribbling. Arthur resumed his fathomless gazing into the bright fire. The scene was exactly as might be found in the home of countless newlyweds on that particular night, but it had to be for Arthur and Lucy Tredgard that the unexpected happened. It was half an hour later, just when they were both absorbed in their work, that the front door bell rang.

“Now who the blazes——?” Arthur looked up, surprise in his grey eyes. “Can’t be anybody important on a night like this. And we have a phone if it’s something vital.”

“Just the same we can’t pretend we’re not in,” Lucy reminded him. “The light through the curtains will prove otherwise. Maybe Bob or Ethel wanting to waste some time.”

“I devoutly hope not!” Grumbling, Arthur struggled to his feet and put down his notebook. The bell rang again as he crossed the hall, then ceased as he switched on the light. He opened the front door to a cascade of rain and wind and gazed upon the caller.

Or was he a caller? He looked rather like somebody from a fancy dress ball who had somehow lost his way. Blue silk shirt of extreme thinness, open collared, and saturated with rain. His trousers resembled satin and were completely without creases. Beautifully designed sandals graced his feet. Quite an extraordinary visitor, yet in spite of the icy wind and rain he looked healthy enough—pink-faced, blue eyed, and with a drenched mat of hair which seemed to be jet-black.

“Evening,” Arthur said brusquely, noting the details. “Having trouble?”

For answer the caller pointed upwards into the gale-ridden night sky and then downwards to the ground. Not a single word escaped him.

“Plane crash?” Arthur suggested hopefully, and the man shrugged his drenched shoulders.

“Who is it?” came Lucy’s rather irritable voice from the lounge. “Ask him or her in; there’s a frightful draught!”

Arthur stood aside and motioned into the hall. The man gave a little smile of acknowledgment and entered. He was tallish, but not uncommonly so. He stood waiting with what seemed an innate courtesy for the next move. Arthur shut the front door and then turned to him.

“Come into the lounge, Mr.—er——?”

The man did not finish the sentence by supplying his name. Instead he followed Arthur into the “den” and then stood looking at Lucy as she uncoiled from the settee and stood up expectantly.

“A—a caller,” Arthur explained. “He doesn’t seem to understand English. Anyway, he doesn’t reply when I speak to him.”

“Deaf-mute perhaps?” Lucy was taking in the queer attire and obviously trying to fathom the situation.

“Maybe.” Arthur gave a frown. “I get the impression myself that he hears all right but doesn’t understand——Come and get warm,” he suggested to the stranger, but he made no move until the fire was indicated—then he advanced towards it. Not that he seemed particularly bothered about his sodden shirt, however: he was not shivering, but appeared entirely at his ease.

“Queer sort of dress,” Lucy observed presently, and Arthur nodded.

“That struck me too. Maybe a fugitive from a fancy dress ball, or something. No, that can hardly be it——” Arthur reflected for a moment. “He pointed up and then down as though trying to explain himself.”

“He did? Perhaps an airplane then——A crash maybe——” Lucy broke off and snapped her fingers. “That could be it! Remember that booming sound we heard a while back and then a kind of concussion? Suppose it was an airliner breaking up?”

“Could be,” Arthur admitted. “But it doesn’t explain this chap’s unusual dress. I don’t know of any country whose national costume is anything like this.”

There was the silence of bafflement; then Lucy stirred.

“I’ll go and fix some hot coffee and sandwiches. Maybe that will help things a bit.”

She hurried from the den and Arthur looked again at his guest. He looked rather like a very intent bird, his bright blue eyes watching Arthur’s every move. His head, too, was slightly cocked on one side as though he meant making certain that he heard everything.

“How about a change of shirt whilst that one dries?” Arthur ventured, and though it was plain the man was doing his best to understand, he did not reply. So Arthur resorted to pantomime. Tugging off his house jacket he pulled at his shirt, pointed to the stranger, and then motioned to the fire. This seemed to have no effect, so Arthur left the room quickly and returned in a while with a shirt in his hands. He handed it over and watched the effect. The man took it, inspected the shirt’s texture carefully, and then nodded.

Without any more ado he tugged his own saturated garment from his well-developed body and tossed it aside. Arthur remained silent, admiring the packed strength of that torso. There seemed to be considerable muscular development and no trace of surplus fat. In other words, a man in superb physical condition.

“Better?” Arthur smiled as the stranger buttoned up the borrowed shirt, and even though he evidently did not understand the nature of the question he smiled pleasantly enough.

Then Lucy came in with a loaded tray and set it down. She gave the stranger a glance, noted the change he had made, and then picked up the shirt he had discarded. She could not help but contemplate it curiously. It was quite unlike any shirt or blouse she had ever seen before. All in one piece with a two-way stretch, and entirely creaseless. The texture was such that it felt almost liquid in her hands. Then she whisked it off to the kitchen to dry out, and returned to offer their guest refreshment.

The stranger, seated now in the chair nearest the fire, gave his usual smile as he took the coffee cup. He tasted the steaming liquid hesitantly, seemed to ponder for a second or two, then began drinking slowly. There was the same hesitation over the beef paste sandwiches, but he tackled them finally.

“We don’t seem to be getting very far,” Arthur said chattily as the stranger munched. “Isn’t there some way we can get to understand each other? If you’d only say something it might be possible to identify your language.”

The same look of polite interest, but no response came forth. Arthur sighed and gave Lucy a hopeless glance. She, however, more resourceful, pointed to herself deliberately and said:

“Lucy Tredgard. That is my name. Lu—cy Tred—gard.”

At last a sound came forth from the stranger. “Loo—see Tred—gard,” he repeated, and nodded vigorously.

“Arthur Tredgard,” Arthur said pointing to himself.

“Ar—thur Tred—gard,” the stranger acknowledged, and with a wide smile pointed a chubby finger to his chest and added: “Say—kom.”

At least that was what it sounded like. Arthur knitted his brows.

“Saycom? Seacombe? We’ll call you Seacombe.”

Vigorous nods, resumption of the coffee and sandwiches, and no further sounds from the stranger.

“I don’t get it,” Arthur murmured as Lucy glanced at him. “It’s obvious that he isn’t deaf, yet he makes no effort to give us a sample of his language so we can perhaps sort it out.”

Lucy considered this for a moment or two and then she seemed to suddenly make up her mind. Setting down her empty cup she got to her feet and went out to the telephone in the hall. Arthur only caught snatches of her conversation—in which the stranger did not appear in the least interested since he could not understand the language—and what he heard made it clear that Lucy was getting in touch with the nearest airline headquarters. In a while she returned into the den looking more puzzled than ever.

“All very strange,” she said as Arthur glanced at her. “It appears that there hasn’t been any news of an air crash, or of any planes being overdue or flying without official permission. That makes our queerly dressed friend here a bigger mystery than ever——Wonder what he meant by pointing up and then down?”

“No idea. Balloon perhaps, or could be a parachute jump.”

“In those clothes? I doubt it!”

Lucy sat down again and eyed the stranger intently. He did not seem to notice her for a while, and when he did Lucy gave a start and an apologetic smile.

“Just—just weighing things up,” she explained brig. . .