The Mantooth

  Under other circumstances, Kalus might have fallen in love with therigors and lessons of farming, which taught patience and perseverance,and returned the most beautiful and honest of rewards: Life itself.When Smith told him that by the year 2000 the smaller, family farms ofAmerica were largely a thing of the past, he thought it a greatertragedy than almost any he had heard of. And unknowingly, as Smithcontinued to tell him of his own childhood on the Indiana farm, of hisfamily's hardships and eventual ruin, Kalus weaved the themes of thestory in and out of his own.

  Because as he toiled, he too felt the creeping sense of fatalism thattold him all was lost, and the meaning gone out of his life. He toofelt events pushing toward some dark and bitter climax over which heseemed to have little control. All this though he raged, and cursed,and worked harder still. Because Sylviana would not let him near her,and heeded none of his warnings.

  So he worked, and waited, and prayed to the wind which knew could nothear. While the woman-child, oblivious, pursued the treacherous shadowof revenge.

  It should be said in her defense that Sylviana had not stopped lovinghim. Hers, rather, was a classic case of one who has struggled with thehelp of another to achieve some desperate goal, but whom, upon attainingit, felt that he or she no longer needed the life partner who had been apillar of love and support throughout: that she was now free to choose amore appropriate mate for her elevated status, and leave the other toget on as they would. As if that made it any better. Lastly, that ifshe had been herself she would have wished him no harm, whatever he haddone to hurt her.

  But her emotions, too (or so she told herself), were in a violent stateof flux. She felt as if she had been the one struck across the face,betrayed and unjustly punished for simply following the inevitablecourse of events. She had never been an evil person, and was not now.

  But a sin of omission can be every bit as deadly, and the venomousspider does not stop to ask the nature of its victim before it bites, asoft sting that is hardly felt, until the poison starts to work.Neither of them had realized the gift their isolation and struggle hadbeen, or how much more complicated love becomes when lives aresheltered, and hearts confronted by a baffling array of choices.Perhaps that was why, as Smith had remarked to Kalus, the well-off neverseemed to be much in love, but only to play at life. His love withSylviana had been simple and direct, a beautiful and necessary outgrowthof their world. Now their reality had been altered, and somethingprecious lost.

  It should also be said that in dealing with a dark, embittered soul likeWilliam's (and to a lesser degree, her own), Sylviana was every bitas naive as she had been about the primal, life and death existence ofthe Valley. Had she known for one minute the vicious hatred that heheld for her, or the imminent danger of the course she was now pursuing,she would have fled from him and never looked back.

  Because to William she had become a symbol of all the protected,thoughtless sheep whose blind acceptance of personal comfort andpolitical ruthlessness had made the destruction of the Earth and themurder of his love possible, even inevitable. He would listen as shespoke of her days at Ithaca, and of her soft and sheltered childhood,with apparent interest and appreciation, all the while choking back hispassion, and plotting her destruction. In his mind she was the?pretty little college whore', and the very strength of his desirefor her only intensified his wish to wound her, as he had been wounded,to punish and destroy her, as his love had been destroyed. He hated herwith a malice so deep it could fain love without detection, and wallowin thoughts of sexual violence without remorse. The spirit had beencharred to ash inside him, leaving only the bestial desires of thetwisted animal: lust and hate and vengeance.

  But his plans were not yet ripe, and like the cat, he would play withhis victim before killing it. And perhaps too, though the chance wasfaint, the smallest part of his conscience remained, and needed furthergoading before ceasing to rebel.

  For her own part, though she might have wished it otherwise, Sylvianacould feel nothing for him but pity and a kind of awe. At times theobsidian hardness of his eyes would push her senses toward theprotective realm of fear; but always his words, and her own twistedpurpose called them back. She was neither attracted nor repulsed, onlydetermined.

  In truth she thought little during those final days, following out thetreadmill of her plan in a kind of dull stupor, unable, for the pain itcost her, to listen to her heart and turn aside. Her scheme, if such aname can be given to walking wide-eyed into a trap, was to sleep withhim at a time and place where Kalus would either witness it directly, orhear of it straight away. She meant only to raise the horrible specterof betrayal before him, to hurt him as he had done to her. Beyond thatshe saw nothing, knew nothing, though some half thought out rationaletold her than then, perhaps, she could forgive him.

  She wanted, in short, to summon the demon of Vengeance---to do herbidding, then be gone. But Hell, if it has a master, is no woman'sslave, and once raised, follows its own path of wanton destruction. Andit found in William a willing conspirator, and favorite target ofseduction: a man who no longer cared.

  Kalus had spoken of a benevolent current to which, along with his ownfree will, he would entrust his life. But there is also a malevolent,just as real, and Sylviana was being carried along by it withoutresistance, and without awareness.

  As William plotted, and Kalus burned.

  Chapter 46

  But life, and the myriad realities around them, did not cease becausetwo lovers had been driven apart, or because another lived in thedarkened world of near death. And their interaction, however tragic andto whatever end, was hardly its only concern. Perhaps that is life'sgreatest cruelty---that it goes on, regardless---or perhaps that is itsgreatest gift. Nature, stern father that it is, has many children, andthose who have grown must be strong and self-sufficient, able to surviveand create again, without help or intercession.

  There were others in the camp with lives and dreams and heartbreaks oftheir own. And in the seemingly distant Valley, countless animal youngwere being born, some who would rise to the magnificent freedom thatonly an untamed creature of the Wild can know, some who would neverreach adulthood, their flesh sacrificed to feed the young of others.But all would continue to strive and struggle, not understanding thehuman concept of despair. And if the spirits of those who died returnedin other forms, or if the energy that constituted their existence wasmerely recycled, it rose up to struggle again, filled with the endlessenigma that so bravely turns to face the Night, forever battling deathand the Void:

  Desire, the cornerstone of Life.

  *

  On the day before the storm would break, Sylviana felt a stillness andsense of well-being in everything around her: in the gentle breeze ofearly morning, in the frolicking of the cub with David Rawlings, whowould never have been so free with a human companion. She felt it inthe absence of William from the camp, and even in the stubborn,unspeaking presence of the man-child. He would never leave her, of thatshe was now certain. And he would be near, very near when tomorrow, atlast, her plans would be ripe.

  She no longer felt any hatred towards him. As their eyes met brieflyshe even felt the old, half admitted love that had once been the mostimportant reality of her world. She didn't hate him. But she knewwhat she had to do. It didn't have to mean destroying him, which shewas equally certain would never happen. How could steel be destroyed?It couldn't, she thought, only disciplined to be a better servant.

  And in her live imagination she felt the strong, shy touch of his handsacross her back, her ribs and then her breasts, accentuated by kissingand tender words, the mouth sliding down across her neck, her chest,licking her nipples and then squeezing and sucking in earnest, themovements of his torso becoming less gentle as his penis grew rigidagainst her thigh. Then he was inside her, with or without her help,and began the innumerable thrusts that made of her body a single, rousedvehicle of warmth and pleasure. She gently, and not so gently massaginghis back, his buttocks. Till in the last
fiery moments of passion hecrushed her to him, crying out in a voice made terrible by jealous rage.

  'You are mine!'

  She felt the strength of these images in the quickening of her heart,and the stirring of her womb. That the next day she would give herselfto a man for whom she felt nothing, and who might have feelings of hisown, she could not realize. It made it all too cold and sad. But thiscruelty was not HER doing. She had not wanted it, or asked for it. Itsimply had to be done. She must think of herself first, be trulyselfish for once, and let the men work it out as they would. That Kalusmight hurt William, or himself, she refused to consider. That Williammight try to hurt HER, was beyond her imagining.

  Her eyes were hazy, her senses unaware. And she did not see the deadlyserpent that crawled towards her through the grass. She knew nothing ofit until the air beside her was rent by the sweep of some instrumentwhirled in sudden violence.

  Startled, she turned to find Rawlings standing, too close it seemed toher, then bending down over a wounded snake, pinned to the groundbeneath his hoe. Without hesitation or remorse he drew out his knife,and separated it from its head.

  'You better wake your ass up, girl,' he said bluntly. 'Ordeath will find you, even here.'

  But surely he was being too dramatic. It was only a little snake. Andwhy would anyone or anything want to hurt her, who would not even kill aspider if she found it in her bedroom. But as she looked down at thebright bands of color encircling the serpentine corpse, she vaguelyremembered something nasty about the coral snake. She moved away with ashudder.

  But remembering herself, she looked around quickly. Kalus was gone---hehad not seen. And Rawlings was walking off without further comment.TOO CLOSE, she told herself. TOO DAMN CLOSE. She was not sure whethershe referred to the snake, or to the show of weakness, when the illusionof strength was so critical.....

  WELL, replied her harder self, AND WHAT OF IT? You couldn't letsomething like that ruin your whole day. Especially this day, when shehad to be calm, and prepare herself. She cleared away the dishes as ifnothing had happened.

  And Nothing had.

  Later that morning she at last admitted her loneliness, and her fear.She wanted to go to Kalus, so badly, to forgive him and start again.....But she could not. Too much strength remained in her illusions. So sheset upon a compromise, going instead to her closest friend among thecolonists, a man whose affection was unconditional, and (she thought)without judgment: Flight Commander Miles Stenmark.

  She found him in the solitary structure a short distance from the camp:the library, or archival building. Filled with the life-giving books,computer records, maps and charts, it held a special status among theserefugees of Man's destruction, and its deep, quiet interior had theaura almost of a church. Sylviana entered soundlessly.

  The Commander sat with his back to her, leaning across a large draftingtable. Before him were spread a series of orbital photographs, which hereproduced in minute detail upon a wide, scroll-like map. She movedcloser, standing behind him, needing to feel his reassuring presencewhich never wavered, and his friendship which never questioned.

  She began to massage his shoulders, which tensed involuntarily, and thensurrendered. With difficulty she fought back an urge to embrace him,and cry like a child. She continued, but with a softened andaffectionate touch he could not help but feel.

  'Bless you, Sylviana,' he said wearily. She almost smiled.

  'How did you know it was me?'

  'I knew.' Then, as if this conveyed too much. 'Ruth Wellesalways tells me I'm working too hard, and Kataya's fingers feellike flesh wrapped around steel, though she means well..... I'mafraid she's still not quite comfortable around me. Around any ofus, really.'

  'Why?' asked the younger woman, unable to feign indifference.

  'Will you promise not to hold it against her? I wish the two of youcould make peace. There's so much that's good in both of you.'

  Sylviana sighed deeply, again fighting off the urge to embrace him andpour out her heart. 'I'll try. Why, then?'

  'She still has too much resentment against the west.'

  She moved to stand beside him, her look intent. 'From what?'

  .. 'A large number of Japanese, including her grandparents, died aslow and terrible death from the radiation left behind by the bombing ofHiroshima. And here, now, losing everything to a War in which hercountry played no part, but was decimated nonetheless, killing herhusband. And to lose the baby the way she did---not even knowing shewas pregnant, then coming out of suspension to immediate miscarriage,hormonal crash, and the end of the world as she knew it. . .sweetSavior. It would have killed almost anyone else. You HAVE to forgiveher, Sylviana. It's not her fault.'

  She pulled up another stool and sat beside him, silent and thoughtful.Finally she said. 'It's not my fault, either.'

  Stenmark sighed. 'She knows that, on an intellectual level. But tolose so much.' His expression became faraway, recalling perhaps somebitter pain of his own. 'So much suffering.'

  Sylviana looked full into his face, deeply stirred by the physical andemotional closeness to this wise and noble man, who had seen and knownso much of life. And in that moment she wanted nothing more in theworld than to nestle against him, to feel him put his arm around herprotectively, kiss her gently, and tell her it would be all right.Kataya no longer mattered. This mattered. She wanted to give herselfto him, as Kalus had to her rival. Even bear him a child..... Andsuddenly she knew that was it. His sorrow. Not a loving spouseperhaps, but a child lost. How much more terrible and bitter thatsting, to lose one innocent, and with a lifetime ahead of him. Or her.Tears welled in her eyes.

  'I'm so sorry,' she said, both understanding.

  'Yes. It would have been harder. But for you.'

  And in that moment, to be so close, their sides lightly touching, was ablessed intimacy for which no words exist, and in which there is nostain. She leaned closer to examine his work, though if the page beforehim were blank she would still have done the same.

  'What are you working on, Miles?' She was the only one among thecompany who called him by his first name, and then only in private.Such was the respect they all held for him, who had sacrificed so muchfor their well-being. And she could not restrain herself from touchinghim lightly on the arm. He turned toward her gratefully, smiling, thenturned back to his work, so deeply reluctant to complicate or eveninjure her young life.

  'I'm trying to chart. . .the topographical changes that took placeduring the first two decades after.' There was no need to clarify?after'. 'You see, so far as I know, I'm the only one whosaw it. And the photographs can only tell you so much..... Do you wantme to go on.' She nodded tearfully.

  'I want to recreate the full magnitude of the aftershock, as vividlyas possible. I try to do this through maps and computer enhancements,along with the written account, which I'm afraid I'll neverfinish.'

  'Are you sure it's worth the heartbreak?' she askedsorrowfully. 'Why not just leave it in the past, and go on?'

  'Because it's important,' he said, 'For the same reason itwas important for the Germans to see the concentration camps after WorldWar II, and to give an honest account of what happened to them as apeople, that could ever allow such unspeakable atrocities. From myobservations, it was because everything was dealt with abstractly,through dangerous philosophies and brilliantly sinister propaganda.They were taught to rationalize the deaths of others as the only meansof caring for themselves: in order for their families to live, allothers must die. And blinded by their desire for this utopian worldthey never saw, until it was too late, the true horror and vicioussadism of the Nazis.'

  Sylviana wept silently, recalling images of the Holocaust, set againstmemories of German families she had known, so loving, nurturing, hardworking. 'How horrible.'

  'Yes. As it's been said many times, we must learn from themistakes of history, or we're doomed to repeat them. We must allrealize what we're capable of, when we close our
hearts, and allowour minds to justify such brutal and inhuman acts. Or we DON'T learn,until it's too late.' He gave a bitter sigh. 'Until it comesto this.'

  Needing perhaps some escape from the relentless intensity of thesetruths, her eyes took in the map before her: the northern Atlantic. Thealtered North American coast formed one boundary, the European theother. She studied the latter quietly, not wanting to look too closelyat the plunder of her native America.

  The European main did not at first look radically different, her eyesreadily identifying Italy, though the ?boot' had been rounded off,and Spain, similarly worn so that the strait of Gibraltar was now broadenough to pass a small country through. But as her gaze continuedtoward France and the Netherlands..... Something was missing. NO. Itcouldn't be.

  'Where are the British Isles?' The home of her deepest ancestors.A last, disbelieving hope. 'Or haven't you drawn them yet?'

  'They're gone,' he said somberly, 'Along with all ofScandinavia, my home..... A huge rift opened between them and themainland, here, and swallowed them like Atlantis. I watched it happen,day by day, year by year. And Sweden. It was one of the saddestexperiences of my life. To watch the destruction of that beautifulland, from which my ancestors set out in many-oared galleys, practicallyrowing themselves, when the winds weren't favorable, all the way tonorthern Canada, centuries before Columbus. When I think of the courageand determination that must have taken, to brave the storms and chillingwaters. All lost, the chain of humanity broken forever, ending with me,in the grim twilight of a futile existence.'