The Secret City

by Carol Emshwiller

  Here come the others, including Toots. Corwin is staring at his daughter. Here she is, not in school, all dressed for traveling, and with Jack again. In fact as they came out from the backdoor of the barn, they were holding hands. As soon as Emily sees her father she lets go. Now he’s really angry. And he’s more worried about her than Youpas.

  We’re all hunkering down in the soft earth that’s mostly mashed-up horseshit, but nobody seems to notice or care.

  Corwin says, “I’m sending you down to Aunt May’s.”

  “Daddy!”

  “I quit. It’s too hard—trying to bring up a teenage girl. You’re outta here.”

  “Oh, Daddy!”

  Nobody is paying any attention to Youpas. I’m not either. We’re right at the back of the barn. There’s a pitchfork leaning against the wall. Youpas pushes me off and that’s what he grabs.

  Now, all of us at the same time, are really frozen and with as much discomfort as if held by the freeze. In fact it seems a lot scarier and more dangerous than the freeze ever was. Nobody dares move.

  Youpas has his back against the side of the barn. He looks back and forth at all of us, but he’s clearly more wary of me than of any of the others.

  I’m the one, haven’t kept my promise to Corwin. I have to act before somebody gets hurt.

  Then Youpas looks right at me as if he knows I’ll be the one to act first. He says, “You’re dead already.”

  Even as I leap, I know he’s probably right.

  ALLUSH

  I’M RIGHT BEHIND LORPAS. I LEAP. I YELL. AND those other men, the one of their kind and the one of my kind are right beside me. Surely Youpas can’t get all of us at the same time.

  Lorpas is down.

  I’m thinking, but! But it can’t be. I just found him. Is he dead already?

  The pitchfork is stuck in Lorpas and Youpas can’t get it out in order to hit at the rest of us.

  That other man, the one of my own kind, knocks him down, and away from the pitchfork. Youpas looks winded and scared. We were all banging on him long after he was down, but mostly getting in each other’s way. I’d like him gone. I’d like to get out one of those homers right now and send him back to his family of important people. I’m thinking, go and be important and don’t come back.

  I don’t want to stop beating on him but I do. He’s not even defending himself anymore. I’m sitting in the dried up horseshit practically on top of him. I don’t care if he lives or dies. I turn around and kneel beside Lorpas.

  It’s a three pronged fork. Two prongs seem stuck, just below the collarbones on each side, and the third is stuck in his shoulder. There’s not much blood. I don’t know if he’s unconscious or dead or maybe dying. I don’t dare touch him. Everyone looks like they don’t know what to do. None of us dare pull it out.

  Suddenly he takes a big breath and then cries out in pain, though he’s still unconscious. I cry out in pain, too.

  That native man tells the girl to call a doctor, and fast. She stares at him but doesn’t move. “Go! Go!” he says, and she finally comes to and does.

  Then that man says, “I don’t know. I should …” and then “Should I?” then, “Should I cut the handle off? But that might hurt him worse.”

  Lorpas is breathing big painful breaths and crying out at each one but he still seems to be unconscious.

  The native man says, “We should try to hold it steady.” So we kneel across from each other and try to brace the handle.

  It seems a long time before the ambulance arrives.

  They saw off the handle with a special little saw, then, pitchfork end and all, they take Lorpas off to the hospital. It’s two towns down. They don’t let me go with him but that native man says he’ll drive me there right away. Then he says Emily comes, too. He says, “From now on, I won’t let her out of my sight.”

  I ask the man, “How long will it take? How far is it?”

  “Maybe half an hour.”

  “My God.”

  “But remember it’ll take them half an hour to get there, too, and we’re not far behind. And they probably won’t let you see him right away, anyway.”

  We get in the pickup, all of us, Youpas, too, though at first the native man wants him not to come and then he wonders what to do with him. He says he certainly doesn’t want Hugh left alone here. He says, “You, whoever you are, get in.”

  Youpas gets up. Parts of his face are swelling and turning purple and he’s limping and holding on to his arm. I hope there’s something badly wrong with it. That might keep him out of trouble.

  I’m disappointed. I was hoping he’d be … well, dead. Here he is all freshly shaven, hair cut short and nice clothes. I don’t know who he is anymore. He’s even looking as if he hadn’t meant it to happen. Though why would anyone attack with a pitchfork if they hadn’t wanted to kill somebody?

  I say, “There, you have what you wanted.”

  I feel so much like hitting him again, I have to turn away. I should have been the one jumped first before Lorpas did. I should have made Youpas hit at me, then he might have hesitated.

  “I liked Lorpas.” Youpas says it as if he’s surprising himself, and he said “liked” as if Lorpas is dead already.

  ONLY THE NATIVE MAN AND THE GIRL RIDE IN THE cab. The rest of us ride in the back.

  The bed of the pickup has straw on it and old horse blankets scattered over that.

  I open my little pack of homers, each with its insertion needle. I hand one to Youpas. I say, “Go home. I hope you like it. I didn’t, but then I’m a peasant back there. You’re not. Your family wants you back. You’ll like it. You can be important. You own a tower.”

  He doesn’t take it. I wonder if I can insert it when he isn’t looking. Unfortunately it won’t be instant. Somebody will have to come for him.

  He says, “The stupid sapiens are going to find out all about us.”

  “And that’s your fault. But you can’t live your whole life not trusting anybody. Besides, like you always kept saying, they’re too stupid.”

  “You and Mollish never felt that way.”

  “How would they get to our homeworld?”

  “Once they know we exist they might be smart enough to figure out a way.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, smart and stupid.”

  Then I try to talk to the other man of my own kind. I speak in the natives’ language first. I’m better at that than in my own. I say I’m Allush. He shakes his head and says, I greet, in our home language. Then in English, “I no talk this talk.”

  I switch to Betasha. I tell him I’ve just come back from the homeworld and that I’m looking for somebody named Bolowpas or Narlpas.

  He ducks his head the way we do when naming ourselves. (I don’t, but my parents did.) Says, as my people do, “Right here is Narlpas. For here, Lorpas names me Jack.”

  “I have a beacon for you. If you want to go home.”

  He waves his hand in circles. It reminds me of that brushing-away flies motion, though this is different. He says, “I don’t know. But not yet. Right here is Emily. I love her.”

  In our language the word he uses for love means more than just to love.

  “But she’s a child.”

  “But she loves, too.”

  Youpas says, “There, maybe he’ll believe you. He doesn’t believe any of us.”

  LORPAS

  “YOU ALMOST DIED.”

  I hear it as if from a distance—as if through a fog.

  If there ever was a reason to come to as fast as I can, that voice would be it. Someone is holding my hand. I struggle to lift myself out of the heavy layer of darkness.

  Someone is saying, “Who? Who?” I realize I’m the one asking it and it’s me who almost died.

  I try to say, “Wake me up,” but it comes out muddled.

  Someone wipes my face with cold water and, finally, I do come to, and here she is, looking down at me.

  I say, “Allusha.”

  She brings me wat
er and a straw as if she knew it was what I wanted.

  She sits beside me and holds my hand again. Leans and kisses it, says, again, “You almost died.” She rests her forehead on the bed by my shoulder. I think she’s crying but I don’t think she wants me to know. I wish I could hold her but there’s an IV in my arm.

  I drift off but wake again, this time with a jerk and a shout.

  She lifts her head, asks, worried, “What? What?”

  I say, “Pitchforks.” I want to make it a joke so as not to worry her. I try to laugh but it hurts.

  I don’t say anymore about it, but the image of the pitchfork just before it went into my chest is clearer than the room around me right now. To distract myself I ask, “How long has it …?”

  “Three days. I thought…. I didn’t know…. But you’re all right now.”

  We sit quietly. I keep dozing off but that image keeps coming back. I worry that she might leave me alone with the pitchfork. I say, “Stay.”

  “I won’t leave. Look there, they’ve put up a cot for me. I said I was your wife so they let me. That native man, Corwin, helped convince them.”

  That pitchfork image won’t go away. I want to think about other things. I want her to keep talking. “What’s happening?”

  “The rest have gone. Back to Corwin’s. Oh, and Emily! Corwin drove her down to her aunt’s. She couldn’t stop crying. Then he came back to be with you. And then he took everybody back to his place.”

  “What about Jack then?”

  “I think he understands. Maybe. I talked to him. I guess it’s good he hasn’t any money. First thing we know, he might be down in L.A.”

  “What about Youpas?”

  That view of a pitchfork has Youpas’ face behind it, eyes wide, mouth in an angry grin.

  “He has a broken arm. They patched him up and then Corwin took him to the police. “

  “What! How could you let that happen?”

  “We couldn’t help it. But that was after. Everything’s changed now.”

  “I guess so.”

  I don’t have the energy to be upset. Besides, I’m too happy with Allush right here beside me.

  “They wanted to give you a transfusion and they found out….”

  “Found out!”

  “No, no. Wait. They did find out about all of us having an odd kind of blood but—and don’t be angry—Youpas was the only one who could give you a transfusion. I wanted to, but he was the best match.”

  “But they found out.”

  “No, it’s not what you think. They didn’t find out about us being from some other planet, they just thought we had a kind of blood they’d never known about before. They’re going to write us up in some journals. They’re saying we’re Neanderthals. They’ve got pictures of us in the papers already. Funny, though, some of the pictures are of just regular natives. No wonder we get along so well here. They’re saying there are probably a lot of Neanderthals here that they don’t know about and haven’t thought of looking for until us.”

  We keep quiet for a while, but then I remember.

  “You went … home.”

  “I thought you were right behind me.”

  “I would have come with you but it all happened so fast.”

  “I didn’t like it there. And I wanted to come back because of you. Besides I was the wrong kind. I’m not sure about that, but I think I was. What kind are you? Do you know? Maybe that’s why my blood was the wrong type and Youpas … he’s the right kind … maybe that’s why he could give you a transfusion.”

  “You’re the right kind for me.”

  She leans over the bed and gives me a real kiss. Then says, “Why didn’t you kiss me back when we were out in the mountains sleeping next to each other?” Then she kisses me again.

  “I wasn’t sure you wanted somebody who limps and has a badly scarred face and white hair around the edges and….”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Does our kind marry?”

  “Nobody ever said we didn’t. But I’m just as happy telling everybody we are already.”

  “Call it pair bond.”

  EPILOGUE

  AS SOON AS I’M ABLE TO LEAVE THE HOSPITAL Corwin takes us home with him. Jack and I and Allush are nominally his hired hands. I can’t do much yet but they can. For now, Corwin doesn’t pay us except in food and housing. Allush and I get Emily’s room and Jack is back in the barn.

  Allush visited Youpas in prison and inserted a homer. They snatched him home just before his trial. First thing I had my arm free of the IV, I popped out the one Allush has in her ear.

  Corwin wanted us to marry the way the natives do and so we did. Actually Allush wanted to, too. Emily came up for the ceremony. She looked sad the whole time. Corwin stayed close by, not, he said, because of Jack, but because of Emily. She’s the one he doesn’t trust. I miss her. Of course Corwin misses her the most. He’s always driving down to L.A. to see how she is. We look after things here when he’s gone.

  Jack is going to stay. Corwin has hired him permanently. Back on Betasha he was a peasant. I can’t believe it, but Jack has made good friends with the housekeeper and is starting to learn to cook. I don’t know if he’s secretly waiting for Emily to grow up or not. I saw them talking at the wedding. He looked brotherly even though he held her hand. Whatever he said, she had tears in her eyes afterwards.

  I’m still doing a lot of sitting around reading—National Geographics, Discover magazine and such. When I read them I always think of Ruth.

  I guess the image of the pitchfork is going to be in my life from now on. Sometimes I lean over, looking into a dark corner and here it comes, straight at me, and with Youpas’ wide eyed, crazy face behind it. I gasp. I can’t help it, but I’m all right.

  That money Olowpas gave Allush might have meant something fifty years ago. Ten thousand dollars. I’ll give some to Corwin and I’ll take some to that house I robbed. Maybe Allush and I will be bums, but at least we’ve got identities now. Even Social Security numbers and drivers’ licenses. All that publicity helped. Everybody helped us. Everybody was glad to find out about us—as Neanderthals that is. I don’t think they’ll find Betasha. Lucky for us they think Homo sapiens sapiens are the only primates smart enough to go from one world to another.

  I wonder if they think they’ve found a class of people that can be maids and gardners and handymen and never aspire to anything else. If that’s what they think, Allush and I will be good examples. That’s all we aspire to, too, and glad of it.

  When spring comes, Allush and I will hike up to the Secret City. If we can find it. Neither of us knows the way, but we’ll fish and swim, and Allush can climb trees and make foxes and ravens into pets. Maybe it’ll turn out to be a camping trip to nowhere. We don’t care. If we don’t find it this year, then we will the next or the next. We’ll show it to our children, not as anything like the world where we came from, but as an odd, heavy, imaginary city that makes no sense at all. We’ll try to keep it secret though.