Man From The Moon Read online

  Man from the Moon

  by Otis Adelbert Kline

  from Amazing Stories - October 1930

  ePUB Edition 2012

  Amontoth/Genesis

  LOOKING forward is always an interesting occupation, for the imagination can be given absolute free play and so many seemingly fantastic pictures may be called into being. But equally absorbing can be the process of looking backward, though it must be done with considerably less freedom of imagination. What was the origin of races? Did all of us--Yellow, Black and White--start our generations in similar manner? How far afield of the truth are anthropologists? Otis Adelbert Kline has pondered on these questions and, being a writer of no mean ability, it naturally follows that his story is well worth serious consideration. Therefore me recommend it heartily, knowing that you will agree with us. -Ed.

  Illustrated by MOREY

  WE stood on the eastern rim of Crater Mound--my friend Professor Thompson, the noted selenographer, and I. Dusky shadows lengthened and grew more intense in the great, deep basin before us, as the Sun, his face reddened as if from his day's exertions, sank slowly beyond the western rim.

  Behind us, Alamo Edwards, the dude wrangler who had brought us out from Canyon Diabolo two weeks before, was dividing his time between the chuck wagon and our outdoor cookstove in the preparation of our evening meal, while our hobbled horses wandered about near-by, searching out clumps of edible vegetation.

  "How is the story progressing, Jim?" asked the professor, referring to a half finished novel I had brought out with me to occupy my time with, while my friend puttered among the stones and rubble in the vicinity.

  "I've reached an impasse--" I began.

  "And so have I," rejoined my friend dejectedly, "but of the two, mine is far the worst, for yours is in an imaginary situation, while mine is real. You will eventually solve your problem by using your imagination, which has no fixed limitations. I can only solve mine by using my reason, which is limited to deductions from facts. If I do not find sufficient facts either to prove or disprove my theory, what have I? A hypothesis, ludicrously wobbling on one puny leg, neither able to stand erect among established scientific truths nor to fall to dissolution among the mistaken ideas of the past."

  "What single, if weak, leg supports your theory that the craters of the moon were caused by meteorites?" I asked.

  "You are standing on it," replied the professor. Then, seeing me look around in perplexity, he added: "Crater Mound is the only known Terrestrial formation that exactly resembles in shape the great ring mountains of the moon. If Crater Mound was caused by the impact of a gigantic meteorite with the earth, there is a strong probability that the numerous ringed craters of the moon were created in a like manner."

  "But was it?" I asked.

  "That is something I can neither prove nor disprove," he replied. "The evidence I have thus far discovered leads me to believe that many relatively small meteoric fragments have fallen here. But they could not have fallen singly, or by twos and threes to make this dent three-quarters of a mile in diameter and more than four hundred feet below the surrounding earth level, to say nothing of throwing up the ring on which we now stand to a mean height of a hundred and fifty feet above the plain."

  "Then how could they have fallen?"

  "If this great earthen bowl was caused by them, they must have struck this plain in an immense cluster at least a third of a mile in diameter, probably more."

  "In that case, what has become of the cluster?"

  "Part of it is probably buried beneath the soil. Part of it, exposed to the air, would have been burned to a fine ash, having generated a terrific heat in its passage through the atmosphere and still having, before it cooled, an opportunity to unite with oxygen. There should, however, be an intermediary residue which I have been unable to find."

  "Maybe it was carted off by prehistoric Americans for the metals it contained," I feebly ventured to suggest.

  "Improbable as that statement may seem," said the professor, "there is a small amount of evidence in favor of it, for I have found a number of meteoric fragments miles from the rim of the crater. By Jove! We appear to have a visitor!"

  He clapped his powerful binoculars to his eyes, and looking in the direction in which they pointed, I saw a tall, bent figure, apparently attired in a robe or gown, leaning on a long staff and carrying a bundle of poles under one arm, slowly descending the slope opposite us.

  "Seems to be a Chinaman," he said, passing the glasses to me. "What is your opinion?"

  I LOOKED and saw an undeniably Mongolian face, with slanting eyes, prominent cheek bones, and a long, thin moustache, the ends of which drooped at least four inches below the chin. The voluminous garments, though badly tattered, were unquestionably Chinese, as was the cap with a button in the center, which surmounted the broad head.

  "A Chinaman or an excellent makeup," I replied. "Wonder what he's doing out here in his native costume?"

  Our speculations were interrupted by the clarion supper call of Alamo from the camp behind us:

  "Come an' get it, or I'll feed it to the coyotes."

  "You go down and eat," said the professor. "I'm not hungry, anyway, and I want to stay here and watch this curious newcomer. Bring me a bacon and egg sandwich and a bottle of coffee when you have finished."

  Knowing my friend's disposition--for once he had made up his mind, a fleet of tractors could not drag him from his purpose--I did not argue with him, but descended to the camp.

  While Alamo grumbled about dudes that were too interested in rocks to come for their chow while it was hot, I finished my evening meal. Then, taking my binoculars, I carried his light snack to the professor as requested.

  The last pink glow of the sun was fading in the west, and the moon was rising when I reached the top of the ridge.

  "Sit down here beside me," whispered the professor. "Our visitor seems to be preparing for a religious ceremony of some sort, and I dislike disturbing him."

  While my friend munched his sandwich and sipped his coffee, I used my binoculars to watch the Chinaman. He had erected four poles supporting four others which formed a square above a low, flat-topped rock near the center of the crater. Suspended from the horizontal poles by cords were many small objects which were apparently very light in weight, for they stirred like leaves in the breeze. A lighted taper stood in the center of the flat rock, which was surrounded by a ring of thin sticks that had been thrust into the ground. The Oriental was on his knees before the stone, immobile as the rock itself, his face turned in our direction.

  "Seems to be keeping his eyes on us," I said.

  "I think he is waiting for the moon to rise above the crater rim," replied the professor, once more applying his eyes to his own binoculars.

  My friend was right, for as soon as the first shaft of moonlight entered the crater the kneeling figure was galvanized into action.

  Bursting into a singsong chant, quite audible, if unintelligible to me, the Celestial applied the flame of the taper to each of the thin sticks he had planted around the stone, all of which were soon glowing like burning punk. Then he stepped beneath one of the objects suspended from a horizontal pole, made a short speech in the direction of the moon, and lighted it with the taper. It burned out in a few seconds, casting a weird, yellow light over the scene. Stepping beneath the next suspended object he made another speech and lighted that object also. This one burned with a blue flame. He continued thus for several minutes until all the dangling objects had been consumed--each with a different colored flame. Then he extinguished the taper and knelt once more before the stone, resuming his chant, and prostrating himself from time to time with his forehead touching the stone. The breeze, blowing in our direction, was laden w
ith the sweet, heavy odor of burning sandalwood and musk.

  A half hour passed with no change in the ceremony. Then the burning joss sticks winked out, one by one. When the last went dark, the kneeling man made a final obeisance, then rose, took down his framework of poles, tucked them under his arm, and leaning heavily on his long staff departed toward the west.

  "Show's over," I said. "Shall we go back to camp?'

  "Hardly," replied my friend. "I'm going to follow him. In this bright moonlight it should be easy. By Jove! What has become of him? Why the fellow just now disappeared before my eyes!"

  "Maybe he fell into a ditch," I hazarded.

  "Ditch, fiddlesticks!" snapped the professor. "I've explored every square foot of this crater and know there is no depression of any kind where he was walking."

  "Eastern magic," I ventured. "Now you see it, now you don't."

  "Rot! You stay here and watch the western slope with your binoculars. I'm going down to investigate."

  I watched, while the professor stumbled hastily across the crater and frantically searched the vicinity of the place where he had declared the Celestial had disappeared. After a twenty minute hunt, he gave it up and came back.

  "Queer," he panted as he came up beside me. "Deucedly queer. I couldn't find hide nor hair of the fellow--not even the burnt ends of his joss sticks. Must have taken everything with him."

  We returned to camp, squatted beside the fire, and lighted our pipes.

  Alamo had stacked the dishes, putting off to the last the one camp job he hated--washing them--and was picketing the horses. Suddenly we heard him sing out: "Well, look who's here! Hello, Charlie. You wantee come along washee dishee, gettee all same plenty much chow?"

  Looking up in surprise, I saw the tall, ragged Oriental who had disappeared so mysteriously a few moments before, coming toward us. He was still leaning on his long staff, but minus the poles he had previously carried.

  THE professor and I both leaped to our feet from places beside the fire.

  The Chinaman paused and looked at Alamo in evident bewilderment.

  "I beg a thousand pardons," he said in excellent English, "but your speech is quite unintelligible to me."

  "Well I'll be damned!" Alamo tilted his broad Stetson to one side and scratched his head in amazement.

  By this time my excited friend had reached the side of our Celestial visitor.

  "He was only inviting you to sup with us, in the patois of the West," explained the professor.

  The Chinaman bowed gravely to Alamo.

  "Your magnificent hospitality is duly appreciated," he said, "but I beg to be excused, as I may not partake of food in the presence of the mighty Magong." As he uttered the last word he extended his left hand toward the moon, then touched his forehead as if in salute. There was something majestic about his bearing that made one forget the tattered rags in which he was clad.

  "We accept your excuse without question," said the professor, quickly. "Permit me to welcome you to our campfire circle."

  Our guest bowed low, moved into the circle of firelight, and laying his staff on the ground, squatted before the fire. Then he took a long stemmed pipe with a small, brass bowl, from one of his capacious sleeves, and the professor and I both proffered our tobacco pouches.

  "I'll use my own, with your indulgence," said our visitor, filling his pipe from a small lacquered box he carried. Before closing the box, he threw a pinch of tobacco into the fire, raised his left hand toward the moon, and muttered a few words unintelligible to me. Then, after touching his forehead, he lighted his pipe with the glowing end of a stick from the fire.

  After puffing in meditative silence for a few minutes, he said:

  "As I have thanksgiving devotions to perform, my time is limited. I will therefore, as briefly as possible, explain the reason for my visit, and convey to you the communication of the great one, whose humble messenger I am.

  "Twenty years ago I was a Buddhist priest in T'ainfu. It was expected of every member of our order that at least once during his lifetime he should make a pilgrimage to a certain monastery in Tibet, there to perform mystic rites in a secret sanctuary, where a sacred stone of immemorable antiquity was kept. I made the pilgrimage, fully expecting to return to T'ainfu, as my brother priests had done and take up the duties of my humdrum existence there for the term of my natural life.

  "There are things which I may tell you, and things which I may not disclose, so let me explain, briefly, that the whole course of my life was changed when first I viewed the sacred stone. It was graven with mystic characters, similar to, yet unlike Chinese writing. According to tradition, none but a living Buddha could decipher this sacred writing, which might not be transmitted to any of his followers, however great or wise.

  "Now I had, from the days of my youth, made a study of our ancient writings, and had learned the meanings of many characters since wholly obsolete, as well as the former meanings of those whose significance had been entirely changed. I firmly believed, with my fellow priests, that none but the living Buddha might translate the writings on the stone. You may judge, therefore, of my surprise, when I found myself able to translate several of the ideographs graven on its sacred surface. I instantly believed myself the true possessor of the karma of Buddha, and that the living Buddha of my order was an impostor. On attempting to translate other characters, I found the majority of them unintelligible to me.

  "One of the requirements of my pilgrimage was that I was to spend four hours a day for a period of seven days alone on my knees before the sacred stone. A guard, posted outside the door, saw to it that but one pilgrim was admitted at a time. On the day following, I secreted writing materials in my clothing, and spent the time allotted to me on that day, and the five days following, in carefully copying the writings on the stone.

  "I carried my prize away without detection, but did not return to T'ainfu. Instead, I wandered from monastery to monastery, from temple to temple, conversing with the learned men and reading the ancient records to which I, as a pilgrim priest, was usually given access without question. The task of translation, which had at first appeared easy, took me ten years to complete.

  "When it was finished I knew that it had not been written by God, as was supposed, but by the first earthly ancestor of my race, and I found myself charged with a trust which appeared as difficult of fulfillment as the translation itself. The crater which you have been investigating was described to me--yet its location was unknown to the writer. I was charged to find it and to find you. It took me nine years to find the crater, during which time I visited thousands, none of which exactly fitted the description. It took me a year more to find you and to receive the sign."

  "May I ask what sign you refer to?" inquired the professor.

  "My illustrious ancestor, who charged me with the task of conveying his message to you, said in the writing that his spirit would be watching me from Magong. He prophesied that you would appear at this place, and when you did, he would flash a brilliant signal to me from his Celestial abode."

  "And you have seen the signal?"

  "I have and do, for it is still visible. Look!" He pointed toward the full moon.

  The professor looked, then raised his binoculars to his eyes and focused them.

  "By Jove!" he exclaimed. "You have unusually sharp eyes. There is a brilliant, star-like light in the crater, Aristarchus. A rare occurrence, too."

  "I have studied Magong for many years," replied our guest, "and have trained my eyes to see things hidden from the sight of ordinary mortals. I could have used a telescope or binoculars, but for my purpose I have no need of them."

  "Remarkable!" commented the professor. "And this light fulfills the prophecy?"

  "To the letter. Permit me to deliver my message, therefore, and depart, for I have much to do before Magong veils her face once more."

  Drawing a large, bulky envelope from his pocket, the Oriental arose and handed it to the professor with a profound bow.

 
Springing to his feet with alacrity, the professor accepted it with a bow as low and dignified as that of the donor.

  "Man of science," said our guest. "Use this message as you will, for that is your privilege, but you will confer a favor on the illustrious sender and bring manifold blessings on yourself and your descendants if you will use it to advance the knowledge of mankind."

  "I will endeavor to use it as you ask," replied the professor, "and thank you for it, and for the trust you have placed in me."

  "Do not thank me," was the answer, accompanied by a significant gesture skyward. "Thank P'an-ku."

  "I will, and do. May we not have the pleasure of your company tomorrow?"

  "A thousand thanks, and as many regrets, but my task will have ended when Magong veils her face, and I am weary and would return to T'ainfu. So farewell."

  He took up his staff, and without a further word, stalked majestically out into the moonlight. The last we saw of him was when his tall, gaunt figure was silhouetted against the sky for a moment on the crater rim.

  With trembling fingers the professor broke the seal of the envelope and drew therefrom a neatly written manuscript. It was in English, and he read it aloud to me, while Alamo snored lustily from the folds of his blanket, several yards away.

  With Professor Thompson's permission, I publish it here for the first time, making it clear at the outset, that while it seems to explain many matters which have puzzled our leading scientists for hundreds of years and is not, in the light of our present knowledge, either susceptible of proof or refutation, we cannot vouch for its veracity.

  The Story of P'an-ku

  HAVING attained the advanced age of two hundred and ninety-eight earthly years, and feeling the hands of San-miau, the devourer, grim messenger of the Supreme God, T'ien, ever closing tighter on my throat, slowly squeezing out my soul from this old shell of a body, I, P'an-ku, lord of thousands, founder of a new race, and last survivor of an old, have retired from my manifold duties and pleasures--the ordering of the affairs of my subjects, the company of my wives, my children, and my children's children, who will someday be numerous as the stars of heaven--to write this history of my own people for those to come who will have the intelligence and the desire to understand it.