I understand the original word is sacred but there's been a few books that I'd love to have seen adapted for the big screen. Some are clearly more difficult than others (I'm not convinced every PKD book can be represented properly).
What favourite of yours would you like to see up on the silver screen, knowing the chances are next to zero?
Mohammed Hanif looked up at the punishing sun and prayed for guidance.
He had been banished to the dry wilderness for corruption, a crime that Allah possessed absolute contempt for. The court had offered him a thousand lashes or exile to the ancient desert of Paran. Being averse to physical pain (and knowing that even ten lashes would kill him), he chose to trek across the pitiless sands in the hope of securing salvation in an unmapped citadel or a travelling caravan that knew nothing of his name or his transgressions. The court had stripped him of his clothing and dignity. The villagers had thrown stones at him to hasten his departure from their sight. His body bled from the successful blows.
With the unbearable cruelty of the sun cooking his sinful flesh and mosquitos feeding on his wounds, Hanif decided to rest during the day and travel by night. Shadows were sparse, but good fortune presented itself in the form of sacred black monoliths that cast a welcome relief. The court had provided him with seven days of water and food but Hanif, being a greedy and proud man, drank from the leather-skinned qirba whenever it suited rather than whenever it was required. He cursed the judges who had condemned him and demanded that Allah peel the skin from their corrupt bodies.
On the third day, while resting from the relentless heat in the shadow of an abandoned, overturned cart, he thought he saw someone standing about a hundred metres away. The stranger stood very still at first but then began to move closer. Hanif was unsettled by the peculiar movement of the man. The stranger did not walk towards him but glided. As it approached, Hanif could see that the man was made of smoke, likely born from an ancient, wicked fire.
In fear, Hanif gripped his qirba close to him. He felt its meagre hold and recited a prayer to protect him from the apparition.
“In the name of Allah, with whose name nothing can harm on the earth or in the heavens, and He is the All-Hearing, All-Knowing.”
The smoke-man paused. He spoke with a voice as smooth as a virgin bride’s untouched skin.
“There is no evil present here. Only salvation. You need shadows to survive and I am the ghost of shadows.”
Hanif recited the prayer once more but the ghost stood resolute, his smoky form twisting into complicated patterns composed of thin ribbons.
“I am no Djinn,” it said. “I am not here to take your soul. There are many demons in this desert who would gladly feast on your forlorn and sorry carcass, but I am not one of them.”
“W-w-what are you?” Hanif stammered. He nervously sipped the cool water from his qirba.
The ghost’s form now turned into a bundle of bulbous-shaped wisps, each drifting around like small illuminated moons. Hanif shuffled back.
“I am the smoke from the smokeless fire,” it stated. “I am that from which both good and evil are born. I am the light in all dark corners and the blackness that conquers the pale.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Hanif asked, beginning to kneel, offering the ghost a pathetic display of penitence. From the ghost came a noise that was a brew of laughter and frustration.
“Come. Bind with me. You will be safe within. I will spare you the fate of dying slowly inside the grinding stomach of the Gutworms that call this part of the desert their own. I will take you to safety.”
Hanif doubted the ghost’s words, having only heard of Gutworms from street beggars. Wretched creatures the colour of corpse skin, they would consume a man whole and digest him over several weeks, gaining succour from the victim’s disintegrating screams. No such vile aberration had ever been seen with a survivor’s eye. It was an Imam’s tale to frighten simple people into leading a good and peaceful life and he curled his lip, questioning the ghost’s veracity. The ghost changed form once more, slim and sinuous.
Then came a slithering sound and a delicate pulling of sand from beneath. Hanif screamed like a jaban and swiftly agreed to the ghost’s request.
“Approach. The worms are near, as are other ifrit.”
Hanif walked towards the ghost and became bound. The caustic heat of the Paran gave way to a cool, damp air. He inhaled deeply, his scorched lungs relieved at receiving the fresh composure of the ghost. Inside, it was as dark as Iblis’s heart but Hanif had half-expected this, being escorted within the ghost of shadows.
I will find salvation and have outwitted those stupid judges! Hanif thought arrogantly to himself. Although standing, he quickly fell asleep, tired from the desert’s ordeals.
While his passenger slept the ghost travelled many miles. As night fell, the ghost stopped by the ruins of a partially submerged mosque, its minaret poking through the sands. Hanif was released and, still asleep, fell to the ground.
As he suddenly awoke, protesting angrily at the surprising change in circumstances, Hanif asked what was happening.
“I have done as promised,” the ghost replied, slowly changing into the form of a graceful, female spirit. “I have delivered you to your salvation.”
Hanif looked around. He was surrounded by inescapably high dunes, their grains as delicate as a newborn’s touch. Hundreds of skeletons skirted the embankment.
“I don't understand,” Hanif pleaded, realising his terrible situation. “I have not been rescued.”
The ghost pointed to the crescent finial of the minaret.
“Everything you need to redeem yourself is here,” the ghost explained. “A place to clean yourself should you wish to free it from the sands.”
Hanif looked at the task ahead of him.
“Impossible!”
The ghost began drifting away.
“There is food and water in the garden at the heart of the mosque,” she said, slowly fading into the night, never to return. “Dig as those before you have. If you truly desire salvation you shall succeed."
He seemed so nice. Simon, he said his name was. We went to the cinema and, like a gentleman, offered to walk me home. I liked him and I was going to invite him in.
I don't remember ever reaching my house.
Now I'm at the bottom of a deep hole and I'm really scared. I haven't stopped crying and I haven't stopped screaming and I haven't stopped shouting. There is no sound from above. Everything is so quiet. When there is a noise it's one I don't recognise. A cackle, a bark, a quiet droning, a churning of machines.
There are bodies at the bottom of the hole with me. Most have decomposed into a wretched mess. The stench makes me vomit. I cry out again in desperation.
“Dad! Dad! Help!”
I keep hoping my Dad can hear me and come and rescue me. He always protected me when I was little, keeping me safe from the horrors of the world. I need him to come and get me and take me home, to take me away from here. I want to be wrapped up in his arms and feel his comforting embrace.
I pray to God. My faith always helps.
A man pokes his head over the hole. It's not Simon.
“Hi Isabelle,” he says with Simon's voice. “I want to let you know I enjoyed the film. It was a good choice on your part.”
I scream for him to let me out. I yell out in confused terror saying the police will find him, just like they do in the movies. He laughs and I start bawling as I see his face change into that of Simon's. He starts singing.
“They won't find me, they won't find me, my face looks different on the CCTV!”
“Fuck you!” I shout out. He giggles and scarpers away laughing.
I carry on yelling for my Dad.
“Please! Please! I don't want to die here. Dad! Daaaad!”
Simon returns. He has a different face again.
“Dad's are good at protecting their little girls but not so good when they're all grown up,” he wails. “Your Daddy can't reach you here.”
I wipe the tears from my face and regain some composure.
“Where am I?” I demand. “Let me out of here.”
Simon frowns. “You're in a very dark corner. A different existence altogether. You're very very far away.”
His face flickers. This time into a young boy’s.
“Nobody will rescue you because your kind can't get to this corner of space. You’ll never see your Daddy again.”
I begin to cry again.
Then, I see the fingers of both hands grip the edge of the hole. His fingers get longer and longer until they reach down into the decomposing mulch of the other bodies. I see fluids travel up the transparent tubes. They are like straws. I touch one but recoil. They sting. Badly.
“So yummy!” Simon calls out. “Your Dads should be so proud of making such delicious daughters.”
I break down. I don't want to die like this. I don't deserve this.
“Dad! Dad! Please! Please come and help me!”
I'm so scared. I don't want to be alone.
One last hug is all I want.
I heard a voice. Is someone there?
*Yes.*
I don't know where I am. I don't remember anything.
*You are in the space between dimensions. We call it Envoidial. It is our home.*
I don't understand.
*You slipped through the cracks like so many before you. You and your ship are trapped here now.*
Trapped?
*You attempted a method of travel too fast for your universe to cope with. Many other species - many billions - have ended up here when they attempted the same.*
I think I remember. I was in a craft of some kind trying to escape to somewhere far away. Another universe I think. Did you get here the same way?
*No. We are different. We have always been here.*
Do you have a name?
*No. We have never had the need.*
What can I call you?
*You can call us N.*
Like the letter? Like N for Nothing?
*Yes.*
I can't see anything, N. Am I dead?
*No.*
Am I in Hell?
*Is that a happy place you go to after you die?*
It's where bad people go. A place of punishment and cruelty.
*No. You are not in that place. It is a common concept amongst many species but there is no life after. Just conversion. You will be happy to know I don't sense that you are a bad person.*
Should I be frightened? I'm frightened.
*We do not wish to frighten you. We are compassionate. We wish to help you live.*
Thank you. How can you understand me?
*You are basic. Your evolution is basic. Your language is basic.*
Oh. It's very dark. I can only make out faint shapes.
*That will be my breeding partners and I. We are difficult for many to visualise. Most see us as smudges in their vision organs.*
What's going to happen to me?
*Death.*
I don't want to die, N.
*I know. All say the same. Death is the closest word we can find but it is not exact. Your demise will be different to how you expect. You will still live.*
How?
*When we feed on you your energy will be converted to form a new universe far beyond the opening you created. You will govern that universe.*
Like God?
*What is God?*
He is the creator of the universe that I came from. He has power over us all, N.
*I understand. He must have also once come to Envoidial. You will be like God.*
So in my universe, if I desire it will it happen?
*Yes. Your universe does not need to match your old one. Should you wish for worlds in the shape of complex mathematical constructs rather than your own basic spheres you may. The laws of the sciences can be what you decide, and should you wish for a sun to suddenly burn so brightly it vanquishes all who reside nearby then you may.*
Why would I do that, N? I'm not a bad person.
*You won't be at first. In the beginning you will be gracious and inventive.*
At first?
*As we feed on you, your thoughts will sadly become more broken and irrational. Cruelty will replace kindness and benevolence. You will become a bad person but be unaware that you are.*
Oh.
*Your madness will increase, your actions maliciously killing trillions across the galaxies in the worst ways you can imagine.*
Oh.
*When we have completely fed on you, you will be closed away in your universe for all eternity, all your energy transferred, your control over it absolute.*
Through all of this are you able to see what I do in my universe, N?
*Yes. We have watched every universe decay into violence and sadism. We will be able to see you as you rule over your own vision of Hell for all time.*
If you can see me, can't you kill me before I unleash untold misery on all those innocents? Surely you don't want to see that?
*Of course we do. That's the best part.*
I heard a voice. Is someone there?
Yes.
I don't know where I am. I don't remember anything.
You are in the space between dimensions. We call it Envoidial. It is our home.
I don't understand.
You slipped through the cracks like so many before you. You and your ship are trapped here now.
Trapped?
You attempted a method of travel too fast for your universe to cope with. Many other species - many billions - have ended up here when they attempted the same.
I think I remember. I was in a craft of some kind trying to escape to somewhere far away. Another universe I think. Did you get here the same way?
No. We are different. We have always been here.
Do you have a name?
No. We have never had the need.
What can I call you?
You can call us N.
Like the letter? Like N for Nothing?
Yes.
I can't see anything, N. Am I dead?
No.
Am I in Hell?
Is that a happy place you go to after you die?
It's where bad people go. A place of punishment and cruelty.
No. You are not in that place. It is a common concept amongst many species but there is no life after. Just conversion. You will be happy to know I don't sense that you are a bad person.
Should I be frightened? I'm frightened.
We do not wish to frighten you. We are compassionate. We wish to help you live.
Thank you. How can you understand me?
You are basic. Your evolution is basic. Your language is basic.
Oh. It's very dark. I can only make out faint shapes.
That will be my breeding partners and I. We are difficult for many to visualise. Most see us as smudges in their vision organs.
What's going to happen to me?
Death.
I don't want to die, N.
I know. All say the same. Death is the closest word we can find but it is not exact. Your demise will be different to how you expect. You will still live.
How?
When we feed on you your energy will be converted to form a new universe far beyond the opening you created. You will govern that universe.
Like God?
What is God?
He is the creator of the universe that I came from. He has power over us all, N.
I understand. He must have also once come to Envoidial. You will be like God.
So in my universe, if I desire it will it happen?
Yes. Your universe does not need to match your old one. Should you wish for worlds in the shape of complex mathematical constructs rather than your own basic spheres you may. The laws of the sciences can be what you decide, and should you wish for a sun to suddenly burn so brightly it vanquishes all who reside nearby then you may.
Why would I do that, N? I'm not a bad person.
You won't be at first. In the beginning you will be gracious and inventive.
At first?
As we feed on you, your thoughts will sadly become more broken and irrational. Cruelty will replace kindness and benevolence. You will become a bad person but be unaware that you are.
Oh.
Your madness will increase, your actions maliciously killing trillions across the galaxies in the worst ways you can imagine.
Oh.
When we have completely fed on you, you will be closed away in your universe for all eternity, all your energy transferred, your control over it absolute.
Through all of this are you able to see what I do in my universe, N?
Yes. We have watched every universe decay into violence and sadism. We will be able to see you as you rule over your own vision of Hell for all time.
If you can see me, can't you kill me before I unleash untold misery on all those innocents? Surely you don't want to see that?
Of course we do. That's the best part.
I often pick up local historical books while I'm on my travels and came across this little wonder.
Melmoth Molloy hated the heat.
As he rushed along the man-made path that bludgeoned through the Dreimann woodlands, sweat flowed from every part of his skinny white-suited frame. A squadron of taunting mosquitos homed in, causing him to curse and flail his arms pathetically, hoping to dissuade the hungry females. Molloy flinched when leaves rustled nearby and he imagined camouflaged beasts appraising his suitability as a meal. He stared nervously at the pockets of botanical darkness that acted as salvation for frightened prey should he need to use them.
He picked up his pace and hurried on.
Soon enough he spied the grim, cylindrical factory. Copious amounts of side chimneys jutted out, all of them spewing a colloidal, pearly smoke. It looked like a monstrous, metallic cactus.
Molloy was having second thoughts. The situation unnerved him and the stench from the chimneys turned his stomach. It reminded him of the early days of his career when he inspected cruel, unsanitary abattoirs.
As he reached the cactoid building, he was greeted by an unnaturally tall man who shook his hand but did not introduce himself. Bowler-hatted and wearing a gold bohemian three-piece suit, the lanky individual was clearly eager to conduct business. Molloy was immediately led inside the building and taken down countless multi-coloured corridors until they reached a bright green door signed with a single word. S-Lab.
“Before we enter, I must remind you to tell nobody of what you will see here,” the tall man said. “Our legal team is thorough and unforgiving but we trust you to do the right thing so any such retribution is avoided.”
Molloy stood firm and unquantifiably annoyed. “I'd like to catch my breath and to slow the pace a bit. The journey here was horrendous. I haven't had an introduction, let alone a cup of tea.”
The tall man remained unmoved, like a robot awaiting its next command.
“Fine,” Molloy sighed angrily. “I have no interest in creating problems for myself.”
The tall man grinned pleasingly and pushed open the door to the room. Instantly, the fetor of putrid meat assailed Molloy and made him wince.
“Your staff will get used to the effluvium,” the tall man said, passing Molloy some nasal ointment to counter the malodour. “I imagine most have smelled worse whilst in your employ. Anyway, here you are. Our new product.”
Molloy paused when he encountered the origin of the stench. On a steel table sat a slab of brownish-purple meat the size of a fattened pig. Before he could ask, the tall man began to explain.
“It's the product of cellular agriculture combined with treated waste products, offal and surplus living protein stores.”
While the man was speaking, the door behind both men closed and auto-locked. Molloy did not notice.
He moved closer to the greasy, slimy chunk. Its structure was marbled with stringy veins threading inside and out the jellied mass. He could see white, bubbling fluids moving along the streaks. The slab recoiled slightly when touched. Molloy stepped back in alarm.
“Is this thing alive!?” he asked. He put a scented handkerchief to his nose, shocked at the thought.
The tall man took no offence, his face showing an obvious pride.
“Technically yes. It is aware of its existence but I never expected Mr. Big from the fast food industry to be so squeamish. You understand the quality of produce you currently sell to your customer base do you not?”
Molloy ignored him. Of course he did. How did anyone think prices were kept competitive?
“Ive seen many a disgusting thing in this business sold as food,” Molloy said. “But this?”
The tall man folded his arms. “Did you know that in the 1930s American college students used to swallow goldfish alive for giggles?” Molloy could not see the relevance but the tall man continued. “Most Americans have no idea what their food is really made from. If shit tasted good they'd gladly suck it up through a straw.”
Molloy felt like walking out after hearing such a crass comment. The tall man was getting aggressive and a little frightening. However, he had a point. Farmed meat was getting expensive and, despairingly, Molloy knew that the slab was a glimpse into the future. Most of his customers didn't quite understand what they were really eating - or care. There would be resistance at first but that would eventually fade into acquiescence.
“Even so,” Molloy bit back. “You haven't answered my question. Why does it have to be aware that it's a living thing?”
The man picked up a meat and bone saw. The teeth were caked in blood and fleshy remnants. Molloy pulled a face.
“Some chefs believe that meat tastes better if the animal suffers through the cooking process. The flesh tenses, makes it more succulent. Torture equals tasty.”
Placing the saw on a corner of the slab, the tall man started to cut, the teeth of the blade biting deep. The poor thing shuddered, obviously distraught that a part of its body was being sliced off. An oily discharge spurted from the wound. If the slab could have screamed in terror and pain it would have.
“Tests showed that this cut of meat, ” the tall man held the crimson scrap up high. “ tasted far superior when compared to the non-sentient version. Even more so if we cooked the slab whole.”
Molloy was repulsed.
“Hell of an oven to cook that in one go,” he said.
The tall man winked at him.
“We sell those as well. Three year warranty and completely soundproofed. Sometimes the slabs grow mouths you see.”
Molloy turned white but quickly regained his colour.
Could he really sell this to customers? Then he calmed himself. Of course he could. He would be inventive with the truth to begin with. Enough not to be breaking any laws.
A deal was signed. Sixteen ovens to begin with so he could trial the product in Vermont.
The state that consumed the most children’s meals.