When the Sleeper Wakes (A Dystopian Sci-Fi). H. G. Wells

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      “You must not confuse his mind by telling him things,” he repeated again and again. “You must not confuse his mind.”

      His questions answered, he turned quickly and eyed the awakened sleeper with an ambiguous expression.

      “Feel queer?” he asked.

      “Very.”

      “The world, what you see of it, seems strange to you?”

      “I suppose I have to live in it, strange as it seems.”

      “I suppose so, now.”

      “In the first place, hadn’t I better have some clothes?”

      “They — ” said the thickset man and stopped, and the flaxen-bearded man met his eye and went away. “You will very speedily have clothes,” said the thickset man.

      “Is it true indeed, that I have been asleep two hundred —?” asked Graham.

      “They have told you that, have they? Two hundred and three, as a matter of fact.”

      Graham accepted the indisputable now with raised eyebrows and depressed mouth. He sat silent for a moment, and then asked a question, “Is there a mill or dynamo near here?” He did not wait for an answer. “Things have changed tremendously, I suppose?” he said.

      “What is that shouting?” he asked abruptly.

      “Nothing,” said the thickset man impatiently. “It’s people. You’ll understand better later — perhaps. As you say, things have changed.” He spoke shortly, his brows were knit, and he glanced about him like a man trying to decide in an emergency. “We must get you clothes and so forth, at any rate. Better wait here until they can be procured. No one will come near you. You want shaving.”

      Graham rubbed his chin.

      The man with the flaxen beard came back towards them, turned suddenly, listened for a moment, lifted his eyebrows at the older man, and hurried off through the archway towards the balcony. The tumult of shouting grew louder, and the thickset man turned and listened also. He cursed suddenly under his breath, and turned his eyes upon Graham with an unfriendly expression. It was a surge of many voices, rising and falling, shouting and screaming, and once came a sound like blows and sharp cries, and then a snapping like the crackling of dry sticks. Graham strained his ears to draw some single thread of sound from the woven tumult.

      Then he perceived, repeated again and again, a certain formula. For a time he doubted his ears. But surely these were the words: “Show us the Sleeper! Show us the Sleeper!”

      The thickset man rushed suddenly to the archway.

      “Wild!” he cried. “How do they know? Do they know? Or is it guessing?”

      There was perhaps an answer.

      “I can’t come,” said the thickset man; “I have him to see to. But shout from the balcony.”

      There was an inaudible reply.

      “Say he is not awake. Anything! I leave it to you.”

      He came hurrying back to Graham. “You must have clothes at once,” he said. “You cannot stop here — and it will be impossible to — “

      He rushed away, Graham shouting unanswered questions after him. In a moment he was back.

      “I can’t tell you what is happening. It is too complex to explain. In a moment you shall have your clothes made. Yes — in a moment. And then I can take you away from here. You will find out our troubles soon enough.”

      “But those voices. They were shouting —?”

      “Something about the Sleeper — that’s you. They have some twisted idea. I don’t know what it is. I know nothing.”

      A shrill bell jetted acutely across the indistinct mingling of remote noises, and this brusque person sprang to a little group of appliances in the corner of the room. He listened for a moment, regarding a ball of crystal, nodded, and said a few indistinct words; then he walked to the wall through which the two men had vanished. It rolled up again like a curtain, and he stood waiting.

      Graham lifted his arm and was astonished to find what strength the restoratives had given him. He thrust one leg over the side of the couch and then the other. His head no longer swam. He could scarcely credit his rapid recovery. He sat feeling his limbs.

      The man with the flaxen beard re-entered from the archway, and as he did so the cage of a lift came sliding down in front of the thickset man, and a lean, grey-bearded man, carrying a roll, and wearing a tightly-fitting costume of dark green, appeared therein.

      “This is the tailor,” said the thickset man with an introductory gesture. “It will never do for you to wear that black. I cannot understand how it got here. But I shall. I shall. You will be as rapid as possible?” he said to the tailor.

      The man in green bowed, and, advancing, seated himself by Graham on the bed. His manner was calm, but his eyes were full of curiosity. “You will find the fashions altered, Sire,” he said. He glanced from under his brows at the thickset man.

      He opened the roller with a quick movement, and a confusion of brilliant fabrics poured out over his knees. “You lived, Sire, in a period essentially cylindrical — the Victorian. With a tendency to the hemisphere in hats. Circular curves always. Now — ” He flicked out a little appliance the size and appearance of a keyless watch, whirled the knob, and behold — a little figure in white appeared kinetoscope fashion on the dial, walking and turning. The tailor caught up a pattern of bluish white satin. “That is my conception of your immediate treatment,” he said.

      The thickset man came and stood by the shoulder of Graham.

      “We have very little time,” he said.

      “Trust me,” said the tailor. “My machine follows. What do you think of this?”

      “What is that?” asked the man from the nineteenth century.

      “In your days they showed you a fashion-plate,” said the tailor, “but this is our modern development. See here.” The little figure repeated its evolutions, but in a different costume. “Or this,” and with a click another small figure in a more voluminous type of robe marched on to the dial. The tailor was very quick in his movements, and glanced twice towards the lift as he did these things.

      It rumbled again, and a crop-haired anemic lad with features of the Chinese type, clad in coarse pale blue canvas, appeared together with a complicated machine, which he pushed noiselessly on little castors into the room. Incontinently the little kinetoscope was dropped, Graham was invited to stand in front of the machine and the tailor muttered some instructions to the crop-haired lad, who answered in guttural tones and with words Graham did not recognise. The boy then went to conduct an incomprehensible monologue in the corner, and the tailor pulled out a number of slotted arms terminating in little discs, pulling them out until the discs were flat against the body of Graham, one at each shoulder blade, one at the elbows, one at the neck and so forth, so that at last there were, perhaps, two score of them upon his body and limbs. At the same time, some other person entered the room by the lift, behind Graham. The tailor set moving a mechanism that initiated a faint-sounding СКАЧАТЬ