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Updated: June 25, 2025
I saw him with that lady in various attitudes and emotions I never felt so detached before.... I saw him hurrying off to Lympne to write a play, and accosting Cavor, and in his shirt sleeves working at the sphere, and walking out to Canterbury because he was afraid to come! Me? I did not believe it.
And it seemed to me that one of these had moved. "Cavor," I whispered. "What?" But I did not answer at once. I stared incredulous. For an instant I could not believe my eyes. I gave an inarticulate cry. I gripped his arm. I pointed. "Look!" I cried, finding my tongue. "There! Yes! And there!" His eyes followed my pointing finger. "Eh?" he said. How can I describe the thing I saw?
Cavor, we learnt, was not only alive, but free, in the midst of an almost inconceivable community of these ant-like beings, these ant-men, in the blue darkness of the lunar caves. He was lamed, it seemed, but otherwise in quite good health in better health, he distinctly said, than he usually enjoyed on earth. He had had a fever, but it had left no bad effects.
Then as my eye grew more accustomed to the texture of their substance, I perceived that almost all this surface had a fibrous texture, like the carpet of brown needles one finds beneath the shade of pine trees. "Cavor!" I said. "Yes." "It may be a dead world now but once " Something arrested my attention. I had discovered among these needles a number of little round objects.
Even if one has been to the moon, one has still to earn a living. So I am working here at Amalfi, on the scenario of that play I sketched before Cavor came walking into my world, and I am trying to piece my life together as it was before ever I saw him. I must confess that I find it hard to keep my mind on the play when the moonshine comes into my room.
For a moment I did not recognise this earthy lump, and then I saw that it was Cavor, caked in the mud in which he had rolled. He leant forward against the wind, rubbing the dirt from his eyes and mouth. He extended a muddy lump of hand, and staggered a pace towards me. His face worked with emotion, little lumps of mud kept falling from it.
I was about to clamber up into this, and then with a happy inspiration turned back. "What are you doing?" asked Cavor. "Go on!" said I, and went back and got two of the shining fungi, and putting one into the breast pocket of my flannel jacket, so that it stuck out to light our climbing, went back with the other for Cavor.
"Cavor," I shouted, "they want us to get up!" He stared open-mouthed. "That's it!" he said. And with much heaving and grunting, because our hands were tied together, we contrived to struggle to our feet. The Selenites made way for our elephantine heavings, and seemed to twitter more volubly.
The confounded stuff certainly looked of a biteable texture. Then it seemed to me that it smelt rather well. I picked up a fragment and sniffed at it. "Cavor," I said in a hoarse undertone. He glanced at me with his face screwed up. "Don't," he said. I put down the fragment, and we crawled on through this tempting fleshiness for a space. "Cavor," I asked, "why not?"
In the presence of his record and his appliances and above all of the messages from Cavor that were coming to hand my lingering doubts vanished. I decided at once to accept a proposal he made to me to remain with him, assisting him to take down the record from day to day, and endeavouring with him to send a message back to the moon.
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