‘Look at her! Look at her!’ Drummond said, pointing at Rachel. ‘The devoted wife! The trusting spouse! My beautiful innocent loving Rachel! She believes you! She thinks I was trying to shoot you!’
‘Or her. Or both of us,’ Gribardsun said.
‘Drummond, you’re sick,’ Rachel said. ‘I just can’t believe that you would try to kill anybody. I’ve known you too long. And yet, I never knew you to be jealous, at least, not abnormally so. Something has happened to you, and it makes me sick, just simply sick in the pit of my soul. But…’
‘Go to hell! Go to hell, both of you!’ Drummond said. He looked at von Billmann, who had been sitting with head bowed, sipping on his coffee.
‘You can go to hell too!’
‘What did I do to you?’ von Billmann said.
‘You believe them, not me!’ Drummond said, and stamped off into the darkness.
The others were silent. They had been sitting on inflatable cushions around a wood fire. Their huts were two white cones in the firelight. From thirty yards away came the sound of many voices as the tribesmen called back and forth and laughed at jokes. They were happy. Nobody was sick, and they had plenty of meat.
The explorers had made their camp some distance from the others because they had wanted to discuss their plans for tomorrow without interruption. They intended to study the region for three days before moving on. But Drummond’s outbursts had cut off the planned conversation.
Rachel looked out into the starless and moonless night and said, ‘I hope he comes back soon. It’s dangerous wandering around out there. He’s only got his pistol, too.’
‘I’d suggest a physical and mental examination for him,’ Gribardsun said. ‘But he would object, and he might be justified. I don’t know how objective I myself could be in my examination.’
‘Do you suppose it could be temporal shock?’ Rachel said.
‘I think so,’ von Billmann said. ‘I’m only just now getting my sense of reality back. For a long time everything seemed distorted, out of focus slightly, you might say. Weird. Simply not true to reality. How about you, John? Did you feel anything like that?’
‘The first three or four days,’ Gribardsun said. ‘Though even that was not an overpowering feeling by any means.’
Von Billmann went to bed. The tribesmen crawled into their tents and tied the flaps shut. Rachel and Gribardsun sat before the fire and stared into its flames or looked now and then into the snow-white night. The only sound was the crackling of the firewood, the distant howl of a wolf, and an even more distant bellowing from some aurochs in some snow-walled area.
After a while, Rachel looked up across the fire at Gribardsun. Tears were running down her cheeks. ‘Drummond and I should be so happy,’ she said. ‘We don’t really have any reasons for friction between us. We share so many common interests, and before he got moody he was sometimes amusing, though too serious most of the time. But not always. And we were chosen to go on this expedition, and that alone should have kept him happy. But…’ She wiped the tears away and swallowed and then said, ‘But something happened. He’s so miserable and unhappy. And everything is just ruined for us, just ruined. It’ll never be like it was. It just can’t be. And if he keeps on the way he has, he’ll end up trying to kill you or me or both. Or probably he’ll kill himself. He has a tendency to turn his anger inward against himself.’
Gribardsun said, ‘Most human beings seem to go wrong in one way or another to a greater or lesser degree. They’re much less stable than animals, and this instability is the price humans pay for their sentience and their complicated emotional system. Self-consciousness and the power of speech are the requisites, though not the only ones, for progress in man. But man pays for his greater potentiality by a greater vulnerability to imbalance. And your Drummond is just one of the ten billion imbalances of the twenty-first century.’
‘And that theory makes me one of the ten billion unbalanced too, right?’ she said. ‘Well, God knows that I know that. But what about you, John?’
‘Human, all too human,’ he said, smiling slightly. ‘But my early life, the really formative period, was rather peculiar. I’m not sure that I look at the world through an entirely human prism. But that doesn’t really make much difference in my response to the world. The kind of imbalance that I am talking about is largely genetic. The very nature of a man’s nervous system forces him to stumble; he makes mistakes and errors and reacts in a unique egotistic manner to the world, and he gets sick. Mental sickness is the sentient’s way of life, you might say.
‘I suppose I was lucky. I have an unusual stability. But for that I must pay a price, of course. What that price is…’
‘Oh, you’re so mysterious!’ she said. ‘You’ve been talking a lot and you’ve said almost nothing meaningful! What is all this about your early years? Weren’t you raised by human beings? Surely you aren’t some sort of Mowgli or Romulus or Remus? Everybody would have heard about it if you had been, and, besides, the very idea is ridiculous. And I happen to know that you were born on the Inner Kenyan Reservation and you were raised by your parents and the black natives.’
‘That’s what the records say.’
‘I know what you’ve been doing with all this mysterious nonsensical talk. You’ve been taking my mind off Drummond!
You’re very clever. But thoughtful. I thank you for your concern. But I have to worry about him. What is he doing out there, wandering in the snow? He might get lost or some bear or lion might get him, or…’
‘This isn’t mountain country so there aren’t any bears, and besides, the bears are hibernating,’ he said. ‘And we haven’t seen a lion for days.’
‘The wolves!’ she said.
‘When he left he knew what he was walking into,’ Gribardsun said. ‘I suggest that you go to bed and put him out of your mind, if you can. He’ll be coming home soon enough, and in the morning we’ll see how he feels. We do have work to do, you know, and…’
He started to rise, but she said, ‘Sit down, John. Please! Just for a moment! Don’t leave me!’
He lowered himself on the cushion again and said, ‘Very well. I’ll stay a little while, if it will help you.’
She leaned forward and said, ‘John! Do you or do you not love me?’
He smiled slightly again, and she said, ‘Don’t laugh at me!’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking of - well, never mind. There were women bold enough even in my youth. I knew more than one who would come out with the same question if she felt the need for an answer. But I sometimes forget how free modern women are. That, however, is neither here nor there, is it? You asked, and you shall receive. I find you very attractive, Rachel, and if you were free, I might ask you to marry me. But you aren’t free, and I am old-fashioned. I don’t believe in adultery, and I wouldn’t try to break up a marriage or take advantage of the fact that it’s breaking up. I don’t love you with the intensity or the passion you meant when you asked me if I loved you. I do like you very much. But I don’t love you.’
There was a silence. Something white, a huge bird, glided past the snow-laden branches of the trees just on the edge of the firelight.
Finally, Rachel said, ‘I thought you weren’t in love with me, but I was hoping that you were and that you felt you couldn’t say or do anything because I was still married. But you don’t love me, and I thank you for telling me so honestly, even though it does hurt.’
‘I seldom have regrets,’ he said, ‘since regret changes nothing. But I am sorry that this whole affair developed. It’s not only making you and Drummond unhappy, and making Robert miserable and myself uneasy; it’s decreasing the scientific efficiency of all four of us.’
‘And we have an obligation to those who sent us here,’ she said. ‘I know. But what can I do to make things better?’
‘Call me when Drummond gets in,’ he said. I’ll get up, and we’ll have this out before breakfast, if he shows up soon enough, of course.’<
br />
‘I don’t know that he’ll listen to reason any more.’
‘Then he won’t, and we’ll proceed from there.’
‘You’re so practical,’ she said. ‘And so self-controlled.’
‘I’ve had much practice,’ he said. He rose and walked to bis hut and then turned. ‘I don’t like to leave you alone, but there really is no point in staying up. If Drummond hasn’t returned by morning, I may go out after him. He is an adult and so shouldn’t have to be watched as if he were a child. But I am the head of this expedition, and it’s up to me to keep watch on my people.’
Rachel sat for ten minutes by the fire and then went into her hut.
* * *
SIX
The first paleness of dawn acted as alarm clocks on the Wota’shaimg. The light seemed to penetrate the skins of their tents. The light touched their eyelids, and their lids opened. They crawled out of their tents into the start of a light snowfall. They went into the woods and emptied themselves, and then the women poked the embers buried under deep ashes and piled on wood shavings made by flint knives and then put on more wood. The fires were roofed and partially walled with boughs laid over each other in two layers. The snow was beginning to pile up on the fire huts, as they were called. The men gathered around the fire, hawking, blowing their noses, spitting, and grumbling. They talked about the chances for hunting, which did not look good. Fortunately they had plenty of meat and the partially digested contents of bison and deer stomachs. They could afford to lie around the camp for a week, if they had to do so. By lying around they did not mean idleness. They would be repairing their spears and harpoons and working new flint and ivory and bone points, carving bone and ivory figurines of animals for use in magic, and figures of women to bring about increased fertility.
The three scientists ate their breakfast in a gloomy silence. Immediately afterward, Gribardsun said that he would go out and look for Drummond. The others volunteered to go with him, but he said that he could travel faster alone. He put food, ammunition, and a small camera in his backpack and left. He carried collapsible snowshoes in the pack too, but would not use these until out of sight of the tribesmen. It was agreed that the explorers would not introduce any technological innovations to the Magdalenians. Snowshoes were, according to the twenty-first century anthropologists, not known to the Europe of 12,000 B.C. But the explorers used them only when they were unobserved by humans.
Gribardsun thought that this was an unnecessary precaution. Obviously, since late Paleolithic Europe had not known snowshoes, then they would not be introduced by the time travelers. Thus, why worry? Use them in sight of the tribesmen. Teach the tribesmen how to make them. The knowledge would be lost because it had been lost.
However, the agreement had been made, so he would stick to it.
Once around a low hill and out of sight of the Wota’shaimg, he put on the snowshoes and set out swiftly on Drummond’s trail. The physicist had gone around the hill and cut on a straight line across the plain, which was about two miles wide. He had not, as Gribardsun had suspected he would, hung around to spy on him and Rachel. Evidently he wanted to get as far away as possible.
As the Englishman pushed across the flat and comparatively treeless plain, the snow began to fall more heavily. Before he reached the low hills at the other end of the plain, the tracks were completely filled in.
Gribardsun stopped among the trees and considered. He could keep on a straight line, hoping that Drummond had done the same. Or he could describe large circles, hoping to come across some sign of the man. Or he could do the sensible thing and return to camp. Let Silverstein, who had put himself in this mess, get himself out of it.
But Gribardsun’s obligations included doing all he could to make the expedition a success. If he allowed Silverstein to die, he would be cheating the world of the physicist’s labors. There was an immense amount of work for each member of the expedition and if one were eliminated, the others couldn’t possibly replace him. Besides, he just did not like the idea of letting the man wander around until he died even if it was his own fault. There was a time when he would not have cared if anyone lived or died unless the person’s fate had happened to touch his own interests. But time had changed that.
He decided to take the straight line for another half a mile and then describe a spiral. He had traveled perhaps two miles and seen not a sign of Drummond when he heard faint sounds far to his right. He went through a pass between two low hills covered with firs. Beyond was a series of broad low hills which ran for half a mile. On the other side was a low mountain, and at the base of this were twelve men. They were on their bellies, working their way through the snow behind various large boulders. Their goal was Drummond Silverstein, half hidden behind a large boulder. He was firing about once a minute to drive the men back. But they were slowly decreasing the distance between them.
Gribardsun watched them for a while. They were big men with light brown or blond hair and light skins. They wore bear or bison skins; they carried spears, axes, and leather slings and stones. Two lay face down on the snow with small pools of frozen blood radiating out from them. They knew what the thunderstick could do and yet they were still going after the man using it. This required high courage or a low intelligence or possibly a combination of both.
Gribardsun walked out from behind the tree he had been using as a spy post and slogged through the snow toward the fight. A few seconds later he dived into the snow. A bullet had screamed by his head.
He did not cry out to Drummond that he had made a mistake. Drummond must have recognized him; the fact that he was carrying a rifle was enough to identify him. It was possible that Drummond was in a near mindless frenzy and was shooting at anything that moved. That often happened to men without experience when they were first in battle. However, he did not think that this was the situation. Drummond had certainly been cool and deliberate enough about firing at the natives with his revolver.
Gribardsun began to work his way to the left toward a stand of snow-laden trees part way up the hill. But the natives had seen him, and five of them were coming through the snow toward him. They were yelling and brandishing their spears in their gloved hands. They certainly made excellent targets for Silverstein, but he did not fire at them. It was then that Gribardsun decided that Silverstein had shot at him knowing who he was. Now Silverstein was hoping that the natives would do what he had failed to do.
Gribardsun, still lying in the snow, raised his rifle, which was set for single-shot action, and fired over the heads of the men advancing upon him. He did not think that would stop them, but he would make the effort. After that, if they continued, they deserved what they got.
They kept advancing, though they sank into the snow to their knees.
Gribardsun fired with about twelve seconds between each shot. He wanted the survivors to appreciate the fact that no shot was now missing and that he was taking his time. But three fell before the two remaining decided to make off. They slogged away at right angles to their former path, determined to get away from both riflemen.
By then Silverstein had hit two more men in the snow, and the rest had decided that it would be best to retreat.
Gribardsun had quit firing, but Silverstein knocked over every man who stood up.
The total was fourteen dead. Somewhere nearby was a tribe which had lost much of its adult male population.
Gribardsun thought that Silverstein had truly gone insane.
By then he was behind a tree. He adjusted the bullhorn amplifier around his neck and roared, ‘Throw your gun out, and come out with your hands up!’
‘So you can shoot me down in cold blood!’ Drummond’s amplifier thundered back.
‘You know I wouldn’t do that!’ Gribardsun said. ‘You’re a sick man, Drummond! You need medical care! That’s all I’m concerned about! I want you to get well so you can do your work! We need you! And you need us!’
‘I don’t need you or anybody! I’m just going to keep on mo
ving until I can go no more! And then I’ll die!’
Gribardsun was silent for a while. The snow had ceased falling, and the grayness overhead was breaking up. Several times in the next ten minutes the sun shone through momentary brighter patches. It fell on the dark bodies scattered around the open arena. From downwind came the faraway cry of wolves. These may have smelled the blood and might be on their way to the promised feast. If so, they would be late, because six ravens had just flown in and alighted near a body. But there was enough to feed a hundred ravens.
The big black birds cautiously approached the body and then, deciding that it was not playing possum, tore at it. The eyes disappeared down black throats; the lips were pecked and stripped away; the tongue began to shred away in sharp beaks.
Gribardsun watched the eating indifferently. If anything, he approved. Ravens were one method for getting rid of garbage, of keeping the world clean.
But Silverstein could not stand the sight. He fired, and a raven flew apart in a spray of black feathers. The others took off cawing and flew around describing black interrogation marks. When they fluttered back to the original corpse, they were scared away by another shot. This missed them but struck the head of the corpse and split it open. The ravens returned a second time and began to eat the blood and the brains. Silverstein did not shoot at them again.
Gribardsun stuck his head completely around the tree trunk, only to jerk it back. He was too late, of course, but the bullet gouged out a big piece of trunk and screamed off to the right. A few pieces of wood were stuck in the left side of his face. He picked them out while the blood froze on his cheek.
A few minutes later he jumped. Something had cracked loudly in the woods behind him.
It could have been the cold splitting open a branch, but he could not afford not to investigate. He crawled away, keeping the tree between himself and Silverstein until he got over a low ridge. His scouting revealed nothing except a fox which exploded from beneath a snow-heavy bush, and, a minute later, the hare which the fox had been hunting.
Time's Last Gift Page 12
