Part 1

The LAST LAUGH

by BRYCE WALTON

_The visitor from Mars was a first-rate howl. Earthmen reckoned he was endowed with all the qualities of all the greatest clowns in the history of Buffoonery. Often though, the distance between humor and terror can be too short to be funny._

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories November 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The scarred rocket rolled down street canyons away from United Nations City, wheeled toward Madison Square Garden between jam-packed, crazily-cheering millions of citizens from every nation on Earth.

Confetti snow drifted in colorful storm, wild faces shone through drifts of spiraling streamers. Signs floated everywhere. Neon signs blinked off and on. Signs floated from balloons across the kleig-lighted sky. Welcome hero signs. And even signs shouting:

WELCOME TO EARTH--ZEKE!

They spelled the name wrong, Johnson thought with some dismay. But that's the way it sounded, he decided, when I radioed in ahead that there was a Martian with us.

Spelled ZEKE, the name scarcely projected the dignity of the name's sound in Martian language. But, in thinking about it now, Johnson realized that it was the only way it could be spelled or pronounced in English.

This seemingly insignificant fact bothered Johnson now. He felt a growing uneasiness. The Martian was largely his responsibility, he felt. It had been Johnson who had spent most of the time on the first visit to Mars with the few Martians left in that one isolated mountain village, learning their language and ancient, conservative, almost static culture. Being an anthropologist, among other things, it had been natural for Johnson to have manifested this particular interest.

Johnson had also been the one to suggest that perhaps Zeke might like to pay Earth a visit.

Zeke had readily agreed, but now Johnson was beginning to wonder why. In six months another rocket would go to Mars and Zeke could go home, but meanwhile--Johnson suddenly began to wonder about the possible ramifications of a Martian's first visit to Earth.

He had radioed ahead about the Martian but had given no details. The world awaited its first look at a Martian, the expectation overshadowing their hero worship of Captain Stromberg, Atomics Engineer Hinton, and Professor William Johnson--the first successful navigators of deep space.

Right now, Stromberg and Hinton were straightening their dress uniforms preparatory to the feting promised when the rocket was wheeled into Madison Square Garden. UN notables would be there, everyone of any importance, plus every one who could be jammed into the Garden. The rocket would be wheeled up to a speaker's platform, the doors would open and out would step the three heroes and Zeke.

Johnson looked at Zeke now with a new and uneasy appraisal. He slumped and then as Johnson motioned to him, Zeke gave a series of grotesque hops. His face, like a monstrous soft rubber mask bought in a novelty shop, twisted into a series of fantastic grimaces.

Stromberg and Hinton grinned appreciatively. They thought Zeke was pretty funny. Johnson no longer thought so because he had realized the cultural significance of Zeke's actions. Johnson gestured for Zeke to look through the port view plate.

His rubberoid features, which at times suggested a travesty of something very remotely human, bunched up and then spread in all directions as though running into yellow putty. "They're welcoming you to Earth, Zeke. 'Welcome, Zeke,' the signs say. You'll be royally entertained. You'll be wined and dined as they say. You're probably the most extraordinary visitor ever seen anywhere."

* * * * *

Zeke swung his long, stick-like arms, or appendages, whatever one chose to call them, in long arcs like pendulums, back and forth and to and fro. His three eyes spread wider and wider in an expression of such intense and gigantic astonishment that Stromberg and Hinton bent over and held their stomachs with uncontrollable laughter.

The flicker of unease in Johnson's stomach flamed a little stronger. The trouble was that Zeke's culture was so serious, so old and wise and serious, there seemed to be absolutely no sense of humor in it. At least none of any human kind that Johnson had been able to discover.

To Zeke, this being an object of humor had no meaning. Zeke could understand, however, the meaning of ridicule, derision and insults and sadness in their actual and realistic sense, divorced from the necessity of contrast that connected these things with laughter, gags, jokes in the human psychology.

So Johnson had never explained to Zeke that he was being laughed at, nor what it would mean if he did know he was being an object of laughter. Somehow now, Johnson wished he hadn't lied, that he hadn't explained to Zeke about Stromberg's and Hinton's laughter: "Well, Zeke, that's a kind of appreciation humans express to each other. It means they accept you. A form of politeness, a social amenity."

Zeke was saying in the peculiar slurred, high-pitched Martian speech. "It is over-powering, so many of you humans! Even in our most ancient records there is no account of there ever having been so many of us as I see of your kind out there!"

"That's only a small percent of the world's population," Johnson said. He took hold of one of Zeke's boneless, spongy arms. "Come on. We go on up now to the air-lock doors. In a few minutes we'll be out of here and you'll be presented to the world."

They were inside the Garden now, the rocket being moved by a giant crane to a position beside the speakers' platform. A ramp was connecting the two. The doors started to open and Stromberg and Hinton stood with stiff, glowing expectancy.

Johnson stood behind them, holding on to Zeke whose eight-foot body slumped with its own peculiar kind of expectancy. In all his 32 years Johnson had never been exactly a social animal. Devoted largely to field work, he had accustomed himself either by choice or necessity or both to an extraordinary degree of isolation. The two years in space hadn't bothered him. He was somewhat anxious to see his friends, but not overly so.

In fact the sight of those countless gaping faces, the packed masses of humanity, had frightened him a little. It had been so utterly peaceful out there in space, and on the high, cold plateaus of Mars.

Odd how formidable seemed the prospect of meeting this gigantic social obligation of facing the whole world. Maybe two years away from Earth was too long.

He could hear the interminable speeches droning away outside the opening doors.

Everybody was waiting out there on that platform.

Presidents and envoys from the Big Three nations, and many slightly less important figures. Everybody who could possibly claim to be anybody.

"From now on," whispered Hinton, "we live like Kings! A pension for life. And a hero forever. The dames--"

"Quiet, please," whispered Captain Stromberg.

Hinton dropped back. He nudged Johnson. "Even the thing here, your friend that walks like a man, will be treated by the world like a prince."

Johnson squeezed Hinton's arm and Hinton winced. "Watch what you say, Hinton. It knows some English now."

"You treat it like it's a human being," Hinton said.

Johnson had no answer to that except agreement. Changing Hinton's attitudes was something else again. Johnson didn't consider the project quite worth the time and trouble. He shrugged.

"This is it," Johnson warned Zeke. Every time he talked in Martian his jaw ached. It was quite a feat.

The present speaker's voice like a worn soundtrack was saying:

"... and now, waiting world, here they are...."

"Ready?" Captain Stromberg whispered.

"... the first to make a voyage to another planet! The first visitor from another world!..."

Their names being called, and then--

"... and our guest from the planet Mars--Zeke!"

Zeke shifted his undulating, boneless length as the four of them stepped out onto the platform and into the glare of flood lights, and a sea of smoke and the heat of human bodies. Johnson got the impression, though he couldn't actually see much of it, of a colossal ocean of humanity, great tides of flesh held temporarily motionless and soundless. Microphones slid down. Television and motion picture cameras moved in and back and in again.

Lawrence Spaulding, President of the United States, flanked by big-wigs from the United Nations, moved toward the four. Hands came out, gloved and grasping.

"I--" began the President of the United States. Johnson watched his lips moving but what he said was buried under the onrushing, rising, roaring flood of sound.

Johnson was noticing how the others on the platform were gradually having their attention diverted by the appearance of Zeke. His hands were suddenly moist, and his stomach felt hollow. All of them were beginning to grin. It was universal--he should have known--whenever any human being saw Zeke--laughter.

He didn't know why, exactly, but he decided this was bad, very bad. Even the Russian Ambassador was grinning as Zeke grimaced at the strangeness about him.

As long as Zeke didn't know he excited laughter primarily from everyone, things might go along all right. But that deceptive situation couldn't last long. And trying to make it last for six months was no solution. Johnson's throat felt dry.

Maybe there was no solution. Maybe it was just a devil of a blunder--period! Several scientists spoke at length after the cheering died down enough. Stromberg and Hinton were introduced. They talked at length. Johnson was introduced. He was asked to talk about the surprising discovery of intelligent life on Mars, and about Zeke.

He didn't bother to say much because he knew that they weren't really listening. He watched Zeke. The Martian was restless. He made faces at Johnson. He was utterly alone amidst thousands of people, a world full of human beings, Johnson thought. I'm his only point of contact with any living thing, and that is most inadequate. How does he really feel? Desperate probably. Confused. Probably very lonely. And nothing that he does or says will be interpreted realistically--

He bowed, stepped back to where Zeke was amidst a storm of applause. Now every eye was focused on Zeke. Zeke whispered to Johnson in a raspy, high-pitched voice that only added to his humorous appeal because of contrast due to his giant and grotesque body. "I am having difficulty breathing."

"Hold on a while," Johnson said, managing to smile at everybody. "I have a big apartment we can go to, and no one will bother us there. You can rest. It's air-conditioned. It'll be cooler there too."

* * * * *

Johnson prayed. The thing had to get over with fast. He felt afraid for Zeke now. The novelty, the magnitude of the thing was over. They had to get out of here.

His uneasiness had been growing. Those on the speakers' platform were grinning more widely at Zeke's antics. The uneasiness was growing into a kind of fear. And then he heard someone introducing Zeke.

"Oh no," Johnson whispered. "Wait a minute--he's not up to this ... not now...."

"What is the trouble?" Zeke asked.

The United Nations Secretary was introducing Zeke. Something about inter-world friendship ... the beginning of an inter-world union that would spread to the stars....

Someone was saying in Johnson's ear, "Go ahead. You act as interpreter...."

"What is everyone looking at me for?" Zeke asked.

"You are to make a speech like the rest of us," Johnson whispered dryly. "Just say something ... anything ... something short. They won't know what you're saying anyway. Just a gesture--"

To Zeke everything was deadly serious. A long historical background had made the Martians that way. They were old. "About how much I want to learn about you here on Earth? How I will enjoy my stay here? How glad I am that the Earth and Mars are in contact and are friends?"

"Yes, yes, anything. Just a formality anyway."

"But I think that I am somewhat afraid," Zeke said. "Things I am not accustomed to. Too many people. Too much noise and confusion. And the air. I cannot seem to breathe properly."

The air was thinner on Mars, Johnson thought as he stepped toward the microphones again, in front of television eyes. But it's the air here too--the people--the suppression--

Zeke was there standing beside him. Johnson stepped aside. Zeke stood there in his place. Johnson's knees got weak. He felt the sweat running down his face then, and the cold shivery feeling as though he'd suddenly contracted a high fever. The laughter was starting. It was starting around the platform as the big spotlights caught Zeke full, and it spread backward and upward, growing and expanding.

Zeke, in his alien way talked, and he gestured with his entire body as he talked sincerely, with deep feeling, about how he felt about this first visit to Earth. The laughter rose higher and more voluminous until Johnson's body began to quiver as though from some physical assault. The trouble was a complete misunderstanding of Zeke, his grotesqueness, the fact that no one had any idea what he was really saying. What his gestures meant. All that--and whatever it was in human beings that made them laugh.

Zeke leaned toward Johnson, yelled in his ear. "Look, they are all doing it now."

"Yes," Johnson managed to scream. "They like you. They're all stirred up with excitement. Think nothing of it. They're expressing their extreme excitement and appreciation--"

The twistings of Zeke's body, his facial distortions as he sought to express himself in the best and most intelligible manner, grew more intense. Laughter became a sweeping thunder. No one could hear Johnson's interpretation. He stopped interpreting.

Zeke came back away from the cameras and microphones. No one but Johnson realized his growing panic. Johnson said to someone, "The air's bad for the Martian here. I'm taking him back inside the rocket. You say something."

The man who happened to be a highly important figure in the United Nations Supreme Court, an Englishman named Gordon Humphreys, nodded. He was grinning, yet Johnson seemed to see a glint of understanding in Humphreys' eyes.

* * * * *

The rocket held out most of the thunder. Zeke sat in the corner. His eyes were frightened, confused. "They certainly do appreciate me a great deal, do they not."

"Yes," whispered Johnson. "They certainly do."

"I do not understand. But it would seem that all of this is not being treated with due seriousness."

Johnson said, "Don't try to figure us out down here, not this time. We discussed that, Zeke. Society and the individual here is too complex. Specialists here, psychologists, trying to figure that out about themselves are running into difficulty. Just take it as easy as you can and don't get too curious. We'll get you out somewhere where you won't be bothered much, and you can study at your leisure. Remember, you only have six months of this, then you'll be on your way home to Mars."

Zeke said, "Yes. Martian culture must have been complex like this once, but that was very long ago. It seems to frighten me a bit. This--what you call laughter. There seems no analogy for it in my own language or culture. Why is it directed in such volume specifically at me? I mean as a sign of appreciation and like, why is so little of it going on between two or more of your own kind? I do not--"

"You know the meaning of tragedy, sadness, bereavement. We have an opposite. Laughter. You make people very happy, Zeke. You make them enjoy themselves very much."

Zeke thought about this.

Johnson forced a laugh. "You see you shouldn't try to figure it out! Just make your visit here as enjoyable as possible. It won't be long before you'll be on your way back home--"

"All right," Zeke said. "I want to study here. I want to take back to Mars an understanding of humans."

"If you take that back you'll take back more than anyone I ever heard of has to give," muttered Johnson.

The immediately subsequent events were too incredible and fast-paced for Johnson to cope with with any degree of effectiveness. With Zeke, he was swirled away in a mad maelstrom of activity. He went with Zeke on a crazy toboggan ride that gained momentum all the way toward an end Johnson was horrified to imagine.

The newspapers and television and news-reel cameras started the toboggan going. They started the whole world laughing at Zeke. It was too big a novelty to be ignored by American advertisers, or by any other agencies standing to profit from the greatest novelty in history. Zeke seemed to have all the qualities of all the greatest clowns in the history of clowndom, plus unique characteristics of his own which in turn seemed to bring out something else in the misty realms of human psychology where so much was suspected but of which so little was known.

Johnson tried to object but he couldn't without revealing the truth to Zeke. Besides, Zeke wanted to please. He wanted to make people like him and his kind. He wanted humans and Martians always to get along, so he went along with compliancy on the crazy ride.

They insisted that Johnson get a cut of the fabulous profits accruing from Zeke's endorsements, his television, radio, and stage performances. Johnson refused. The money went to charity. He explained that to Zeke. That made Zeke feel good for a while. He appeared at benefit performances. Everywhere, everyone was laughing louder and louder. Johnson somehow kept Zeke convinced that his lectures were received in the serious regard Zeke intended ... that the laughter was only appreciation and so forth.

During a tour, Johnson stopped off in Chicago to see a friend. A clinical psychologist, Philip Billington. Johnson had lost weight. His nerves were frayed.

Philip's study was comfortable. And there were cool drinks and dim light, and Johnson sat there like a man paroled another day from a death chamber. Philip, a quiet little man with a rather prominent nose and soft eyes, regarded Johnson quietly for a while.

Finally Johnson said, "Physically I'm not built for it. Martians only sleep six hours out of every three weeks of Earth time. I have to keep up with him, try to keep him from being completely sucked up by--"

"How are you helping him?"

Johnson explained. "He doesn't know what laughter is. I mean what it is in his case as far as his audiences are concerned. I'm not sure what it is myself. Except that it's pretty horrible!"

"The whole thing's rather horrible," Billington agreed. "Are you doing anything to get your Martian out of all this madness? I'll admit that it could result in something tragic. If you've been keeping him in ignorance--"

"What else could I do? What if he found out he's regarded as a clown, a buffoon, a ludicrous, sham-clumsy sort of animal? I've written out a full report to the United Nations, and I've contacted James Hatcher, a UN lawyer friend of mine and he's working on it. So far there's been no results from either source. I say there must be some legal angles."

"Maybe there is," Billington mused. "But I'm just a psychologist. You say Zeke has no sense of humor? Rather an abstract term. Even to us, humans and psychologists alike, the anatomy of humor is pretty complex, contradictory, confusing and inconsistent."

"But why do they go so insanely hysterical with laughter at Zeke?"

"Why? There's a question all right, Bill. It's contrast in humorous situations, such as this one, that sometimes makes it horrible. In this case it's the fact that people are laughing at what we know is something deadly serious, which only makes it more grotesque. Add to this the vast cultural differences, the unbridgeable gap, the psychological isolation, and you have that thin line between farce and tragedy--"

"There's never been anything like this though," Johnson moaned. "It's all out of line. Here we have the first visitor from another planet. An important, dignified individual, and the world regards him as a buffoon! Something's got to be done!"

"I agree. But what?"

* * * * *

Philip looked at the ceiling, then back at Johnson. "Humor. What are its basic elements? Surprise. Aberrancy. Ah, we have that element. Oddity, singularity, peculiarity, nonconformity in what is supposed to be a well-ordered world. Also irrationalism, we have that too. A form of aberrancy. Zeke acts in a manner people regard as foolish, mistaken, ill-advised ... oddity of character behavior. People like this kind of humor; it allows him to feel superior. Here we find the element of sadism in humor, you see. Humor can be horrible in retrospect, or looking at it from a distance. Kinds of humor change. They used to write jokes about burning witches alive. Cripples and insane people used to be funny."

"All right," Johnson said. "But there's something more here."

"Yes. Yes, there is. I think I have it, some of it anyway. There's a connection between terror and humor. Build up a suspense, an anticipation of terror, then present something harmless, and you get a tremendous relief through laughter. People have been conditioned to fear the alien, particularly the alien from outer space, and particularly the bogey-man Martian who has been popularized in fiction for a long time. Maybe the whole world's reacting to Zeke as a kind of anticlimax. A long build-up to expect some fearsome monster, maybe with super weapons capable of wiping out the Earth in one fell swoop of deadly rays, and then they get Zeke!

"And add to that the other free-floating anxieties people suffer in a too-complex society, sourceless fears they don't even realize exist. They project all that into the surprise twist too. And we get a world practically prostrated with laughter because they expect a monster and get the most, to them at least, exaggerated kind of loping, rubberoid, harmless clown."

"But a clinical diagnosis doesn't help Zeke any."

"No. No, it doesn't. Not now anyway. It might--"

"The UN should do something. America's exploiting Zeke for commercial purposes primarily. Zeke isn't a guest of the United States. He's from another planet. He's really visiting the whole world. No one nation--"

Billington nodded. "I hope something happens. I hate to see you in such a state, Bill. Pretty soon, if you don't snap out of this and find some solution, you'll end up coming to me for treatment."

Johnson needed treatment when Hollywood decided to make a movie featuring Zeke. He didn't go to Philip Billington though. He fought this to the end but the fight was futile. They gave Zeke a good sales talk, and of course it wasn't Johnson's position to tell Zeke what, or what not, to do. He had trapped himself nicely so that he couldn't explain to Zeke the real reasons for his objections.

The movie was called MARS INVADES THE EARTH. They told Zeke it would be a semi-documentary; that it would assure good relations between Earth and Mars and acquaint the whole world with Martian culture.

There was a special preview showing in the United Nations Cultural Building in United Nations City. Johnson was there, waiting in the lobby for the fiasco to end. He had seen the first part of it but had been unable to stomach the rest. He paced nervously back and forth across the lush carpet wondering how Zeke was taking it. It wasn't at all what they had led Zeke to believe it was. It was pure fiction in which a Martian monster invaded the Earth with a weapon capable of blowing the world into component atoms, but the Martian was so funny he conquered the Earth with laughter.

Johnson could hear the UN Officials invited to the showing laughing uproariously in there. What--what would Zeke be thinking now?