The basket entered through a trapdoor into a room in the gondola; from there, my guide had me climb a spiral staircase, then go down a long hallway. Everything here was aluminum, brass, well-polished hardwood: a beautiful machine, truly. Having reached a padded door, the man rang a little doorbell. The door opened, he gestured for me to go in, and didn’t follow.

It was a large room lined with a banquette and a long bay window and furnished with shelves, with a long table in the center covered with an unlikely assortment of bric-a-brac: books, maps, globes, stuffed animals, models of fantastic vehicles, astronomical, optical, navigational instruments. A white cat with different-colored eyes was silently threading its way between these objects. A little man, also in a white lab coat, was hunched over on a chair at the end of the table; when I came in, he turned around, swiveling in his seat. His hair, streaked with gray and combed back, looked dirty and stringy; a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, set on top of his forehead, held it back. His slightly sunken face was badly shaved and wore a quarrelsome, disagreeable expression. “Come in! Come in,” he squealed in a hoarse voice. He pointed to the long banquette: “Have a seat.” I skirted round the table and sat down, crossing my legs. He spluttered as he spoke; the remnants of a meal stained his lab coat. “You are very young!” he exclaimed. I turned my head slightly and contemplated the bare steppe from the bay window, then looked at the man again. “I am Hauptsturmführer Dr. Maximilien Aue, at your service,” I said finally, bowing my head.—“Ah!” he croaked, “a doctor! A doctor! A doctor of what?”—“Of law, Monsieur.”—“A lawyer!” he leaped out of his chair. “A lawyer! Hideous…wretched scum! You’re worse than Jews! Worse than banksters! Worse than royalists!…”—“I am not a lawyer, Monsieur. I am a jurist, expert in constitutional law, and an officer of the Schutzstaffel.” He suddenly calmed down and sat down again in one bound: his legs, too short for his chair, reached only a few centimeters above the ground. “That’s hardly any better…” He pondered. “I too am a doctor. But…of useful things. Sardine, I’m Sardine, Dr. Sardine.”—“Pleased to meet you, Doktor.”—“I can’t say the same yet. What are you doing here?”—“In your airship? Your colleagues invited me to come up.”—“Invited…invited…a big word. I mean here, in this region.”—“Well, I was walking.”—“You were walking…fine! But why?”—“I was walking at random. To tell you the truth I got a little lost.” He leaned forward with a mistrustful look, gripping the armrests of his chair with both hands: “Are you quite sure of that?…Didn’t you have a specific purpose?!”—“I must confess I did not.” But he was still muttering: “Confess, confess…aren’t you looking for something…aren’t you actually…on my trail! Sent by my jealous competitors!…” He was getting worked up on his own. “Then how did you find us?”—“Your aircraft can be seen quite far away, in this plain.” But he stuck to his guns: “Aren’t you an accomplice of Finkelstein!…Of Krasschild! Those envious Yids…swollen up with their own importance…Squids! Dwarves! Boot-polishers! Falsifiers of diplomas and of results…”—“Allow me to point out to you, Doctor, that you must not read the papers much. Otherwise you would know that a German, especially an SS officer, rarely places himself at the service of Jews. I do not know the gentlemen you speak of, but if I met them, it would be my duty to arrest them.”—“Yes…yes…” he said, rubbing his lower lip, “that’s possible, in fact…” He searched through the pocket of his lab coat and took out a little leather purse; with fingers yellowed by nicotine, he fished out a pinch of tobacco and began rolling a cigarette. Since he didn’t seem inclined to offer me one, I took out my own pack: it had dried out, and by rolling and tamping one of my cigarettes a little, I could make something suitable out of it. My matches, however, were useless; I looked at the table, but didn’t see any others in the midst of the mess. “Do you have a light, Doktor?” I asked.—“One instant, young man, one instant…” He finished rolling his cigarette, took a rather large pewter cube from the table, put his cigarette into a hole, and pressed a little button. Then he waited. After a few minutes that I found rather long, a little ping could be heard; he drew out the cigarette, whose end glowed red, and breathed in little puffs: “Ingenious, no?”—“Very. But a little slow, perhaps.”—“It’s the element that takes time to warm up. Give me your cigarette.” I held it out to him and he repeated the operation while spitting smoke out in little puffs; this time, the ping sounded a little more quickly. “It’s my only vice…” he murmured, “the only one! All the rest…finished! Alcohol…a poison…As for fornication…All those greedy females! Plastered with paint! Syphilitic! Ready to suck the genius out of a man…to circumcise his soul!…Not to speak of the danger of procreation…omnipresent…Whatever you do, you can’t escape it, they always find a way…an abomination! Hideous big-titted monsters writhing! Seductive Jewesses, waiting to strike the death blow! Always in heat! The smells! All year long! A man of science must know how to turn his back on all that. Build himself a shell of indifference…of will…Noli me tangere.” As he smoked, he let his ashes fall on the floor; since I couldn’t see an ashtray, I did the same. The white cat was rubbing its neck against a sextant. Suddenly, Sardine put his glasses on his eyes and leaned forward to examine me: “And are you looking for the end of the world too?”—“Sorry?”—“The end of the world! The end of the world! Don’t act innocent. What else could have brought you out here?”—“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doktor.” He grimaced, bounded out of his chair, ran around the table, seized an object, and hurled it at my head. I caught it in the nick of time. It was a cone mounted on a base, painted like a globe with the continents spread out around it; the flat base was gray and bore the caption TERRA INCOGNITA. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen that?” Sardine had gone back to his seat and was rolling another cigarette. “Never, Doktor,” I replied.—“What is it?”—“It’s the Earth! Idiot! Hypocrite! Two-faced bastard!”—“I’m very sorry, Doktor. At school, we were taught that the Earth was round.” He let out a fierce growl: “Balderdash! Nonsense!…Medieval theories…hackneyed…Superstition! There!” he shouted, pointing with his cigarette at the cone I was still holding, “There! That’s the truth. And I’m going to prove it! At this instant, we’re headed for the Edge.” In fact, I noticed that the cabin was gently vibrating. I looked out the bay window: the dirigible had raised anchor and was slowly gaining altitude. “And when we arrive,” I asked carefully, “will your aircraft pass over it?”—“Don’t be an imbecile! What an ignoramus. You are an educated man, you say…Think! It goes without saying that beyond the Edge, there is no gravitational field. Otherwise, the evidence would have been proven a long time ago!”—“But then how do you count on…”—“That’s my whole genius,” he replied maliciously. “This aircraft is hiding another one.” He got up and came over to sit next to me. “I’ll tell you. In any case, you’re going to stay with us. You, the Incredulous, will be the Witness. At the Edge of the world, we will land, deflate the balloon, there, above us, which will be folded and put away in a compartment designed for this purpose. Below, there are legs that can be unfolded, and that are articulated, eight in all, ending in strong pincers.” As he spoke, he mimed pincers with his fingers. “These pincers can grip any soil whatsoever. Thus, we will pass over the Great Edge like an insect, a spider. But we will pass over it! I’m rather proud of myself…Can you believe it?! The difficulties…in wartime…to construct such a machine?…The negotiations with the occupying power? With those morons in Vichy, drunk on mineral water? With the factions…That whole alphabet soup, crawling with retards, microcephalics, careerists? And with Jews! Yes, Mr. German Officer, Jews too! A man of science cannot have scruples…He must be ready to strike a deal with the devil if necessary.” A siren sounded somewhere inside the vessel, interrupting him. He stood up: “I have to go. Wait for me here.” At the door, he turned around: “Don’t touch anything!” Alone, I got up too and took a few steps. I held out my fingers to pet the cat with the different-colored eyes, but it bristled and hissed, baring its teeth. I looked again at the objects piled up on the long table, fiddled with one or two, leafed through a book, then went to kneel down on the banquette and look at the steppe. A river crossed it, snaking gently, shimmering in the sun. I thought I could make out an object on the water. At the end of the room, a telescope mounted on a tripod stood in front of the bay window. I set my eye to it, turned the knob to focus, and looked for the river; when I had located it, I followed its course to find the object. It was a small boat with figures in it. I adjusted the focus. A naked young woman was sitting in the center of the boat, flowers in her hair; in front and behind her, two awful creatures, in human form and also naked, were paddling. The woman had long black hair. My heart suddenly beating hard, I tried to make out her face, but it was difficult to distinguish her features. Little by little, this certainty dawned in me: it was Una, my sister. Where was she going? Other boats were following hers, heaped with flowers, it looked like a marriage procession. I had to join her. But how? I rushed out of the cabin, down the spiral staircase: in the room with the basket, there was a man. “The doctor?” I panted. “Where is he? I must see him.” He signaled me to follow him and led me to the bow of the vessel, into the control cabin where, in front of a vast circular bay window, men in white lab coats were busy. Sardine sat enthroned on a raised armchair in front of a command panel. “What do you want?” he asked abruptly when he saw me.—“Doktor…I have to go down. It’s a question of life or death.”—“Impossible!” he shouted in a shrill voice. “Impossible! I understand everything. You are a spy! An accomplice!” He turned to the man who had brought me there. “Arrest him! Clap him in irons!” The man put his hand on my arm; without thinking, I landed an uppercut on his chin and bounded to the door. Several men rushed at me, but the door was too narrow for them all to pass through, and it delayed them. I ran back up the spiral staircase, taking the steps three at a time, and positioned myself at the top: when the first head appeared beneath me, crowned with a bowler hat, I delivered a kick that propelled him backward; he tumbled down the steps, dragging his colleagues down with a huge racket. I could hear Sardine howling. I opened doors at random: cabins, a map room, a canteen. At the end of the hallway I came across a storage room with a ladder going up; the trapdoor at the top must have opened onto the inside of the hull, for repairs; there were metal lockers there, which I opened; they contained parachutes. My pursuers were approaching; I slipped a parachute on and began to climb. The trapdoor opened easily: above, an immense cylindrical cage of waxed canvas stretched over metal circlets rose through the body of the dirigible. A diffuse light passed through the cloth, there were also lightbulbs set at intervals; through portholes made of transparent rubber, one could make out the soft outlines of the hydrogen gasbags. I began the ascent. The shaft, held in place by a solid framework, was a few dozen meters tall, and I soon ran out of breath. I risked a glance beneath me: the first bowler hat was appearing through the trapdoor, followed by the man’s body. I saw that he was brandishing a pistol and I resumed my climb. He didn’t shoot; no doubt he was afraid of puncturing the gasbags. Other men followed him; they were climbing as slowly as I was. Every four meters an open landing interrupted the shaft, to allow one to rest, but I couldn’t stop, I kept climbing, rung after rung, panting. I didn’t look up and it seemed to me that this interminable ladder would never end. Finally my head bumped against the trapdoor at the top. Beneath me resounded the metallic noises of the men climbing. I turned the handle of the hatchway, pushed it, and stuck my head outside: a cold wind hit me in the face. I was at the top of the dirigible’s hull, a large curved surface, quite rigid, seemingly. I hoisted myself outside and stood up; alas, no way to close the trapdoor from without. What with the wind and the vibrations of the airship, my balance was unsteady. I headed, staggering, toward the tail, checking the parachute’s fastenings. A head appeared at the trapdoor and I began to run; the surface of the cover was slightly elastic and bounced under my feet; a gunshot rang out and a bullet whistled past my ear; I stumbled, rolled over, but instead of trying to catch hold of something I let myself go. I heard another gunshot. The slope grew increasingly steep, I slid quickly, trying to twist my feet forward, then it became almost vertical and I fell into the void like a puppet with its strings cut, waving my arms and legs in the wind. The brown-and-gray steppe rose toward me like a wall. I had never jumped in a parachute before but I knew you had to pull on a cord; with an effort, I brought my arms back close to my body, found the handle, and pulled; the shock was so abrupt that I hurt my neck. I was now descending much more slowly, feet first; I caught hold of the risers and raised my head; the white corolla of the parachute filled the sky, hiding the dirigible from view. I looked for the river: it seemed to be a few kilometers away. The procession of boats was gleaming in the sun and I mentally calculated the path to take to reach it. The ground approached and I held out my legs together, a little worried. Then I felt a violent shock that went through my whole body, tumbled over, let myself be dragged by the parachute as it was carried off by the wind; finally I managed to find my footing and get up. I undid the harness and left the parachute there, blown by the wind and rolling about on the dirt. I looked at the sky: the dirigible was impassively drifting away. I got my bearings and began trotting toward the river.