Return to Eden

by Harry Harrison

  “You shall have them, Enge. A time of decision has come. I wish to meet with those few Daughters of some intelligence to discuss the future of this city. I shall tell you the names of those whom I wish to be present.”

  “Difficulty of ordering, great Ambalasei. The Daughters of Life see equality in all. Decisions must be made by all.”

  “That is for you to do if you wish. After I have talked to those whom I wish to talk to. Do you find difficulty in arranging this?”

  “There is difficulty, but it shall be done as you have commanded.”

  “Why difficulty?”

  “Each day the Daughters grow restive in following your orders as though you were an eistaa. They say the city is now fully grown . . .”

  “Spare me their thoughts. I am well aware of what they think and that is why I want this meeting with those of my own choosing. You will be there, as well as my assistant Setèssei, and Elem who commands the uruketo and respects knowledge. And Far< who represents the thoughts of Ugunenapsa at their most simplistic and argumentative. Are there others of intelligence you wish to be present?”

  “With gratitude, there are. Efen, who is closest to me. Omal and Satsat as well for we are the only survivors of those who were sent to Alpèasak.”

  “Let it be done. Order them to attend now.”

  “I shall request their presence with suggestions of urgency,” Enge said then turned and left.

  Ambalasei’s quick anger was replaced by appreciation. A Yilanè of some intelligence. If only she could rise above thoughts of Ugunenapsa she could be a scientist of note, an eistaa of a great city. It was an incredible waste.

  They arrived, one by one, the last two hurrying up with mouths agape since they had come the greatest distance. Ambalasei looked at them in silence, then twitched her tail in the quick motion that signified attention.

  “And silence as well, particularly you, Far<, for you are a born interrupter, until I have finished speaking. I will tell you of matters of some importance. And then you will speak to me in response. Then, as Enge has informed me, all of the sisters will talk to each other at once and at great length but I will not be there. Now listen in silence, interruption forbidden. Like all great thinkers and speakers I go from the general to the specific, from observation to conclusion.

  “Observation. Look around you. Do you know where you are at this present moment? Of course you do for you are Yilanè, and every Yilanè knows of the ambesed for every city has an ambesed. The chromosomes for its growth were there in the city’s seed, as were those of the hanalè. I went there today and looked at the door that has never been opened for there are no males here to be locked away behind that door.”

  She paused for a moment so they could think about these facts and saw that Far< was poised for speech. Until Setèssei, who had anticipated this, trod hard on her foot. Ambalasei registered silent approval; a perfect assistant, then moved in disapproval as she saw only blankness in their bodies.

  “You have minds and do not use them. I give you facts, but you do not draw conclusions. So I will have to do your thinking for you as I have done in the past, as I will undoubtedly have to do in the future.

  “The conclusion inescapably reached is that this is an incomplete city—just as you Daughters of Disability are an incomplete society. Ahh, you stir with disapproval and lack of understanding. At least you are listening. Explanation/definition of a society. This is a technical term of which you will be ignorant, as you are ignorant of most things. A society is a closely integrated grouping of organisms of the same species, held together by mutual dependence and showing division of labor. Examples follow.

  “Insects. The anthill is a society with workers, soldiers, larval attendants, an eistaa to produce eggs, a group working in harmony. Observe as well the ustuzou deer where a large horned male keeps predators at bay so the females can bear young. Think of an efenburu in the ocean where all the elininyil work together in the pursuit of food. That is a sufficiency of examples. Now think of the city where you went as fargi, grew and became Yilanè. It was shaped as all cities, like this city, with an ambesed where the eistaa ruled and ordered. A hanalè to contain the males that would guarantee the continuation of the city when the time came for them to go to the beaches. That is what a living city is—a viable society. I still see blankness of knowledge. A viable society is one that lives and grows and never dies.”

  Ambalasei looked around and registered disgust at her silent audience. “And what do you have here? You have a dead society. A city that lives only when I order it, that will die when I leave it. And a system of dying beliefs because Ugunenapsa’s words will die when you die. Perhaps it is correct to call you Daughters of Death. Because you will die and the words of Ugunenapsa will die with you. Which I, for one, am beginning to think is not a bad idea at all.”

  She nodded approval at her gasping audience, the inadvertent body movements of disapproval and disagreement. “Now,” she said with certain overtones of appreciation of entertainment to come, “now that I have drawn your attention to matters imperative, it is your turn to talk.”

  There were churning limbs then, and cries of attention to speaking. Only when Enge signed urgency of speech did the others cease their protests. She indicated Ambalasei with movements of appreciation as she spoke.

  “You must replace anger with gratitude to wise Ambalasei who sees all, knows all. Do you kill the messenger who brings the bad news? Is this what Ugunenapsa has taught you? We thank Ambalasei for pointing out the truth of our existence, the realities of our lives. A problem can be solved only when one is aware of the problem. Now we can turn all of our intelligence to its solution. We must search for the meaning in Ugunenapsa’s words for I know the answer must be there. For if it does not lie there we die—just as Ambalasei has said.” She raised a thumb, held it high.

  “One problem with two sides. Both sides are blank, empty, and we must fill them. We stand in one emptiness, the ambesed. We will not have an eistaa—but we must have a system of order to this city, order as represented by the ambesed. This problem we must solve first. Only when this has been done can we address ourselves to the empty hanalè. When we order our thoughts we will order our lives. When we order our lives we will order the city. Then, and only then, can we consider the continuity of this city. Again Ambalasei is terribly right. What do we have here? A city of perfect harmony—and perfect death. We will grow old and die, one by one, and only emptiness will remain. Think on it.”

  A shiver of pain moved through the listening Yilanè, sparing only Ambalasei who nodded with grim approval. The Daughters of Life were now as silent as death. Except for Far< of course. Her voice was shrill with emotion, the movements of her limbs erratic with stress. This did not stop her from speaking.

  “I hear what you say, Enge, but you are misled. Ambalasei may be a scientist of knowledge, but she is not a follower of Ugunenapsa. That is her fault and her failing. Now she misleads us with talks of an eistaa and of the eistaa’s rule. This we have rejected, and our rejection has led us to this place. We listen to Ambalasei corrupting thoughts and we forget Ugunenapsa. We forget Ugunenapsa’s third principle. The Efeneleiaa, the spirit of life, which is the great eistaa of the city of life and we are dwellers in this city. We must think of that and reject Ambalasei’s crude city with its ambesed and primitive hanalè. She misleads us when she speaks to us of these things. We must turn our backs on her and turn our faces to Ugunenapsa and follow where she leads. We must go forth from this ambesed and seal its entrance, just as we must grow vines over the door to the hanalè for we have no need of either of them. If this city is wrong for us then we must leave this city. Go to the beaches and the forests and live free as do the Sorogetso. We need no eistaa, we need no captive males. We will go to the shore when the young efenburu emerge from the waves. Speak with the fargi while they are still wet from the sea, lead them into the light and the life that is ours under the guidance of Ugunenapsa . . .”

  She stop
ped speaking, shocked, as Ambalasei made the rudest sound known, spoke the coarsest phrase ever heard, moved her limbs in the most gross insult ever conceived.

  “Your thoughts are like the excrement of a thousand giant nenitesk, a single turd of which would fill this ambesed,” Ambalasei thundered. “I ordered you to think—not proclaim your world-filling stupidity. Leave the city? Please do that—to be eaten by the first carnivore to pass this way. Greet the emerging fargi at the ocean’s shore? Do that—but you will have a very long wait since the nearest birth beach is an ocean away.”

  She moved slowly about to face every one of the Daughters in turn, her body arched with contempt, her claws tearing great grooves in the ground as she moved in uncontrollable anger.

  “I leave you now since I will hear no more of this stupidity. Speak it to each other after I have gone. This city is yours, your lives are yours. Decide what to do with them. You will have all the time you need for I go now to sail with the uruketo up the great river on a voyage of exploration. It is also for my health’s sake for it is being destroyed by you Daughters of Desperation. Now, you, Elem, do you guide the uruketo for me or must I also do this myself?”

  In the shocked silence that followed every eye was on the commander of the uruketo. She stood, head lowered in thought for some time. Then she spoke.

  “I follow Ugunenapsa wherever she may lead me. I am also a follower of science and follow where that leads as well. Ugunenapsa and science led us here, both embodied in Ambalasei who has made this city and our life possible. Enge, and others here, are wise in the interpretation of Ugunenapsa’s words. I will follow where they lead, so I need not be here while you decide. Therefore I will guide and protect Ambalasei while you consider our future. I think Far< is wrong because Ambalasei speaks only the truth. I say do not listen to her. Find a path into tomorrow that both Ambalasei and Ugunenapsa may tread. That is what I have to say and now I will go.”

  She turned and left the ambesed. Setèssei hurried away as well for many preparations must be made for the voyage. Ambalasei followed at a more leisurely pace, turning before she left since she always had the last word.

  “You hold your future between your thumbs, Daughters of Despair. I think you will all die because you are too stupid to live. So—prove me wrong. If you can.”

  Lanefenuu, Eistaa of Ikhalmenets, sat in her place of honor in the ambesed, the great carving of uruketo and waves rising up behind her, and was not happy. Not at all. This was her ambesed, her city, her island. Everything that stretched before her or around her was hers. Cause for pleasure once, cause for blackness of humor now. She looked past the walls of the ambesed to the trees beyond, where they climbed up the slopes of the long-dead volcano. Up to the snowcapped summit, hideously white all of the way through the heat of summer. Her body arched and writhed with movements of hatred, so much so that Elilep who was painting her arms had to move aside quickly or be struck. The other male, who had carried the tray of pigments, shivered delicately at Lanefenuu’s strong emotions.

  She saw the movement, looked at him with one eye, then back to the mountain peak. An attractive male, delicate. Perhaps she should take him now? No, not this day, not the day when it all ended.

  Elilep was trembling now as well, so much so that the brush in his hands was unsteady and he could not control it.

  “Finish the painting,” Lanefenuu ordered. “I wish the mountain and the ocean there on my chest, in the greatest of detail.”

  “Great Eistaa, it was said that we leave this island today.”

  “We do. Most are gone. When we board the uruketo we will be the last.”

  “I have never been in a uruketo. I am afraid.”

  Lanefenuu fingered his crest and signed abandonment of fear/reasonless. “That is only because you are a simple male, plucked from the sea, raised in the hanalè, which is the right and proper thing. You have never left this island—but you shall now. All of us. We will cross the ocean and I command you to abandon fear. We go to the city of Alpèasak which is larger than Ikhalmenets, is rich in new/delicious animals, has a hanalè of pleasurable size.”

  Elilep, who was sensitive to others’ feelings, as were most males, was still not calmed. “If this distant city is so fine why does the Eistaa show anger and grief?”

  “Anger at the whiteness of winter that drives me from my city. Grief that I must leave. But enough. What is done is done. Our new city awaits us on the shores of distant Gendasi*, a city of golden beaches. Far superior to this rock in the ocean. Come.”

  She stood and stamped across the ambesed with the males scurrying after her. Head lifted, filled with pride and strength. Perhaps it was best to leave this ambesed forever, leave this place where the ustuzou had humiliated her, ordered her obedience. She snapped her thumbs at the memory, but remembered as well that there had been no choice. Two of her uruketo dead. She had had no choice. Better the conflict to end. Enough had died. If she had not listened to Vaintè’s counsel none of this would have happened. Her body writhed as strong emotions seized her. It was part of the past and could be forgotten along with this city and this island.

  Her uruketo waited, the others had already left as she had commanded. She ordered the males aboard, started to follow them, turned back to look despite herself. The green below, the white above.

  Her jaw gaped with powerful emotions—until she snapped it shut. Enough. It was over. Her city was now warm Alpèasak. Winter could come to Ikhalmenets. It was no longer her concern.

  Yet she stayed on top of the fin, alone, until Ikhalmenets finally sank into the sea and was gone.

  Es alithan hella, man fauka naudinzan. Tigil hammar ensi tharp i theisi darrami thurla.

  TANU PROVERB

  * * *

  If the deer go, the hunters follow. An arrow cannot kill a beast in the next valley.

  SIX

  Sanone did not approve of this kind of meeting. Among the Sasku they ordered things differently. It was the manduktos who labored with their minds and not their hands, who studied Kadair and his effect on this world, as well as other important things, it was they who met and considered and decided. When consideration and decision were needed. Not in this disorganized manner where anyone at all could give an opinion. Even women!

  None of these thoughts showed on Sanone’s lined, dark face; his features were calm and unrevealing. He sat crosslegged by the fire, listened and observed but did not speak. Not yet. He had good reason to be here, though he was Sasku and not Tanu, and he could see the reason for his presence there behind the seated hunters, among the women. Malagen felt his eyes upon her and moved unhappily back into the darkness. Sanone’s expression did not change at the sight of her—though his nostrils did flare with annoyance when a horde of screaming children ran by and kicked sand upon him. He brushed it off and turned his attention to Herilak who rose to speak.

  “Much has been done. Fresh poles have been cut for the travois, leather harnesses have been repaired. Meat has been smoked and is ready. I think all has been done that needs to be done. Speak if anything has been left unfinished.”

  Merrith climbed to her feet, made insulting gestures at the hunters who tried to shout her down. As big as a hunter—as strong as one too—she had been on her own since Ulfadan’s death.

  “You speak of leaving this valley of the Sasku. I speak of staying.”

  The women behind her were silent, the hunters noisy in their disagreement. She waited until the shouts had died down, then spoke again. “Hunters you have mouths at the wrong end—when you talk it sounds like farts. We have good food here and there is good hunting in the hills. Why should we leave?”

  Some of the women called out in agreement with this and the discussion became heated and confused. Sanone listened, expressionless, guarding his thoughts. Herilak waited until he saw that it would not end easily, then shouted them into silence. They obeyed since he had led them in war against the murgu and they had survived.

  “This is not the place to discu
ss these things. Tanu does not kill Tanu. It is also true that Tanu cannot command Tanu. The hunters who wish to come when we leave will come. Those who wish to stay will stay.”

  “Hunters only?” Merrith called out brazenly. “Is it that women no longer have a voice?”

  Herilak controlled his temper and wished that one woman at least had lost hers. “A woman will talk to her hunter, they will decide what they must do. We are here now because those of us who wish to leave this valley must get all in readiness . . .”

  “Well here is one who does not wish to leave,” Merrith said, standing and pushing her way through the crowd, then stopped to look back. “Unless I am not welcome to remain here. What do you say, Sanone, mandukto of the Sasku?”

  They turned to Sanone now, with great interest. He raised his hands as high as his shoulders, palms outward, and spoke in accented but good Marbak. “Sasku and Tanu fought as one in the city on the shore, came to this valley and fought side by side again. The Tanu are welcome to stay, free to go. We are as brothers.”

  “And sisters,” Merrith added brusquely. “This one is staying.” She turned her back and left.

  If any of the other women felt as she did they kept their silence. They were free, as all Tanu are free, to live their lives just as they wished. If a sammadar displeased them they would go to a new sammad. But the bonds to a hunter who had fathered their children were not as easily broken. And the hunters yearned for the forests; they could not be prevented from leaving.

  The discussion went on for a long time. The fires died down and children fell asleep. Sanone waited patiently and when it was time he rose to his feet.

  “I am here because of two matters—may I speak?”

  “Do not ask,” Herilak said firmly. “The bonds of battle tie us close.”