He tried to tell her to take it easy, that they would be fine once they mastered their terror and confusion. Again, he could hear his voice circle around in his head without moving the air outside his lips. Nor could he hear Tappy, though he could feel her body as it was shaken by sobs. And when he released an arm to touch her lips, he could feel them moving, surely trying to talk to him.
After a while, he got to his feet and pulled her up to stand by him. He took her hand and pulled her along after him as he began walking. He did not know where he was or where he was going, but they just could not stay in one place. They would die of thirst if they did. And if there was relief from this light or somebody who could help them, they had to look-though "look" was not the right word-for refuge and rescue. That would be slow going since he had to slide his forward foot along and feel with its toe for drop-offs.
His face felt as if it were in sunlight. Though he was sweating, no doubt from stress, he was not too hot. The air was a mild breeze, and it slightly cooled him.
They had gone perhaps a hundred yards when he jumped, and he swore a soundless oath. Something had flicked against his cheek. It was soft and momentary, but it had felt like the end of a finger. The sensation was not caused by the Imaget moving across his face. It had been too solid to be that. The Imaget had been like lightweight velvet sliding across his skin. Also, its body had been too broad to be a fingertip.
Tappy squeezed his arm and moved so close to him that she seemed to be trying to melt her cells into his. She was no longer racked with sobs, but she was trembling. Had she felt that soft touch too?
"For God's sake!" he said. "Whoever you are, whatever you are, speak to us! "
It was useless to speak; his words were imprisoned in his tiead.
He still had Malva's beamer-pistol. stuck in his belt, and the beamer-rifle, strapped to his back. But it would do no good to fire blindly. Besides, whoever had stroked his cheek probably did not intend to harm him. If the toucher did, he or she could have done so long before this. On the other han,], the personor thing-might just be biding his time. For what?
It was then that he smelled a pleasant odor. Flowers? Wherever it came from, it was camied by the breeze from behind him. He turned around, sniffing, and then pulled Tappy along in the direction from which the odor seemed to come. I cant see, he thought, and I can't hear, but I can feel and smell. I'm not completely helpless.
Brave words. He was whistling in ... not the dark, though this light was no better than complete blackness. If he tried to whistle, he probably wouldn't hear that.
The odor, which reminded him of tiger lilies, became stronger.
He shuffled on until his leading foot suddenly felt a change in level. Carefully moving the foot, he determined that he was on the edge of a hill. Or a slight declivity. He began gong down the gentle slope. After a hundred feet, he stopped. His left hand held out at a downward angle before him, felt a stalk. He moved it around and encountered many stalks. The odor was so powerful that he knew he stood before a mass of flowers-if the stalks had flowers.
They did. His hand, sliding up a stalk, found the head. It was sunflower size, had nine big petals and a soft spongy center.
Beneath the surface was a slight pulselike throbbing. Groping around, he found others like it. Then he let loose of them as something long and soft, too narrow to be the Imaget. sl'thered across Ih,- back of his hand. An insect? A caterpillarlike creature"
Though he had been startled by it. he was, in one sense, reassured. A world that had flowers and insects could not be entirely alien to him. And his sense of hearing was not completely gone. The rattling of the stalks as he moved them was clear.
He spoke again, hoping that his voice would project beyond his head.
"Tappy! Can you hear me?"
She could not do so. The question fluttered around inside his brain and could not escape.
He patted her shoulder, then took his hand from her and slapped his hands together. He jumped; his heart jumped. The clap was as loud as if it had been made on Earth. Thiere was nothing wrong with his ears except that he could not hear his voice or Tappy's.
The echo of the hand-slapping had just died away when he jumped again.
A voice spoke from an unknown distance. It cried out, "Help!
Help!" And then the woman-it was indeed an adult female's voice-began sobbing.
Jack shivered from a cold not caused by the breeze.
"My God!" he said, though no sound issued from his lips.
His panic, which had dwindled somewhat, roared back. He felt I trange, strange! This could not be!
strange, s The woman who had cried out and was now weeping was Malva!
It was her voice. No doubt about that.
But Malva was dead!
He reached out, touched Tappy, and took her hand. It felt clammy. She must have recognized the voice of the recently slain woman. He wished he could soothe her or, at least, talk to her. Then he turned to his right, his left side brushing aga' inst the flowers, his right shoulder brushing against her. After some seconds of slow progress, he could no longer detect the flowers except for the lessening odor behind him. Then he stopped. Malva was no longer crying out, but he could faintly hear other voices.
They became stronger as he led Tappy toward them. But he halted once more. Silence had gripped his head again. It seemed to be squeezing him.
I can't take much more of this, he thought. And Tappy must be as close as I am to screaming with the pain of the brightness and a fear that tears the mind apart. A screaming only we can hear inside us. If this lasts much longer, I'll start running, stumbling around in the light that blinds, falling down, letting loose of Tappy, losin, her because I'm so terrified I can only think of myself and of escaping this pain. But there is no escape.
Other voices, weak and distant at first, then stronger and closer, were brought by the breeze blowing against their backs. He stopped. Let them come to him. It was pointless to keep moving.
They were going to die no matter where they were.
Then, an undercurrent to the approaching voices, the sound of running water came to him. That was followed by the splash of feet in the stream and, suddenly, more voices. He waited, though for what he did not know. Certainly, the voices did not seem hostile. They were low and murmurous. Again, he trembled. Soft fgefs had brushed against his cheek. He felt Tappy become rigid as if she, too, had been touched.
Once more, he quivered, and his heart beat harder. Two hands had seized his face. Now they were running the tips over his face. Before they had withdrawn, he became bold enough to reach out and do the same thing to the person who was tracing his lineaments. The skin was almost as velvety as a baby's, and the bones below them were fine. It had to be a woman's. Then she spoke-he could feel her breath from her mouth onto timehand-and she said, "Son."
"Mother!" Jack said.
He almost fainted.
It was not only her voice that told him that she was indeed his long-dead mother. His fingers, moving over her face, had evoked an artist's image. It would, if he painted it, be a portrait of her.
But she was now a young woman. When she had died, she had been middle-aged, close to being old. She had home him when she was forty-eight, her time of fertility almost gone. The wrinkles and the sags he was so familiar with had disappeared.
A whisper came to him. Someone must be speaking very softly to Tappy because she had suddenly begun shaking far more violently than before. He could not hear her reply, of course, any more than she would have heard him say, "Mother!" But she must have tried to utter something.
Things went swiftly after that. Hands turned them around so that they faced the direction from which they had come. They were pushed along, past the clusters of flowers, went up a long slope, were on level ground, and then began a long march. Jack was so numb with shock that he could not resist them. What sense was there in doing so, anyway? Yet ... yet ... he had met his dead mother; he could not speak to her; he was being se
nt away.
When Jack and Tappy became tired and slowed down or tried to halt, they were urged by gentle but firm hands to pick up the fast pace again. He had no idea how much time had passed.
He became thirsty and wished that these people would give him water. Then he thought of the myths and fairy tales where the intruder from Earth drank the liquid offered for refreshment and of what happened to the intruder after that. He was doomed to live out the rest of his life in the domain of faery and to never see Earth again. It was better that he refuse water, no matter how much he craved it. Or was he just seized with superstitious dread?
Nothing superstitious about this place, he thought. It did ex' 1st.
So did its citizens. Thus, he and Tappy were in a supernatural or intranatural world.
The numbness permeating him was good for one thing. It seemed to deaden the pain from the light and the pain of being united with his mother for a few seconds and then hurried off.
But he was not so inwardly frozen that he did not guess that he was being sent away for his own good.
Abruptly, the hands held them back. Since he had heard his mother, he had heard no voices.
Now the hands pressed on them, and Jack finally got the idea.
They wanted him to get down on all fours. He did so, feeling with one hand to make sure that Tappy was with him. For some time, he had feared that she had been left behind. But she was . with him and also on her hands and knees.
Hands pushed on his buttocks. Tappy stayed where she was.
For a moment, he thought of resisting. Then he thought that, if she were to remain here, she would not have been made to get down on all fours. He moved ahead until his head scraped against something hard. A hand pushed down on his neck. He got down lower and resumed crawling. The grass was gone. The floor seemed to be hard earth, then became mud. Presently, he had to go like a snake on his belly. If he tried to raise himself, his head bumped against stone or what seemed to be stone. That did not last long. All of a sudden, the floor dipped, and he was sliding downward on the soft mud. landing on hard earth.
Then that was behind him, Something struck the bottom of his shoes, and somebody gasped and then cried, "Jack!" He turned over and sat up. Though thick mud coated Tappy's face, it did not conceal her strange expression.
"Mother and Father were there."
JACK did not reply at once. He rose, feeling tired, and looked around. It had been night when they had plunged through the shadow. Now it was just past dawn. The sky was bright and cloudless, but the sun had not come up above the crater wall.
Tappy sat in the mud like a statue shaped from it. Even the Imaget, crouched on her shoulder, was a hunk of water-soaked earth.
He did not know where they were on the crater floor. The Gaol spaceship was not visible, and there was no grove of trees like those under the ship, nor was there any Gaol camp. He turned slowly while he looked at the great figures on the crater ring, dim objects in the gray light.
After his survey. two things caught his mind's focus. One was the faint shadow through which they had just exited. A fan-shaped pi 're of mud, drying at its edge, extended from the base of the shadow. Here had once been a huge boulder which a radiator beam had disintegrated, no telling how long ago. The crumbled rock was in a heap beneath the death-shadow, the outline of which could be barely seen. It was close to fading away entirely. When it did, Jack thought, that gateway to the "other" world, the world of blinding light, would be closed.
He noted that more than people could enter and then leave that light-filled world on the other side of the darkness. Mud could also pass through the dark gate.
They had gone into that world through the tree-shadow beneath the spaceship. And they had left it through this bou dershadow. They had been pushed back into the world to which they belonged. But they had reentered far from the point of entry.
Darkness implied light. There were no shadows without light, and the death-shadow was caused by the blinding light. At least, it seemed so to him.
This place was comparatively close to where he and Tappy had gone in. Probably, it was the first time that this had happened. He did not doubt that it had been no accident. Those people, the dead who were not really dead, had pushed them through this particular gate for a purpose. What the purpose was, he did not know.
But he wondered if the second object that had caught his attention was involved in the purpose.
That was a rose-red cut-quartz stone not sixty feet from where he stood. It was the model of the tiny stone Jack had seen centered in the model of the real crater-wall rings, the model he had seen on the table when he was in the underground complex. A seat and a back, a throne, had been carved out of the desk-sized quartz.
According to the Integrator, the first honkers to enter the crater had found it. Though they did not know who had made it, they assumed that it was the work of the Makers. But it was obviously designed for a honker or a human and not for a quadruped.
By then, Tappy had risen shakily from her sitting position.
Her tears were washing the mud from her face. Her hands were clasped just below her breasts. He did then what he would have done at once if he had not been so stunned. He went to her and held her while she wept. A few seconds later, he was weeping also.
"My mother ... she spoke to me! And my father did, tool They only said my name, but I recognized their voices!"
"My mother," Jack said. "She spoke only one word to me, but I felt her face. And ... you heard Malva, too!"
"What was that place?" she said.
"Some place where the dead live. Heaven, for all I know."
He had never believed that there was an afterlife. At times, he had hoped that there might be, but he had no faith that there was.
It was a fairy tale which rational people knew was a fairy tale.
But now ...
"How could we have gotten there?" she said. Her sobs were tapering off. "There's only one way to get there, and we didn't die."
"I don't know," he said. "I could guess. It's possible that the radiator was designed to be a weapon but it had some unforeseen side effects, unexpected by-products. One was that the shadows created by the radiator accidentally opened the way to ... what do I call it? Heaven? A parallel universe? I don't know what it is, but it exists.
"If the Makers made the radiators, they would have ignored the shadows after a few of them ventured into the shadows and didn't come back. Not to their knowledge, anyway. They would've had no idea they had serendipitously opened the gates of Heaven or whatever you want to call it. Anyway, what good would it have done them if they had known? Except maybe the certainty that death is not the end."
Even that, he thought, is not certain. What if the world into which we dived is just one that affects the minds of intruders? It's so alien to us that we can't comprehend it; its physical structure or whatever is beyond human understanding. So, the mind constructs something that can be understood, something it desires more than anything else. An afterlife. What the mind can't grasp, it interprets as something else.
If this was so, it would have to be an effect that a humans interpreted as the same. Otherwise, why would Tappy have shared his hallucinations, if they were such?
He was the ever-skeptical rationalist. Tappy, however, once over her tears, was certain that she had been, even if for a short time, in the place where the dead lived. Perhaps she was right. She might have a deeper rationality. Whatever "deeper rationality" meant. In any event, he was not going to try to invalidate her belief. She took great comfort in it, and she needed all she could get.
And ... His thought was interrupted by a coldness thrilling through him' Wait a moment! Just hold up! How had he overlooked it? But he had been numb, still was somewhat, and he could be forgiven for forgetting.
"Tappy!" he said. "Your mother! How could you be sure that that woman is your dead mother? I was told by your relatives when I picked you up that you'd never known your mother! I didn't ask them why not. I ju
st took their word. But if you'd never known her, if she died at birth or something, how would you know her?"
She stared at him, then said, "I remember her now. Those fingers on my face ... her voice. I knew nothing of her until that moment. Then I remembered her, it all came back. I was three years old when I last saw her. I'd been sleeping ... where was it? Our little house on the edge of the town called Tappuah.
Tappuah means the place of apples. Something like that. I can still remember that wonderful smell from the orchards. The humans that lived there had come from another place, I don't know where.
There were many honkers, too, traders mostly, but I played with their children, and I learned their language. I was happy there.
Then, one night, I was awakened. My parents told me to keep quiet. I didn't know what was going on, but I was frightened. So scared that I didn't make a peep.
"Then I was being carried by my father through darkness. I think it was the forest up in the hills by the town. All of a sudden, a great light from above shone through the big trees. A very, ver-Y loud voice, must've been from a loudspeaker in an aircraft, said something about surrendering. But my parents kept on running, and then ... then . . ."
She choked. It was a minute or so before she could continue.
"Then there was a different light, a scarlet-colored beam that swept through the forest and cut through trees. They fell with a terrible sound. By then, I was screaming despite my mother's commands to keep quiet. Then I heard shouts, men yelling. They must have been the Gaol humans who were hunting us. My father stopped and put me into a hole in a tree. He told me to stand still and not move an inch. Otherwise, I'd fall into the shaft behind me.
I was standing on a very narrow ledge and hanging on with all my strength to the edge of the hole. The lights got brighter, but the scarlet ray quit coming. Maybe it had been turned off. And then my father turned to help my mother into the hole. But. - ."
She broke into a long and loud weeping. Jack put his arm around her and held her until she could talk again. Her face against his breast, she said, "Oh, God! Then there was a glare, and I could see that my mother had fallen onto the ground. Her legs were cut off. Her blood was spouting out of the stumps, spraying my father's legs. I was still screaming. Then my father grabbed me with one hand and lifted me up by my clothes and got halfway into the hole. He knew, I suppose, that the Gaol wouldn't shoot at him while he was very close to me. They didn't want to kill me and then have to start searching for the Imago again.
THE CATERPILLARS QUESTION Page 27
