12. The Myth Makers
Bertrand Gilbert glanced over his shoulder as casually as he could to see if they were still near his position on the park bench and plowing the field. They were, both of them, one leading the massive horse by its reins, the other guiding a trailing iron plow that tore deep into the rich black soil. Tall, strong young men they were, hardened by Humish life. Probably neither had ever spent a single day sitting at a control console, or drunk at a bar, or co-mingled with a prostitute in an entertainment suite. These were hard working men of nature, true men of the Earth. Their very way of life bespoke a purity of purpose that his own life lacked for as long as he could remember.
They were paying no attention to him whatsoever, though this was the third day that he sat in the public park adjoining their quiet farmlands, trying to subtly get their attention by openly reading an ancient book. Soon he would resort to something more direct.
Curiously enough this strange old book that had been his grandfather’s told of humans living even more primitively than did the Humish. These book people traveled by horse and communicated by physically transported written letters, much as did the Humish, but the Humish at least had crude electricity. The book people didn’t even have electric lights. How the hell could people live that way, he wondered? Would he himself be able to live with the Humish, if they gave him the opportunity?
Bert didn’t understand much of what he read in the old book. It was some sort of love story, he gathered, but the way the characters talked and acted was incomprehensible. Many of the words and phrases were meaningless or had odd meanings. There was much to do about social position and graces for example, whatever those were. The author Jane Austin obviously lived before Planet Fall and The Change.
Horses were mentioned in the book, including accounts of people actually riding on the backs of the creatures! Bert couldn’t even imagine that. He had heard of people being eaten by the enraged beasts, speared by their horns, or torn apart by their huge sharp fore-claws.
He watched the Humish control their plow-horse. That two young men could control such a beast was simply amazing, but then the Humish were known for their affinity with nature. He had been told since he was a child that the Humish could actually grow food from the soil and build houses from stone and wood, just as their ancestors had done before The Change. But not even the Humish would ever ride atop a horse.
Bert turned another page, very carefully to keep the ancient paper from tearing in the gentle breeze. Maybe this was a fools errand, trying to join the Humish. He had retired with a respectable pension and could afford to relax in city sophistication. Right now he could be curled up in bed with a young paid companion with smooth soft skin, sipping wine. But no, those days were past. He had been furiously sleepwalking through life he had concluded, working and fussing his way through a confused nightmare of trivia. He wanted something more now, something with meaning.
"What's that you got, hu-man?" asked a rasping voice. Bert looked up to see three Varow, wearing orange tunics that identified them as being not quite yet adult. Heavily muscled under scaly gray skin and standing over two meters tall on their rear legs, they further intimidated by showing the rows of sharp teeth that lined their long snouts. The foremost creature's long red tongue flicked over the white serrated teeth, struggling with human speech. "You here be to join lying Humish scum?"
Was he so transparent to even the Varow, Bert wondered? "Whatever I do it's human business, and not yours, Varow. This is human land!"
"All Varow be Varow land!" hissed the Varow loudly. The other two hissed resonantly. "Be that forbidden Ship technology hu-man?" The Varow knocked the book out of Bert's hand and to the ground.
Bert had recently heard rumors of Varow instigated violence, but hadn't believed them until now. Human violence against Varow he would have more readily believed. There were even a few fringe human groups that urged complete genocide of the Varow.
All the Varow he ever heard about or on rare occasions personally met were strict pacifists. For the most part human and Varow had lived peacefully in the centuries following The Change that transformed the Earth, making it habitable for Varow as well as human. Though they were strange, the Varow were sentient, and that was a rare treasure and to be preserved, according to the ancient Earth sages. And so the peace maintained, despite continued tensions.
Recent news reports told of Varow who went about in human lands, picking fights and destroying human technology. These three must be some of the rebel Varow, Bert realized. Well, whoever they were their behavior was shocking, and Bert wasn't going to stand for it. He was a man well past his prime, but he had his pride. Human pride. "Earth for Earthers!" he shouted defiantly at the lead Varow, as he rose to his feet to strike with clenched fist at the hideous face of the impudent creature.
His blow bounced of its snout without effect, and the creature drew back a great claw-studded arm to strike back at his puny foe. Fear suddenly flashed through Bert like an electric shock, paralyzing him. He was a desk jockey, not a man of action.
"Stop!" hissed a deep voice, and a huge adult Varow, fully twice the size of the juvenile, grasped and held the creature's forearm in mid-stroke, before the blow reached Bert. A brief incomprehensible exchange of Varow clicks and wheezes followed, and then all the Varow withdrew, backing away from Bert slowly and warily, withdrawing deeper into the park, while staring at Bert and beyond him.
Bert stood for long moments, panting and unsure of what to do. He had let his temper get the best of him, but he couldn't help himself. Who did those ungrateful Varow think they were? After all, humans had welcomed them to Earth and even allowed The Change. "I have a mind to press charges!" he shouted after the retreating creatures.
The adult Varow hissed in return. "Have you not taught my kind enough with your technology and your violence hu-man? Would you have them see yet another color of human hate?"
It was the longest speech that he had ever heard one of the creatures make, and Bert didn't know how to respond to it. "Earth for Earthers, lizard man," he muttered under his breath finally, shaking his head. Who could understand them? As long as they stayed out of people's way, they could be tolerated. But he had been sitting quietly in a human public park and minding his own business, for God's sake!
"Father would speak with you stranger," said a quiet voice behind him. It was one of the Humish lads. He pointed to the field, where a very old looking man stood watching. A dozen strong young men stood with him, holding axes and other farm implements. Had the Varow seen their approach and fled? Bert retrieved his book and walked to the old man.
"I am Father Melbourne," said the man, as he offered Bert a surprisingly firm handshake.
"The Humish leader? I am honored sir! My name is Bert Gilbert, recently retired."
"Yes, Mr. Bertrand L. Gilbert, retired from hover-craft sales. No immediate family, no apparent Government affiliations, and no financial obligations." He laughed at Bert's astonished look. "You have been studying us these last three days Mr. Gilbert, is it not reasonable for us to return the gesture in kind? You did not expect such?"
"Frankly, no. I was actually expecting people that took other people at face value, without running background checks."
The old man nodded and sighed. "Yes, that is what we would prefer also, Mr. Gilbert. Such simpler times will yet arrive, we pray. What, may I ask, brings you here to our doorstep?"
"I was thinking of joining your order actually, if I could."
"We let outsiders join us occasionally. Why would you wish to?"
Bert had been thinking about that question for several months, without ever narrowing it down to an answer that he could easily explain. "Those simpler times you mentioned? I’d like to find those. But there's more."
"Such as?"
"Home. I want to feel at home here on Earth. You Humish live close to the Earth, like our ancestors did before The Change."
"Does your technology get in the way of that?"
"Yes, I gu
ess so."
"Is this view of yours widespread among the public would you say?"
"It is actually the majority view, despite what the Government says."
"Perhaps there is something more? Other things that you hope to escape or oppose besides technology?"
"Confusion perhaps."
"Confusion about what?" asked the old man, smiling as though he thoroughly enjoyed this exchange with Bert.
"It's hard to explain. There are just so many different stories about this and that, I'd like to settle in on one true set of them that I feel comfortable with."
"Such as?"
"You believe in Earth for Earthers, don't you?"
"That's the natural order of things we believe, though in this life we don't always achieve heaven, and we don’t oppose compassion for the Varow. What is your belief? And what about other people you know?"
"I believe it certainly, as do more and more all the time among humans. And don’t you Humish also believe in looking out for the Earth? In nurturing living things and so forth?"
"True in general of course, though we must all make difficult choices," replied the old man. "It's usually not a simple choice between black and white my son, it is usually a choice between grays. We are not saints here, only humans."
“Good!” exclaimed Bert. “I’m not a saint either. But if I could join you I would do my best to fit in. I’ll work hard, though I’m getting older now and I hope you have other work besides plowing fields.”
The Father laughed and nodded his head. “Very well Mr. Gilbert, you may join us for a trial period if you like. The physical labors will be more than you’re used to, but I warn you that this will not be the hardest part. We are each of us not only of ourselves but of our surroundings. We Humish may well strip from you the artifacts and ideas that you have learned to cloak yourself in all your life. If we do so, will there be anything left of you?”
“I honestly don’t know,” replied Bert.
The next seven years were difficult ones for Bert Gilbert. He soon lived alone in a small log-cabin at the edge of Father Melbourne's village. He spent most of his time in the fields and barns, working as hard as he could, and sharing meals and prayers with those he helped. Particularly in the first year he longed for civilization. Surprisingly what he missed the most was not the VISICOM or the other high-tech trappings of the outside world, but the more simple things. He missed Cheese-Wads and Chunky-Nips. He missed central heating and indoor plumbing. More than once, he wondered if the sacrifices that the Humish made were inspired, or simply stupid, and he had long discussions about it with Father Melbourne and with some of the other Elders that lived in the village.
“But Father Melbourne, if electric lights and CD players and modern medicine are all-right to use, why not VISICOMs and tractors? The choices seem arbitrary.”
“A very difficult question, Bert. You are correct of course, there is no clear cut place to draw the line, and each generation and people must restudy this issue. It is not a simple choice between black and white, but between shades of gray. Our choices are not arbitrary however. Tractors would remove us from the soil. We plow the Earth by power of human and beast so that we may always honor and respect our ancient home. Modern medicines we use, but sparingly, for we use herbs and good foods and exercise much more than the outside world does. On compact discs we record our thoughts and our prayers to The Maker so that in ages to come our Humish traditions may endure. But CDs are relatively primitive compared to for example VISICOMs. VISICOMs would bury our minds in what you yourself sought to escape: the techno-garble, lusts, and trivia of the outside world.
“What about current events? What of important happenings in the world at-large?”
“There are a few of us that do venture onto that world regularly, and from strangers like yourself that join our Order, we learn a great deal more. But what is most important is what is happening in our own community and within ourselves. If we do not first understand ourselves, how can we hope to understand others?”
“What about sex?” Bert blurted out one day, after a day of prayer among dozens of the fair sex at church. Bert hadn’t made love to a woman in several years.
“We’re generally in favor of it,” declared Father Melbourne, laughing. “You see many children about, do you not?”
“Yes, but it’s not discussed much openly, and I just don’t know what’s proper and what isn’t. I don’t want to get thrown out on my ear for doing something wrong out of ignorance.”
“You don’t hear it talked about a lot because it is first and foremost a private matter that we leave up to the individuals involved. As long as it’s discrete and consented to by both parties, it’s generally approved.”
“Marriage isn’t a mandatory pre-condition then?”
“It’s preferred by most of the Order members and sanctioned by the Order, especially if children result, but many folks stay single all their lives, with or without sexual partners.”
“Are there courting taboos or customs that I should know about?”
“I’m not quite an expert in this field, Bert. Maybe you should discuss this with Sister Louise.”
Sister Louise was one of the ladies that caused Bert to bring up this subject in the first place. “She’s an expert?”
“Closer to being one than I am. Go ahead and ask her, Bert.”
He did, and inside a week he ended up occasionally sleeping with the woman.
Notably absent from Humish lands were the Varow. According to Father Melbourne, the Humish physically ejected from their lands any Varow that entered them. However no Varow were harmed, and the Varow and human Governments never made an issue of the practice.
The attack came suddenly. Two dozen spear carrying Varow descended on the village, slaying all humans that they found. They found mostly women and children and old men, as most of the young men were at the far end of the Humish lands marketing crops. After the initial shock many humans attempted to defend themselves, and the Varow were gradually reduced in number.
Several of the Varow made straight for the Elders gathered at the Church, where Bert had been conversing with Father Melbourne. The Elders did not die without a struggle. What began as a slaughter ended with a single surviving Varow in a fight to the death against Bert and the Father. The Varow was bigger and stronger, but even old humans had superior quickness, and got in many blows against the creature as it clumsily strove to spear them. The humans had only small knives but the Varow soon bled from a dozen wounds, and hissed in pain as gradually it slowed from loss of blood and exhaustion.
Through it all, the wide-eyed creature shouted some nonsense at the Father about seeking the truth. “Tell me where the truth is!” it shouted again and again.
Finally, as Bert scrambled to retrieve a spear from a fallen Varow, the Father suffered a spear through the stomach. Moments later the last Varow was itself speared through the chest by Bert. Only when it spoke its last words did Bert recognize it.
“I should have let the young ones kill you in the park, hu-man,” it rasped, as its life’s blood spurted from it.
“Why have you done this?” asked Bert, through tears. Around him lay all the fallen Humish holy men, murdered.
The creature smiled grimly, showing its teeth in hateful defiance as it turned to look a last time at Father Melbourne, who lay not far away. “Varow for the Varow, hu-man myth maker,” it said, then gasped one final time, and lay dead.
In the terrible silence that followed, Bert heard a low moan. It was Father Melbourne. The terrible spear was through his middle, yet still he lived.
“Leave the spear in me my son,” said the Father, as Bert sought to give him aid. “Prop me up against the wall, I don’t have much time.”
“I’ll get you a doctor Father.”
“I’ll be dead in a few minutes. Do as I say; I have many things to tell and show you. Beneath the alter you’ll find a box. Bring it here and unlock it with this.” In a blood stained hand,
the father held a key.
Bert retrieved the box. It was made of ancient wood. Bert had to drag it; he was weak from the battle and it was too heavy to carry. He unlocked the equally ancient padlock and opened the lid. Inside was a second, metal box, shiny as though it had just been made. The words ‘Earth Explorer’ were written on its sides and lid. The lid opened easily.
“Only the Elders of our village of Jerusalem are entrusted with this secret Bert,” said the Father. “I have to pass it on to you now.”
Inside the metal box were old books with yellowed pages, and written journals illustrated with faded photographs. Bert looked through them in puzzled wonder.
“Those are from Earth, Bert. From the ship that brought us here centuries ago. That’s the secret. This Planet is Varow, not Earth.”
Bert’s head spun, as if the world was fading and dropping away from his feet. “No!” he shouted, in denial.
“Look in the journal with the blue cover,” said the Father, after spitting his throat free of blood.
The journal was full of color photographs of an alien world. There were great forests and seas, and creatures of all kinds, but most were completely unfamiliar. Trees were green instead of blue. A single sun was shown, instead of the familiar twin suns, brightening billowing white clouds set in a clear blue sky. Many creatures had four limbs like humans, and others had wings to soar in the skies, or fins to swim in clear waters. In one photo a human sat on the back of a slim, magnificent brown creature.
“That’s a horse,” explained the Father.
It all fits, thought Bert. His grandfather’s book, and this. But did it make sense? “This shows a wonderful planet! Why would our ancestors leave it?”
“Look in the black covered journal Bert.”
This journal showed vast decrepit cities of twisted concrete rising through layers of filthy yellow and brown clouds. On most buildings windows were broken, and walls and roofs were caved in. Streets were littered with trash, abandoned vehicles, assorted junk, and thin, rag garbed people with wide, blank, staring eyes. Slouched across rivers were the skeletal remains of great collapsed bridges. Worse, there were pages and pages of photos showing dead creatures by the millions, rotting on bare, dust-caked plains and in yellowed forests of decaying tree stumps. Still more dead creatures floated on the surface of disgusting, blackened waters. Many of the dead were human.
“That’s what humans did to Earth. With run-away greed and technology. We can’t let the same thing happen here, Bert.” Father’s voice was weakening, but the words remained strong.
“Ecology is of only secondary concern to the outside world, Father.”
“Yes, to start with especially, but we’re changing that slowly. This is our home now. Our Earth. We have to believe that. If we don’t believe it’s ours, there’s no hope that we’ll treat it right.”
“But it’s all lies.”
“Not lies. We had to remake the truth. Our planet-fall became that of the Varow. Our taking of their planet became our generous sharing it with them when they arrived. The changes made to support human life became changes to support the Varow. Their planet of Varow became our Earth.”
“And their motto was twisted to became ours?”
“Yes. Earth for Earthers. It gives us the ownership we need to care about this planet. The Varow are not dumb. They understood at last that we Humish were at the heart of it all, that we Humish have been the spiritual center for human-kind since Planet Fall. Mankind’s true strength. The source of human renewal. We cleanse our souls. Sadly, at the expense of the Varow. It was a story that humans wanted to believe, so it was gradually adopted by all humans. What we started years ago is taught as undisputed truth now, even in outsider schools all over the planet.”
“The Humish are a source of lies, and what is here proves it. And we have wronged the Varow. We wrong them still.”
“Without our Humish pacifist ways the humans would have slaughtered the Varow long ago. So we wrong them, but we save them as well as us. True, we Humish have kept them at arm’s length, fearing that they would discover this evidence. The contents of our box is the last remaining proof of what really happened. But above all we needed to cleanse ourselves of our past, of our guilt. We needed a fresh start. We even instigated the planet-wide campaign against so-called ship technology, to destroy proof of the truth. We humans said it was Varow technology being destroyed, not ours”
“Lies built on top of lies.”
“Choices are not between black and white Bert. They are between grays. It’s a myth we need, a new truth built on hope. It’s not lies, but a deeper truth that we needed to survive.” Father Melbourne's voice had faded to a whisper. “Isn’t that why you came to us Bert? Did you really need simply blind truth, or did you need something to believe in?” At that, he died.
When the marketing Humish returned, they discovered the horror of the Slaughter. Only Bert survived. They discovered him before a roaring, foul smelling fireplace, painting drab brown some sort of large empty metal box.
“Father Melbourne asked to be buried in this box and for me to burn its contents,” Bert explained.
“They killed our people and Father Melbourne! We should kill all the Varow that we can find,” said one of the young men in anger. “Earth for Earthers,” intoned others.
“No!” shouted Bert. “That would dishonor Father Melbourne.” And he told them how even at the last, Father Melbourne had refused to take up arms against the Varow, and how he had forgiven his own misled killers with his last dying breath. Bert told them that they must continue to love the Earth and to live with God in peace, peace between men and between men and Varow. He drew the bloody spear from the body of the Varow leader and broke is against his knee, and pledged to harm no more Varow. Then, among gasps from the onlookers, he bent to kiss the forehead of the dead Varow. “This being fought and died for his people. He was wrong, but we have also been wrong to not treat them as our brothers.”
They listened to him. They could see that he had been profoundly changed by his experience. He no longer asked questions, but gave answers and orders. He had been touched by God, and by His divine truth. “You are the Elder, Father,” they replied to his words, thus elevating him to the highest Humish office. There were other elders in other Humish villages, but by tradition the elders of Jerusalem defined Humish teachings and life-style. Bert became the sole Elder of Jerusalem.
Other changes were made. Outsiders were allowed to visit and to study Humish ways and teachings. The story of the Slaughter reached heroic proportions on outsider VISICOM screens. New followers flocked to join the Order, and Humish philosophies entered into outsider political and cultural arenas as never before.
Varow were welcomed to live among the Humish and join their order. On each anniversary of the Slaughter, human and Varow alike mourned the tragic event and prayed for both Father Melbourne and his slayers. The Humish Order thrived and remained the heart and soul of all the people, including even now the Varow.
When he was very old and on his deathbed several of the older human villagers approached Bert. “We would speak with you in private Father,” they said, glancing uncomfortably at the several Varow who also stood watch at his bed-side.
“You may speak freely, Jonathan. We have no secrets.”
“Yes Father. It is a tradition that the Elders of Jerusalem pass on their truest teachings to the Elders that follow. You are the only Elder these last years. Is there something you would pass on to us?”
Bert smiled. “Yes, of course. I am happy to pass on to you the truth. The only truth. God and Earth are for both humans and Varow, and humans and Varow are both for Earth, to keep it well.” At that, he died, and his body was soon buried to forever enrich the Earth, as had his soul.
****
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