The Enchanted Village short story by A. E. Van Vogt

This came up here in Book Talk.

OP by MacGirl

I was reminded the other day of a short story that I read in high school. I was lucky enough to go to a school that offered a Sci-Fi Lit class, but I read so ravenously for those few months that I don't remember the name of this story or the author. Can you help?

The details are fuzzy (it's been over 20 years!!) but I remember an astronaut (or there may have been 2-3 of them) landing or being stranded on a planet and finding a deserted alien city. He explored one of the "houses" and found a bed that was, if I remember correctly, too hot to sleep on, and a self-replenishing sort of food trough that produced a substance that he couldn't stomach, etc. As the days went by, he decided that the bed wasn't all that bad and began sleeping on it, and that the food really wasn't completely horrible, so he started eating it. In the last sentence of the story we see our astronaut going back into the house... dragging his tail behind him!

Essentially the story implied that the house had not changed to accommodated him, it had changed him to accommodate the house.

I would really love to add a copy of this to my library (and share it with my nephews, who love this stuff.) Any suggestions that you can provide will be gratefully appreciated!

~Katie

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Solution by bluesalamanders

I think it's called "The Enchanted Village" by A E Van Vogt

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My summary:
It definitely is "The Enchanted Village", as suggested by bluesalamanders.

Don't read on if you don't want to know more than you remembered!

Food he can't stomach:

Carefully he shoved his legs into one of the two stalls. The moment his hips were in, a steaming gruel filled the trough beside the wall.
He stared at the greasy-looking stuff with horrified fascination — food — and drink. He remembered the poison fruit and felt repelled, but he forced himself to bend down and put his finger into the hot, wet substance. He brought it up, dripping, to his mouth.
It tasted flat and pulpy, like boiled wood fibre. It trickled viscously into his throat. His eyes began to water and his lips drew back convulsively. He realized he was going to be sick and ran for the outer door — but didn't quite make it.

Bed that was too hot to sleep on:

As he fumbled his way to a dais in one of the rooms, ...
He spent the long hours of darkness tossing, tuning, twisting, befuddled by waves of heat.

Food gets better:

He tasted it. It had a sharp, musty flavour and a stale odour. It was almost as dry as flour — but his stomach did not reject it.

Bed gets better — well, sort of. He is ill, in spite of the food and the bit of water he's been getting:

'If I can get to a dais,' he told himself, 'the heat alone will kill me ...' ...
With a sigh of relief Jenner sank into a dreamless sleep.

Then he wakes up:

The dais felt comfortably warm, not hot at all. He had a feeling of wonderful physical well-being.
Eagerly he scrambled down the ramp to the nearest food stall. As he crawled forward, his nose close to the floor, the trough filled with a steamy mixture. The odour was so rich and pleasant that he plunged his face into it and slopped it up greedily.

At the end of the story:

Ecstatically Jenner wriggled his four-foot tail and lifted his long snout ...
Then he waddled out to bask in the sun and listen to the timeless music.

You forgot about the horrible noise in the village, and also about the shower stall that sprays him with a corrosive liquid.