Riverworld Short Stories

by Philip José Farmer

  “I could vomit,” he said, and he walked out again.

  “That’s one form of ejaculation!” she said loudly.

  He climbed down hundreds of steps, wondering meanwhile why these crazy pagans built such an inconvenient city. When he got to the ground, he searched for Faustroll along the Riverbank until he found him fishing from a pier. The Frenchman’s bamboo basket held seven of the foot-long striped species known as zebras. He was describing to his fellow fishers the intricacies of the science he had invented. He called it pataphysics. Davis understood little of it. So, evidently, did the people around him. They nodded their heads at his remarks. But their puzzled expressions showed that they were as much at sea as most of his listeners. That Faustroll’s Kishwa was not very good certainly did not help their comprehension.

  3

  Pataphysics,” Faustroll intoned, “is difficult to define because we must use nonpataphysical terms to define it.”

  He had to use French words interspersed with Kishwa, because “pataphysics” and many other terms were not in the Incan language. Thus, he bewildered his audience even more. Davis decided char Faustroll did not care deeply whether or not these listeners comprehended him. He was talking to himself to convince himself.

  “Pataphysics is the science of the area beyond metaphysics,” Faustroll continued. “It is the science of imaginary solutions, of the particular, the seeming exception. Pataphysics considers that all things are equal. All things are pataphysical. But few people practice pataphysics consciously.

  “Pataphysics is not a joke or a hoax. We are serious, unlaughing, as sincere as a hurricane.”

  He added in English for some reason Davis could not figure out, “Pataphysics is synaptic, not synoptic.”

  Apparently, he had given up on the Incans. He switched to French.

  “In conclusion, chough nothing is ever concluded in the full sense of ‘conclusion,’ we know nothing of pataphysics yet know everything. We are born knowing it at the same time that we are born ignorant of it. Our purpose is to go forth and instruct the ignorant—that is, us, until we all are illuminated. Then, mankind as we unfortunately know it now will be transformed. We will become as God is supposed to be, in many respects, anyway, even though God does not exist, not as we know it, its backside is chaos, and, knowing the Truth, we in our fleshly forms will pupate ourselves into a semblance of the Truth. Which will be close enough.”

  Now here, Davis thought, is one who truly fulfills Ann’s definition of a “fleak.” And yet…and yet… Faustroll made some kind of sense. Remove all the folderol, and he was saying that people should look at things from a different angle. What was it that that late twentieth-century Arab he had met so many years ago had said? Abu ibn Omar had quoted…what was his name…ah! a man named Ouspensky. “Think in other categories.” That was it. “Think in other categories.” Abu had said, “Turn a thing over, look at its bottom side. A watch is said to be circular. But if its face is turned at right angles to you, the watch is an ellipse.

  “If everybody were to think in other categories, especially in emotional, familial, social, economic, religious, and political areas, human beings would eliminate most of the problems that make their lives so miserable.”

  “It didn’t happen on Earth,” Davis had said.

  “But here it may,” Abu had said.

  “Fat chance!” Davis had said. “Unless all turn to the Lord, to Jesus Christ, for salvation.”

  “And were truly Christian, not the narrow-minded, bigoted, selfish, power-hungry wretches which most of them are. I will offend you when I say that you are one of them, though you will deny it. So be it.”

  Davis had come close to punching the man, but he had turned away, trembling with anger, and walked off.

  He still got indignant when he thought about Abu’s accusation.

  “Faustroll!” Davis said in English. “I must talk to you!”

  The Frenchman turned around and said, “Commence.”

  Davis told him about Ann and the Emperor. Faustroll said, “You may inform the Boneless about this delightful situation if you care to. We do not wish to be in his neighborhood when he hears of it.”

  “Oh, he’ll hear of it, though not from me. This area is a lava flow of rumor and gossip. Are you still willing to escape from this place tonight, as agreed?”

  “With or without Ivar or Ann or you.”

  He pointed past Davis, then said, “Someone has already told him.”

  Davis turned around. The city proper, the towering skeleton city, began a half-mile from the Riverbank. The Viking was striding on the ground toward an entrance to a staircase. He gripped in one hand the shaft of a big stone ax. He was also carrying a very large backpack. Davis supposed that Ivar’s grail was in it. It bulged so much, however, that it had to contain something else. Even from this distance, Davis could see that Ivar’s face and body were bright red.

  “He’s going to kill the Inca!” Davis said.

  “Or Ann, or both,” Faustroll said.

  It was too late to catch up with him. Even it they did, they could not stop him. Several times before, they had seen him in his insane rages. He would smash in their skulls with the ax.

  “He’ll not get through the Inca’s bodyguards,” the Frenchman said. “I believe that the only thing we can do is to follow our plan and leave tonight. Ann and Ivar won’t be there. You and I must go without them.”

  Davis knew that Faustroll was deeply upset. He had said “I” instead of “we.”

  By then, the Viking had reached the third level and crossed over on it. For a moment, he disappeared behind a translucent wall formed by a lightweight sheet of dragonfish intestine.

  “I feel as if I’m deserting him,” Davis said. “But what can we do?”

  “We have changed our mind, which is the prerogative, indeed, the duty, of a philosopher,” Faustroll said. “The least we can do is to follow him and determine what happens to him. We might even be able to aid him in some way.”

  Davis did not think so. But he would not allow this cuckoo to show more courage than he.

  “Very well. Let’s go.”

  They put their grails in their shoulder bags and hurried to the city. After climbing up staircases and ladders, they reached the level on which were the Inca’s quarters. They saw many people running around and very noisy about it. From a distance came a hullabaloo that only a large crowd could raise. At the same time, they smelled smoke. It had a different odor from the many cooking fares in the dwellings. Following the direction of the noise and sidestepping people running toward the staircases and ladders, they came out onto a small plaza.

  The buildings around this, mostly two-story bamboo structures with half-walls, were government offices. The Inca’s “palace” was the largest building, three stories high but narrow. Though it had a roof, its exterior had few walls. Its far side was attached to the main scaffolding of the city.

  The odor of smoke had become stronger, and there were more men and women running around. The two men could make no sense out of the shouts and cries until Davis caught the Kishwa word for “fire.” It was then they realized the commotion was not caused by Ivar. Or, perhaps, it was. Davis thought of the huge bulging bag on Ivar’s back. Had that contained pine torches and an earthen jar of lichen alcohol?

  The strong wind was carrying the clouds to the south, which explained why the smoke stink had not been so detectable in the lower levels. Getting to the palace would be dangerous. By now, the bamboo floor of the plaza was burning swiftly and they would have to go around the plaza. For all they knew, the floor on its other side was also ablaze. Near them, a crew was working frantically hauling up big buckets of water from the ground on six hoists. Through the many open spaces among the rooms and the levels, Davis saw lines of people passing buckets of water from the river.

  It had all happened very swiftly.

  Now Davis smelled the distinctive odor of burning flesh. And he could see several bodies lying in the flames.
Several seconds later, a corpse fell through the weakened floor to the one below it.

  It did not seem possible that one man could wreak all this.

  “Will you go now?” Davis said, “Ivar is doomed, if he’s not already dead. We’d better get down to the ground before we’re caught in the fire.”

  “Reason does not always prevail,” the Frenchman said. “But fire does.”

  They retreated, coughing, until the smoke thinned out enough for them to see. The exterior of the building was a few yards from them. Nearby were a staircase and several openings in the floor for descent by ladder. But they could not get to them because of the crowd surrounding them. The staircase and the ladders were jammed with a snarling, screaming, and struggling mob. Several fell off onto the heads of the refugees on the floor below.

  “It is possible to climb down on the beams of the outer structure!” Faustroll yelled. “Let us essay to escape via those!”

  By then, others had the same thought. But there was enough space for all. When Davis and the Frenchman got to the ground, they were shaking with the effort and their hands, bellies, and the inner parts of their legs were rubbed raw. They worked through the crowds until they were close to the River.

  “Now is the time to appropriate a small sailing vessel and go up-River,” Faustroll said. “No one is here to object.”

  Davis looked at the skeletal structure and the people swarming around it and still coming out of it. By then, the bucket brigades had done their work, though he would have bet a few minutes ago that the entire city was doomed. The smoke was gone except for some wisps.

  He and Faustroll still had their grails. And a fishing vessel anchored a few yards out contained poles and nets and spears. That would have to be enough.

  When they waded out to the boat, they saw a man, dark-skinned, black-haired, eyes closed, lying face up on the floor. His jaw moved slowly. He was not chewing a cud.

  “Dreamgum,” Faustroll said. “He is now somewhere in Incan Peru, his mind blazing with visions of the land he once knew but that never really existed. Or, perhaps, he is flying faster than light among the stars toward the limits of the limitless.”

  “No such splendid things,” Davis said disgustedly. He pointed at the man’s erect penis. “He dreams that he is lying with the most beautiful woman in the world. If he has the imagination to do so, which I doubt. These people are crude and brutal peasants. The apex of their dreams is a life of ease and no obligations, no masters to obey, plenty of food and beer, and every woman their love slave.”

  Faustroll hauled himself aboard. “You have just described Heaven, my friend—that is, the Riverworld. Except for the masters to obey and every woman being a love slave, as you so quaintly describe the velvet-thighed gender. Get rid of the masters and accept that many women will scorn you but that there are many others who will not, and you have the unimaginative man’s ideal of the afterworld. Not so bad, though. Certainly, a step up from our native planet.

  “As for this fellow, he was born among the poor, and he stayed among them. But the poor are the salt of the earth. By salt, we do not mean that excretion made by certain geological phenomena. We mean the salt left on the skin after much labor and heavy sweating, the salt accumulating from lack of bathing. That stinking mineral and the strata of rotting flaked-off skin cells is the salt of the earth.”

  Davis climbed onto the boat, stood up, and pointed at the man’s jetting penis. “Ugh! Lower than the beasts! Let’s throw the ape overboard and get going.”

  Faustroll laughed. “Doubtless he dreams of Ann, our local Helen of Troy. We, too, have done so and are not ashamed of it. However, how do you know that he is not dreaming of a man? Or of his beloved llama?”

  “You’re disgusting, too,” Davis said. He bent over and clutched the man’s ankles. “Help me.”

  Faustroll put his hands under the man’s arms and hoisted him. “Uh! Why does gravity increase its strength when we lift a corpse or a drunk or a drug-sodden? Answer us that, our Philistine friend. We will answer for you. It is because gravity is not an unvarying force, always obeying what we call the laws of physics. Gravity does vary, depending upon the circumstances. Thus, contrary to Heraclitus, what goes up does not always come down.”

  “You chatter on like a monkey,” Davis said. “Here we go! One, two, three, heave!”

  The man splashed into the water on his side, sank under the surface, then came up sputtering. Waist-high in the River, he began walking to the bank.

  “Thank us for your much-needed bath!” Faustroll said, and he laughed. Then he began hauling up the anchor-stone.

  But Davis pointed inshore and said, “Here they some!”

  Ten soldiers, wooden-helmeted and carrying spears, were running toward them.

  “Someone’s reported us!” Davis said, and he groaned. Two minutes later, they were being marched off to jail.

  4

  Ivar and Ann had not been killed. The Viking had fought through many soldiers, slaying and wounding many, yet had somehow reached his goal though he was bleeding from many wounds. His bloodstained ax had crashed down upon the head of the Inca, and Pachacuti had ceased to be the emperor. Ivar had made no attempt to kill Ann. That he was knocked out just after smashing the Inca’s skull in may been the only reason he did not slay her.

  Under the law of the Western Sun Kingdom, Ivar should have been kept alive to be tortured for days until his body could take it no longer. But the man who seized power had another idea. Tamcar was the general of a regiment but was not next in line for the throne. He immediately launched his soldiers against Pachacuti’s, killed them, and declared himself the Inca. His assassins murdered the other generals, and, after some fighting, the survivors of the regiments surrendered to the new Inca. So much for the tradition of an orderly succession.

  Though Tamcar publicly denounced Ivar, he must have been secretly grateful to him. He sentenced him to the Leap of Death, but that gave Ivar a thin chance to win his freedom and exile from the kingdom. Ann Pullen, Faustroll, and Davis had had no part in slaying Pachacuti, yet they were judged guilty by association with the Viking. Actually, the new Inca was just ridding himself of all those he considered dangerous to him. He rounded up a score of high-placed men and sent them out onto the gangplank. All but two tell. This pleased the people, though some were disappointed because not all failed. Tamcar sought out others whom he suspected might want to take the throne away from him. They, along with criminals, were forced to make the heap. The mob loved the spectacles. After these warm-ups, the main event came. Ivar and his companions now had their opportunity to thrill the populace. Not to mention themselves.

  Two weeks after Pachacuti’s death, Davis and his fellow prisoners were taken to the tower at high noon. They had been held in a stockade, thus had had the space in which to exercise vigorously. Also, they had practiced long jumping on the runway and the sand pit provided for those who lead to make the Leap of Death. The Emperor wanted his gamesters to come as near as they could to the receiving gangplank before falling. The people loved a good show, and the Emperor loved what the people loved. He sat on a chair on the platform from which projected the “freedom” plank.

  The drums beat and the unicorn-fish horns were blown. The crowd below cheered at the announcement of the first jump.

  Faustroll, standing behind Davis, said, “Remember, our friend. The degree of force of gravity depends upon the attitude of the one defying it. If there were such a thing as good luck, we would ask that it be given to you.”

  “Good luck to you, too,” Davis said. He sounded very nervous, even to himself.

  The captain of the royal guards shouted that he would begin the count. Before the two minutes were up, Davis had sped down the thirty-foot-long plank, brought his right foot down hard on its end, and soared up. It was then that the rapture seized him. Afterward, he believed that that was the only thing that bore him to safety. It had been given to him by God, of course. He had been saved by the same Being who had
saved Daniel in the lion’s den.

  Nevertheless, he fell hard forward as his feet, just behind the toes, were caught by the end of the plank. His chest and face slammed into the hard yew wood near the edge of the plank. His hands gripped the sides of the plank, though he was not in danger of falling off. He lay for some time before getting up. Cheers, jeers, and boos rose from the mob on the ground. He paid no attention to them as he limped along the plank to the platform and was taken to one side by guards. His heart beat fast, and he did not quit trembling for a long time. By then, Faustroll was running down the gangplank, his face set with determination.

  He, too, soared, though Davis doubted that the Frenchman was caught in the ecstasy he had felt. He landed with no inch to spare but managed to make himself fall forward. If he had gone backward and thus sat on the air, he would have fallen.

  He was grinning when he got to Davis’s side. “We are such splendid athletes!” he cried.

  The drums beat, and the horn blew for the third time. Ann, as naked as her predecessors, her skin white with fear, ran along the gangplank. Bent forward, her arms and long slim legs pumping, she sprung over the void without hesitation.

  “What courage! What audacity!” Faustroll cried. “What a woman!”

  Davis, despite his dislike for her, admitted to himself that the Frenchman was right. But her bravery and strength were not enough to propel her to a good landing. The end of the plank struck her in her midriff and her elbows slammed onto the wood. Her breath whooshed out. For a moment, she hung, legs kicking over the emptiness. Her efforts to catch her breath were agonizing. Then she stretched out her arms, moving her hands along the edge of the plank. Her face was against the wood. She began to slip backward as her grip weakened.

  Ivar bellowed, his voice riding aver the clamor of the mob and the cries of the men on the platforms. “You are a Valkyrie, Ann! Fit to be my woman! Hang on! You can do it! Pull yourself up and forward! I will meet you at the platform! If I should fall, I will meet you again somewhere on the River!”