“Luke knows that other people still see Martians. He won’t be surprised if you start suddenly. Or if you have to ask him to repeat something he just said, he’ll know it’s because a Martian must have been yelling louder than he was talking—that is, that you think a Martian is yelling,”
“But if a Martian should make noise while I’m talking to him, Doctor, how is it that—even if his subconscious won’t let him hear the sound the Martian makes—he can hear me clearly despite it? Or can he?”
“He can. I’ve checked that. His subconscious must simply tune out the Martian by pitch and he hears you clearly even though you’re whispering and the Martian is screaming. It’s similar to the case of people who work in boiler factories or other noisy places. Except that it’s long practice rather than hysterical deafness that lets them hear and understand ordinary conversation over, or rather under, the noise level.”
“I understand. Yes, I see now how he could hear despite interference. But how about seeing? I mean, a Martian is opaque. I don’t see how even someone who doesn’t believe in them can see through one. Suppose one got between him and me when he’s looking at me. I can see how he might not see it as a Martian—as a blur, maybe—but he couldn’t possibly see through it and he’d have to know something was there between us.”
“He looks away. Common defense mechanism of specialized hysterical blindness. And his is specialized of course since he is not blind to anything but Martians.
“You see, there is a dichotomy between the conscious mind and the subconscious mind, and his subconscious mind is playing tricks on his conscious one. And it makes him turn away, or even close his eyes rather than let him find out that there’s something in his direct range of vision he can’t see through.”
“But why does he think he turns away or closes his eyes?”
“His subconscious provides him an excuse for it, somehow. Watch and study him any time there are Martians around and you’ll see how. Watch what happens any time a Martian gets in his direct range of vision.”
He sighed. “I made a careful check of that the first few days he was here. I spent quite a bit of time in his room, talking with him and also in reading or pretending to read while he worked. Several times a Martian got between him and the typewriter while he was typing. Each time he’d put his hands behind his head and lean backward staring up at the ceiling—”
“He always does that when he’s writing and stops to think.”
“Of course. But these times his subconscious stopped his flow of thought and made him do it, because otherwise he’d have been looking at his typewriter and unable to see it. If he and I were talking, he’d find an excuse to get up and move if a Martian got between us. And once a Martian sat on top of his head and blocked his vision completely by letting its legs hang in front of his face. He simply closed his eyes, or I presume he did—I couldn’t see through the Martian’s legs either—because he remarked that his eyes were pretty tired and asked my pardon for closing them. His subconscious just wouldn’t let him recognize that there was something there he couldn’t see through.”
“I’m beginning to understand, Doctor. And I suppose that if one used such an occasion to try to prove to him that there were Martians—told him there was one dangling its legs in front of his eyes and challenged him to open his eyes and tell you how many fingers you were holding up or something—he’d refuse to open his eyes and rationalize it somehow.”
“Yes. I can see you’ve had experience with paranoiacs, Mrs. Devereaux. How long have you been a nurse at General Mental, if I may ask?”
“Almost six years altogether. Just ten months this time—since Luke and I separated—and for about five years before we were married.”
“Would you mind telling me—as Luke’s physician, of course—what caused the break-up between you?”
“I wouldn’t mind at all, Doctor—but could I tell you another time? It was—a lot of little things rather than one big thing and it would take quite a while to explain it, especially if I try to be fair to both of us.”
“Of course.” Dr. Snyder glanced at his wrist watch.
“Good Lord, I had no idea I’d kept you this long. Luke will be chewing his fingernails. But before you go up to see him, may I ask you one very personal question?”
“Of course.”
“We’re very shorthanded on nurses. Would you by any chance care to quit your job at General and come here to work for me?”
Margie laughed.
“What’s personal about that?” she asked.
“The inducement I had in mind to get you away from them. Luke has discovered that he loves you very much and knows now he made a bad mistake in letting you get away from him. I—ah—gather from your concern that you feel the same way about him?”
“I—I’m not sure, Doctor. I feel concern, yes, and affection. And I’ve come to realize that at least part of the trouble between us was my fault. I’m so—so damn normal myself that I didn’t sufficiently understand his psychic problems as a writer. But as to whether I can love him again—I’ll want to wait until I’ve seen him.”
“Then the inducement applies only if you decide that you do. If you decide to work and live here, the room next to his has a connecting door. Ordinarily kept locked of course, but—”
Margie smiled again. “I’ll let you know before I leave, Doctor. And I guess you’ll be glad to know that if I do so decide, you won’t be condoning an illegality. Technically, we’re still married. And I can call off the divorce at any time before it becomes final, three months from now.”
“Good. You’ll find him in room six on the second floor. You’ll have to let yourself in; the door opens from the outside but not from the inside. When you wish to leave, just press the service buzzer and someone will come to open the door for you.”
“Thanks, Doctor.” Margie stood.
“And come back here, please, if you wish to talk to me on your way out. Except I hope that—ah—”
“That you won’t be up that late?” Margie grinned at him and then the grin faded. “Honestly, Doctor, I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Luke—”
She went out of the office and up thickly carpeted stairs, along the corridor until she found the door numbered six. Heard from beyond it the fast clicking of a typewriter.
Knocked gently to warn him, and then opened the door.
Luke, with his hair badly mussed but his eyes shining, jumped up from the typewriter and hurried to her, catching her just inside the door as she closed it behind her.
He said, “Margie! Oh, Margie!” and then he was kissing her. Pulling her tight against him with one arm while the other reached over her shoulder to the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.
She hadn’t even had time to see if there was a Martian in the room.
Nor, she decided a few minutes later, did she care. After all, Martians weren’t human.
And she was.
12.
A lot of people were deciding, by that time, that Martians weren’t human—when it came to letting their presence or possible presence inhibit the act of procreation.
During the first week or two after the coming of the Martians, many people began to fear that if they stayed long enough the human race might die out within a generation from lack of propagating itself.
When it became known, as it very quickly did become known, that Martians could not only see in the dark but had X-ray vision that could see through sheets, quilts, blankets, comforters and even walls, there is no denying that, for a while, the sex life of the human being—even his legitimate marital sex life—did take an awful beating.