Oh yes, he would have been interested to know what it meant. What profound information regarding the origin of language! What a page to add to the beautiful book of prehistory inscribed in the strata of the Earth!
I shall be one of them, Alglave resolved. Whatever sacrifice of dignity I have to make, even if I have to be the humblest of their servants…their property…their slave…I must know!
That was easy to say. But how could he do it? By surrendering to them, voluntarily becoming their captive? Would they even consent to that? Might they not tear him apart, especially if he dared to present himself during the doubtless sacred hour of the council? Or, if they disdained to put him to death, would they not chase him ignominiously out of the forest?
These reflections ran through Alglave’s mind in a disorderly fashion. They did not discourage him. The scientific autosuggestion, the hypnotic state of Pliny perishing in the eruption of Vesuvius, had him solidly in his grip. He scarcely gave a moment’s thought to retreat, solely preoccupied with overcoming the obstacles.
As he was thinking and scheming, he heard a slight scratching sound close by. He turned round and saw, in the semi-darkness, a kind of black child: a little anthropoid ape staring at him with round and fearful eyes. Where had it come from? What was it dong there? He did not have time to wonder; the infant had just uttered a cry—a fearful cry provoked by a movement of the naturalist’s head.
Immediately, there was silence around the circumference of the council. The child repeated its cry. The men of the woods got up, and a dozen of them hurled themselves toward the hollow tree.
Alglave did not wait for them to surprise him in hiding; he wanted to greet them in broad daylight. He came out of his shelter, having gently moved the anthropoid child out of the way, and stood there in a placid and resigned stance, avoiding—as he had been advised by the natives—meeting the eyes of the new arrivals.
Suddenly, he felt himself lifted off the ground, choking in an irresistible embrace. He thought his last moment had come, and put his hand into his pocket mechanically to search for a revolver. Howls went up, and the formidable grip relaxed slightly.
Between his half-closed eyelids, Alglave observed. He was surrounded by an agitated, curious multitude of black heads, which contained powerfully-toothed jaws, and which, for the moment, seemed ferocious and sanguinary. His life was hanging in the balance. Whatever he tried to do, his efforts would be miserable, pitiful and futile. His extermination by the hands of a single one of these giants would take no more than half a minute.
He then had the singular sensation noted by Livingstone in the claws of a lion: an alarm so great that it abolished terror, an impossibility of any pain resulting from the peril.
He heard and saw a debate engaged in regard to him; a few muscular hands were advanced menacingly, but then there was a respite. A man of the woods, a colossus among these colossi, came forward. He made a few calming gestures to the crowd, and spoke at length. Calm was restored. The one holding him prisoner carried him into the clearing; he was deposited on the ground.
Gradually, he recovered lucid emotion, apprehensive as to what would happen now.
He saw that he was the object of an intense curiosity. No similar creature had every appeared in the Kyamo forest. His blond hair, his pale face, his pale gray clothing and his double-peaked cap made him an extraordinary and mysterious beast from the gorillas’ viewpoint, unknown throughout eternity in their sylvan shade. Negroes were familiar to them; they had fought them and kept them out of their domain, considering them rivals less redoubtable than lions. But what was this? How had it got here? Was it a threat to the security of the race? Anxiety appeared on their ponderous faces.
Was it or was it not necessary to sacrifice him? Should they kill him, chase him away disdainfully, or keep him in servitude?
These questions were raised—doubtless along with ill-defined arguments—but were finally settled; that, at least, was Alglave’s supposition. Eventually, a man of the woods approached, seemingly intent on delivering some supreme violence. Thrown down, with his arms pinned, Alglave felt utterly helpless. He closed his eyes and waited.
No blow fell. The individual that was threatening him was shoved aside by his companions. On reopening his eyes, the naturalist understood from the general attitude that, provisionally, his life had been spared. He was transported out of the clearing and laid down between the tree-roots, under the guard of two anthropoids, and his limbs were bound with some kind of rope made from lianas.
In the distance, he heard the council continuing its session. His uncertainty was profound, his sadness bitter, and yet he still did not regret having undertaken this tenebrous adventure; his scientific curiosity persisted, becoming more complex, with the tenacity of illusion that has always characterized fecund researchers.
It is morning. The rapid and resplendent dawn has passed; the star of life has scaled the firmament, and broad daylight has arrived. The forest seems to have come to an end, but that is an illusion; the vast river that extends, in breadth, almost to the bounds of the horizon, pierces Kyamo but does not limit it; its vast vegetal life continues in the distance. Monstrous crocodiles can be seen on the banks, huge vultures are soaring in the blue heights, hippopotamus floating heavily in the greenish waters. Another life, sly, parasitic, hidden, opulent, beautiful, sinister or joyful is evident amid the fecundity of the vegetation.
On one of the inlets of the shore, the anthropoids have made camp. Their number is considerable; there are perhaps 1000 of them—and among them, humble, here is the man from Europe, the pale prisoner.
Alglave is naked; his clothing has been torn away. He is hungry, for he has scarcely been fed as much as he eats on fast days. He is tired, for he has been allowed little rest, his sleep being continually disturbed. The king of terrestrial beings is humiliated, crushed by the splendor of the anthropoids, by their colossal force, by their hatred, but not by their scorn.
On the first day of his captivity, after life had been definitely granted to him, his masters were more curious than cruel, disdainful of his weakness—but by some of his movements, gestures and attitudes, he inspired an anxiety in them. Their instinct divined by some means that he, the unknown, belonged to an upstart race that they had never encountered. They watched him more closely, full of mysterious suspicion. Every day it became more uncertain whether they would finally decide to destroy him. At the same time, they hid themselves from him; with respect to their important actions, they removed any possibility of his being able to observe that for which he had made such a terrible sacrifice.
Alglave pondered these matters miserably. After a short morning march, he and his masters had just arrived on the edge of the river; there they had met a new company of anthropoids at least as numerous as their own, which seemed to have been waiting there for them. From the hubbub of the meeting, the gestures and attitudes, Alglave understood what had brought these creatures to this corner of the forest. In the distance, about 100 meters from the shore, an island was visible, very long but mediocre in width; silhouettes were gesticulating there, calling out to the anthropoids on the bank. Alglave recognized the latter’s kin. They seemed to be suffering, thin and in distress—especially the females and their children.
The drama of the great council was explained—the summoning of gorillas through the forest, the meetings, the expeditions—simultaneously revealing a human organization, a solidarity between the various groups of men of the woods, which increasingly discouraged confusion between them and vulgar gorillas.
But what misfortune had led to an entire tribe of creatures standing on that island in the middle of the river—creatures which evidently did not know how to swim, or the most rudimentary elements of navigation?
That problem excited Alglave, making him forget his suffering. He analyzed the surroundings, attentively following the discussion of the gorillas on the bank—for, in their own excitement, they forgot to keep watch on him. Two important characteristics guid
ed his research: a large rock, seemingly freshly broken off at the summit, emerging from the river-bank, and another rock on the island.
Was there a bridge? he wondered.
A bridge? Constructed by them? No—a freak of nature, probably; a natural bridge…and, among the anthropoids, a centuries-old habit of crossing it to reach the island—the habitat of a small tribe or a temporary camp?—then, a cataclysm…the collapse of the bridge…
He refrained from making a gesture, in order not to attract attention, and murmured: “Yes, yes…a hundred times yes. I have it—it’s the solution to the problem.”
The expressive mime of the gorillas seemed to confirm his conjecture. Then, a vast and tender hope entered into his heart.
What, in fact, did the men of the woods want? Toward what end were they going to devote their efforts? Evidently, to attempt to rescue the others over there, to find some means of communication.
And they surely won’t succeed, Alglave said to himself. Ignorant of the art of swimming, incapable of comprehending skiffs, rafts or tree-trunks—for if they were not, the ones over there would have escaped—they’ll never reach the isle…but I could. I might earn their gratitude…win my right to live with them freely…
His heart raced. He observed the anthropoids anew. His over-excited intelligence interpreted the most frequent of their present gestures: a confused mime, and evaluation of the distance between the two rocks…
A bridge! They’re thinking about a bridge! Poor devils!
He sat down and waited. Two hours went by, the gorillas having set to work. They had uprooted the tallest tree in the vicinity—a tree more than 60 meters high. Slowly and awkwardly, they had hoisted it to the summit of the rock.
Oh, the children! Alglave said to himself. They’re going to try to get the other end over to the island.
Simultaneously, he was moved to pity by their ingenuity, and found them marvelously intelligent for apes.
They’re true men, after all…for the idea of a bridge exists in them…and what does it matter that they don’t know how to calculate the width of the gap?
The tree was stood on end, but without any apparatus—with no employment of levers or liana-ropes; by simple traction on its enormous roots and the indomitable vigor of the laborers. Then, slowly, having pointed it in the right direction, they let it fall. It fell, collapsing into the river. There was a roaring furious clamor, followed by a bleak discouragement, a dolorous taciturnity
Then Alglave came forward.
He advanced toward the group that had just failed in their task, and toward their chief—the one whom, during his sojourn among the gorillas, he had recognized as the most intelligent.
With an expressive gesture he pointed to the island three times, then pointed to himself, and began again; he established a coordination of gestures between himself and the island, and made it vaguely understood that he wanted to do something for the individuals over there. Curious, and also somewhat suspicious, they all looked at him. He persisted; then he marched up to a fallen tree, found a pointed stone on the bank, and set about stripping its branches.
There was a series of gesticulatory conversations among the gorilla, and the impression to which Alglave had tried to give birth—a vague hope—spread.
When he had detached the first branch, he succeeded in obtaining a certain amount of help; he struck and chipped, and the Herculean gorillas tore and twisted the branch. He worked in this fashion for two-thirds of the day, and then found that he had some 50 branches—which, together with a few willow-trunks, might be used to make up a raft. He was delighted, full of hope; his apprentices had rapidly become more accomplished than at the outset. In addition, he had been given nourishment.
Then he went in search of lianas. Immediately, he had hundreds of assistants. Then he tied together the pieces of the raft, having had the branches and the willow-trunks brought. That lasted until three hours before nightfall—and the raft was constructed.
Then, making a great gesture of delight to the anthropoids, he began again, obstinately, to point to the island.
At this point, the crucial difficulty of his project presented itself: to persuade one of the anthropoids to accompany him on the raft—for to depart alone, to introduce himself to the stranded individuals without an intermediary, would excite their suspicion. Why should any of them decide to take a risk that none of their brethren on the shore had dared risk to come to their rescue?
Alglave tried to explain that. He was not understood. Then, having had the raft put in the river—not without difficulty, and not without the risk of misunderstanding and maltreatment—he began to maneuver it with a crude scull. He drew away from the bank and then came back. A glint of understanding seemed to appear in the minds of some of them, and Alglave pointed alternately at the island and the raft 20 times over, miming the action of the scull and the advancement of the skiff over the waves.
Once again, he achieved a vague comprehension. The most intelligent of the anthropoids seemed to be considering running the risk, but his profound terror of the water was evidently holding him back. Climbing on to the raft again, Alglave maneuvered, left the bank and came back, demonstrating the safety of the primitive vessel 20 times over. Then, slowly and hesitantly, with evident anguish and the shivering movements of a child dipping his foot into the water, the gorilla chief got down on to the raft.
Ah! Finally! Alglave thought.
A feeling of pride mounted to his head—the satisfaction of a scientist who has triumphed over rebellious matter. While he launched his vessel again he smiled, thinking that he had been able to turn the opportunity of which he had dreamed inside the hollow tree to the advantage of his project.
Slowly, the raft approached the island, without too considerable a deviation. Alglave’s companion, nervous, agitated and tremulous at first, was gradually reassured. His intelligent eyes observed the human’s movements, establishing a relationship between those movements and the progress of the skiff. A sympathy also arose, born of what was, for the gorilla, an extraordinary adventure. Alglave sensed that he had acquired a comrade, a protector, and perhaps a pupil.
Finally, the raft ran aground, and while it was being moored in a creek, a crowd of emaciated, feverish and impatient individuals crowded around.
No more worries, Alglave thought. He’s the one who’ll explain the whole thing.
Indeed, his companion started haranguing his fellows with gestures. A solemn silence was established. In the thin faces, the dilated eyes fixed themselves upon him with an intense acuity. The scene did not lack grandeur. It seemed that these unfortunates had been somewhat refined by suffering; they had a more rapid understanding of everything that related to their rescue. That which was human in them was more pronounced in those that had known horror and distress, and the fear of abandonment. Their souls had passed through the supreme stress from which an animal extracts new ruses or more refined ideas.
In less than a quarter of an hour, a dozen of them had decided to be the first to return to the shore. Alglave arranged them carefully in the center of the vessel, and cast off with infinite precaution. An attentive concentration accompanied the departure. The passengers, apart from shivering with fear, were submissive to the instructions of the gorilla chief. They made their way toward the bank without haste.
A quarter of an hour went by. The water was placid, almost smooth, the pitching of the raft very slight. The bank was reached easily.
Then an immense rumor rose up: a savage, joyful, frantic brouhaha. Alglave was surrounded, caressed by colossal hands, subjected to amiable embraces. All hatred and mistrust directed against the pale beast who had saved the stranded men of the woods had disappeared.
The beginning of the night. A vague and vast Moon has just appeared on the horizon. At first, it is reminiscent of a globe of red linen, then one of polished metal, and then a sharp disk, gilded and silvered. Alglave is dreaming on the edge of the river. His wishes have been granted. He has become the
sacred guest of the anthropoids, a respected and admired individual who has, perhaps confusedly, become an object of worship. He can study them without anxiety, and without haste—and what an adorable book is gestating in his head as his observations are augmented! Through him, the marvelous poem of Tertiary humankind will be revealed—not a poem of the imagination, however beautifully it might be conceived, but the noble, religious and divine truth. Through him, people will be able to infer what the ages of cerebral infancy were like, when one creature was chosen among others to take its place at the head of all the beasts.
And that dream is full of happiness, full of tenderness; he loves these brothers of our prehistoric precursor; he loves their powerful savagery, their proud struggle against extinction; he fervently desires to find some means of preserving the depths of Kyamo from the invasion of explorers, from the conquistadorial rage of Europeans.
He loses himself in that dream; the Moon climbs, shrinking as its light brightens. Animals lament in the depths of the forest; the rumors of the river are reminiscent of a vast and intermittent respiration.
And Alglave feels himself invaded by a serenity as calm, as delicate and as charming as the tremor of the moonbeams amid the foliage of the willows.
THE WONDERFUL CAVE COUNTRY
To Ed. Picard 10
The boat ploughed through the darkness.
Along the immense virginal river it went through the forest, a pale orange-tinted gleam blued by the semi-darkness. Near to the bank, where the boat was moving forward, the glimmers of light were braided, woven and tremulous, sometimes into faint pools, sometimes into magical networks with fine mesh, like coats of mail. In the distance, the light fell with divine serenity, and the open water, seemingly tinted at first by phosphorescent vapor, slowly faded toward a pale steel-blue, a scintillation of millions of blades.
The World of the Variants Page 9
