“No one knows. Somewhere up there…”
“And did God own the Earth?”
“It’s just a legend. God or the Devil…”
DAYS FOLLOWED during which they progressed steadily. For two days they made their way through a sparse forest where the trees were scarcely taller than they. Every tree seemed to present a remarkable uniformity, each with only a certain number of branches, even a certain number of leaves, in a sinister form of duplication. Those trees, as they passed, immediately turned their leaves from green to yellow to brown, as if offended by the trekkers; so that they inadvertently left behind them a trail of dead leaves.
The forest fell away. For three more days they traveled, and for part of the time followed a shallow river in which the men wallowed and the horses drank. The landscape here was empty of foliage and broken, while mountains loomed ahead. Moving farther, they found salack growing in a clump on the riverbank; farther on, the herb spread over the stony banks. A little farther still, the river plunged over a cliff.
Bellamia was the first to pluck some of the leaves and begin chewing.
“Lovely! Lovely! Extra strong!” she exclaimed. Soon all were chewing it. At first, it had a positive effect on their mood.
“Ah, I could ride right up that mountain and then some!” shouted Tragonn, standing up in his stirrups, and a minute later he had tumbled off his mount.
“How fortunate we are to be here where Jesus once trod!” cried Essanits, sitting in the midst of a green patch and letting his horse wander. “He found no humans here and so he left. But this blessed herb he left behind for us, to cheer us on our way!”
“There’s Jesus!” cried Wellmod, pointing. “Come join us! Jesus, yoo-hoo!”
None of the others could see Jesus.
They heard the sound of a waterfall. Following the river, they came to the edge of an immense cliff. It seemed to their distorted senses that at this point Jesus or someone as strong as Jesus had taken a mighty ax and cleaved the world in two. The water fell in an arc, plunging down into the gulf below. It was impossible to see how far it fell, for the great cloud of spray arising concealed everything below it. A rainbow played amid the cloud of countless water drops.
Fremant and Bellamia lay on the edge of the cliff, staring down, amazed at the grandeur of the sight. They chewed as they stared, as moisture scattered up to wet their faces.
Tragonn and Klarnort had also chewed quantities of the herb, not bothering even to gather it, eating it where it grew, faces close to the ground. Suddenly as one, they jumped to their feet and sprang into the saddles of their horses.
Lashing the poor brutes on, they galloped toward the fall, shouting, “Jesus, man! We’re coming! Coming!”
To the brink they drove, almost trampling Bellamia, never hesitating, on, on, leaping into the great gulf, to fall together with the falling waters.
Fremant watched it all in shock. Men and animals were digested into the all-enveloping mist, never to be seen again. The rainbow effect flickered, the great endless orgasm of water never faltered.
Sick with horror, he staggered to his feet.
“You and your stupid talk of Jesus!” he bellowed at their leader.
Bellamia tried to hush him. “I have known this stuff, so I’m immune, but these others…”
Essanits made no answer.
“It is God’s will” was all he uttered, pronouncing the words in thick tones.
“It’s nothing of the sort! Why didn’t you stop them?”
For answer, Essanits swung an arm over his head in a gesture commanding them to move on. At his third attempt, he managed to haul himself into the saddle and kick Hengriss to action.
THE GASH IN THE WORLD marked a change in the landscape. Plains and lowlands were left behind. The way became steeper and more broken. Crumbling cliffs arose. Vegetation, sparse at the best of times, became even rarer. They traveled over re-golith. The hooves of the horses stirred up dust, even as their sounds echoed against the rock face. The cliffs closed in on either side. Heat climbed with altitude. Rider became more separated from rider. Wellmod and his livestock fell far behind the rest of the group. Fremant found his thoughts transfixed by the terrible afterimage of the two men on their horses, galloping into the gulf to their death.
Eventually, Essanits called a halt by a place where collapsing rock had created a spacious cave. It was early afternoon. He sat on the dark, enduring Hengriss, looking back down the trail, with Chankey beside him.
As the others came slowly up, Essanits directed them to tether their horses against the rock, where long grass grew, then to go into the cave.
“Ha, Dimoff’s due,” said Bellamia.
“So Chankey informs me,” said Essanits. “We will weather it here.” He shouted to Wellmod as the lad arrived that he should tie up the packhorses with the other horses and drive the goats into the cave. So they all assembled, rather uncomfortably.
Bellamia and Chankey started a fire from pieces of deadwood. Soon, she was smoking the place out as she prepared a meal. Essanits settled down uncomplainingly, closing his eyes without relaxing his stern expression.
When Fremant came in from watering the horses, Bellamia told him to stake a place for them at the rear of the cave. He looked into the uninviting dark, scarcely illuminated by the fire’s glow.
“We don’t know what may be back there.”
“Don’t be cowardly. Cold will enter with the coming of the Shawl. It’s warmer at the back.”
Reluctantly, he did as he was bid. She joined him when they had eaten their meal.
“I’m hot now, Free. Feel me! Someone has left an old sack here. It’s comfortable to rest yourself against.”
“A sack? No one has been here before.”
“How about Essanits?” She lowered her voice. “He may have come this way on his killing expedition, before he found God or Jesus.”
Fremant felt behind him. There was certainly a plump thing, like a well-stuffed bag, lying at their backs, covered by fur. He prodded it, afraid it might somehow be alive, but there was no movement in response.
It was still golden afternoon. The heat shimmered in the canyon. But in the eastern sky, already the Shawl began to spread its folds. Chankey left the cave to stare up at it, and crossed himself.
Wellmod, speaking to no one in particular, asked, “Did Jesus put the Shawl up there, do you think?”
“Maybe he did,” Essanits said. “If he found the Dogovers were not behaving as he had hoped.”
“What about us, then? We’re behaving nicely, aren’t we? Why don’t he cancel it?”
Essanits made no response.
Gradually, the day became overcast. The great black mass of dust and debris poured between Stygia and the Sun. A chill shadow soon prevailed, turning rapidly into cold night. All felt impressed and oppressed by the eclipse. They huddled together in silence, while the goats bleated in dismay.
Essanits spoke from the darkness. “We will sleep as much as possible for the next two days, sleep and rest. Bellamia, see that the goats provide us with sufficient milk.”
“They can’t yield if they can’t feed, can they now?”
“Do your best.”
A long silence ensued before Essanits spoke again. “I shall take this opportunity to make you all better informed. While I am an intellectual, as you are not, I still believe you will find knowledge helpful, not least because we are on the quest for an alien race.
“Once the tyrant Astaroth was overthrown, we found in his quarters many records taken from the ship—which you recall was named New Worlds. These records make clear the sorry state of affairs on Earth which led to the development and launch of the ship.
“The section of the world known as ‘Thewest’ was the most technologically advanced region, and had been for several centuries. There, the population lived well on the whole. They had hygiene in their homes, food on their shelves, and freedom to believe what they would. Science and the arts were respected—or, at
worst, paid lip service. It was the most desirable part of the world in which to live.
“One of the things that made it desirable was that the soils were, in general, good—unlike on this planet—and that the inhabitants had learned the processes of irrigation and good husbandry, here unknown, or impossible…
“There were, however, other regions besides Thewest. They—in reaction against or imitation of Thewest—slowly gained power. In the East was a great and remarkable civilization, its roots established many centuries before those of the nations making up Thewest. It had frequently suffered disruptions but was not warlike and, in its increasing prosperity, became more like Thewest, espousing many Western values. Its peoples were intelligent, its social systems orderly.
“A third sector lay between these two sectors, the East and Thewest. This sector had deep divisions within it and was, on the whole, ruled by despots, ruined by corruption. Hunger, the subjugation of women, torture, disease—all these were commonplace. A religion which once had elements of benevolence became twisted into a creed of vengeance and hatred—its malevolence aimed in the main against Thewest. With its extreme poverty went extreme wealth for a very few. These elements, together combined with ruthlessness, mounted an effective onslaught against Thewest—Brothers above!” he exclaimed.
His monologue had been violently interrupted.
At the back of the cave, a large, black, furry thing had suddenly roused itself from a form of catalepsy and was trying to make its way toward the cave mouth, blundering first into Fremant and then Essanits as it hurried to get out. The goats were plunged into a frenzy.
Chankey snatched up a brand from the fire and rushed up to attack the thing. The thing in its haste had struck the cliff wall opposite and tumbled momentarily to the ground. Chankey was upon it, his knife slashing.
“Spare the poor creature,” ordered Essanits. “It did us no harm.”
“I’ll do it harm! Scared the shittle outta me!”
The creature was dying under the blade, oozing a thick liquid which stank of something like butyric acid, the compound which makes human vomit smell disgusting.
Recovering from their startlement, the trekkers came out to gaze at the thing as it lay twitching.
Its body was segmented in six parts, each part sprouting two rather feeble-looking legs, now waving their last. Fine hair covered its every part, except for the last segment, which did duty as a face. Here, four multisegmented eyes were situated. They gleamed in the torchlight with iridescent colors, continuing to gleam so after the creature finally gave up its last struggle for life.
“No mouth!” Fremant exclaimed.
“It must be a what-you-call-it? You know…” Bellamia struggled for words. “Not sort of like a—what? The final form.”
“You mean a larval stage,” said Essanits coldly. At which point he was sent staggering by another of the same species emerging from the cave mouth, and then another. Both made a great whirring noise, as their supposed legs became small wings which propelled them into the air. Luckier than the creature which had preceded them, they did not run into the cliff face. Instead, they circled, still whirring and terrifying the tethered horses, and were away into the dark sky.
Wellmod clung to Fremant’s arm. “I ain’t going back in there!”
“Hang on and we’ll see if any more come out. They must, um, hibernate until Dimoff comes. It’s a signal for them to—well, I don’t know—maybe to change…”
“Well, they appear to be harmless,” said Essanits.
“Except for the filthy stink,” said Chankey. His brand was burning low. They stood there in the darkness, undecided. Wellmod went to calm the horses. Nothing else emerged from the cave, and so they cautiously returned to its shelter and stoked up the fire.
“I WILL CONTINUE with what I was telling you,” said Essanits, when they had settled down. “Listen carefully. There are lessons to be learned.
“Thewest in its heyday had enjoyed a policy of laissez-faire. Many people from other parts of the world were welcomed within its borders, to make what they could of a better way of life. This eventually created a weakness within the social structure, so that unison was broken, freedoms curtailed, dissent stifled. Deathwatch beetles bored into the very beams of the culture.
“Many of those from the Middle sector were peaceable. Some, however, were hostile to the Christy-earn culture of Thewest. As they became better organized—using the very communicatium tools devised by Thewest—they inflicted much damage on the structures of Thewest. As the infrastructures were weakened, so the governments became more restrictive—in some cases more tyrannical. Thus the terrorists were achieving their end. Of course, Thewest had its own faults. It made the mistake of invading some territories of the enemy. Gradually, year by year, it was weakened.”
The audience in the cave listened with varying degrees of disinterest compounded by incomprehension.
“The massive New Worlds was constructed in a last-ditch attempt to save the values of Thewest. Volunteers were carefully vetted before being deconstructed and inserted into the computerized entails of the ship.
“The very day after the capital city of Thewest was destroyed by a hydrogen bomb, New Worlds was launched on its predetermined course for this distant world we call Stygia. The determination was that this great scientific feat was something no endeavor by the relatively hidebound terrorist nations could emulate. Western values would be safe on Stygia.”
Silence fell, reinforcing the darkness and isolation of their situation.
“What about Astaroth?” Fremant asked at last. “Had he got Western values?”
After a pause, Essanits said that Astaroth was “austere”—a good Western value. Unfortunately it had included negative values, too, like an obsessive love of power.
No one said anything more.
As he lay in the darkness, he thought, I am Paul Fadhil Abbas Ali. Why am I not happy?
The cold, the artificial night, became more intense.
SIX
A VOICE ASKED FREMANT, “Why did you write what you did?”
He replied that it was only one line. The line about the PM.
“One line can be a fucking signal, can’t it?”
“Not in this case…You promised to let me go free.”
“There’s been an incident. Which prime minister were you referring to in this crap book of yours? The present one?”
“No actual prime minister.”
“But you knew it would be an invitation to terrorists to kill the sitting prime minister?”
“I knew no such thing.”
“How did your wife get involved in all this?”
“All what?”
“ALL THIS, YOU CUNT!”
“She wasn’t involved.”
“You are fucking lying as usual, you fucking little creep. She married you, didn’t she?”
“No. I mean, yes, we were married but she never wrote a word of my book.”
“Yeah? She corrected your grammar, di’n’ she?”
“Yes.” The blow on the side of his jaw knocked him off the stool he was perched on. He sprawled on the floor, thinking he could never move again.
“Get up, you bastard. Don’t just lay there.”
He got up. The interrogation continued.
It continued for another hour. Afterward, he was thrown into darkness, where he lay in pain. The cockroach visited him. The flies buzzed about his ears.
He thought, I am who I am. Why am I not miserable? Why do I feel so little?
His feelings were muddied and unclear. At least he knew he now hated the British, the nation he had once greatly admired. His uncle, who had been a lawyer in his Uganda days, had read much English literature, with a particular affection for such works as De Quincey’s Confessions of an English Opium Eater, with its masterly and elaborate prose, and the learned and abstruse Anatomy of Melancholy by Robert Burton.
At night, when the family gathered for the evening meal, his uncle would
tell them of these books, sometimes reading aloud the beautiful prose.
Some such books had accompanied his father on his escape to England and formed his own early reading matter. Only later did he realize that he had learned of an impoverished yet dignified England which had passed away. A wave of materialism had overtaken England. A disgraceful hedonism was all, a hedonism often taking the form of riots at football matches, binge-drinking and street violence, vomiting and urinating on pavements, sporadic racism. There was no—or next to no—spiritual life remaining. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire was being repeated—in a minor key…
It was for spiritual life he yearned. He longed to leave the sordid England that had imprisoned him. But where to go for refuge? The U.S.A.? Too formidable…Certainly not to the Middle East, where a mental stasis, reinforced by the rigid tenets of the Koran, prevailed. Not to one of those hidebound little hamlets in Saudi Arabia or Iraq, for sure…There was Indonesia, with its dread military regime. There was Malaysia, where matters were relatively benign—but otherwise so foreign to his timid nature. India? Too confusing. China? But the China he admired had transformed itself into a giant, while England had dwindled. He longed for somewhere distant.
Light-years away…
WHEN THE TWO-DAY DARKNESS CLEARED, when the scattered blackness of the Shawl tailed off to the west, the trekkers came out of their cave and killed one of the goats, which they roasted over a spit. The horses had eaten all the grass by the cliffside and needed attention. So the men and Bellamia set off again, still chewing the stringy goat meat. Essanits led them, riding on black Hengriss.
For two days and nights they traveled among the wearying mazes of rock. At last they came to a place where comparatively lush pastures beckoned, where no more than the odd rock stood sentinel, as if a monument to something dead. The ground undulated like frozen waves. Here the silence was unbroken, except for scufflings in the grass where many unevolved insects found their home.
While they allowed the horses to graze, they looked about them. The grass gave out ahead, leaving only barren earth and stones. They could see a great distance, where cumulus cloud was piled on the horizon.