But in his despair and hopeless fear of it, Kalus had forgotten (or never knew) that the Sea could also be benevolent. The Sea, which has ways and currents of its own, and to whom the incoming waters were hardly a ripple of sand in the Sahara. The fresh water currents subsided, and the waves of the Atlantic took over. Subtler, more profound, at worst they would have cast them back upon the mainland. But by a distance no greater than the trunk of a fallen tree, he had set their craft far enough east to be held by the confines of a far greater stream. Sweeping northward along the whole coast of America, washing even the pebbles of Nova Scotia before turning eastward toward Britain and the European main: the subtly altered, and miraculous Gulf Stream.
For a long time it seemed the boat moved not at all. And lost in sorrow and dark reverie, none of its passengers stirred. Only the cub seemed alive, whimpering in the wet bottom of the shell until the woman untied her. At length Kalus rose, to apologize with broken heart for killing them all.
But the words were never spoken. Somehow the boat had turned about, and no longer faced southward. For a time he wasn't sure, afraid of some trick….. Yes! If the vessel moved at all it was north and a little east. They had missed the southwest facet of the Island, but if they paddled with strength and good hope, perhaps they might still affect a landing on its more easterly shores. He was no sailor: he had neither the skill nor the vessel for sailing. But strength still lived in his arms, and fires still burned in his heart. He turned to Sylviana.
'Have you any strength left?' he asked her. 'The current no longer bears us ill, but I think we must still approach the Island on our own.'
'I'm exhausted, Kalus. I feel half drowned….. Can I rest a while first?'
'Yes. If you can steer just a little, I will try to row for both of us.' The woman-child set her paddle listlessly in the water, steering with it as best she could, until pride and returning stamina enjoined her to paddle on her own.
They continued on in this way for several hours, resting at intervals, gradually, so gradually drawing nearer the rocky shoals of the great island. Kalus now began to search for a less dangerous strip of beach, confident that if such could be found, by hook or by crook they would reach it, and effect some kind of landing.
So engrossed was he in searching the coast. . .that for a long while he did not notice the great fin that had risen to starboard, and began to parallel their course at a distance neither great nor small, cunning with the patience of a predator. It was not until it turned and began to bore in on them, as the girl caught her breath and froze in terror, that he saw it.
But once seen there was no forgetting. Black and straight as an ebon keel, it cut through the swells with effortless grace, a torpedoing, half-defined shadow beneath it. No small, Child-bearing female this, but a magnificent bull fully thirty feet long, its knifing dorsal as tall as a man.
And then the blackened knife, like a periscope, sank beneath the level of the waves, and did not reappear. Kalus unfastened his spear, moved forward and stood up in the bow—-awed, but fiercely determined to defend his own. All was quiet and still.
Then suddenly (or so it seemed, for the motion was not performed in haste) a great head appeared in front of them, rising perpendicular out of the water, lightly touched by the lapping swells. Above patches of white, dark eyes studied them darkly. The orca seemed to be asking himself, almost casually, were they worth the trouble? Aboard the suddenly diminished craft, the cub set loose a peal of frightened barking, while Kalus showed the whale clearly the point of his spear.
Without haste the creature returned to a swimming posture, and with a rough spout somewhere between laughter and a sneer, began a last, intimidating circle—-though whether it intended to attack was not clear, since it drew no closer.
Then to the bewilderment of the company another, smaller fin appeared, as if to join in the kill. But it was not so. Coming between the bull and the tiny ship, the female nudged him almost angrily, then butted him outright in the side. The male at last relented. The two swam off, leaving behind them a riddle that only seemed complicated, because of its simplicity.
Perhaps nowhere else in Nature was the difference between male and female more pronounced, or more in harmony with their world. They were a mated pair: the bull nearly twice her size, aggressive and indomitable. And the female: more subtle, more compassionate (if that is the right word), strong and sure enough to act on both convictions. Either one alone could be powerful and self-sufficient. Together, nothing could withstand them, true champions of the Sea.
It was Sylviana who spoke first, feeling more acutely the need to talk that comes after tension and danger. Kalus, conversely, remained with his jaw set, trembling and pale, but with the spear clasped firmly in his hand. He did not at first seem to hear her.
'I was never so scared in my life,' she said. No reply.'Kalus?'
He turned to her, not seeming to know who she was, then answered with half his attention, perhaps a bit coldly. 'Not even before the giant spider?'
.. 'No. Not really. Then I didn't believe what was happening….. Are you all right?' At last his eyes and mind focused, and he too felt the need.
'I have been better. How many shocks am I supposed to be able to face in one day? I feel I've lived a year in just these few hours.' He released a sigh, almost a groan, laying aside for a time his resolve to keep an emotional distance from her. . .until she decided. 'I'm sorry for what I said about the spider. It was thoughtless.'
'It's all right. You're allowed to be human, you know.'
>From the tone more than her words, Kalus knew that he had stung her, and that she did not quite forgive him. Again he felt that she was holding him responsible for the harshness of his world, as if it were somehow his fault. Again the chasm opened between them, and now he was too tired to fight it. Imperceptibly he shook his head, breathed out, and returned his attention to the shoreline.
*
They were now less than a mile out, and the half-forgotten, ruinous landscape once more absorbed them.
All was flat on a large scale, and crumpled on a small: hard, bitter rock like cubes set on edge, careening madly this way and that. Within its valleys were patches of earth, green with grass and weeds, punctured ever and again by corroded girders and iron masonry-bars, to which clung bits of ornamental stone and naked, crumbling concrete. Trees were scarce and never large, their greatest numbers clustered in isolated patches a short distance from the coast, which seemed to have received the largest deposits of earth.
Sylviana easily saw what she had always known, that the skyline of Manhattan had been built upon solid bedrock. For this reason alone had the Island survived at all, blasted as it must have been by successive nuclear explosions. And with this she realized suddenly where the deposits of earth had come from. Besides the fact that the continental coast had been ravaged….. Long Island was gone! Just GONE. Nothing but ocean stretched eastward as far as the eye could see.
And this made her see, vividly, what she had hitherto thought of and imagined as little as possible. While her father had whisked her away and put her to sleep, like an enchanted princess, in the Canadian Rockies, an entire world had been pounded and burned to death. And the remote, less habited places of the globe had been no better off, their children, both man and animal alike, left to die and distort in the slower ravages of radiation poisoning. She did not even know how her father had protected her from the fallout, or indeed, if he had been able. Horrible thought! Would she one day die of cancer, too?
The only comfort, and it wasn't much, was that it had all happened so long ago: that the hurts had long since been healed. But what was Time, really? Had the Island forgotten? The grim hunks of marble, were they not tombstones, the remains of a pillaged graveyard? Were the gnarled trees not alive with the ghosts of the past? She could not elude the pain, or the bludgeoning sense of complicit guilt.
Had he wanted to, Kalus could have torn her apart in those moments merely by pointing, as if to say. 'Is this the humanity you mock me with? Is this the world and way of life I should mourn?' But he said nothing because he, too, seeing her spirit crushed so completely, felt through her the reality and pain of the score of books she had read to him, and realized that every book ever written was but a grain of sand in the vast desert of human struggles and emotions. Six billion intelligent beings at once sharing the globe. . .and then this. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, and shield her forever from the horror. But he could not. 'I wish this day would end,' was the best he could manage.
But the day would not end. For good or ill, there remained yet one more scene for them to witness. And this, a vision of the inextinguishable nature of life, was in that hour both a joy and an indescribable sadness to behold. As the boat rounded a high promontory, a hidden inlet was revealed to them. Sylviana gasped, and Kalus lifted his spear in alarm. But there was no danger. No physical danger at least.
Thirty-three naked human forms sat, or stood, or lay placidly like seals among the rocks and mossy earth of a steep embankment, with the ruins of the United Nations building standing in broken silhouette behind them. And before them, in the deep and still waters of the inlet, a dozen fins and sleek backs rested peacefully while others moved, as if on guard, among the waters farther out. It was impossible that the whales, at least, should be unaware of their slowly logging craft; but apparently some understanding had been reached. The guards came no closer, and the Children showed no fear.
And children they truly were: none exceeded the age of sixteen. Their bodies had no hair, only the scruffy heads and thick eyebrows, the straggle of mane down neck and spine—-all curly blond and brown. Their cream-colored skin was smooth and tough, and the eyes of all resembled more closely the eyes of a statue than any human's. Indeed, their very placidness was almost cold, animal in its indifference. Upon closer inspection an abnormality of the hands and feet could be seen. The fingers were long, bony and webbed, like the sea-creatures they were, the feet slightly longer and similarly arrayed.
But in the face of all contradictory evidence, Sylviana clung with sudden conviction to the belief (perhaps unfounded) that inside them remained some spark of humanity, and a soul that might somehow be wakened.
But who would wake it? They had tarried here in their winter home long enough, and must soon return to the seal rich waters of the North. Perhaps they would return again in autumn; perhaps they would move on. Though she could not have known this, Sylviana hung her head in unknown harmony.
*
At last as the day wore thin, they reached a tenable stretch of beach, and in the failing light safely landed the water-soaked craft. The smallish waves could not overturn its heavy bulk, which now served them. They dragged it as far ashore as they could, which wasn't far, and lit a fire to replace the sunken sun. There in the lee of a group of rocks they huddled together and slept in the sand, unable yet to think of tomorrow.
They slept, and dreamed, in sorrow.
The next day brought unexpected hope. As the sun rose, dazzling, across the vast Atlantic, one of its urchins stood up among the wave-ends and stepped cautiously ashore.
Alerted by the sixth sense that every hill-man must possess, Kalus opened his eyes and remained perfectly still. There in the clear light of morning, he witnessed a scene that recalled to him the simple act of kindness that had changed his life forever. Quietly he woke the girl, knowing that she needed this sight as much as he. Silently, together they watched, touched by the eternal resilience of life, where nothing is new under the sun, and every sunrise is the first for some newborn creature.
A small boy, perhaps four, stood close to the water's edge, holding something in his hand. The cub, having woken before them, remained in her alert, quizzical posture, a short distance from him up the sandy incline. As the boy took a few steps nearer she stood up, but did not bark or growl. Perhaps it was because they were of a kind, and understood each other without the dimness of fear. Or perhaps because they felt the simple affinity which all young creatures share, not yet hardened and made cruel by their elders and their world.
The Child continued to advance, glancing sidelong at the others: aware of their presence, but intent upon his mission. At last only a few feet separated boy and wolf. Squatting, he put the partly eaten fish in the sand in front of her, and took a step back. The pup came closer, sniffed at it briefly, then began to eat. Her tail wagged in childish contentment.
And then the miracle occurred. The Child laughed, throwing his arms up to the sky. If he had known the word hooray', he would certainly have used it.
Such sweet music! Sylviana thought her heart would break for it, and Kalus remembered for the first time without bitterness, the smile and trust of young Shama.
The girl sat up; she couldn't help herself. At once the child sprinted back to the sea, diving into the waters as naturally as a newly hatched sea turtle, thinking no more of the ensuing swim than a bird thinks of flight. A short distance out an impatient, affectionate orca rose between his waiting legs, and carried him home on her back. Sylviana watched in weary peace, with dreamy eyes thinking how sweet it might be to one day have a child of her own. Until something in the emptiness of the beach arrested her.
'Kalus, the boat. It's gone!'
And so it was. He rose beside her, and pointed to a spot on the northeast horizon. There, riding ever lower in the waves, floated the craft he had so agonizingly constructed. She was appalled by his apparent calmness.
'You've got to DO something. You've got to swim out and get it.' But he only shook his head, clearing his eyes with the back of his wrist.
'Would you have me drowned for a piece of wood?'
'But how can you be so indifferent?'
'I am not indifferent, if only for the pains it cost me. But I have not yet given up hope that the boat will return to us. The tide took it out, perhaps the waves will bring it back farther north. And if it is lost, I think I can now construct a better one, more worthy of our trust.'
'But you worked so hard to bring us here.'
'Yes,' he said. 'I raged at both the sea and wind, cursing them and calling them demons. Then, when I surrendered in despair, something pulled us through, and gave us another chance. We are far out on this limb, Sylviana. We must believe in something. I will trust in the Tao that I have found, and which in all my life, has never fully betrayed me.'
But now he drew back. His eyes grew hazy, and far less confident. He paused as if in fear, for all his resolve, at the words he must now say to her.
'I give you your freedom, also….. I LOVE you. But whatever is to come, I cannot chain you to me. You must return to me, if you would, of your own free will.'
BUT THIS IS AWFUL, she thought. HIS TIMING IS TERRIBLE. She fought back the urge to say, 'And what if I don't want my freedom? Did it ever occur to you that I might feel the same way about you?' Instead she said nothing. So be it.
And here Kalus made a fundamental error of human psychology. For while on an intellectual level a woman may be pleased at the prospect of her freedom', on an instinctive or emotional level, and with a man she loves, such words are a source of deep doubt and insecurity. If Kalus truly wanted and needed her, why wasn't he willing to guard her love, even fight for it? Didn't he care anymore?
But all such thoughts passed through her below the surface only. Her one concern now (so she told herself) was for their welfare, which he seemed to be taking far too lightly.
'And what if we're stranded here for a month? Our supplies won't last half that long.'
'I don't think we're stranded, or alone….. I saw the lights again last night.'
These words worked on her system like an electric shock.
'What! Why didn't you wake me?'
'You needed sleep more than water, or even air. Please don't fight with me, Sylviana. Much could happen this day. I don't want it to begin with a rift between us.'
She paced back and forth in the deep sand, her strides sinking, failing to carry her any meaningful distance before doubling back. It was not anger she felt now, but fear.
Because she could not yet face the prospect of finding other men and women like herself. Through all their preparations she had only half believed it, deep down. Yet now the most terrible question of her life rose in unshrouded hugeness before her:
HAD OTHERS OF HER KIND SURVIVED THE DESTRUCTION? Or was she truly alone with Kalus, who she seemed to know less and less each day? And why did a part of her WANT to be alone with him? She could not face it. If after all her hopes and fears it came to nothing…..
'All right,' she said, trying to calm herself. 'All right.What do we do now?'
'Build a fire, eat and drink, then move inland carefully. We don't know yet what we'll find. I think I can trace the source of the beams well enough. The Island is large, but not infinite. Only its uneven surface makes it appear so. If we miss on the first try, or even the second, we will be closer to the source; and we can trace the beams by night, if need be.'
But for all her need of nourishment, Sylviana's knotting stomach would not think of food. 'We've got to go now! I'm sorry, Kalus, but I can't possibly wait another minute.'
He started to overrule her, then checked himself, secretly bitter at her eagerness. 'Very well,' he said. 'But we go slowly, and with our weapons in our hands. I'll take no chances in this wretched place.'
His mood had changed abruptly. He too felt the specter of the waiting unknown, though his hopes and fears were nearly opposite; and he became once more the untrusting hill-man. He lifted his spear, jaw set against the dark uncertainty that awaited them.
Sylviana strode ahead anxiously. Together they cleared the sand, and climbed the first slanting rise. It dipped, and another rose before them, frail earth punctured by an agony of stone and steel. They advanced.
Inland the earth grew somewhat less troubled. The undulating cross of ridges became smoother and more widely spaced, with patchwork valleys sinking in their midst. The scarred remains of buildings were also less frequent, though here and there an inexplicable mound of slag, half overgrown like an ancient, impoverished barrow, rose to recall the unsleeping dead that still walked there.
Sylviana was soon pale and exhausted, and Kalus could no longer indulge her almost distracted urge to keep moving. Almost angry, he made her sit down in the grim shade of a leering monolith. For the day had grown hot and humid, with hardly a breeze to calm the reeling senses, or break the spell of sunny, smiling death that seemed to hang in the air around them like a witch's curse. A delirium of fever had come over her from the tumultuous passage of the rapids and the sea, but in her excited state she was not calm or rational enough to realize it.
Kalus gave her water and tried to cool her burning forehead, telling her in no uncertain terms that they would not go one step further until she had caught her breath, and let him do something about the gash on her knee—-the result of a fall—-which she kept insisting was nothing.
But she hardly heard him, unable to master her emotions. She knew where she was, mentally, but this drab physical assurance helped not at all. Why in the name of all that was dark, mysterious and unfathomable was she here, ten thousand years removed from the time and world she had known? And who was this half wild man who tended her, and the bewildered animal that licked her hand in half-formed worry and confusion? KALUS. ALASKA. NEW YORK. What were they but names? What was this place, truly, but the untouchable Land of the Dead, which the sun had somehow invaded.
As her breath came easier the thoughts slowed and became less feverish, but did not change in character. Her body ached. She felt lonely and numb and afraid. Yet somehow she grew calmer, feeling that if once she looked into Kalus' eyes the world would again become comprehensible, if still cruel and unfair.
But by dint of some perverse pride she refused to do so. She would not be a slave to any man, or concede her spirit to a Nature so base and single-minded. Whatever that might mean. She did not know.
And as soon as the slightest strength returned to her limbs she was up again, fighting the stubborn rush of dizziness, assuring the nagging voice of caution that she was ready to go on.
Kalus was truly worried, himself not immune to the alien strangeness of the place. He did not know what waited over the next hill, the next series of hills, or how with his primitive weapons alone he would protect them. For he had seen the wisp of smoke, the kind that only man can make: the white smoke of intentional fire, though he dared not speak of it to the girl.
All seemed lost and out of control. He wanted to yield and to trust, and if it had been his life alone he might have done so. But the more the woman-child railed and pulled away from him, the more he knew that she was family in the deepest sense. Nothing she could do or say made him feel any less bound to her, one with her, or responsible for her safety and well-being.
There was nothing else for it. She had begun of her own to climb the uneven slant. He could either follow behind or forcibly stop her; there was no third alternative. He ran to stand beside her, taking her arm as gently as he could.
'Sylviana, please. Let me lead the way. I do not think it is far, but we must be careful. Please.'
She finally looked at him, and remembered. She wanted to collapse in his arms and weep. She wanted to say that nothing else mattered. She wanted to go back to their life by the sea and never again think of islands and men. But she could not. She took his hand firmly in hers, kissed it, and yielded to what had to be. She must go on, and he must lead her. As he must somehow understand.
Together, more slowly, they dipped two more valleys and climbed a final ridge. They reached the top of it, Kalus for some reason hugging close to the shadows of a stunted oak…..
There, in that small recession, their lives changed forever. An outdoor cooking fire, a row of low stone buildings. Two women and a man moving about a table with plates and cups. And not dressed like animals, but men. Overalls, a blue NASA worksuit, an Oriental dress. Sylviana looked on, not surprised she told herself, then felt the ground rush up to meet her.
*
Kalus caught her beneath the arms and pulled her under the partial cover of the tree. But it was too late. They had been seen. Without audible word or gesture, the three stopped what they were doing and began to move toward them. One, at least, had seen her fall, and they began to run, thinking she was wounded or sick.
But they were brought up short by an imposing figure with a sword, and a half grown wolf which seemed unsure whether to welcome their aid, or protect its fallen mistress from them. It growled and lunged uncertainly, looking over at the man, who remained silent. There was a moment of mutual indecision and fear.
But then the woman in the dark silk dress, lit with patterns of gold and lilac, stepped forward. Her appearance was strange to him, the shimmering black hair and olive skin seeming more exotic even than his first memories of Sylviana. Her eyes were calm and reassuring, but not naive. She put a hand to her chest, then opened it toward him in what he clearly recognized as a gesture of truce.
Her stillness, and the way she looked at him without wavering, told Kalus more than any other sign that she meant them no harm. He lowered his sword and said simply.
'Do we speak the same language?'
She smiled sadly. 'Yes, I believe we do.' At this the others came forward.
'Is the girl all right?' asked the man. He started to move towards her, but Kalus' rugged frame interposed.
'She is exhausted and feverish, and startled by the sight of you.She is of your kind, I think. I am not.'
Taking this in officiously, the man once more addressed him, offering his hand, which Kalus did not take. But he persisted. 'I'm Paul McIntyre, flight surgeon….. I'm a doctor, son. Won't you let me help your friend?'
But for all his relief and desire to yield, Kalus found it hard to let another man touch her, even in this simple way. Again the young woman interceded. She laid a soft and delicate hand on his, and looked him full in the face with brilliant, almond eyes, drawn to a gentle point at each corner.
'It's all right,' she said. 'You're among friends. Won't you let us help you?' Her voice and manner were so alluring that for a moment he forgot all else. He looked down at Sylviana, half ashamed of what the Oriental had aroused in him, and said quietly.
'So long as you are gentle. I think she just needs rest.'
The doctor was already at work, lifting her off the hard roots to lean back against his thighs. Then reaching inside a black bag that he had brought, he broke open a pouch of smelling salts and moved it back and forth under her nose. Her head stirred, then turned away in distaste. She regained full consciousness to find herself lying, literally, in the strange older man's lap. Forgetting that this was what her mind had sought, she cried out instinctively.
'Kalus!' And in a moment he was beside her. 'Kalus,' she pleaded. 'Is it all right? Are we safe here?' He looked hard at the doctor.
'Yes, my Sylviana. I think that we are.'
She studied the man once more. 'Is it true? Are you really withNASA? This isn't a dream?'
'Yes, I'm with NASA. Second manned expedition to Mars—-we never made it. But there's time for all that later. Right now we're going to get some fluids into you, and give you something for the fever. Then I'd prescribe bed rest, and a further examination. Young man, will you help me—-'
But before he could finish the girl had turned her face into his stomach, and was crying like a child. He stroked her hair easily and naturally, speaking words of comfort and assurance. As the man-child looked on and felt lost.
At length she grew quieter. Kalus lifted her in his willing arms, and despite all objections, carried her himself to a bed in the cool darkness of one of the huts.
All that afternoon Sylviana remained in the hut, sleeping, drinking fruit juice, and luxuriating in the incredible comfort of a real bed. Twice the doctor came in to check on her, and each time she made him sit down on the edge of the bed and talk to her, about what it didn't matter, just to hear his soothing voice that spoke of a world she knew and trusted, and to feel she was no longer alone: that it was all right to be a needing child. And after a time his words became like music, a lullaby, and she would slip back into untroubled sleep, her hand unconsciously resting on his. Then he would gently lift it and set it beside her, and smiling, rise to tell the others that she would be fine.
*
Kalus would have remained beside her door all day in silent watch, but they would not let him. Though all at the noon meal of the partly gathered colony were asked to let the newcomers be, by evening their curiosity could no longer be disciplined. He was asked to join them for supper, the first of the year to be eaten outdoors, and it was all but impossible to refuse.
So as the remaining men and women returned from their various labors—-there were fourteen in all—-Kalus took his place at the far end of the long table, not to distinguish himself, but because he did not wish to sit closely huddled among creatures he did not know. And though by all appearances they seemed the best that modern man had to offer (in fact they were), he could not help remembering the tales of human treachery that Sylviana had read to him; and half fearfully, half angrily, he kept waiting for some sign of it to surface.
But it never did. These people seemed to genuinely care about and support each other, and to respect his wish to be silent. And all would have gone well but for an incident which none could have foreseen, and for which Kalus himself could not be blamed.
Sylviana, hearing the sounds of conversation and real companionship, dressed herself quickly, and against doctor's orders, came out to join them. She was welcomed heartily, and given a place near the head of the table. And all seemed well enough.
But as the dishes were being cleared and those still seated began to push back their chairs and settle themselves more comfortably, Sylviana began to tell her story in abbreviated form. Then Kalus saw that the tall, straight man at the head of the table—-their leader, he perceived—-kept staring at her in growing agitation. In truth the look was not one of hunger, but of intense curiosity, and of a man racking his brains for some distant memory. But Kalus could not know this. Finally the man interrupted her, saying plainly.
'Sylviana. What is your last name?'
To her amazement, she had to think for a moment. She hadn't used it for what seemed, and was, an eternity.
'Matheson.'
'And was your father Guy Matheson, the physiologist?'
'Yes! Did you know him?'
'Know him? Why girl, I even know YOU, though I'm sure you wouldn't remember. I worked with your father for the better part of a year, trying to smooth out some wrinkles in the cryogenics and life-support systems needed for longer, deep Space voyages. You were only eight or nine at the time, but I've thought of you at least a hundred times since, and wondered what became of you. There was such simple joy in everything you did…..'
And as a look of slow recognition and wonder came over the young woman's face, the normally reserved Mission Commander was overcome by emotion. He stood up, telling her to do the same. He moved closer, and embraced her heartily.
'Dear God, it's good to see you. To know that you're still alive.'
This was too much for Kalus. The chair on which he sat flew backward and the sword leapt from its sheath, in the upward swing knocking hard against the bottom of the table. Jolted, the company turned to face him, as to contain his animal passion he took a step backward and breathed heavily. But the tip of his sword he pointed at the leader in a rage, saying with disciplined fire.
But none were more startled, or dismayed, than Sylviana. 'Kalus!' she demanded, as if he were an errant child. 'Put the sword away. Can't you see these people mean us no harm? This man was a friend of my father's. And of mine.'
He stood pale in the artificial light, his limbs trembling and his mind confused. He lowered the sword, and slowly realized that he had been a fool, and disgraced them both. He hung his head, and colored with shame.
'I'm sorry. I don't understand these things….. I am a wild, foolish man. But when you touched my woman—-'
He looked up quickly, to find his worst fears confirmed. Sylviana had winced at being called his woman. He felt a part of himself dying. Perhaps he overreacted, but it was what he truly felt.
'I am a fool. I will leave you.' But a firm voice broke him off, that of Kataya, the Oriental.
'NO,' she said. 'Don't ever apologize for who and what you are. Ever.' He looked up to see her standing. 'Commander Stenmark, and Sylviana, too, must share the blame for this.' There was a note of reproach in her voice, though she had not intended it. 'You reacted in the way your world has taught you, a world that none of us can know, and in which there is no shame. You are welcome among us, and you will stay.'
There was an awkward silence. Then the Commander, who was in fact their leader, remembered himself and spoke reassuringly, voicing perhaps the sentiments of all.
'She's right, young man. God help us, she's always right.'
With this the tension faded. The doctor, who to this point had been lenient with his patient, now called her visit to an end.
'You, young lady,' he said in paternal tones, 'Are supposed to be in bed. As for the rest of you gawkers,' he added with mock severity, 'We can put Kalus under the microscope tomorrow, and then heaven help him! You're in a colony of scientists, my boy, and you'll get no rest until we're as bored with you as we are with each other. Enough now! Break up this little party or I'll come up with a new vaccine and inject you where you sit. Literally.'
With this, chuckling, responding in kind, the company began to disperse to the various huts. The Commander approached Kalus, shook his hand, and apologized personally, while the hill-man repeated his own contrition.
At last, looking down, Kalus found himself seated at the table alone, his thoughts as dark and empty as the place itself. Sylviana had been ashamed of him. ASHAMED. As if the past meant nothing, had never happened.
He lay wearily on his arms, trying to understand. How had it all happened so fast? The colony had absorbed her like water into sand, leaving nothing for him. Even the cub had gone in to sleep beside her.
To sleep beside her! How acutely he would feel the absence of her body tonight. He felt himself out of place: in the wrong tale, immersed in chapters and characters that all around him understood, but which were to him as incomprehensible as the Valley had been to Sylviana.
But this new life would not have seemed so bleak, perhaps even pleasant, if while it slowly took possession of him, he was not losing the one thing in all the world that truly mattered: the love of the woman he had once called his. HIS…..
He felt soft fingers touch the back of his head, then slide downward and begin to massage his neck and aching shoulders. He did not move, knowing by touch alone that it was not his mate. He knew it was Kataya, but was too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to react one way or the other.
But to the watching figure in the doorway, there was no such ambivalence. Sylviana was furious. How different when the shoe is on the other foot, was a thought she strangled as soon as it began to form inside her.
She had gone to the spacious bed, surrounded by things she thought missing from her life, only to experience the same emptiness and sense of loss at not feeling the familiar body beside her, and having no one to tell of her contentment. She tried to shrug it off and just sleep. But she had slept off and on all day, and felt her weariness replaced by a kind of yearning restlessness. PROBABLY JUST MY CONSCIENCE, she had told herself. And with this the gentler part of her nature had begun to rebel, saying that Kalus was a kind and decent man, who deserved better than to be spoken to and treated as if he were some kind of savage.
But these gentle, Christian sentiments were too easily dismissed. He had acted abominably, her harder self retorted, and fully deserved the scorn that she had shown him.
And perhaps this was the problem—-trying to make herself think more fondly of him through the mind. Because gratitude and compassion are not lasting in love, while instinct and self-fulfillment never fade. If she could simply have admitted to herself that she missed the security and intimacy of lying in his arms, and that the crowning pleasure of her new-found happiness would have been to open herself to him, both body and spirit, she could have put aside the hopeless tangle of her emotions and simply gone to him, and taken him to her, and renewed again the bond of true lovers. As it was she could only toss restlessly, then get up and pace in frustration.
At length she had decided to go to him (or merely allowed the greater part of herself to act), telling herself that she should at least say goodnight, and give him the chance to make it up to her. But as she passed through the hallway and began to enter the dimly lit compound, she saw a male figure hunched at the table, and another, female form behind, touching him. Thinking it one of the other couples, she drew back into the shadows of the doorframe. But as her eyes grew more accustomed to the half-light, she saw plainly the scene laid out before her.
And there she remained, her mind and heart a whirlwind of conflicting impulses. She wanted to rush at the woman and scratch her eyes out. She wanted to walk up calmly and ask, 'Have you quite finished with my husband?' Her HUSBAND? She wanted to scream at Kalus, to apologize for being cold, to seduce him, and to have him out of her life forever.
But she did none of the things, remaining stock still in the doorway. She forced herself to be calm, and tried to rationalize. Why was she so upset? After all, what had he done? And why did it matter to her anyway? She wanted to break away, and put the whole thing from her mind. But she couldn't. She had to see what he would do.
After a time Kataya sensed the man-child's indifference, or at least his unwillingness to yield to her. This did not cool her half-admitted desire for him, but only made it more patient, tactful. She moved to sit in a corner chair, beside him.
'Why so glum, Kalus? Or are you just ignoring me?'
'I am sorry, Kataya. It's not you. I just feel. . .overwhelmed.' And with this, he surrendered.
'How so?'
'So much has happened,' he began, feeling as he said the words the bewilderment that lay beneath all other emotions. 'Three weeks ago Sylviana and I made love as if there was nothing else in the world. And for us, there wasn't. Three months ago we struggled together against the Cold World, in a place we called our home. At the time it often seemed like Hell, but it brought us closer than you can possibly imagine. And three days ago. Three days. I lived more or less in the land where I was born, with paradise at my fingers.'
'Then why did you leave?'
'Because I couldn't keep lying to her, that we were alone….. She isn't like me. She needs the company of her own kind.' He spoke now more to himself, and to the darkness. She was silent for a moment, her own feelings and experience submerged.
'And now?'
'That's just it. I can't bring it all up to now. It's like a great wave that just goes on and on. The voyage here. . .sweet Jesus. And just this morning I held her close while she slept, then woke her to a sight that broke both our hearts, and opened to us the possibility of a child of our own.' Again she felt him drifting, into a world that did not even recognize her existence. 'And now all of you, a flood of strange names and faces, and emotions I don't know how to read. It just goes on and on, with Sylviana slipping farther and farther away.'
'All waves must eventually end, Kalus. This one will, too. And when you find yourself safely landed among us?' She hesitated. 'And if the girl is no longer yours? What then?'
'I cannot even think of that. It would be the end of everything, of life itself.'
Kataya hung her head. WHY MUST IT ALWAYS BE SO?
Kalus saw this gesture of defeat and knew, for all his confusion and despair, that he had been selfish, and forgotten her. There in the stillness of night he felt her presence acutely, felt the soul inside her and knew she was as achingly alive as himself. And the feelings this knowledge aroused in him both troubled and comforted his own loneliness. He put his hand beneath her chin and raised the lovely, oval face to look at him.
'You are very beautiful, Kataya. I have chosen Sylviana, but you are a woman that a man could truly love.' She wrapped her hand about his wrist, whispered something in a strange language, then broke off and quickly walked away. He watched her go in sadness.
All this time Sylviana had watched them, unable to hear what was said, imagining the worst. Then she saw him lift her face to his, and whisper tender words which should have been hers alone.
Confused and angry, she stormed back into her room. Confused and weary, Kalus spread himself on the ground like an animal, missing them both, and staring at the stars. Confused and bitter, Kataya swore she would not let herself want him, and be hurt yet again and again.
All three slept alone, finding no shelter from the mocking night.
The next day was Sunday, and the one day a week which the hard-working colonists had agreed to set aside as a respite from their labors. Those who worked the fields, those who maintained the power and water supply, those who scavenged the city for underground vaults filled with books and computer records, as well as those who performed the experiments, translations, and radio communications (never answered) which were vital to the group's morale and sense of purpose, all surrendered for this one day the businesslike security of endeavor, to think and contemplate like the first pious Jews, who had looked to the heavens and tried to understand their world.
In the hushed morning they gathered for the non-denominational service, Christian, Jew, Buddhist and atheist alike, spread about the candle-lit conference room. And it was here that Sylviana first felt the depth of loneliness and sorrow that this handful of survivors carried with them as inescapably as a damaged organ, or the memory of an amputated limb. And she realized that all their surface carelessness and ease, all the jokes about being bored with one another, were mere facade, the necessary illusions of commonplace existence. It was clear in this small chapel of honesty, that they not only loved and respected one another, but clung to each other, and held the value of each human life high above any other aspiration.
Commander Stenmark in particular she watched, and began to wonder at this grizzled pioneer whose age was so incongruous to all around him, most of whom were under forty. And during the moment of silent prayer she had to restrain with difficulty her own emotions, as she saw the same face that could be so still and dispassionate, draw close over the fervently folded hands with tears of age, and thanks, and tired responsibility flowing like the sudden, relentless Spring. And it was with warmth and a further shock that she realized this outpouring was for her: that something, someone dear to him had been spared. She had never felt so honored.
When the service ended they moved outside, and after a light meal, spread themselves more comfortably on the grassy earth of a clear space at one end of the compound, backed by a gentle rise and a single, lithe and undistorted maple. This in preparation for what remained to them the greatest pleasure (and diversion) in life. Learning.
Sylviana's story was fascinating, what they had heard of it the night before, but it was Kalus whom they longed to interrogate. For here was an anthropologist's dream: a young man who had lived among throwback Neanderthals, who had carved his existence, without medicine or steel, from the harsh realities of a world in which Man not only held no exalted place, but was on the contrary smallish and ill-equipped, as likely to be hunted as hunter. And the fact that he himself had emerged from the recessed traits of three hundred generations, to be born fully human….. They knew nothing yet of the Machine or the Visitors, only that for most of his life Kalus had possessed no spoken language, had been an outcast and object of suspicion because of his appearance and greater intelligence, had met and shared deepest communion with a young woman and fellow creature of the twenty-first century. And for now, this was more than enough.
Dr. David Rawlings, cell biologist, spoke first, a strongly built, intense black man in his mid thirties. Apparently the least abashed of the company, he assumed the role he had chosen for himself, and which the others now expected and took for granted.
'Well,' he said, moving to stand at the fore of the group. 'I suppose first we should tell you something of ourselves.' And without the wasted words of diplomacy, he did.
'You see before you the surviving crew members of Virgo II, the manned exploration of Mars. Two years into the flight, and not yet two-thirds of the way there, we received a delayed signal from earth, and at an undesignated interval. The bloody butchers who called themselves our leaders had finally done it: missiles and satellite stations vomiting their nuclear death, and pounding the cities flat. The emotions of those conscious—-most of us were in a suspended state, so as not to age unnecessarily during the voyage—-I can't imagine. But Stenmark, and the Doc, and poor dead Rene' Christian, well, they had to do something.
'So they turned the ship about, and upon returning to Earth engaged in a high orbit around it, and tried to make contact, with anybody. No one there. Even the orbiting agri-colonies and Moon bases hadn't been spared. The latter might have been construed as some kind of military threat, to the sick and paranoid, but to kill innocent civilians, farmers for Christ's sake, just to be sure all was ended….. The worst you can think of us isn't bad enough, Kalus, if you look at what we did to each other in the end. Maybe we common people' of the superpowers didn't take an active part in the destruction; but we sure as hell sat on our asses, and let the presidents and the generals make it inevitable.' He subdued, or at least restrained, his rising passion.
'But that's neither here nor there. Or anywhere, now. That world is gone, and will never return.' He sighed bitterly.
'Back on the ship, Christian lost her mind when she saw the devastation, and knew that her husband and son were dead, like all the others. She couldn't live without them, and so she killed herself. That left only Stenmark and Doc McIntyre to try and decide our fate. The best they could do, under the circumstances, was to re-rig the entire ship—-computer, cryogenics, life-support, everything—-for a vastly different purpose than what they'd been designed for. Their new function was, simply, to hold us all in suspension, retain the high orbit, and wake us all when, hopefully, it was safe to return to the surface.
'It's no coincidence that you, Sylviana, and William—-you haven't met him yet—-came out of suspension at approximately the same time we did. A German scientist named Krause had been advocating a common de-suspension date, in the event such a travesty ever occurred. He was considered a black pessimist at the time, and partly insane. But your father, and Sten, and possibly others, took his advice, and set the wake up call' for exactly ten thousand years from the first day of Armageddon, hoping that would give the planet enough time to heal itself, and support recognizable life-forms once more.
'So the rest of the crew, myself included, came back from our little nap to find our world ravaged, Christian dead, and the Commander aged twenty-five years. The poor compassionate bastard had kept himself conscious all that extra time, making sure the orbit wouldn't decay, that the converted solar panels and other adjustments he'd made would hold up. Probably would have died for us if he thought it would help…..
'You've seen the worst in us, Kalus. But that damn Swede over there . .is the best. And a lot of others like him paid the same price as the political cowboys, and blind hedonists who elected them. Death.
'So. That's the long and short of it. We dealt with our feelings and our fears as best we could, and landed here, for a variety of reasons, just over a year ago. We found William underground, and apparently you found us. So maybe our efforts aren't entirely futile. And who's to say, there may be others scattered around the planet, each feeling as isolated and cut off as we do.'
He concluded as frankly as he had begun. 'But now I'm heartily sick of standing here and telling you our troubles, and I should hope you're as tired of hearing them. Apologies to the meek, and you see the kind of Earth' you've inherited. We'll let the customary interval of moody silence pass, and then we'll begin our scientific questioning.' With that he moved off and sat on the hard ground, leaving the raw taste of truth, accepted willingly or not, in the mouths of those around him.
Just as he had said, an interval of silence ensued. Then, to the surprise of all, Kalus rose without prodding and moved to stand before them.
'This will not be easy for me,' he said. 'But I begin to see that it is important, if only for myself. I feared at first that you would think me a mindless animal. But I see now that isn't true. Kataya told me not to be ashamed of what I am, and inside, in the heart of me, I'm not. I am proud. Because I survived for twenty-two years a world that would kill most of you in a week. That is not said to hurt you, and I begin to see that you are strong in other ways. It is only the truth. Here on the Island there is shelter from predators—-there are no giant spiders or lizards—-and you have the knowledge to bring food from the land without killing. My people have none of these things.
'We call ourselves the hill-tribe. Yes we, Sylviana, I will not renounce them.' She started to glare at him, then colored when she saw others (including Kataya) watching her, and looked away.
'We live in a cave of many entrances, in the heart of the Wild, with enemies all around us. We survive by being shrewd and fiercely determined, and by showing any creature that comes too close there is a high price to pay for thinking us weak and afraid.
'But we are not cruel, if we can avoid it, and do not kill without need. If there was some way we could live in peace and well-fed contentment, we would throw away our spears and never kill again. But no one has ever shown us how to do this, if such a way exists.'
A gleam came into his eyes such as Sylviana had not seen for many months: when he first looked out from the smaller cave, and beheld the power and majesty of the Mantis. 'Go ahead,' he told them, almost defiantly. 'Ask me any question. Thank you Kataya, and David Rawlings. You have made me feel strong and unashamed.'
At this there was another brief space in which the company felt reluctant to speak. But it did not last. Their desire to know, and to touch new life, was stronger than their natural timidity.
'Yes, I have a question,' said a woman. 'You say that your people have no spoken language.' (Sylviana had told the doctor, who in turn had passed it on to the others). 'And yet you have a name. How is that?'
'My people all have names, but no sounds to go with them. My name is a sign made with the hands, or a figure drawn in the dirt, so that I can be identified to others at need, such as during a hunt. The Machine called me Kalus, to my mind as well as my ears, just as it gave names to all the elements of my world. I have always wondered how this was done.'
Brushing over this last information, which none understood and which they could always come back to, they asked several more questions about the hill-people, until one of the younger men produced a greaseboard and marker, and approached him.
'Your sign, the one that identifies you. Could you draw it?' Kalus took the board, and after being shown how to use it, drew a straight line, horizontal, then a long curving tooth like a saber at the end of it, pointing downward.
'This represents the upper jaw of the hill-cat, one of the greatest hunters of our world. My first father made it for me, hoping that I would be as fierce and cunning. All our names our similar. When he was killed by a bear. . .I drew it in anger on the ground, then with my foot blurred away the sharp point, to show that I was no great predator, but only a man. Like this.' He smeared the lower half of the tusk, leaving only a squarish root. 'That has been my mark ever since.'
'The MANtooth,' said Sylviana suddenly, and much to her own consternation. But half embarrassed, half proud in spite of herself, she pushed on. 'The Machine called you the Mantooth.'
'Yes,' he said simply. 'And that is what I am.'
'This machine—-' began another.
'No, no, we'll come back to that later,' said Rawlings.'Your first father', Kalus. What did you mean by that?'
'Barabbas is my father now. I think it is what you would call adoption, though to us it is much more than that. The adopted sons of a childless leader are more dear to him…..' He stopped as emotion swelled in his throat, and he realized with a sudden pang the truth of these words. 'Barabbas is my father now.'
'Barabbas,' replied Rawlings thoughtfully. 'Surely that's not a name given by a machine.'
'Yes. In fact it is. But I too have always thought it strange, and somehow appropriate, since I learned of the Barabbas in your Bible.'
'It's not MY Bible,' said Rawlings quickly. 'But still, how do you mean that?' Kalus pondered for a moment, trying to think how to express it.
'It wasn't Barabbas' fault: that he was freed, and Jesus crucified. He was only trying to survive. And who can say what his crime' was that he should have been imprisoned by the Romans, who seem to me among the greatest criminals of history. And yet for the simple fact of his presence on that day, and his desire to live rather than die in agony, he is branded a villain and hated, by those who need such symbols of hate, and love. Surely Jesus did not hate him.'
At this all were quietly stunned. For until that moment they had retained the subconscious arrogance that Sylviana first experienced, and to which she had lately returned: the belief that a rough man without education could not think or feel as they did, could not possess the same soul, or depth of feeling.
They were wrong.
'Well said,' came a voice. And for the rest of the afternoon the questions were not asked as from adult to child, from superior beings to inferior, but as from man (and woman) to man. Sylviana could only watch and listen, and tell herself in vain she didn't love him.
Because she had been stung by the affection he showed Kataya, and refused to admit she was afraid of losing him.