二、
机器
时间旅行者手里拿着的东西是一个闪闪发光的金属框架，比一个小座钟大不了多少，制作得极为精巧。里面有象牙，还有一种透明的晶状物质。现在我必须说清楚，因为接下来发生的事情——除非接受他的解释——简直无法解释。他搬来房间里散放的一张八角小桌，把它摆在火炉前，两条桌腿踩在炉边地毯上。他把那个装置放在桌上。然后他拉过一把椅子坐下。桌上仅有的另一件东西是一盏带罩的小灯，明亮的光线正照在模型上。此外大概还有十几支蜡烛，壁炉台上的黄铜烛台里插着两支，几支装在壁灯里，所以房间里亮得耀眼。我坐在离火最近的矮扶手椅上，把椅子往前拖了拖，几乎处在时间旅行者和壁炉之间。菲尔比坐在他身后，从他肩头望过去。医学家和外省市长从右边侧脸望着他，心理学家从左边望。很年轻的那个男人站在心理学家身后。我们都全神戒备。这样的情况下，我觉得不管什么戏法，哪怕构思再巧妙、手法再高明，都不可能骗过我们。
时间旅行者看了看我们，又看了看装置。“嗯？”心理学家说。
“这个小玩意儿，”时间旅行者双肘支在桌上，双手在装置上方合拢，说道，“只是个模型。这是我造的穿越时间机器的设计。你们会注意到它看上去明显歪斜，这根杆子有种奇怪的闪烁感，仿佛在某种意义上是虚的。”他用手指了指那个部分。“另外，这里有一根白色小拉杆，这里还有一根。”
医学家从椅子上起身，凑近那东西细看。“做工真漂亮。”他说。
“花了两年才做成。”时间旅行者回敬道。接着，等我们都学医学家那样看过了，他说：“现在我要你们清楚明白，这根拉杆扳过去，机器就滑向未来，另一根则倒转方向。这个鞍座代表时间旅行者的座位。待会儿我要扳动拉杆，机器就会出发。它会消失，进入未来时间，不见踪影。好好看看这东西。也看看桌子，确认没耍花招。我可不想白白糟蹋这模型，回头被人骂成骗子。”
大概停顿了一分钟。心理学家像要对我说什么，又改了主意。这时时间旅行者伸出手指朝拉杆探去。“不，”他忽然说，“借你的手。”他转向心理学家，握住那人的手，叫他伸出食指。于是，是心理学家本人送那台模型时间机器踏上了它无尽的航程。我们都看见拉杆转动了。我绝对确信没有花招。起了一阵风，灯焰跳了一下。壁炉台上的一支蜡烛被吹灭，小机器忽然转了个圈，变得模糊，大概有一秒钟像幽灵般显现，像一团微微闪光的黄铜和象牙的旋涡；然后它就不见了——消失了！除了灯，桌上空空如也。
大家沉默了一分钟。然后菲尔比说他妈的。
心理学家从惊呆中回过神，忽然往桌子底下看。时间旅行者见状开心地笑了。“嗯？”他学着心理学家的口气说。接着他起身走到壁炉台上的烟罐旁，背对我们开始填烟斗。
我们面面相觑。“听着，”医学家说，“你这事是认真的吗？你真相信那机器去了时间里？”
“当然。”时间旅行者弯身就火点燃引纸说。然后他转过身，点着烟斗，去看心理学家的脸。（心理学家为了表示自己没疯，给自己拿了支雪茄，连头也没切就试着点。）“而且，我在那边有台大机器快完工了”——他指了指实验室——“等装好，我打算亲自去一趟。”
“你是说那机器去了未来？”菲尔比问。
“未来还是过去——我不敢确定是哪一个。”
过了一会儿，心理学家有了灵感。“如果它去了哪儿，那一定是去了过去。”他说。
“为什么？”时间旅行者问。
“因为我假定它没在空间里移动，如果它去了未来，这会儿它还应该在这儿，因为它必定穿过了这段时间。”
“可是，”我说，“如果它去了过去，那我们刚进这房间时它就该看得见；上周四我们在这儿时；上上周四；依此类推！”
“反对得有道理。”外省市长带着不偏不倚的神气转向时间旅行者说。
“一点也不是，”时间旅行者说，又对心理学家道，“你想想。你能解释。你知道，那是阈下呈现，稀释的呈现。”
“当然，”心理学家说，让我们放了心。“那是心理学里简单的点。我本该想到的。明摆着，还叫这悖论好懂多了。我们看不见它，也不能感知这机器，就像不能看见转着的车轮辐条，或飞在空中的子弹。如果它穿过时间比我们快五十倍或一百倍，如果我们过一秒它过一分钟，它留下的印象当然只有它不旅行时间时的五十分之一或百分之一。这再明白不过。”他把手伸进机器原先在的空间。“看见没？”他笑着说。
我们坐着盯了那空桌一分来钟。然后时间旅行者问我们觉得如何。
“今晚听着挺像回事，”医学家说，“但等到明天。等早晨的常识吧。”
“想看看时间机器本身吗？”时间旅行者问。说着他提着灯，领我们沿长长透风的走廊去他的实验室。我清楚地记得闪烁的灯光，他古怪宽大的头影，跳动的阴影，我们怎么都跟着他，又困惑又不信，以及我们在实验室里怎么看见那从眼前消失的小装置的放大版。有些部分是镍的，有些是象牙，有些肯定是用岩石晶锉或锯出来的。东西大体完工，但扭着的晶杆还摊在长凳上没做完，旁边几张图纸，我拿起一张凑近看。像是石英。
“听着，”医学家说，“你是完全认真的？还是像去年圣诞你给我们看的那鬼影一样，是花招？”
“在这机器上，”时间旅行者高举着灯说，“我打算探索时间。明白吗？我这辈子从没这么认真过。”
我们都不大知道该怎么接。
我从医学家肩头 catch 住菲尔比的眼，他冲我郑重眨了眨。
II.
The Machine
The thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a glittering metallic
framework, scarcely larger than a small clock, and very delicately
made. There was ivory in it, and some transparent crystalline
substance. And now I must be explicit, for this that follows—unless
his explanation is to be accepted—is an absolutely unaccountable
thing. He took one of the small octagonal tables that were scattered
about the room, and set it in front of the fire, with two legs on the
hearthrug. On this table he placed the mechanism. Then he drew up a
chair, and sat down. The only other object on the table was a small
shaded lamp, the bright light of which fell full upon the model. There
were also perhaps a dozen candles about, two in brass candlesticks upon
the mantel and several in sconces, so that the room was brilliantly
illuminated. I sat in a low arm-chair nearest the fire, and I drew
this forward so as to be almost between the Time Traveller and the
fireplace. Filby sat behind him, looking over his shoulder. The Medical
Man and the Provincial Mayor watched him in profile from the right,
the Psychologist from the left. The Very Young Man stood behind the
Psychologist. We were all on the alert. It appears incredible to me
that any kind of trick, however subtly conceived and however adroitly
done, could have been played upon us under these conditions.
The Time Traveller looked at us, and then at the mechanism. “Well?”
said the Psychologist.
“This little affair,” said the Time Traveller, resting his elbows upon
the table and pressing his hands together above the apparatus, “is only
a model. It is my plan for a machine to travel through time. You will
notice that it looks singularly askew, and that there is an odd
twinkling appearance about this bar, as though it was in some way
unreal.” He pointed to the part with his finger. “Also, here is one
little white lever, and here is another.”
The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the thing.
“It’s beautifully made,” he said.
“It took two years to make,” retorted the Time Traveller. Then, when we
had all imitated the action of the Medical Man, he said: “Now I want
you clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed over, sends
the machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses the
motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveller. Presently
I am going to press the lever, and off the machine will go. It will
vanish, pass into future Time, and disappear. Have a good look at the
thing. Look at the table too, and satisfy yourselves there is no
trickery. I don’t want to waste this model, and then be told I’m a
quack.”
There was a minute’s pause perhaps. The Psychologist seemed about to
speak to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth
his finger towards the lever. “No,” he said suddenly. “Lend me your
hand.” And turning to the Psychologist, he took that individual’s hand
in his own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it was the
Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time Machine on its
interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I am absolutely certain
there was no trickery. There was a breath of wind, and the lamp flame
jumped. One of the candles on the mantel was blown out, and the little
machine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was seen as a ghost
for a second perhaps, as an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory;
and it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp the table was bare.
Everyone was silent for a minute. Then Filby said he was damned.
The Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and suddenly looked under
the table. At that the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully. “Well?” he
said, with a reminiscence of the Psychologist. Then, getting up, he
went to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and with his back to us began to
fill his pipe.
We stared at each other. “Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you in
earnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that machine has
travelled into time?”
“Certainly,” said the Time Traveller, stooping to light a spill at the
fire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the Psychologist’s
face. (The Psychologist, to show that he was not unhinged, helped
himself to a cigar and tried to light it uncut.) “What is more, I have
a big machine nearly finished in there”—he indicated the
laboratory—“and when that is put together I mean to have a journey on
my own account.”
“You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?” said
Filby.
“Into the future or the past—I don’t, for certain, know which.”
After an interval the Psychologist had an inspiration. “It must have
gone into the past if it has gone anywhere,” he said.
“Why?” said the Time Traveller.
“Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it travelled
into the future it would still be here all this time, since it must
have travelled through this time.”
“But,” said I, “If it travelled into the past it would have been
visible when we came first into this room; and last Thursday when we
were here; and the Thursday before that; and so forth!”
“Serious objections,” remarked the Provincial Mayor, with an air of
impartiality, turning towards the Time Traveller.
“Not a bit,” said the Time Traveller, and, to the Psychologist: “You
think. _You_ can explain that. It’s presentation below the threshold,
you know, diluted presentation.”
“Of course,” said the Psychologist, and reassured us. “That’s a simple
point in psychology. I should have thought of it. It’s plain enough,
and helps the paradox delightfully. We cannot see it, nor can we
appreciate this machine, any more than we can the spoke of a wheel
spinning, or a bullet flying through the air. If it is travelling
through time fifty times or a hundred times faster than we are, if it
gets through a minute while we get through a second, the impression it
creates will of course be only one-fiftieth or one-hundredth of what it
would make if it were not travelling in time. That’s plain enough.” He
passed his hand through the space in which the machine had been. “You
see?” he said, laughing.
We sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute or so. Then the Time
Traveller asked us what we thought of it all.
“It sounds plausible enough tonight,” said the Medical Man; “but wait
until tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.”
“Would you like to see the Time Machine itself?” asked the Time
Traveller. And therewith, taking the lamp in his hand, he led the way
down the long, draughty corridor to his laboratory. I remember vividly
the flickering light, his queer, broad head in silhouette, the dance of
the shadows, how we all followed him, puzzled but incredulous, and how
there in the laboratory we beheld a larger edition of the little
mechanism which we had seen vanish from before our eyes. Parts were of
nickel, parts of ivory, parts had certainly been filed or sawn out of
rock crystal. The thing was generally complete, but the twisted
crystalline bars lay unfinished upon the bench beside some sheets of
drawings, and I took one up for a better look at it. Quartz it seemed
to be.
“Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you perfectly serious? Or is
this a trick—like that ghost you showed us last Christmas?”
“Upon that machine,” said the Time Traveller, holding the lamp aloft,
“I intend to explore time. Is that plain? I was never more serious in
my life.”
None of us quite knew how to take it.
I caught Filby’s eye over the shoulder of the Medical Man, and he
winked at me solemnly.
