Charlie Broner told the tale of the flying girl who had appeared to him in a moonlit garden in Buenos Aires while he strolled trying to sober up from a drinking party. Under the influence of liquor he had thought the winged creature an imagery of his besotted brain and gleefully demanded that she give him a ride in the air. He awakened from his stupor to find himself being carried over a jungle when the sun was dawning. Twice he had tried to make his escape from Mentor, but each time had been brought back. Being an architect by profession he was now employed in construction of the underground cities.
Eugene Fargo’s tale was of different tinder. His name was not unknown to me, and I recognized him immediately as a sculptor of great promise. I could even recall having seen an article in the News stating that the artist had purchased a cay off the Floridan coast where he planned to work unmolested by “lion hunters” that were his pests.
With his negro valet he had sneaked off to the island with several uncompleted pieces of work. One morning as he came down to the water for his morning plunge he was startled to see what appeared to be a gigantic bird barely skimming the water and struggling with one wing to keep afloat. He watched it struggle nearer, but it was too weak and at last after a hard battle gave up, its strength gone, and fell into the water. There it continued to fight, keeping the one good wing above the water.
Admiring the heroic creature, Fargo called to his servant to help launch a boat and they rowed out to the stricken creature. One can picture their wonder in discovering the bird to be a woman! This was before the flying men had been discovered!
So he had nursed the winged girl back to health. Her wing had been broken in a storm that had carried her to his island. She allowed him to model her in clay, and it is needless to say that the sculptor fell in love with his model. Her name was Mary. She told him the stirring history of her people. They were in love, but Mary longed for her jungle home. She tried to prevail upon the artist to accompany her home. She begged that he come so he might model her people—to teach them his art. But Fargo refused. He had a small son and daughter though his wife was dead, and he had no wish to desert the world.
The wing healed and the girl continued to plead, but the man was adamantine. The wing was strong again, and the girl took little flights to strengthen it. Fargo watched each flight fearful that the girl would fly away, for he loved her, more than he loved his wife. He won in his pleading to keep her with him another month and again another month. He longed to clip the wings of his love, but he was too much a man for that.
He had a large fortune in trust for his children and they were well cared for by his sister. He almost made the decision to go, but at the end he was still as uncertain. The day before, Mary declared she must return to her people and that night the two fell asleep after many hours of pleading for each to do his will. That is Fargo fell asleep, but not Mary. She must return to Mentor and the man must go with her. She slipped the clay model of herself in her bosom. There were to be no tale-tell marks left.
So Fargo awoke with the dawn to find himself bound hand and foot more than a thousand feet above a watery expanse. With night they dropped on a deserted sandy beach. She fed him fruit and gave him water, but would not remove his bonds. The next night found them at Mentor.
Thus had Eugene Fargo come to the jungles, and he confessed to me that he was happy that Mary had taken the matter into her hands! He missed his children, but he was happier than he had ever been before and was doing better work. He had a school for sculptoring started, in which he taught those who had a talent. He took me to his workshop that he had fitted out in the lower branches of several trees.
Life In Mentor
THE floor was of strong branches interwoven, the leaves his walls, and the sun coming through the tree tops gave him his light. He climbed to his shop by means of a rope unless his pupils or Mary were kind enough to carry him up there. It was a pretty sight of a morning to see half a dozen or so of the winged youth seated in a semi-circle around their teacher working with clay near the city. The Patriarch had ordered some clay. He had discovered a bed of fine workable marble to be imported for him to work with, although it would be gruelling work for six winged men to bring the blocks of stone from afar in the dead of night. At present he was working on a full length figure of the Patriarch.
There were also other schools for art. The Mentorites were an artistic people as the paintings on their walls prove. And the Patriarch seemed anxious to cultivate the Fine Arts among his people, for he well knew that a civilization has its foundations in Art.
From time to time I had been seeing Miss Lois either in the clearings under the trees or in the lounge rooms below. I knew from the very first that I was in love with this beautiful angelic creature, but I did not know if she harbored a like feeling for me. Kindly, she answered all my questions, told me of her work, advised me and helped me in whatever way she could. And several times she was good enough to take me for short flights above the trees. Once she suggested a tour of Mentor for me; and, as she was going with Doctor Morris in a round of inspection of the hospital, I was invited to accompany them.
Morris was borne aloft by a winged youth and another was provided for me, and the five of us went from city to city. Life in the five other settlements was much the same as in Number One City. Each were designated by its number.
The Mentorite is a fine flyer. Their wings are very powerful—as from childhood they are taught to develop them. And part of their training is to carry heavy burdens as they fly, the weight of the burden increasing with their years so that a hundred pound weight is nothing for them to carry a distance of from five hundred to a thousand miles in a long sustained flight!
Endurance contests were encouraged. The longest sustained flight record among them is for one hundred and fifty hours! On many a fine day it is not an uncommon sight to see a tiny dot high in the sky that looks no more than a speck of dust and know that it is either a man or woman out to break a record. They carry enough food and water to last them for a long time. Wearing heavier clothing they climb to tremendous heights, as high as it is possible for human beings to climb and yet survive.
One morning, Lois asked if I should care to witness the morning drill. I quickly assented. I knew now how to place my weight in a position that is best for my bearer and, as easily as if I were a child, the broad wings of Lois bore me up through one of the passages to the air above.
Early morning over the jungle is pleasant indeed. The air is fresh and keen, and the warm odor of growing things fills the air. Lois picked out a comfortable crotch in a big jungle giant from where I could watch the maneuvres as from a ring-side seat. Thousands of the winged people were already abroad, and many more were coming up through the trees. I would have been glad to climb with Lois to the sun that morning, but with a smile and a wave she left me in my seat as she hurried to join her fellows.
There were other spectators beside myself. Later Miss Lois showed me that many of the trees were hung with giant vines and also ropes that had been camouflaged in such a manner as to look like the living vines. By this means the Earth-bound might climb to the lowest branches of the trees and from there he would find steps leading upward, small ladders of interwoven branches. After discovering that, I spent a great deal of my time in the trees.
The Drill
NEAR me today was seated a captive, like myself, who was familiar with all the features of the drill and pointed out to me the more interesting exercises. He was a youth scarcely eighteen, as pretty as a girl. He had come to Mentor when he was but twelve years old.
He pointed out the eight sentinels stationed at the eight points of the compass. They had taken their places several thousand feet up in the sky. They were the outlooks and would warn the companies below of the approach of aircraft. Once in a while we see an aeroplane far off in the sky. Usually, however, we were warned of its arrival long before it could be seen and under pain of death we were forced to hide ourselves in the trees. One could only recall t
he fate of the woman we had seen from the plane on the day we had come looking for Mentor to be sure not to desire a like fate.
The winged men and women were now gathering into squads and companies, and at the sound of a sharp whistle a line was formed in the air as neatly as an infantry could on the ground—as battalion after battalion took its place. I marveled at the dexterity with which the flying people mastered the air. It was a marvelous sight when all the companies had fallen into place and, with wings outstretched, maintained themselves in one position as easily as a man stands upright on his feet.
How brilliant that scene was in the bright tropic sunlight, with the variegated shining wings of every hue and color known to the birds. I noted that each company was made up of those whose wings were of one color. The first company were all white winged, the second black, the third golden, the fourth red, the fifth green, the sixth blue and so on through the natural colors and on into those whose wings were of various color combinations. Last and most beautiful were those of the rain-bowed wings, and among them was Miss Lois who ranked a captain!
At the sound of a second whistle all was very still, and I saw that the Patriarch had arrived. He took his place in front of the first company. He was wearing a costume of snowy white and was a striking creature with his great black wings.
He now blew his whistle and the companies came to rigid attention, their bodies stiffened, their wings quivering under the tension. Immediately two blasts of the whistle shrilled out and with it came a roar that was almost deafening. Thirty thousand pairs of wings were beating the air as the flyers arose, company after company, straight toward the heavens.
Never was a company of soldiers better trained. Every body was as straight and as motionless as a ramrod; each man kept his distance from his companion as if the distance had been measured by a yardstick. Rising, they looked as if they would never halt again; until finally the whistle sounded. Immediately the battalions broke order, half their number flying rapidly in one direction, the other the opposite. A thousand yards apart they came to a halt and we could see that they had separated according to the colors of their wings, the solid-hued wings on one side, the variegated upon the other.
Again the whistle, and the two parties were galvanized into action. With a great roar of their wings and with equal speed the two contingents headed directly for each other so that it appeared as if there was to be a head-on collision. They met and now we were treated to a sight that was intensely stirring, an aerial sham-battle. Their only weapon was a small blunt stick that was brought from a pocket. Its tip was chalked with red. The trick appeared to be in parrying with one’s opponent until one or the other was marked by the red stick. The stricken one immediately dropped out of the battle. And such flying there was, such banking, such whirling, such spins, such spirals, such flying as never before witnessed.
The battle lasted no more than ten minutes, one after another of the vanquished falling out Until the trees were literally covered with them as they watched for the end. A roar went up when the Patriarch’s snowy bosom was marked with red! No more than two thousand were left in the air when the whistle shrilled again. The majority of those remaining in the air had variegated wings and only a few hundred of the solid colored remained aloft. The victory was given to the former.
At times, my informant told me that there were battles between male and female and although the male predominated to a great degree the female contingents often won.
Now the companies again took their places in the air, and there followed a half hour of drill with the huge body moving as one man, turning, twisting, dropping, soaring, charging and retreating. I saw again the formation of the circle as each man and woman scattered at a command and flew outward and upward until a tremendous circle was formed, a circle of five ranks rising higher and higher.
When the drill was done Miss Lois came for me and carried me to the ground again. She was scarcely winded from the trial. She left me as she hurried to her duties in the hospital.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jim Takes A Mate
DAYS went by and yet I received no orders from the Patriarch. The fact that I was allowed to remain idle pointed to the conclusion that he was still considering my application to organize a news sheet; but I could only wonder at the Patriarch’s procrastination. I could see no reason for him to hesitate.
By now I knew all the ins and outs of the city. Twice I made a half-hearted attempt to escape knowing beforehand the futility of such a course, and I was thwarted each time. I spent a great deal of time with Wormley who was still waiting for his leg to heal.
And one day a summons came. I had been called before the Patriarch! I was all a-quiver, but the cold visage of the black-winged man chilled me. “Jim Kennedy,” said he, “I have learned that twice you have made an attempt to leave bounds! Your reason, please!”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I was merely seeking proof, sire,” I answered as laconically as I could. And I saw that my answer was an almost imperceptible smile.
“The second charge against you . . . is that you have been with us . . . five weeks . . . yet you have not performed the first duty that is expected of you! And that is to take to yourself a mate.”
Again I shrugged my shoulders. “The women of Mentor are all beautiful,” I said lamely, thinking instead of the beauty of Miss Lois.
“All the more reason you should have chosen. Mentor has a purpose in the world, and it is the duty of every man and woman within her gates to do what he or she can to further our work, and he who shirks that duty is of no use to us! Our way of dealing with such as you . . . is simple. Since you do not choose for yourself, we choose for you!”
He clapped his hands shortly. I was hot under the collar and I was ready to tell him what I thought of him and his nation when the door opened and in came Miss Lois!
“We do not beat around the bush in Mentor,” went on the dictator. “We have no silly conventions, nor prattle by which we try to disguise our purpose here. We know to build a great nation we must have a foundation on which to build, and our foundation necessarily is strength. That strength is our young!”
“This young woman,” he went on, “is one of our finest specimens of girlhood. She is of a direct line of eight generations of the dated, and because of the strength of her blood you are commanded to take her to mate in hope that you can bring forth a child that is worthy of Mentor! Let me hear differently and things will go hard with you.”
I listened wordlessly to the harangue. The man’s cold-blooded eugenic creed disgusted me and I felt that I should stand up for my rights as a man and tell him what I thought of him and his noxious doctrine, only the presence of the girl standing quietly by, held me back.
Seething within I demanded, “Has Miss Lois nothing to say to this?”
The man must have read my feelings in my face and for the first time I saw a true smile on his lips. “Lois has already announced the fact that she is quite willing to accept you, Jim Kennedy. In that you are to be complimented.”
I don’t know what emotion swept me then. I was suddenly elated and at the same time greatly embarassed. I stole a glance at the girl’s face and she was not looking at me nor appeared embarrassed in any way. Such procedure was the rule in Mentor.
Concluding that the interview was over I waited only for the word of dismissal. Yet the Patriarch was not through.
“Today,” he stated, “a shipment from Cuzco has arrived. In Section Three of the third level you will find all the necessary equipment for the work you have asked to carry out. You are permitted to choose what youths you will need in your project. We shall expect weekly reports from you and I shall require that you confer with me on the policy which I wish you to pursue. That is all now. You may retire!”
So that was the way the Patriarch did things. My heart suddenly grew warm. I took several steps forward and stretched out my hand. Patriarch Mentor took it and we clasped hands heartily. It was the beginining of our friendship!
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br /> Outside his chambers I faced Miss Lois who had accompanied me. I did not know just what to say. She looked at me and smiled gently. “Our methods are strange to you, Jim Kennedy? I know from what Howard Wormley tells me that you do not go about such matters on the Outside as we do here.”
I admitted as much, but I hurried on to tell her that my feelings had always been directed to her ever since I had first seen her; that I loved her and my reticence was due only to the fact that I feared she did not (feel the same toward me.
And Becomes Acquainted With Her
SHE blushed prettily and then declared that she had loved me the minute they had brought my mangled body to her. She went on to tell me of hours she spent at my bedside when it was thought I would die, and the tears she had shed! Wormley, she said, had known all along! You may be sure that I made up my mind to tell him just what I thought of him for not having warned me.
“And now,” said she in a tone that was strangely matter-of-fact for the occasion, “I suppose you are anxious to see the machineries they have brought for you?”
She led me through the corridors down to the lower level and into the rooms where my newspaper was to take life. The delight I had expected to feel when I should first realize I had a printing press under my hand was not there. Instead I wanted to runaway somewhere with this Earthly angel, hold her in my arms and tell her how much I adored her.
Instead I pretended enthusiasm in the presses. I could never rival the great New York dailies, but I would be able to work out a fairly good weekly paper on the shiny new machinery that awaited me. Everything was there to the smallest detail, even the conventional mats and great rolls of paper ready for use. I had to admit that Patriarch Mentor did things in a big way.
Three fairly large chambers had been set aside for me and with the aid of six husky fellows we placed everything to my satisfaction, the various presses, the heavy rollers, and the bundle machine. By trade I am only a reporter, but I had learned my profession in the hard grind of a country newspaper and knew printing from pi to em! I arranged a desk of rough wood under a bright light, placed on it one of the three brand new typewriters, a stack of paper, pencils and what-not in preparation of the work to come.
Collected Tales (Jerry eBooks) Page 7
