by Isaac Asimov
Dental examination.
Chest X ray. General skeletal X ray, too.
And half a dozen other items of varying degrees of urgency. But then she realized what the top priority of all must be, at least for the ugly little boy.
Briskly she said, “Have you provided food? Milk?”
They had. Ms. Stratford, her third assistant, wheeled in a gleaming mobile unit. In the refrigeration compartment Miss Fellowes found three quarts of milk, with a warming unit and a supply of fortifications in the form of vitamin supplements, copper-cobalt-iron syrup, and other things she had no time to be concerned with now. Another compartment held an assortment of baby foods in self-warming cans.
Milk, simply milk, that was the thing to begin with. Whatever else he had been eating in the place from which he had been taken—half-charred meat, wild berries, roots and insects, who knew what?—milk was a safe bet to have been part of a child’s diet. Savages, she speculated, would be likely to go on nursing their children to an advanced age.
But savages wouldn’t know how to handle cups. That much seemed certain. Miss Fellowes poured a little of the milk into a saucer and popped it into the microwave for a few seconds’ worth of warming.
They were all watching her—Hoskins, Candide Deveney, the three orderlies, and everyone else who had managed to crowd into the Stasis area. The boy was staring at her too.
“Yes, look at me,” she said to the boy. “There’s a good fellow.”
She held the saucer carefully in her hands, brought it to her mouth, and pantomimed the act of lapping up the milk.
The boy’s eyes followed. But did he understand?
“Drink,” she said. “This is how to drink.”
Miss Fellowes pantomimed the lapping again. She felt a little absurd. But she brushed the feeling away. She would do whatever felt right to do. The boy had to be taught how to drink.
“Now you,” she said.
She offered him the saucer, holding it out toward him so that all he had to do was move his head forward slightly and lick up the milk. He looked at it solemnly, without the slightest sign of comprehension.
“Drink,” she said. “Drink.” She let her tongue flick out again as though to show him once more.
No response. Just a stare. He was trembling again, though the room was warm and the nightgown surely was more than sufficient.
Direct measures were in order, the nurse thought.
She put the saucer down on the floor. Then she seized the boy’s upper arm in one hand and, bending, she dipped three fingers of her other hand in the milk, scooping some up and dashing it across his lips. It dripped down his cheeks and over his receding chin.
The boy uttered a high-pitched cry of a kind she hadn’t heard from him before. He looked baffled and displeased. Then his tongue slowly moved over his wetted lips. He frowned. Tasted. The tongue licked out again.
Was that a smile?
Yes. Yes. A sort of smile, anyway. Miss Fellowes stepped back.
“Milk,” she said. “That’s milk. Go on. Have a little more of it.”
Tentatively the boy approached the saucer. He bent toward it, then looked up and over his shoulder sharply as though expecting to find some enemy crouching behind him. But there was nothing behind him. He bent again, stiffly, clumsily, pushed his head forward, licked at the milk, first in a cautious way and then with increasing eagerness. He lapped it the way a cat would. He made a slurping noise. He showed no interest in using his hands to raise the saucer to his face. He was like a little animal, squatting on the floor lapping up the milk.
Miss Fellowes felt a sudden surge of revulsion, even though she knew that she was the one who had pantomimed the lapping in the first place. She wanted to think of him as a child, a human child, but he kept reverting to some animal level, and she hated that. She hated it. She knew that her reaction must be apparent on her face. But she couldn’t help it. Why was the child so bestial? It was prehistoric, yes—forty thousand years!—but did that have to mean it would seem so much like an ape? It was human, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? What kind of child had they given her?
Candide Deveney caught that, perhaps. He said, “Does the nurse know, Dr. Hoskins?”
“Know what?” Miss Fellowes demanded.
Deveney hesitated, but Hoskins (again that look of detached amusement on his face) said, “I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell her?”
“What’s all this mystery?” she asked. “Come on, tell me, if there’s some secret I’m supposed to find out about!”
Deveney turned to her. “I just was wondering, Miss—whether you’re actually aware that you happen to be the first civilized woman in history ever to be asked to take care of a young Neanderthal?”
INTERCHAPTER TWO
Goddess Woman
THIS WAS THE FOURTH MORNING of the westward march, the pilgrimage back to the Place of Three Rivers. A dry cold wind had been blowing steadily out of the north ever since Silver Cloud had given the order to turn around and retrace their long path across the barren plains. Sometimes new gusts of thin, hard snow came whistling by, dancing in wild milky swirls overhead—and this in mid-summer! Truly, the Goddess must be angered. But why? What had they done?
By night the People huddled in crannies and crevices under a white moon that drenched the sky with rivers of chilly light. There were no caves here to crawl into. Some of the most enterprising ones found twigs and branches and flung little lean-tos together for themselves, but most were too weary after a day’s marching and foraging to make the effort.
The day of the Summer Festival had come and gone, and—for the first time in memory—no Summer Festival had been held. Goddess Woman didn’t care for that at all. “We will have famine when the cold months come,” she said gloomily to Keeps The Past. “To neglect the Summer Festival is a serious thing. Has there ever been a year when we allowed the day to go by without the proper observances?”
“We aren’t neglecting the Summer Festival,” Keeps The Past rejoined. “We’re simply postponing it until we can seek the guidance of the Goddess.”
Goddess Woman spat. “The guidance of the Goddess! The guidance of the Goddess! What does Silver Cloud think he’s up to? I am the one who provides the guidance of the Goddess. And I don’t need to return to the Place of the Three Rivers in order to provide it.”
“Silver Cloud does,” said Keeps The Past.
“Purely out of cowardice. He’s become afraid of the Other Ones and he wants to run away from them, now that he knows that they’re ahead of us.”
“Ahead of us and behind us both. We can’t hide from them any longer. They’re all around us. And there aren’t enough of us to fight them. What are we to do? The Goddess must tell us how to deal with them.”
“Yes,” Goddess Woman conceded sullenly. “I suppose that’s true.”
“So unless you can advise us yourself, in the name of the Goddess, concerning the tactics we ought to follow—”
“Enough, Keeps The Past. I see your point.”
“Good. Try to keep it in mind, then.”
Goddess Woman uttered a sulky sniff and walked away by herself, over to the fire. She stood close, arms huddled against her sides.
She and Keeps The Past had been bickering for more years than Goddess Woman cared to think about, and they were not coming to like each other any more as the time went along. Keeps The Past thought she was something special, with her long memory (supplemented by her bundles of record-sticks) and her deep knowledge of tribal traditions. Well, she was special in her way, Goddess Woman grudgingly supposed. But she is not holy. I am holy. She is just a chronicler; but I speak with the Goddess, and sometimes the Goddess speaks with me.
Still, Goddess Woman admitted, as she opened her fur wrap to allow the warm pink glow of the fire to rise up and around her lean, stocky body, Keeps The Past did have a point. The Other Ones were a tremendous problem—those tall, agile, maddening flat-faced people who had come out of nowhere and seemed to be spreading eve
rywhere, appropriating the best caves for themselves, the finest hunting grounds, the sweetest springs. Goddess Woman had heard horrifying tales occasionally from tribeless wanderers who had crossed the People’s path, tales of clashes between the Other Ones and bands of the People, of hideous massacres, of horrifying routs. The Other Ones had better weapons, which they seemed to be able to manufacture in incredible quantities, and they were more swift afoot in battle too, it appeared: they moved like shadows, so it was said, and when they fought you it was as though they were on all sides of you at once. So far Silver Cloud had been able to avoid any of that, deftly steering the tribe this way and that across the great open plains to keep them away from collisions with the dangerous newcomers. But how long could he go on managing to do that?
Yes, best to make this pilgrimage and see if the Goddess had any advice, Goddess Woman told herself.
Besides, Silver Cloud had been very persuasive when it came to the religious side of the argument. The Summer Festival marked the high point of the year, when the sun was warm and the day was long. It was a celebration of the kindness of the Goddess, of Her grace and favor, a giving of thanks in advance for the benefits that She would bestow during the remaining weeks of the summer hunting and food-gathering season.
How could they hold the Summer Festival, Silver Cloud had wanted to know, when the Goddess was so plainly displeased with them?
More to the point, Goddess Woman thought: how could they hold the Summer Festival when Silver Cloud flatly refused to perform it? It was a rite that required the participation of a man, and only the most powerful man of the tribe at that. It was he who had to dance the dance of gratitude before the shrine of the Goddess. It was he who had to carry out the sacrifice of the bullock, he who had to take the chosen virgin in his arms and initiate her into the mysteries of the Great Mother. The other holy festivals of the tribe were the responsibility of the three Goddess Women; but there was no way they could carry out this one. The chief had to do it. If Silver Cloud refused to take part, the Summer Festival could not be held. That was all there was to it. Goddess Woman felt uneasy about that; but the decision belonged to Silver Cloud.
Goddess Woman turned away from the fire. It was time to set up the shrine for the morning rites.
“Goddess Women!” Goddess Woman called. “Both of you! Let’s get to work!”
They had all had individual names, once. But now each one of the three priestesses was simply known as Goddess Woman. You gave up your name when you entered Her service. The Goddess had no name, and Her servants had no names either.
Goddess Woman was still able to remember the name of the youngest Goddess Woman, for she was Goddess Woman’s own daughter, and Goddess Woman had named her herself: Bright Sky At Dawn. But it was years since she had spoken that name out loud. To her, and to everyone else, her daughter who had once been Bright Sky At Dawn was simply Goddess Woman now. As was the second-oldest Goddess Woman, whose earlier name was starting to slip from Goddess Woman’s memory—it was either Lonely Bird or Runs Like The Fox, Goddess Woman was not sure which. Those two had looked very much like each other, Lonely Bird and Runs Like The Fox. One of them was dead and the other had become a priestess, and over the years Goddess Woman had come to confuse their identities in her mind.
As for her own birth-name, Goddess Woman no longer had any idea what it might have been. She had forgotten it years ago and she rarely gave it any thought now. She was Goddess Woman and nothing but Goddess Woman. Sometimes as she lay waiting for sleep she found herself wondering despite herself what her old name could have been. Something with sunlight in it? Or golden wings? Or shining water? There was brightness in it somewhere, she was fairly sure of that. But the name itself had slipped away forever. She felt guilty for even trying to think of it. Certainly there was no one that she could ask. It was a sin, a Goddess Woman using her birth-name in any way. Whenever she started to think about it she immediately made a sign of purification and asked forgiveness.
She was the second-oldest woman in the tribe. This was her fortieth summer. Only Keeps The Past was older, and by no more than a season or two. But Goddess Woman was strong and healthy; she expected to live another ten years, perhaps fifteen, maybe as many as twenty if she was lucky. Her mother had lived to a great old age, even beyond her sixtieth year, and her grandmother as well. Long life was a characteristic of her family.
“Will we do the full rite this morning?” the youngest Goddess Woman asked her, as they moved the stones about, assembling the shrine.
Goddess Woman gave her an irritated glance. “Of course we will. Why shouldn’t we?”
“Because Silver Cloud wants us to leave here right after morning meal. He says we have to travel farther today than we’ve been doing the last three.”
“Silver Cloud! Silver Cloud! He says this, he says that, and we hop like frogs to his commands. Maybe he’s in a hurry, but the Goddess isn’t. We do the full rite.”
She lit the Goddess-fire. The second Goddess Woman produced her little wolfskin packet of aromatic herbs and sprinkled them on the blaze. Colored flames flared high. The youngest Goddess Woman brought the stone bowl of blood from yesterday’s kill and poured a little onto the offering-altar.
From the furry bear-skin in which they were stored, Goddess Woman brought forth the three holy bear-skulls that were the tribe’s most sacred possession, and put them out on three flat stones to shield them from contact with the ground.
The skulls had been in the tribe’s possession for more generations than even Keeps The Past could say. Great heroes of long ago had slain those bears in single combat, and they had been handed down in the tribe from one Goddess Woman to the next. The bear was the Father-animal, the great kindling force that brought forth life from the Great Mother. That was why Goddess Woman had to take care not to allow the skulls to touch bare soil, for then they would fructify the Mother, and this was not the season for doing that. Any children who were kindled into life now, in mid-summer, would be born in the dark days of late winter, when food was at its scarcest. The time to kindle young ones was in autumn, so that they would come forth in the spring.
Goddess Woman laid her hands on each of the skulls in turn, lovingly stroking its upper vault, polished smooth and ice-bright by the hands of many Goddess Women of years gone by. She felt shivers running through her hands and arms and shoulders as the power of the elemental Father-force tingled upward out of the skulls and into her body.
She caressed the shining fangs. She fingered the dark eye-sockets.
The Father-force opened the way for her, admitting the Mother-force to her soul. One force necessarily led to the other; one could not invoke one without feeling the presence of the other.
“Goddess, we thank Thee,” murmured Goddess Woman. “We thank Thee for the fruit of the earth and for the flesh of the beasts and most deeply do we thank Thee for the fruit of our wombs.” Briefly she touched her breasts, her belly, her loins. She crouched and dug her fingertips into the hard frosty soil. Cold as it might be today, it was still the breast of the Mother, and she fondled it with love. Beside her, the other two Goddess Women were doing the same.
She closed her eyes. She saw the great arc of the Mother’s breast stretching out before her to the horizon. She filled her soul with awareness of Goddess-presence, of Mother-force.
Bless us, Goddess Woman prayed. Preserve us. Give us the grace of Thy love.
She was pulled harshly from her meditations by the sound of raucous screeching laughter somewhere behind her. The boys of the tribe, playing their rough games. She forced herself to ignore them. They were of the Goddess too, however crude and cruel and foolish they might be.
The Goddess had created women for bearing children and giving nurture and love, and men for hunting and providing and fighting, and each had a role to play that the other could not venture to perform. That was the meaning of the Summer Festival, the coming together of man and woman in the service of the Goddess. And if boys were rough and ir
reverent—why, it was because the Goddess had made them so. Let them laugh. Let them run in circles and strike at each other with sticks when they caught up with one another. That was how it was meant to be.
When the lengthy rite was finished Goddess Woman rose and scratched the fire into embers with a stick and collected the holy stones. She gathered up the bear-skulls, kissed each one, tucked them away in their mantles of fur.
She caught sight of Silver Cloud standing at a great distance, arms folded impatiently as though he had been waiting in an ill-tempered way for her to get done with it. Closer at hand, Goddess Woman saw She Who Knows leading a band of the littlest children around in a circle, teaching them a song.
How pathetic, she told herself. She Who Knows, that barren woman, pretending to be one of the Mothers. The Goddess has dealt harshly with She Who Knows, Goddess Woman thought.
“Are you done finally?” Silver Cloud shouted. “Can we get going now, Goddess Woman?”
“We can get going, yes.”
She Who Knows came over to her. A little gaggle of the smaller children tagged along behind her—Sweet Flower, Skyfire Face, and a couple of the others.
“Can I talk to you for a moment, Goddess Woman?” She Who Knows asked.
“Silver Cloud wants us to pack up and get on our way.”
“A moment, that’s all.”
“A moment, then.”
She was an irritating woman, She Who Knows. Goddess Woman had never liked her. No one did. She was clever, yes, and full of dark energy, and you had to grant her a certain grudging respect. But she was prickly and difficult. She had had a life full of troubles, and Goddess Woman felt sorry for her about that—the dead babies, the loss of her mate, all those things. But nonetheless she wished that She Who Knows would leave her alone. There was an aura of bad luck about her, of Goddess-displeasure.
She Who Knows said quietly, “Is it true what I hear, that there’s going to be a special sacrifice when we get to the Place of Three Rivers?”
“There’ll be a sacrifice, yes,” Goddess Woman said. “How can we have a pilgrimage if we don’t make an offering when we get to the Pilgrimage-place?”
