"Catch it!" shouted Nels, grabbing unsuccessfully at the scurrying little animal. I made a frantic, splashing jump and felt my hands close around it, only to recoil, and drop it immediately.
"It's got claws! I gasped. "Scratchy, horrid, wiggly . . ."
"O,h hell! said Nels. "Are you hurt?"
I considered my fingers hastily. "No," I had to admit. "Let's try again."
Warily we approached another tidepool, and probed the knife blade swiftly under a likely subject, ready for its dash for freedom. I clamped my hand down firmly over the upper shell and lifted it swiftly into the air, avoiding the wildly waving legs and holding it so that we could see it clearly. It was actually a delightful creature—the upper cup, so shiny in its glowing colors that it looks like an enameled paperweight, fits snugly to the flattened lower plate, leaving only room for the extension of the legs. These are long, jointed, and of a bright salmon color, armed at the tips with quite serviceable pincers. Enchanted, I observed the row of gleaming tiny dots along the rim of the upper shell; they were regularly spaced, and of a deep and glowing coral.
"Look, Nels! Those must be its eyes, like a scallop's!"
He grunted, tentatively agreeing it might be so. The animal regarded us with what I considered very reasonable malevolence, continuing to brandish its weaponry in our direction; but we disregarded that, and stowed it securely away. Then we began to develop a simple technique. We found, very quickly, that it helped to examine each pool quietly for some minutes, staying out of the direct light. Then, a quick and decisive push and flip with the blade and we had success. If we were slow, or tentative, the little creatures were able to grasp the rocks so firmly we could not reach under the shell to scrape them loose.
We worked steadily up the beach, with mixed results, until our backs ached. At least mine did! Nels seemed tireless, and his big hands were still quick with the knife long after mine were sore and scratched. At last we stopped to rest, and looked out to the open water. The flouwen were nearby—they had been observing us quietly for some time. "What you do?" Little Red was curious as usual.
"Hunting food." That, of course, was instantly understood.
"You like those?" Little White flowed a white pseudopod into one of our containers and inspected our catch with interest.
"We don't know. We'll taste them and see." Nels explained.
"They okay," said Little Purple critically, "But too small. Big ones better."
"Yes!" Little Red shouted. He proceeded to rattle off what I presumed was a list of various creatures he had found to his liking.
"They sound delicious! Do you think you could catch one and bring it to us to taste, please?" My polite request was apparently startling.
"Humans eat fish?"
"Well, we'd rather like to try, if you can help us. We'd like any help you can give us!"
The flouwen hovered together in the water for a few seconds, and then apparently decided to cooperate. They swam away, and we stood, up to our middles in the warm sea, waiting patiently to thank them, when and if they returned with fish. Finally tiring of the delay, I waded back to the tidepools, and was busy retrieving a large shellfish which had elected to run rather than cling, when the flouwen returned to Nels. I stood to watch, for they had indeed brought him a slippery-looking creature which he was struggling to confine in his net, rather hampered than otherwise by Little Red's shouted advice, apparently. I was too far away to hear their talk, but various explanations were obviously in progress. Suddenly, from the flouwen, there came a squeal—of apparent delight—and then much more talk ensued. Intrigued, I stood watching as Nels turned away and came up to the shore. He clutched the closed net with both hands, while the fish within flopped about. To my surprise, I saw that he was deeply flushed.
"Are you all right, Nels?" I asked. "You look badly sunburned!"
"'S all right," the big man muttered. "Nothing to worry about. Look at this fellow! What do you make of him?" We supported the net between us, so that we could more closely examine the captive.
"It looks like a whale!" I said. "What makes me think that?"
"The shape is whale-like," Nels said slowly. "But there's more to it than that. Funny shape to the flippers, isn't it, and no blowhole on top of the head, but the mouth . . ."
"That's it," I said. "Look at the width of the mouth and the shape!" Upon close examination it became apparent that our prize had a toothless mouth. Instead of teeth there were well-developed bands of very flexible strands, which together formed an effective sieve. It looks like the creature takes in water and strains out food from it.
"Nuts," said Nels, disappointed. I was surprised. "It's a filter feeder. Means no fishing with a line, or bait," he explained. "We'll have to net 'em."
The little recorder's alarm rang, not long after, and we gathered up the various containers we had stowed along our way with their precious contents, and headed back to camp, to add them to the collections of the others.
It was a most unappetizing buffet, spread out on the flat rocks. There were more than we could divide for one "meal," and we put aside, for the morrow if all goes well, a number of seeds and grains which are dry. David and Arielle had obtained several objects which might be fruit from the tall treetops—they are soft and spongy, but have no aroma to us. They had also gathered a lot of long pods of sorts from the hanging vines. When opened, they turned out to be full of fat little things like beans. John and Carmen had found some fruits and several varieties of nuts and grains, and with commendable patience had kept them carefully separated. In addition, they had managed to pull up some thick roots and bring them along. Dubiously we surveyed this assortment, while Arielle and Carmen brought containers of water to simmer close to the fire.
"It's really hard, knowing so little!" sighed Shirley. "For all we know, these might be absolutely delicious, toasted ever so slowly and then fried, or something. And don't they bury some delicacies in Japan for years before they're ready to eat?" This to me—but I had to confess my ignorance. "Cheese, now, that has to age, doesn't it?" I suggested.
"No matter," Jinjur said firmly. "Before we begin boiling stuff, I want to take a quick look at our trap, Shirley." They hurried off, and returned almost instantly from the thicket. The trap had succeeded! Together we inspected the struggling animal, holding it by the strong and scrabbling legs. Covered with not unpleasantly blue-green furry fluff, it had a single large eye on the front of the head, and a small toothless opening on the back. Nels grasped on of the upper limbs and looked closely. "Look at that! These digits are opposable! That's how it manages to hold stuff and carry it off."
"And look at the long claws," added Cinnamon. "I've noticed them digging, and pulling things up to take. But I've never seen them actually "eating" anything!"
Surprised, we all thought back carefully. None of us has seen these creatures do anything other than retrieving. At this instant, without making a sound, the little animal collapsed, and with dismay we realized that it, too, had died.
"Certainly low tolerance for shock," Nels said grimly. "Or restraint," I added, thinking. Once again Nels performed the necessary explorations. He and Cinnamon are seriously puzzled; the little creatures have no digestive system beyond the very minimal; it seems certain they are incapable of eating the things we have seen them take with so much enthusiasm. Unlike the "owls," these little beings have tiny brains. Reluctantly, we added the scrawny carcass to our assortment. Operating strictly by guess, Arielle arbitrarily began the cooking of each, sniffing cautiously at the vapors beginning to emerge from the pots, and commenting occasionally.
"Beans and roots probably need more time," she decided, prodding the things with forks which she kept separate in each pot. "And I think meat and fish better grilled." The shellfish she cooked quickly, and removed when their shells opened. The bits of flesh from the animals and the gift from the flouwen she skewered on sticks, and cooked over the coals. This was a peculiar feast before us! And while we prepared to sample them, I though
t with private relief of the remaining dry food from the lander; we will not have to rely entirely on these odd items just yet.
"Now," instructed John, "The safest thing we can do is rely on our own bodies. If your particular item really tastes awful, spit it out. Don't eat a lot, and tell us everything you can about each thing. Ready? I'll start." Resolutely, he spooned up some of the long-simmered beans. They had a rather pleasant, oniony aroma, and he pronounced them rather like boiled beans at home.
"They taste like . . .a . . .vegetable," he concluded somewhat lamely. We watched him eat with an intensity which would have been funny if it were not so critical.
One by one, we took our turns. Carmen thought the fruits, which were her allotment, had possibilities, but that boiling had not been the best treatment for them. The tubers which fell to my share proved to be very bland in taste, mildly and surprisingly rather sweet, but of an agreeable consistency. I reported as well as I could, and hope the things do turn out to be harmless—not only for my own comfort!—but also because I have a feeling they might be very good, if our cooks can experiment with them. The grilled meats were quite good to their tasters, although the land animals provided scanty fare. All of us watched, repelled yet fascinated, as Jinjur grimly opened the shells of one of the shellfish, looked inside, and gulped audibly. I have seen her do many brave things, but nearly the bravest was the firm way she squared her shoulders and downed the shell's pink occupant. Then her look of determination was replaced by a startled expression.
"I think," she said carefully, "that that was good!" She paused, and opened the next fat shell with cautious hope. This time she investigated more carefully, dividing the meat into several bites which she ate with obviously increasing pleasure.
"Well! A slice of lemon, or a bit of tartar sauce, perhaps—anyway, not bad. Not bad at all." She patted her lips discreetly and smiled contentedly.
Nels' taste of the large fish was reassuring, if less evocative of a gourmet delicacy than Jinjur's. He stolidly consumed a healthy portion, commenting only on its tenderness and mildness.
None of us felt any urge to wander off for the next hour or so, preferring to lounge around, waiting to note the effects of these unique ingestions. I know I found myself concentrating on what was happening inside me with such uneasiness I began to feel rather ill; fortunately, I realized this was probably more due to my own qualms than anything toxic I had consumed. Indeed, as time wore on without any dire symptoms appearing, we all became more cheerful. Arielle and Cinnamon fell to discussing seasoning possibilities, and the other women joined in. Having absolutely nothing to suggest in that line, I was free to observe the men talking, very softly, off to one side.
Nels seemed to be describing something to the other three, and their interest was evident. His story progressed, almost inaudible to me, when he suddenly said, loudly, "More!" Then his voice dropped again, and, bewildered, I saw David's shoulders begin to shake. Suddenly Richard threw back his head with a great shout of laughter, in which John joined. I watched, baffled, as all four turned to regard us with a peculiar mixture of merriment and concern. They then turned back, to confer in low voices again.
Jinjur had been watching, with growing impatience, and now called, "Hey! Front and center, you four! What's so funny?"
The men came slowly, to stand, rather ill at ease, before her.
"It's a bit of a problem," began Nels slowly, looking at the ground.
"But we definitely have the solution," added Richard more firmly, and then chuckled and stopped.
"The thing is," said John with determination, "The flouwen are experiencing difficulty in the ocean; the chemical mixture is such that they can adapt to it, but it lacks something. Similarly, we could live on a restricted diet here for a while, but if there's no—for instance—potassium in the food, we'll eventually become ill."
"I'm aware of that danger," said Jinjur grimly. "It's facing us right here and now. Do the flouwen know what chemicals they lack?"
"Well, that's it, you see. Apparently, what they require is a small amount of ammonia to keep their internal chemistry properly balanced, and by sheer accident—here Richard spluttered again but was instantly silent—they've discovered we can supply them that! If we cooperate," he added hastily.
Jinjur frowned. "Well, of course we'll cooperate. We need to keep them as allies in any way possible. But where do we get ammonia? I don't . . ." she stopped, her eyes widening, as Carmen emitted the first real laugh I have heard from her in months.
"Am I right?" Carmen asked Nels, her eyes dancing. "They want urine?"
I gasped, but it transpired that she was correct. Urine is the human body's way of handling the toxic ammonia produced during some metabolic processes. Two ammonia molecules are tied up into a less toxic compound, which is then disposed of. The flouwen had learned (how, was tactfully not described) that human urine supplied them admirably with the very chemical needed to balance their system's internal chemistry, and it behooves us to share it with them. With careful choice of words, we addressed the problems of supply and demand, and finally decided to set aside a certain very shallow section of the beach for providing the flouwen with that which they need.
Nels said, "We'll need to work out a signal for them, to let them know when . . ."
But I flatly refused to do that. "Of course, I shall do my part," I said firmly. "And happy to help. But I don't intend to make a loud announcement each and every time . . ." I broke off, but the others seemed, mostly, to agree. I'm sure the flouwen, intelligent as they are, will be quick enough to learn when to visit that beach.
As the evening wore on, and we continued to experience no distress from our unusual meal, we became more relaxed. Nels and John had carefully studied the two small creatures we had, apparently, killed, and described their curiously incomplete structures. We puzzled over that to no avail. From there, the conversation ranged to the wide variety of life-forms we have already observed, and a bit of useless speculation about what we have yet to learn. We had fallen rather quieter, when David suddenly produced a wonderful surprise. He had, during the past days, been selecting bits of stick and lengths of sapling for some private purpose of his own. Now, he reached behind him and pulled forth one of the sapling tubes and put it to his mouth. To my incredulous delight, he produced a soft and lilting bit of melody.
"Oldest instrument in the world—any world!" he chuckled at our amazement. "Nothing to it!" And, indeed, it looks simple—but even with the best intentions, I could never have placed the little holes, and the curious little bit of leaf, at just the right position to create music.
"There's more!" he said, putting down the flute. Moving to the shadows at the back of our lean-to, he felt around, and brought out a harp with an odd, boxy frame. It was fitted with little pegs, and strung with tightly wound tendrils from the strangling rootlets. I listened, entranced, as he struck several individual notes in rhythm, and then brushed the entire surface for a gentle chord. "Can't tune it, of course!" he said cheerfully. "And the vines don't work very well. But it's a start!" He snatched up the whistle again, and played a very simple thing of four notes, but with a joyous jigging rhythm. David's pleasure in his own music is revealing; how vital it must be to him, to work so long and patiently to create it! The four sweet notes set up an insistent beat; repeated steadily, but altering slightly at each repetition.
Suddenly, Shirley seized a nearby cooking pot, upended it, and began to beat out a complex tattoo in counterpoint to David's whistling. She has never done such a thing before! I watched in amazement as her face bent to the task, intent and absorbed, while her fingers and palms danced with a life of their own. Quickly, Carmen stood, placed her hands on her hips, and held her body straight and still while her feet flew over the rushes in an intricate pattern.
"My God!" said John softly, his eyes glowing. "It's Amateur Night!" But he didn't move, and I was watching the three with such pleasure I paid no attention to him.
Then, Carmen's foot sli
pped on the uneven surface, and she stopped. The whistle sounded a final note and was silent, and Shirley's hands clattered a triumphant cadence, and stilled. The hush sounded very quiet for an instant, and then the rest of us applauded madly until our hands ached!
We're all drowsy now, hoping to feel as well when we awaken, and are eager to begin further exploration and food sampling. Although we have still been unable to build our signal fire or to receive any message from Prometheus, we are more cheerful this evening—for very little reason!
"It's not such a bad little old world, after all," murmured John. The trite old phrase took on new meaning, suddenly. I considered what we've found, and seen, and done in this hectic time.
"Could have been worse. And still could, too." Nels was realistic.
"Still . . ." Shirley's voice was drowsy, but content. "I don't know . . .it's been kind of fun . . ."
Arielle yawned unself-consciously. "Good place to swim . . .warm . . .plenty to do . . ."
Marooned on Eden Page 13
