The Thing Which is Not
You must not think I am speaking untruth when I tell you this tale. I have forgot how to say the thing which is not, and so I do not do the thing which you call 'lying'. It is entirely as foreign to me as your cruel habit of disrespecting that which you call 'horse', which I believe with certainty you have done. Yahoos like you have no sense of what is fine and right in the world, and I have seen you, hundreds of you, beating and driving and riding upon these good creatures as though they were no more than gross low animals, as pigs are. I must be the only one in England who knows them for what they are--they are not as educated as the Houyhnhnms of the Country I visited, but they are the same breed nonetheless.
But for my tale. I wrote several of my tales into books, but these books tell only the very smallest possible part of the things that happened to me. They touched only on the most important. I am going to tell you a queerer sort of tale now, about a certain Yahoo who protected me after I came from the Country of the Houyhnhnms, and who behaved in a manner quite unlike the rest of you vile beasts. I still cannot look at you directly. You are the most uncivilised and beastly creatures I have ever known, on any of my voyages, and you have a beastly odour about you which is unlike any other animal. It makes me shudder to think of it. Turn away a bit, there, and I will continue speaking.
When I left the Country of the Houyhnhnms, you know, I was taken--not rescued, as you might expect me to see it--by a ship of Portuguese Yahoos who pressed me and desired me to speak to them and got their smell all over me. They laid hold of me and desired to know from whence I had come, and they made me swear not try to run away from them and brought me to their captain.
This Yahoo's name was Don Pedro de Mendez, and he was far more courteous than the sailors, who snuffled and breathed and touched me, and stared in wonder at me with their ugly Yahoo faces and poked at my clothing. This Don Pedro, instead, asked my story cautiously and kindly, and took me into a private cabin, told me kind things and gave me to eat, though I did not readily, and tried to give me old clothes of his, though his smell all over them and the memory that they had touched his skin caused me to refuse vehemently. He got no story out of me, however, until far later, after I tried to drown myself--yes, to drown myself, for I hate the Yahoos and the thought of being on a Yahoo ship returning to their lands was so repellent to me that I had rather have died. A sailor, however, stopped me, and this Don Pedro took me back to my cabin and sat beside me on the bed and made me kind promises of protection and care.
He spoke for a long time, soothingly, and even dared to take my hands in his, rubbing them gently, the touch whereat at I recoiled and tried to draw myself away, and he let me go rather than tightening his hold. This consoled me, and after he spoke a while longer, I finally relented and told him of the Houyhnhnms and their Country.
He, as I suspect you do, thought that I was telling him the thing which is not, and shook his head. I protested that I did not know how to say the thing which is not, for I have not said it since I came among the Houyhnhnms and learnt their ways, and learnt of the ugliness and unnaturalness which is 'lying'. At last he seemed to believe me, though not strongly or well, and entreated me to promise that I would not try to take my life again but put my faith in him and remain safe for the rest of the voyage. I consented.
Some days later, he tried again to give me clothing, but I would not take it for a longer time still, until I was able to wash it. I washed it four or five times, as thoroughly as was possible, in order that it should not be contaminated by him for, good as he seemed, he was nevertheless a Yahoo. At last I was satisfied with what he had given me, and clothed myself in it; my hands at that time were raw and bled in places with the force of the washing I had done to take away the smell and contamination, and this Don Pedro exclaimed at it.
Every day, he would come to my cabin and spend some portion of time with me, speaking to me as to another man, and telling me of the place that had once been my home; England. He told me of his country, as well, and every day, he tried to take my hands in his and caress them gently, which I did think was meant to comfort me, but which always made me feel unclean and sick inside, and required me to wash my hands for long after he had left. So it went for many days, until he told me we were nearing Lisbon and his home. He told me that I could not remain on the ship, but might live with him in his house, as he had no wife and family and I should be safe there.
It was several days more before I gave him an answer. He was ever more kindly and attentive, always seeing that I had all that I needed and asking after my comfort, until entirely against my will I began to feel less repelled by him, and at times even felt secure in his presence, a feeling I had been sure I should never again have in the company of Yahoos. At last I told him that I would remain with him. He seemed overjoyed, and promised me once again that I would be safe in his house and that the other Yahoos would not see me or touch me.
So we arrived in Lisbon, and Don Pedro took me to his house. I lived in the highest room at the back of the house, as far from the Yahoos as I could make myself, and would not go outside. Every day, as at sea, he came to me, but now, having not the responsibility, I suppose, of commanding his ship, he spent much longer with me, telling me about the world outside. Sometimes he desired to hear more of the Houyhnhnms, for he seemed truly to believe now, and so I told him, every day a little more. I gave him my secrets, and told him of things which I did not even put into my little books. This Yahoo, who I had grown to think was less ugly, less foul, less horrible than the other Yahoos, came to know more about me than any other man.
Some days later, perhaps four, he came to me with new clothes which he had purchased for me. They were entirely newly-made, so that they had never touched a Yahoo but the tailor whose hands sewed them; and also the hands of Don Pedro, as he had carried them to me. I began to dress myself cautiously, gingerly, slightly fearful of this cloth--also hiding myself behind the door, that he might not see me. I had just put on the breeches and was slowly sorting out the linens when suddenly I was interrupted. Don Pedro had come to the place I had hid myself and put his hand on my arm, staying me.
"Lemuel," he said, which was the first time he had called me by my name, for though I had told it to him, it was both more decorous and more natural simply to call me 'Captain', or address me directly. I started away from him, at once shamed at my half-nakedness and revolted by his forwardness. While I had learnt to take some small pleasure in his holding my hands, this touch on my arm was quite another thing.
"Captain," I protested, shuddering a bit and drawing further away. I wished deeply to cover myself before this Yahoo.
"Lemuel," he said again, with emphasis, gently, drawing me back. "You are such a strange man. I am afraid I don't even quite understand you, and I do wish to mightily. If only you could see your face! You have such a face, Lemuel, as I have never seen before. There is something about you which is grave and dignified and mad all at once, and I do not understand you. Do come here--do not pull away. I want you to know--ah, do you hate all the Yahoos, Lemuel?"
"Yes," I whispered firmly, pressing into the space between the door and the wall. His strange speech had disconcerted me terribly.
"You surely can't hate them all?" His face had grown sorrowful and quiet, and he seemed about to draw back himself and let me be, and though that ought to have pleased me, yet suddenly I, too, was struck with sorrow, and a great deal of remorse. I turned my head away shamefully and stood miserably, unsure of what to answer and what to do.
Don Pedro reached out at that moment and took my hand, as he had done many times before, and curled his fingers very carefully around it. Then he brought it to his lips, and kissed my fingers, and I was aware that almost the greatest contamination possible from a Yahoo had just been made on me. It would have been fairly simple and, indeed, the wise thing to do, to remove myself and hide behind the bed and demand that he leave me alone. Indeed, yes--I thought as he kissed my fingers how many times I should have to wash my hands in order to cleanse them again, how many hours I should have to spend by myself in the dark in order to take away the stain of his closeness and how much rue and tobacco I would need to purge his smell after he had touched me so. For he had not stopped at kissing my fingers, but had slipped one of his hands up along my bare collarbone and wrapt his arms around my body and was, at that very moment, kissing my mouth with an impossible sweetness and gentleness. He was a Yahoo! I protested to myself loudly, and my mind replied that yes, he was, a creature, an animal, a beast--he was a Yahoo--! but I could not cause my feet to move and step away, nor my hands to push him from me, and so I stood and did not resist as this Yahoo kissed me.
The thing I most did not understand at that time was how something as low and despicable as a Yahoo could offer such affection. It almost seemed to me that he kissed me with love, and I knew well enough that a Yahoo is not capable of something as pure as love. Lust, certainly, for they are a creature very capable of base feeling--but his kisses seemed so kind and longing and unhappy and--and it mystified me--love. It certainly seemed-- Impossible, I insisted to myself. This is a Yahoo. A Yahoo of some sensibilities, perhaps, of courtesy and attention, but still a Yahoo. A Houyhnhnm might be able to feel love, for they are refined enough, they are pure enough, but--
He, the poor man, seemed in his own way as bewildered as I was. He moved his hands down my back and pressed his plump, imperfect body closer to mine, but he could do more than kiss me, and made no attempt to take me as a woman. This gave me confidence, for it was that act which was most terrible and would contaminate me beyond cure. He appeared, however, to sense this, and did not desire anything of me, but at last stood quietly, allowing me to try to understand exactly what I felt and what had happened. Therefore he did nothing to affright me when I kissed him, seeking to see how it was that he could seem to put something so ridiculous and unlikely as love into that touch. One kiss was enough for me, and I drew away at last, and we both appeared to sigh a little, for we neither of us had come to understand the other, not then.
In the next few days, things were as they had been before, except that I had grown more confident, and Don Pedro was able to draw me to the window and have me look out. The sight of so many Yahoos made me feel rather sick, so we left the window and he sat me on the bed until the feeling had passed. The next day was the same. On the third day, however, I managed to look out the window for nearly a full minute, and when we returned to the bed, he gave me a small kiss which felt strangely like a reward. It was inexplicable to me. Other Yahoos repulsed me and, indeed, to some degree so did this one, but when he touched me I had come to take pleasure in it, though I knew I must wash myself thoroughly afterwards. Nevertheless I trusted him and liked the feel of his hands. So it went. Don Pedro slowly drew me down the stairs, giving me a kiss for every step from the top I managed to make myself go down. My progress advanced far more quickly as the week passed, for I had come to seek the rewards he gave me, and it was not long before I was down to the front hall. By the end of the week, he had seduced me to the door.
Then, on the morning of the tenth day, he came to my room before I had risen, and sat beside me on the bed, speaking in a soft voice.
"Lemuel," he said.
I looked at him, rubbing my hands over my eyes. I did not speak very much to him or would I to any Yahoo, but I believe he understood my looks well enough.
"I went to church yesterday," he continued, with his poor face seeming sad and a little distraught, in a confused sort of way. "I confessed my sins there. Do you have a wife, Lemuel? I am sure you do. You're a good man, and I am sure there's some woman who loves you. Perhaps you have children. You've told me of your travels, but never of your family. Are they waiting for you?"
"They think me dead," I told him shyly, looking away.
"You must go back to them. They are sure to need you. You are the man who supports them."
"I cannot go back." I shuddered.
"Why? Because they're what you call 'Yahoos'? Because they stink and you can't bear to look at them? Because you love me, Lemuel?" He sounded as shy as I had a moment ago, yet he pressed forward, taking my hand in his.
"I don't love you."
"Then it's just that you think they're nasty creatures, isn't it?" he said, and his voice had suddenly grown bitter and demanding at once. "You must go back to them. I cannot keep you here; you're no longer safe. There is a ship at port that will leave for England quite shortly, and you shall be on it. You must go. For honour's sake, if nothing else--and because I cannot shield you here. In your own house, at least, you will be master, and can command your own servants and keep your seclusion. You cannot, however, remain here. You must go."
I stared at him wide-eyed, I am sure. I had grown used to him, and grown to trust him, and I am sure he is the only Yahoo I ever did and ever will. I had grown used to the smell when it was his, and I did not mind his touching me, and I had even found myself able to have affection for him. I had kissed him without the feeling that I would be ill. I did never think to leave this Don Pedro, and certainly never at his command. "Go?" I repeated dumbly.
"Yes; leave. Go home, Lemuel."
I could find nothing to say. Some few days later, I boarded the English ship, having been lent money by Don Pedro and had my passage paid. He would not kiss me before we left the house, but on the quay, before I entered the ship, he embraced me, and I think I clung to him to some degree, for he was the only Yahoo, the only Yahoo, and I was terrified that I was to lose him. However, there was nothing I could do.
Nine days later, I was in England, having shut myself up during the voyage and spoken the entire time to no one.
That is my tale. I suppose you do think, having heard it, that I am saying the thing which is not, but I am not. You may doubt it if you wish, for I do not value the belief of one dirty Yahoo to any extent, but I know that I am speaking only what is true, for that is all I am able to speak. Now that I have returned 'home', I am always lonely and repulsed, can only remain indoors and occasionally look out. I have often wished that I were back in the house of Don Pedro, receiving his little kisses in return for making little steps into the parlour and the kitchen, the hall and the eating room. He was not entirely like other Yahoos. Indeed, I do not suppose he deserves that name.
There are times when, shut in my room and eating alone, unable to look at the disgusting creatures who are my wife and children, I rather wonder whether I should have been able to stay with him if, when he asked me whether I loved him, I had answered yes.
For I am telling you a secret thing which you do not deserve to know, and yet I must tell someone, and there is certainly no way I can tell that family of mine. Then I must tell you--when I said no, I said the thing which is not. It is the only 'lie' I have spoken since I came from the Country of the Houyhnhnms, and I comprehend now fully why they renounce it so. It is a terrible thing to say. I know now that it will be impossible for me ever to do it again, but that one time is what has destroyed my happiness and taken me from that place in which I felt safe.
Between my sorrow and loss, and the constant fear and hatred I remain in of all those around me, I believe I shall soon die. I hope it is true. And that, you must understand, is a thing which is. I hope I shall soon die.
I hope I shall.
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