Diffusion Box Set

by Stan C. Smith

  Amborn, Miok, and Loo dropped their sacks of supplies and the gun and began running back the way we had come. This turned out to be the worst direction possible, as two more natives stepped forth from the trees, directly in their path. My boys pulled their skinning knives from their waist cords, however these were pitiable weapons against the attackers’ long spears. Amborn let out a dismal shriek, attempting to sound fierce, but his voice carried the tenor of desperate fear.

  The man who had stabbed Charles appraised me for a moment, looking in particular at my gun, which was still smoking from the ineffectual shot. He must have decided that I presented no further threat, as he moved away from me and into position behind my boys, preventing their retreat. Before I had the wits or means to protect them, the boys were savagely attacked by all three of the men, pierced repeatedly in their heads and necks until they lay dead upon the ground.

  In a state of bewilderment I turned my eyes from the bodies of my boys back to Charles, who was at this point hardly moving at all, his eyes wide and staring directly at me. I had been trying uselessly to reload my gun, and I simply tossed it aside and knelt beside Charles. The natives were coming for me, and I decided my last moment would be better spent consoling my dear friend. I put my hand upon his cheek and realized I was too late, as Charles was already dead.

  I heard the murderous savages speak to each other as they stood behind me. Still on my knees, I turned to them and held out my hands, determined on appearing agreeable. But instead of looking at me, their attention was fixed upon something to the side. I turned to look, and there was the tree kangaroo I had instructed Charles to shoot. I had been quite sure the rifle ball had killed it, but obviously I had been mistaken, for now the creature was sitting up, licking its substantial wound.

  The resurrected creature then walked toward us until it was directly between me and the men who intended to murder me. What happened next you might find difficult to believe, but as these are likely my last words, I have every intention of writing what I know to be true, other opinions be damned. The tree kangaroo sat upon its haunches and moved its forepaws about in a most peculiar way, looking very much as if the gesticulations held some intelligent meaning rather than the brutish and random movements of a lower animal. The Papuan men watched this display with interest, after which they exchanged words I could not understand, as they had little resemblance to the language of Penapul’s tribe.

  As they talked, shook their heads, and pointed in my direction, I waited, distressed and stupefied, for my death. One of them was the same man I had seen the day before, with green parrot feathers still protruding from his frizzly hair. The other two wore woven bands around their arms with black cassowary feathers attached, but they had no headdresses or feathers upon their heads. All of them bore the same strange appearance of having bodies of men wrapped in the youthful skin of boys.

  At last they seemed to come to an agreement about something and turned their attention to me. I tried to prepare for my death by expressing a silent prayer, but my thoughts were jumbled and quite useless. Instead of immediately murdering me as I expected them to, they took hold of my shirt and tore it from my body. After passing my ruined shirt between them and observing it with curiosity, they tossed it to the ground. They grasped my boots and pulled on them, causing me to tumble. They pulled my boots from my feet, inspected them, and tossed them next to the shirt. When they came for my trousers, I tried to resist. One of them clubbed me on the side of my face with the shaft of his spear, nearly knocking me senseless. They removed the last of my clothing, leaving me in a state of nature, without dignity. The brute with green feathers upon his head picked up my spectacles, which had been knocked to the ground. He inspected them for a moment and then picked up my satchel, which had been pulled from me when my shirt had been taken. He removed my field notebook, looked it over, and returned it to the satchel along with my spectacles. He then placed the satchel over his shoulder as he had seen it on mine, which resulted in laughter from his companions.

  With blurred vision due to my spectacles having been stolen and the blood flowing from my forehead into my eyes, I watched one of the men select a sapling about an inch in diameter and pull it from the soil. He removed the lateral stems and leaves until it was no more than a flexible stick with a point at one end and a soil-covered root ball at the other. He and the others approached me, and I rose to my knees so that I might hold my head upright with some small amount of dignity before being run through with their spears.

  As the savage with green feathers gazed at me, I said, “If you wish to kill me, have the decency to do it now.”

  The man actually smiled, although this hardly provided me any comfort. His companions held my arms and head so that I could not struggle. With one hand, the green-feathered man then grasped the pectoral muscle on one side of my chest and pulled it outward. With his other hand he drove the point of his spear entirely through the pinched fold of muscle. I cried out in despair but was unable to move. He withdrew the spear and then threaded the tip of the sapling through the bleeding hole until he could grasp the tip as it came out the other side of the fold of flesh.

  The piercing of the spear had been distressingly painful, but it hardly prepared me for the torment that ensued when the man held the distal tip of the sapling and pulled on it until the entire sapling had passed through my pectoral muscle and the wide root ball stopped it from being pulled through completely. I felt the glorious relief of fainting coming upon me, but the man then pulled on his end of the sapling, forcing me upward onto my feet in the most insufferable way.

  I attempted to beg them to simply kill me, but coherent words would not form upon my lips. As I watched them through enfeebled eyes, one of the men opened a small leather pouch that hung from his neck. He scooped some unknown substance from the pouch onto his finger as if it were betel. Systematically and with apparent purpose, he smeared some of the substance upon the bodies of Charles and my three boys, and then upon the pile of my clothing and the three guns. While these puzzling acts took place, the tree kangaroo I had thought to be dead sat upon its haunches and watched, as a domestic dog might watch with interest its European owners preparing breakfast in the kitchen.

  Without a word spoken, the natives turned to leave. The man with green feathers pulled on the sapling in such a way that I was forced to follow to avoid great pain. It was then that I realized the sapling was nothing more than a cruel leash with which to lead me and prevent me from running away.

  For perhaps an hour I was pulled along, naked and bleeding, by my pectoral muscle, occasionally stumbling and causing myself great discomfort. My mind could think of nothing but putting one foot before the other, and of what barbarous plans these savages intended for me. If they were cannibals, it seemed odd that they had left behind the bodies of Charles and my boys. Alternatively, if they intended to keep me alive, it seemed they had failed at this, as I would surely perish from the wound they had inflicted upon me. Without proper medicines, which I felt sure they did not have, it would soon fester and ulcerate. So what possible purpose could they have for me?

  We finally arrived at the indigenes’ village, by which time I was significantly weakened from bleeding and exhaustion. I saw several huts, built some height above the ground and supported by corner poles as the huts were in Amborn’s village. But I had little opportunity to observe further, as more tribesmen, perhaps ten in total, soon surrounded me. I saw no women among them. There was much talking among the men, revealing again that their language was unfamiliar to me. As I stood among them I began to stagger on my feet, and when the native holding my rudimentary leash finally released it, I fell to my knees.

  The talking soon stopped. It appeared that an agreement had been reached. Three of the men left and soon returned carrying a most ordinary looking object, which they set upon the ground in front of me. It appeared to be a large lump of clay, resting upon a platform of poles fastened together as a means of carrying it. I had no idea of the obje
ct’s nature or purpose, but in my desperate state I could only imagine it would somehow be used to further maim or perhaps kill me. I staggered to my feet and attempted to run. Immediately I was subdued and held upon the ground.

  What happened next is difficult for me to put to words, but as I have said, I have determined to describe all the details of my last hours, in case this notebook might somehow be found.

  Held firmly to the ground, I watched as one of the savages brought forth a sharpened wedge of bamboo. He grasped my bare foot and pushed the foot down on its side. He then positioned the sharpened edge against the large tendon above my heel. The man next to him raised his foot and brought it down upon the bamboo wedge, forcing it to cut entirely through the tendon, severing it.

  So shocked was I by the ruthless cruelty of this act that I hardly cried out in my suffering, simply watching as they performed the same operation on my other heel.

  I was then unable to run, walk, or even stand upon my feet, and the men dragged me by my arms back to the lump of clay. They dropped me before it and then stood watching.

  I crouched there upon my knees, sobbing. I had no idea what they wanted of me.

  A spear point punctured my thigh, and then another, forcing me to crawl closer to the object. This continued mercilessly until I was merely inches from it. It appeared to be nothing more than clay, perhaps dug from the ground, pressed into a somewhat spherical lump about two feet in diameter. I could not imagine what sinister purpose it might serve in my prolonged and unpleasant death. Yet another spear to my thigh forced me upon it. I placed my hands on its surface, thinking the savages must wish for me to do something with it.

  It may be assumed that what I remember happening next is the fevered and false visions of a dying man. However, even at this moment of my last twilight, it seems to me to have been real and true.

  Upon laying my hands on the clay, I saw before my eyes a sight that I thought to be of my mind’s trickery. I saw figures there, like letters of some unknown script, just before my face. I withdrew my hands, intending to rub the blood from my eyes, and the figures vanished. I blinked and looked up at my murderous captors. They watched me with great interest. I returned my hands to the clay and the symbols appeared again. Everything within my view was blurred due to my missing spectacles, but these figures were in perfect focus. With one hand remaining on the clay, I waved my other hand through the apparition. Although I felt nothing against my skin, the strange figures moved about in reaction, as if they were made of wood and were floating about upon a pool of water. I held my hand to the side of one of them and then waved it through the figure. The figure flew to the side and disappeared, as if my hand had pushed it away. I repeated this operation with each of the other figures until they were all gone.

  But soon after I had rid the last of them from my sight, the figures appeared before me again, perhaps fifteen of them. It occurred to me that I had perhaps gone completely mad. Seeking some measure of comfort, I withdrew from the clay, and the supernatural vision vanished. But this did not please the natives, and they stabbed at me viciously with their spears, forcing me to lay my hands upon it yet again. And again the figures appeared. But this time, soon after appearing, they began to move about on their own, with no influence from me. One figure moved to the side and stopped. Then two more moved out of the main group and stopped just above the first one, followed by three that stopped above those, and then four above those. There were still six more in the original group, and I watched, somewhat expecting to see five of them move into place above the last four, completing what appeared to be a numerical pattern. But they remained still, so I extended a hand and waved five of them into their logical place.

  They all vanished before my eyes and were replaced by even more than there were before. Again the figures began moving, with one taking position on the bottom and two above it. But then, instead of three moving into place above the two, this time four of the figures moved into position above the two, and then eight more above the four. When they did not move again, I carefully waved sixteen figures into place above the eight.

  They all vanished and were replaced by perhaps a hundred more. But suddenly I felt overcome with pain and confusion and fell to my side, releasing the mysterious lump of clay, again causing the figures to vanish. What manner of substance was this? Civilized man was the only creature capable of arranging such mathematical patterns. And how could these figures appear and move in such a way? It seemed as if I were being tested, to prove I was capable of understanding the patterns. It then occurred to me, however, that I was a dying man, and my state of dying was precisely why these visions had befallen me. God Himself was speaking to me. He was testing me, determining whether I was worthy of entering His Kingdom.

  I was torn from my forlorn thoughts by the point of a savage’s spear. By this time my body was bleeding from numerous punctures, as well as my severed heel tendons, and I was feeling like I might lose consciousness. The natives forced me up to my knees and I again rested myself against the clay, this time in order to prevent my body from collapsing. The strange figures appeared before me yet again. I gazed upon them as they began to move into another pattern. I now felt oddly comforted, due to my belief that God was there with me. I simply watched the figures, with no intention of moving, waiting for my final moment to arrive.

  The natives began talking behind me. They were becoming agitated. Still I did not move. Suddenly I was aware of extreme pain in my thigh. I looked down to see the sharp end of a spear, red with my own blood and protruding out by several inches. Then another appeared at its side, having been driven through my leg with great force. The pain of this caused me to abandon my attempts at dying with a measure of dignity. I wrapped my arms about the clay and held it tightly, hoping that His presence within it might ease my passing.

  I cried out, “God, spare me! I can endure no more!”

  A brief moment later there was an odd sensation of tingling within my hands. It quickly spread to my arms and then throughout my body. When the sensation passed into my legs, my pain diminished. I looked down at the spear tips, which were now being twisted about by the men in their attempts to force me to do whatever it was that they wished of me.

  Suddenly, in my thigh burned a pain even greater than before. There was the smell of burning flesh. Before I could comprehend what was occurring, the spear tips ignited with flames. As I cried out in my suffering, the natives pulled their spears from my flesh and stared at the tips, which were still burning. They quickly recovered their senses and extinguished the spears upon the ground.

  The events following this apparent miracle are difficult for me to recall, as I had been driven to a stupefied state. I fell to the ground, unable to support myself even with the help of God Himself. The natives stood over me as they engaged in a discussion. Finally, they grasped my ruined legs and dragged me some distance. One of them tied a rope around my ankles, with no regard for my wounds. I remember groaning at the pain this caused, as I had become too weak to cry out. Then, as they hoisted me up by my ankles to one of the raised houses, I discovered I was still quite capable of screaming.

  The next thing I recall was awaking upon the floor of the hut. The native men were gone but for one, the savage with green feathers upon his head. He stood above me, gazing at me with no intelligent expression upon his face. When he saw me lift my head, he kicked one of my feet, which caused me to groan.

  “What do you wish of me?” I said to him.

  He continued to gaze at me for a moment, and then he spoke slowly and clearly.

  “Gu laléo. Gu aup Lamotelokhai.”

  Note: By the time I transcribed this notebook, I had a good grasp of the language of this tribe, and I determined that translating some of the conversations exactly as they took place would help readers understand important events. Below is my translation (added when transcribing this notebook):

  “You are an outsider. You talk to the Lamotelokhai.”

  He then removed
my satchel, which was still hanging from his shoulder, and dropped it on the floor beside me. He went to the door and began descending the ladder. Before he was out of my sight, he glanced at me a final time and smiled, exposing perfectly healthy teeth.

  After lying alone in the hut for some time, I crawled to the wall so that I might sit against it. I opened my satchel to find that all its contents were still there, including my spectacles, notebook, ink, pens, and nibs. I inspected the wounds on my heels. They had stopped bleeding, which surprised me, but I knew that even if I were to survive another day, I would likely never again be capable of walking.

  So my fate, it seems, is determined. I shall perish here, if not tonight, then certainly within a few days. As poor Charles might have said, I am creating a vacancy. And I have no return ticket. I have spent the last hours of daylight writing an account of these events. I now feel overcome with the need for rest, and my fantastical determination that God has somehow spoken to me through a lump of clay seems more absurd with every passing moment.

  9

  April 22, 1868

  Never have I been a particularly religious man. I dare say that my relations with God have been primarily based upon necessity. I felt it necessary to attend my family’s church, St Mary Aldermary. I felt it necessary to agree to be married to Lindsey, my betrothed, in the very same church. Many of my colleagues in science seem to delight in discoveries that most confound the doctrines of Christianity. I, however, as a matter of necessity, have sought to recognize the hand of God in every wonder of nature, as otherwise the complexities of the natural world bewilder my thoughts. Furthermore, upon those rare occasions when I have felt my very life to be at risk, I have prayed to God for the kindness of good fortune.