"So must ants and insects," said Ramon. "And yet you do not doubt that Dr. Henden lost his life in a district where ants and insects were as large and larger than human beings. You yourself secured his notes telling of his strange experiences. You, yourself published the story. You have told me about it scores of times. Is it any more remarkable, more incredible, that there should he human beings as small as ants— thousands of times smaller than ants—than it is to have ants hundreds, thousands of times larger than ordinary ants?"
"I don't suppose it is," I confessed.
"And do you, a scientist, assume for one moment that our world is the only sphere on which intelligent vertebrate life exists?" he continued.
"No, of course not," I assured him.
"Very well," Ramon proceeded. "In that case, why should there not be forms of life on electrons? An electron is as much a portion of a planetary system as our globe. Why shouldn't life, intelligent life, exist upon atoms? And why should there be any hard and fast rule limiting the size—and mind you, amigo mio, size is a relative term as vague and meaningless as our time—why, I say, should there be any limit to size?"
"Scientifically speaking, there isn't," I agreed. "But the trouble is, these beings are so darned much like any one else. If they'd been wholly different, it would have simplified matters."
"That, I admit, is a puzzle," he said. "I've been thinking a lot about it, and about your suggestion that the pre-Incans might have been giants. I wonder—no, that's too wild even for the primitive side of my mind. Do you know, these people are exactly like—bear the same relation to giants as the Manabi gold beads bear to the titanic works of the pre-Incans. As I said once before, it is like looking at things through the opposite ends of a pair of field-glasses. One way normal things are enlarged; reverse it and they are reduced. But there's a lot that puzzles me. You see, amigo mio, I am not enough Indian to accept everything without question. My aboriginal and my Iberian blood produce a conflict in my brain. I have the white man's desire for reasoning cause and effect, for getting at the bottom of things; but I have the Indian's tendency to accept things as they are. In some ways I wish I had never experimented with that confounded Manabinite. What I didn't know would not have troubled me. But now, now I cannot rest until I have solved a lot of puzzles."
"Neither can I, Ramon," I assured him. "But somewhere, somehow there's an explanation of this phenomenon. I cannot believe those minute beings, who are obviously identical with people who were of normal size, were created in their present form and size. Somewhere lies a mystery. Ethnology or anthropology does not repeat itself. No two distinct races of man are alike in every way. They may borrow one from another. There may be traces of cultural influence. There may be similarities in arts, in costumes, in religions, in anything. But never are two races—even though one or both may be the result of mixtures— never, I say, are two races identical. From what I have seen, these minute Indians are identical with the ancient Manabis. Perhaps future observation may lead to the detection of differences, but if they prove to be identical, then they are Manabis, and if they are Manabis then, my friend, there are but two possible solutions. Either the original Manabis were normal in size and, by some hitherto unknown process or cause, have dwindled to microscopic proportions, or else the original Manabis were microscopic and, for some undetermined reason and by some unknown process, developed into ordinary-sized mortals. We know the normal sized Manabis have vanished. We know those of microscopic size still exist. Now, Ramon, I propose to stay here until we learn the secret of these people or are convinced that we never can solve it."
Professor Amador rose and grasped my hand. "That," he declared, was almost precisely what I was about to suggest. In view of our amazing discovery what does the rainy season amount to? It will be uncomfortable, and we may be stricken with fever or other sickness. But I for one would consider my life well spent and would gladly succumb, if, by so doing, I could solve this greatest mystery that has ever faced a scientist. I shall remain until we learn the truth, or have abandoned efforts in despair."
Fortunately, however, we were not doomed to endure as much discomfort and to take such risks as I had feared. The rainy season was late, it was not severe, and often there were sunny days with no rain. But I am anticipating again.
It poured all that afternoon and we chafed with impatience. We slept little or not at all that night. Our minds were too filled with the wonders of the day, and we spent the long hours discussing, arguing, suggesting, theorizing, propounding wild hypotheses, only to find ourselves as much at a loss as ever. We came no nearer an explanation, no nearer a logical theory to account for the existence of the incredible, microscopic people we had seen. And when morning dawned at last, and the sun shone from a clear sky, the whole affair seemed so unreal and fantastic that we both felt as though it were all a dream.
WE could scarcely wait to rush off to the prism, which we had left where we had used it, our sensations—or mine at least—a strange mixture of emotions. One moment I felt sure we would see nothing, that it was all a figment of imagination; the next I was wild with curiosity and interest to see the strange people again; to learn how they had fared during the rain. Almost breathless, we peered into the prism. And our first glance was enough. There was the village, there were the Indians. The earth about their village was damp. Evidently they, too, had had rain; but there was no indication that they had suffered from too much water. I was more amazed than ever. Despite Ramon's exposition of why they would not be affected by the downpour, it seemed incredible, unbelievable, that they could have survived. Yet there they were, unharmed, though I knew that the spot where they were had been covered with water during the night. One thing struck me forcibly. I was not yet able to adjust my mental processes to the new facts. I could not conceive as yet how minute these beings really were. They were so perfect in size and proportions, so like ordinary mortals, so wonderfully revealed in the prism, that there was no effect of their being small. That was the greatest difficulty. Until I could adjust my mind to the new conditions—the lizard, the rocks, even the rain, would appear tremendously enlarged and exaggerated. It struck me most forcibly, too, that it is a peculiar fact that the human brain finds it easier to appreciate or conceive of gigantic objects than of minute objects, probably because the eye can see and take in objects of large size, whereas those of unusually small size are difficult or even impossible to discern, and must be viewed through a lens, when they immediately lose their minute proportions. All this flashed through my mind as I again watched the miniature Manabis. Now they were all busy at their various tasks. Some of the men were making weapons, others were twisting ropes, others were building houses or repairing their dwellings, and I saw one gray-haired old fellow chipping away at a partly-finished stone seat.
The women, too, were busy. Some were making dresses, others were weaving or spinning, others were grinding some sort of seeds on metates, others were preparing food. It was, in fact, precisely the same scene that one might expect to see in any ordinary Indian village. Presently the people put aside their various utensils and their work, and, rising, started across the open space near the houses. It was obviously a concerted movement for every individual joined the procession. Then I discovered that their objective was the temple, and I turned my attention to it. Here was a wonderful, a unique opportunity for an archeologist. The Indians were going to a ceremonial, and I would be able to watch it, to study their religious observances. And, I had not the least doubt, they would follow out the same practices as had the ancient Manabis. What an addition to my knowledge of that vanished race! It would solve many an archeological puzzle, would add immeasurably to the world's knowledge of pre-Incan Indian religions and ceremonies.
Then, from a large building near the temple, a second file of people appeared. All were dressed in white, their single, poncho-like garments decorated with gold, and with ornate gold-adorned and bright colored headdresses. First came a group of men, venerable, dignified, each
carrying some ceremonial object. One had a huge axe elaborately carved. Another had a mace-like sceptre with the head carved in a semi-human face that I instantly recognized as the same as that on the lapis idol. Another was bearing a staff, still another carried a beautifully painted, vase-like urn. Then, following them, came a group of women—young girls—clad also in white and gold. That the men were priests and the girls, nuns or vestal virgins, I felt assured, and intently I watched them. Up the broad temple steps they passed, and formed two lines on either side of the main portal. Then, in the center of the door, the priest bearing the mace took his stand, while before and below him the crowd of villagers stood waiting. And I noticed that instead of facing the temple and the priest, the people faced in our direction, gazing towards us intently, curiously, expectantly. So vivid were their expressions, so near and so natural they appeared, that, for a moment, I thought they saw us, were watching us. The next instant I realized my mistake, understood what they were gazing at. A brilliant patch of light struck upon the earth before them; slowly it crept towards the temple steps. They were awaiting the sun, awaiting the daily vision of their sun-god! Up the steps crept the light. It struck upon the majestic figure of the high priest. Up, it crept, until with a sudden burst of reflected light, it struck full upon his upraised golden mace. Instantly the people prostrated themselves, raised their arms and, gazing directly into the rays of the sun, their lips moved, I listened intently, expecting—so plain and vivid was the scene—to hear their voices raised in a chant. But or course there was no sound. I turned for a brief instant to call attention to the illusion to Ramon. I could scarcely believe my eyes. He was prostrate, his arms raised, his face uplifted. Temporarily, unconsciously, he had reverted to the faith of his ancestors! The scene had awakened his old Incan blood. Carried away by the sudden flood of long-dormant beliefs he, too, was making obeisance to the sun-god. I was wise enough not to speak, not to let him see I had noticed him, and I again turned to the prism.
Now the priest had entered the temple followed by the virgins and the people and, so plain was everything, that, by the flood of light entering the place of worship, I could distinguish the priests gathered about a great stone altar upon which rested an immense golden disk engraved to represent a human face. But that which held my gaze, that aroused my greatest interest, was the fact that, ranged about the temple walls, were scores of sculptured stone chairs, the counterparts of those that had so puzzled all archeologists, myself included. They were ceremonial, and, a moment later, the priests seated themselves in the chairs while the Virgins of the Sun prostrated themselves about the altar, and raising their arms, placed offerings upon it. I had solved the riddle of the chairs! I was immensely pleased, and I had completely forgotten that I was gazing at an invisible temple, at invisible men and not at a full-sized temple and normal-sized men. Then a movement at my side attracted my attention. I turned. Ramon had risen. With fixed eyes, with transfigured features, like one in a dream, he was walking forward, hands outstretched. Before I realized what it meant, what had come over him, he dropped on his knees, lifted his hands, and, in vivid pantomime, placed an invisible object on an invisible altar. I understood. For the moment he had been transported back for hundreds, thousands of years. To all intents and purposes he was the reincarnated person of some aboriginal ancestor. In one brief moment, all the white blood, all the inheritance of civilized men had been swept from him. Only the Indian remained, the Indian worshipping his ancient gods.
But he had knelt exactly upon the spot where stood the miniature temple! Unwittingly he must have crushed it and its worshipping people beneath him. Involuntarily I shouted a warning. Dazed, as if awakening from a dream, he blinked, turned towards me. A peculiar expression swept over his face, and slowly, as if still in a daze, he rose.
Beset by fears, forgetting everything in my desire to see the devastation he had wrought, I turned to the prism.
I could not credit my senses! I gasped. I think I screamed. Nothing had changed. There was the temple. The people were streaming down the steps. Ramon might never have existed as far as they were concerned!
CHAPTER IX
“Good Lord!" I ejaculated. "You were right over them and they didn't know you were there!"
For a time he remained silent, lost in thought. Then, ignoring my exclamation: "Really," he said, "I don't know exactly what happened to me. The last I remember clearly was looking into the prism and seeing the priest in the temple door. Then I heard you shout and found myself out there. I must have been temporarily hypnotized by gazing into the crystal. Did I do anything foolish or ridiculous?"
"No." I lied glibly, feeling he might be embarrassed if I described his strange behavior. "You merely acted as if you were walking in your sleep."
Then, not wishing to let him know my suspicions as to the real cause of his actions, I added: "Probably you are right. Gazing fixedly at any bright object often produces an hypnotic effect. But, man alive, don't you realize the wonder of what I said? You stood on top of the temple and produced no effect upon it!"
"Naturally not," he replied, although I could sec that his mind was not on my words. "I was, relatively, as far above the temple as the summits of those snowcapped Andean peaks are above us. Much farther in fact—perhaps as far above it as—well I won't say the moon; but so far above the people and the temple that I was beyond the range of their vision. But, amigo mio, I have a strange sensation of having seen those people and their ceremonies before now. A vivid impression. I even know the words of their chant. I even feel as if I had been in that temple myself. Of course, I never have seen anything of the sort. I wonder if it is the result of my studying so many of the Incan and pre-Incan remains and reading so much about their ceremonies?"
"Very possibly." I agreed, without taking my eyes from the prism. "But, look, Ramon! Did you notice those stone chairs in the temple? They are exact duplicates of those we find about here. It solves the mystery of their use. And the ceremonial! It proves conclusively that the Incan religion was a direct outcome of the beliefs of these pre-Incan people. Why, man, it's like turning back time for several thousand years and seeing the people as they were forty centuries ago!"
Ramon was beside me, staring into the prism again. I glanced at him. His lips were moving as if he were talking to himself. Then, completely lost to his surroundings, his words became audible. "Kapak Inti Illariymin" he muttered in Quicha, and to my amazement, using the ancient Hualla form of the dialect, while, through the prism, I saw the high priest bowing before the altar. Then "Puncaho Pakariyrcutmen," muttered Ramon, as though he was there among the worshipping Indians. Now the people were dispersing; streaming away from the temple, dancing and singing, until, reaching the open stage or plaza of the village, they gathered in groups and knots as if awaiting some other event.
Ramon was, to all intents and purposes, living in another age, in another sphere. "The Taquicamayoc" (musicians), he exclaimed, as from one of the buildings there appeared a group of nearly one hundred Indians playing upon various instruments. And, as the people commenced dancing and going through the complicated steps of the sun-dance my companion's lips hummed an Incan or pre-Incan tune. So amazed was I at his actions, at his complete disembodiment, as I might say, that my interest in him exceeded my interest in the people and their actions. What had come over him? How had it been brought about? How was it that he knew and spoke the ancient Incan or Hualla dialect, recognized each phase of the ceremonies before it occurred, spoke the words of the Incan salutation to the sun-god? Was it possible that he, Professor Amador, the scientist, was the reincarnation of some long-dead Incan or pre-Incan? Had he or his spirit, his soul or whatever it is, lived in the dim past? Had he witnessed and taken part in such ceremonies as were being enacted before us? Did this part of him awaken at sight of the people and the temple and, for the time, dominate him? Or was it, as he had suggested, the result of some form of hypnosis? I could not say, but there was no doubt that he was, for the time, a pre-Incan ta
king, mentally at least, an active part in the pre-Incan ceremonies so strangely revealed to us. Personally, I was convinced that my friend was actuated by the spirit of some remote ancestor, for despite the ridicule of my fellow ethnologists, I had always stoutly maintained my belief in reincarnation. I was therefore immensely pleased at Ramon's behavior. My theory, I felt sure, was being borne out. Here was proof that man is but the reincarnation of other beings, and I regretted that I did not have others to witness the actions of my friend. Also, I wondered whose spirit dwelt dormant within my own body, and I regretted somewhat that I, too, was not of Incan ancestry, for I could then perhaps have taken as intimate a part in the scene before us, as had my friend. At all events I could have obtained a much more vivid and intelligent understanding of everything that was taking place. But I realized that, in all probability, Ramon would remember nothing of what had occurred when he again returned to his normal status, and hence any information I might have secured in that manner would have been of no value to science.
Meanwhile I had not failed to continue watching the amazing scene in the plaza, and I remember that my mental processes were somewhat confused and chaotic. I had long since lost all impressions of looking at minute beings through a magnifying medium; my subconscious mind told me I was not witnessing a scene brought by some mysterious means from a distant spot, and I found myself possessed with the feeling that I was actually in the village among the celebrants while, at the same time, there was the feeling that I was watching a most vivid and perfect motion-picture. This effect was greatly heightened by the absence of sound, although I could see the movements of the Indians' lips, could see the musicians playing upon their Pan's pipes, their flutes and their drums. But no cinematograph film ever portrayed a scene with such detail, such color, such depth and perspective. Intent, fascinated, I gazed; one portion of my brain was filled with Ramon's actions, the other was intent upon the scene before me, and all the time I was feeling that, at any moment, I would awaken to find it all a dream.
Into the Green Prism Page 9
