Chapter 38 Chapter 3 The Magical Room

The "white dwarf" is orbiting and is sinking at this time; it will soon reach the horizon, ignite a red glow, and then disappear.The hell below was immersed in a false twilight; in this sudden change of light, Bowman became aware that something was about to happen in the space around him. The world of the red sun seemed to be rippling, as if he were looking through flowing water.He wondered for a moment if this was the effect of refraction, or perhaps an unusually strong shock wave passing through the restless atmosphere he was in. The light is dimming: it seems that another twilight is falling.Bowman couldn't help looking up, and then stopped himself shyly, because he remembered that the main light source here was not from the sky, but from the burning world below.

Walls of frosted glass-like substance thickened around him, cutting off the red light so he couldn't see clearly.It was getting darker; the faint roar of the hurricane on the planet was no longer heard. The pod floats in silence and darkness.Moments later, it landed on some kind of hard ground, bumped lightly a few times, and then came to a stop. Where is it parked?Bowman asked himself inexplicably.Then the light came back; the inexplicable gave way to great disappointment—for as soon as he saw what was going on around him, he knew that he must be bewitched. He thought he was fully prepared and could see surprises.He never expected that what he saw was a very ordinary situation.

The pod was moored on the varnished floor of an elegant suite in an unknown hotel, the kind you might find in any major city on Earth.What he saw in front of him was a sitting room with a small coffee table, reclining chairs, a dozen armchairs, a writing desk, various lights, a half-empty bookcase with some periodicals lying flat on it, and even a basin flowers.Artemisia's famous painting (Pont d'Ar) on one wall - Wayne's "Christina's World" on the other.He was confident that if he opened the desk drawer, he would be able to find a "Bible" inside... If he was mad, his hallucinations were well organized.Everything was perfectly real; when he turned back, nothing disappeared.The only thing out of proportion to the environment - and very out of proportion - is the space capsule.

Bowman sat in the cabin seat for many minutes.He had a strong sense that the scene around him would suddenly disappear, but it was as real as anything he had seen in his life. It's real—or else it's an illusion so cleverly arranged that it can be convincing.Or it was a test; if so, then not only his own fate, but the fate of mankind, might well depend on his actions in the next few minutes. He can sit still and wait for something to happen, or he can open the space capsule and go outside to challenge the reality around him.The floor seemed solid; at least, it held the weight of the capsule.It was unlikely he would fall, no matter what might be underneath.

But there was still the problem of air; for all he knew, the room might have been a vacuum, or it might have been filled with poisonous air.He thought it unlikely that such a thing would happen--after all the pains that had been spent, no one would overlook such an important detail--but he did not intend to take unnecessary risks.In any case, his years of training had made him susceptible to contagion; he was reluctant to expose himself to unfamiliar situations unless he had no other choice.The place looks like a hotel room somewhere in America.But that doesn't change the fact that he's hundreds of light-years away from the solar system.

He closed the helmet on his space suit, sealed himself up, and opened the hatch of the space capsule.The equalization of air pressure inside and outside caused a brief "shh"; then he strode into the room. He felt that he was in a completely normal gravitational field.He raised one arm, then let it fall naturally.It landed beside him in less than a second. This makes everything around it doubly unreal.Here he is in a spacesuit, standing -- he's supposed to be floating -- next to a vehicle that's supposed to function properly only in the absence of gravity.All the normal reactions of an astronaut were disrupted; he had to think carefully before taking every action.

He walked slowly like a delirious man from his unfurnished half-room to the hotel suite.It didn't disappear as soon as he approached as he expected, but it was still there—it looked solid, not an illusion. He stopped by the coffee table.There was an ordinary Bell System picture telephone on the table, and a phone book beside it.He stooped to pick up the phone book in his clumsy, gloved hands. Printed on it in a familiar font he'd seen a thousand times before: "Washington, District of Columbia," and so on. He then looked more closely; and for the first time he had objective evidence that, while all this might be true, he was not on Earth.

He could make out only the word "Washington"; the rest of the printing was a blur, as if copied from a newspaper picture.He opened the phone book casually and flipped through it with his hands; fiddled with it.The pages are blank, made of a tough white substance that looks like paper but is certainly not paper. He picked up the phone's handset and pressed it against the plastic shell of his helmet.If there was a dial, he could hear it through the sound-conducting substance.However, as he imagined, the microphone was silent. So - all this is fake, although it is very fake.And all this is clearly not for coaxing, but--hopefully--for reassurance.

The thought gave him some comfort; but he was not ready to take off his spacesuit until the expedition was fully completed. All the furniture seemed solid; he tried several chairs, all of which could bear his weight.But the desk drawers don't open; they're fake. Books too, exactly like the phone book, only recognizable by the title on the cover.It was a rather odd collection—mostly boring bestsellers, a few catchy non-fiction works, a few well-publicized autobiographies.None of them were published within three years, and there is very little content worth recalling.Actually none of this mattered because those books couldn't even be taken off the shelves.

There are two doors that are easy to open.The first led to a small but comfortable bedroom with a bed, chest of drawers, two chairs, electric doors that actually turned on and off, and a closet.He opened the closet and saw four sets of clothes, one shirt, a dozen white shirts, and several sets of underwear, all neatly hung on hangers. He took down a suit of clothes and examined them carefully.As far as his gloved hands could judge, the material was more fur than wool.The styling is a bit outdated, too; no one on Earth has worn a single-breasted suit for at least four years. Adjacent to the bedroom was the bathroom, which was well-appointed; he also reassured himself by noting that none of it was fake, and worked exactly as usual.Beyond that is a small kitchen with electric stove, refrigerator, cupboard, dishes and cutlery, sink, table and chairs.Not only out of curiosity, but also with a growing hunger, Bowman began to search.

He opened the refrigerator first, and a cold mist rushed out from the door.The refrigerator is filled with cartons and cans layer by layer, which look familiar from a distance, but the trademark manufacturers are blurred and cannot be identified when viewed up close.However, it was obvious that there were no eggs, milk, butter, meat, fruit, or any other unprocessed food; the contents of the refrigerator were packaged. Bowman pulled out a tub of his familiar breakfast cereal, thinking how odd it would be to freeze that too.As soon as he weighed it in his hand, he knew it must not be cereal, because it was much heavier. He tore off the lid and inspected the contents.The box contained a slightly moist blue substance, the size and texture of bread jelly.Although the color is strange, it makes people salivate. But this is ridiculous, Bowman said to himself.Someone is almost certainly watching me, and I must look like a fool in this suit.If this was an intelligence test, I probably would have failed it. He didn't hesitate anymore, walked into the bedroom and started to unbutton the helmet.After undoing it, he lifted the helmet a little, tore off the seal, and took a careful breath.According to the judgment at the time, he was breathing completely normal air. He put the helmet on the bed and began gratefully—and a little stiffly—to take off his spacesuit.After taking it off, he stretched, took a few deep breaths, and carefully hung the suit in the closet, along with the normal clothes.The space suit doesn't look pleasing to the eye in the closet, but Bowman, like all astronauts, has the habit of keeping it neat and tidy, and he never refuses to put the space suit casually. Then he walked briskly back to the kitchen and began to examine the box of "cereal" more closely. The blue bread jelly is slightly spicy, a bit like an almond snack.Bowman weighed it in his hand again, then broke off a piece, and sniffed it carefully.Although he now felt sure that no one intended to poison him, he still had to guard against the possibility of mistakes—especially with complicated things like biochemistry. He nibbled some, chewed, and swallowed; it was delicious, but the flavor was elusive, almost indescribable.If he closes his eyes, he may take it for meat or black bread, or even for preserved fruit.As long as there are no unexpected after-actions, he doesn't have to worry about starving. After taking a few mouthfuls and feeling quite satisfied, he started looking for a drink.There were several cans of beer in the fridge—brand name too—and he snapped the lid on to open the cans. The metal piece popped out after pressing, exactly like the normal one.But it wasn't beer in the can; Bowman was surprised and disappointed because it was that blue thing again. In a few seconds, he had opened several boxes and cans.No matter what label is posted, the content is all the same; it seems that his diet will be a bit monotonous, and he can only drink plain water.He drank a glass from the kitchen tap and sipped carefully. He spat out the first mouthful right away; it tasted bad.Then, a little ashamed of his instinctive reaction, he reluctantly drank it. The first sip can already tell what the liquid is.It tasted bad because it had no taste at all; pure distilled water came out of the tap.His unknown owners were clearly concerned about his health. After eating and drinking enough, he took a quick shower.The lack of soap was a minor inconvenience, but he enjoyed a very effective hot air dryer.He took his trousers, vest, and dressing gown from the closet, put them on, and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the strange situation. He didn't make much progress in this regard, but was interrupted by another train of thought.Directly above the bed was an ordinary hotel-style rooftop TV screen; he had assumed it was as fake as the telephone and the books. But the switch on the dangling armrest by the bed looked so real that he couldn't help flicking it; the screen lit up as soon as his finger touched the "on" pad. He began tapping out the channel selection code at random excitedly, and almost immediately saw the first image. It was a prominent African newscaster talking about his country's efforts to protect the last remaining wild animals.Bowman listened for a few seconds, fascinated by the human voice, not caring what he was saying.Then he changed to another channel. In the next five minutes he watched an orchestra playing Walden's Violin Concerto, a talk about the misery of the legitimate theater, and a Western. Demonstration of a new method of treating headaches, a group discussion in an oriental language, a psychodrama, three news shows, a football match, a lecture (in Russian) on solid geometry, several regulatory symbols and data broadcasts.All this was in fact a perfectly normal selection of world television, and besides stimulating him psychologically, it confirmed a suspicion that had already formed in his mind. All the programs are about two years ago, and there is almost T. M． When A-1 was found.It's hard to believe this is pure coincidence.Something was listening to the radio waves; the rosewood-colored slab was doing more than humans could have guessed. He continued to dial various channels, and suddenly recognized a familiar scene.The location is this hotel suite, and the character is a reputable actor angrily berating his unfaithful mistress.Bowman was taken aback when he recognized the sitting room he had just left - and when the camera tracked the angry couple into the bedroom, Bowman couldn't help but turn to the door to see if someone had really walked in. Come in. The original reception site for him had been prepared in this way; his hosts had based their conception of life on Earth on the basis of television programs.He had the feeling that he was on a movie set, and now it seems that is the case. Now that he knew everything he wanted to know, he turned off the TV.I now how to do?he asked himself, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes fixed on the blank TV screen. He was physically and mentally haggard at this moment, but how could he sleep in this grotesque environment, farther from the earth than anyone in history?However, the combination of the comfortable bed and the instinctive needs of the body finally overcame his will. He fumbled for the light switch, and the room was plunged into darkness.In seconds, he passed through the dream world and fell into sleep. It was in these circumstances that David Bowman fell asleep for the last time.