Here nothing smells. Almost nothing smells. The roses are red beyond belief but give off no aroma.
The lemons are as yellow as the sun, but there is no lemony fragrance, just a semblance of bitterness as you bite into one. The fresh-cut bright green grass where my lovers sit does not even smell, as it did summer mornings when I was on Earth and could smell it from my room while the boy cut our lawn.
I called them "my lovers" with a little smile. That is my sense of humor emerging (though I am thought to be a humorless young scientist). They do not make love to me, of course. They are mine only in the fact that I am studying them.
Here the only perfume is the sweet perfume of good-bye that comes on a person one hour before death. I cannot describe it accurately, even though I am a stickler for accuracy. Like our lilies? A little, but more rare and tantalizing, and people rush to be near whoever is dying, keeping a respectful distance (scores of them behind me as I write this), but still lingering nearby for a faint whiff.
Carlo, the boy, is dying. He has just begun to give off this haunting, beautiful scent. His girlfriend, Marny, is ecstatic as she breathes it in. They sit on the grass near me, having their last conversation.
I can hear them. It is love talk of the passionate variety.
The great advantage of being thought to be crazy is that I can sit near them and they ignore me. Let her be, they say. The poor thing they say. We have so much and she has nothing but her mixed-up brain, they say.
It is important for you to know that there is no murder here, no suicide, no wars, no illness. The only way you can die is naturally, when your time comes.
Carlo is my age, seventeen.
I have a certain freak value here.
They ask me to be on late-night television talk shows of the kooky variety.
They pretend to treat me with respect, but no matter who the host is, there is always the slanted smile, the wink I am not supposed to see, the same questions.
"So what is Earth like?"
"Filled with the most magnificent fragrances!" I respond.
"Is everyone there an hour away from death then?" Ha! Ha! from the studio audience, but I persist. "No, listen! Our flowers smell. Our food smell. The very air smells. Not always good. We have bad smells too."
"So you spend all your time on Earth mesmerized by these odors, ah?" How do you get anything done on Earth? How did your people ever build that fantastic spaceship you supposedly came here in, if you have all these odors to distract you?"
"We take our scents for granted, you see."
"Of course! Of course! And does your spaceship smell?"
The audience is bent double with laughter, and it is just as well in this phase of the interview, for I am not to disclose anything about the mission, not even in jest, not even here in this report.
I am to concentrate on Farfire.
That is what they call this place.
I was chosen because of my practical nature, my keen ability to be objective and unemotional. I am my father's daughter. Doctor Orr remarks on it often, telling me that I am rational and unstirrable beyond my years.
"Tell me, Caroline--is that your Earth name or your Farfire name--Caroline?"
"It is my Earth name. I am not from Farfire, so I have no Farfire name."
"Caroline's not too unlike a Farfire name, though, is it?"
"There is a lot of similarity between Earth and Farfire."
"Yes, well tell me, Caroline, do you have death on Earth too?"
"Of course we have death."
"Of course you have death." His tone mocks me again. "Except when you Earth folks die, there is no odor." Big wink to the studio audience.
"Not a good one, no."
"What's a bad odor, pray tell?" and there is more laughter.
"I can't describe it. Burnt rubber. Dead flowers. Feces. Those are bad odors on Earth."
"Feces smell on Earth?"
"Yes, they do," and the audience is in convulsions again.
"Well, Earth must not be all that lovely. You must be glad to be on Farfire, hah?"
I was, in the beginning. I truly was. Anticipating it, before I left, with pleasure. Callenged when I arrived. All of it new. But I did not calculate this part of it, being taken for a laughable freak, the way on Earth we treat those who say they've seen flying saucers or been to Mars.
"You'll not be there long," Father reassured me. "The moment you hear three beeps in your earpiece, use your minimike to assure Doctor Orr you're going directly to the field where you were dropped. He'll get you home safely in about two years, just in time for your nineteenth birthday!" Father was excited. "There's no telling what you'll learn about your Farfire teenage counterparts!"
"But will I blend it? I ask him. "Will they take me captive? Will I be in any danger?"
"They will treat you as interlopers have been treated from time immemorial."
"How is that?"
"They will find some way to trivialize you. They will not believe you. It's all to your advantage."
"Caroline, Marny and I saw you on television," Carlo calls over to me. If anything could ruffle me, it would be that exquisite fragrance, almost making me homesick, it's so voluptuous. "We want to ask you a question." His lopsided smile reminds me of the talk show hosts. "How," says Carlo, "do you know someone's dying on your Earth, if there is no perfume?"
I try to tell him, but his eyes glaze over as I start to describe traffic accidents, war, heart diseases, all of it, and Marny giggles into her hands.
"How," Carlo interrupts me as though he is bored with my ranting and raving, "do you handle death then? Death sounds like something horrible."
"How," I come back with a testiness that surprises me, "do you handle the idea that in about forty-five minutes you won't ever be with Marny again?"
He laughs gaily. "We will have been together for as long as we were intended to be together. What more can anyone want?"
Marny asks, "On Earth, do people die at the same time?"
"No, but..." I have no ready answer. "But we don't like death."
"What sense does that make?" Carlo says. "Everyone must die. It can't go on forever."
In a while they prepare for his funeral.
They sing:
My! My! My! I smell good-bye!
I know you've got to go
So one last kiss
The scent is bliss!
Good-bye, the scent's to die!
They all wear white and dance.
Marny can't stop smiling with joy.
There is nothing ever said about God here.
After the funeral I ask Marny if there is religion, God, what?
"All of that is after death," she says.
"But what exactly do you believe happens after death?"
"We don't know," she says, and her mouth tips in a grin. "I suppose on Earth you do?"
"We have certain beliefs," I say. "We have concepts. There is a concept of heaven, and a concept of hell. Now heaven is..." and even as I talk, Marny wanders off from me, yawning, calling over her shoulder that she'd really like to hear all about it...some other time.
I have never been treated so rudely. That is the part that is so hard to bear: me, Caroline Aylesworth, winner of so many, many honors in science my bookshelves cannot hold all the gold statuettes, my walls with no room left for framed certificates. Not even listened to here on Farfire!
I cannot say that I am in any way disappointed when I hear the three beeps, even though this tiny taste of Farfire has provoked considerable curiosity in me...and even though there is no way ever again to have that curiosity satisfied, for there is no returning here.
"Hello, Caroline!" I hear Doctor Orr's familiar voice. "Do you think you got a good sample?"
"Not a comprehensive one, by all means, but enough about Farfire to make a highly interesting report."
"Excellent! And you know how to find your way to the field?"
"Of course I do."
"I'm here now, waiting for you."
"Give me about an hour and fifteen minutes."
"Gladly," Doctor Orr answers. "My God, Caroline, I'm almost overwhelmed by this wonderful fragrance here!"
"A fragrance, Doctor Orr? Not on Farfire. You see--"
He interrupts me with a whoop of joy. "Unbelievable! Almost like lilies! It's come upon me suddenly! Caroline? It's so all pervasive! It's on me! My hands, my face--it's the sweetest perfume!"
Of course, I cannot get to him in time.
I sit down right where I am and make my entry.
I write, I think I've lost my ride home.
In the interest of accuracy, I cross out "I think."
