The Rediscovery of Man - The Complete Short Science Fiction of Cordwainer Smith - Illustrated

by Cordwainer Smith

  Kuat, relaxed, smiled pleasantly.

  For the first time since Styron IV the Lord Kemal bin Permaiswari felt that he might in truth recover completely. It was the first time he had felt really interested in anything.

  Madu brought him back to his present situation.

  “You like our dju-di?” It was hardly a question.

  Kemal nodded, blissful and still absorbed in the puzzle he had encountered.

  “You may have one more,” she said, “but that is all that is good for you. After that, one begins to lose one’s senses, and that, after all, is not pleasurable, is it?”

  She poured the second cup for Kemal, for Lari and herself.

  Kuat reached for the pitcher, and she slapped playfully at his hand. “One more and you might pour yourself pisang by accident.”

  He laughed. “I am bigger than most men and can drink more than they.”

  “At least let me pour it then,” she said, and proceeded to do so.

  She turned again to the Space Lord with a playful gaiety which did not ring quite true. “He is one whom we must all indulge; but, really, it is dangerous to have too much. You see how this pitcher is made?”

  She took off the lid to demonstrate the division of the pitcher. “In one half is dju-di; in the other there is pisang, which is identical in taste to dju-di, but it is deadly. One cup kills anyone drinking it within eefunjung.” Involuntarily Kemal shuddered. The unit of time she mentioned was so small as to be almost instantaneous.

  “No antidote?”

  “None.”

  Lari, who had been sitting quietly, now spoke. “It is the same thing, really. Dju-di is the distilled pisang. They come from a fruit which grows here, only on Xanadu. Galaxy knows how many people must have died eating the fruit or drinking the fermented but undistilled pisang before the secret of dju-di was discovered.”

  “Worth every one of them,” Kuat laughed. Any remaining warmth engendered by the dju-di which the Space Lord might have felt toward the Governor of Xanadu was dissipated. His curiosity regarding the duality of the pitcher, however, was aroused.

  “But if you know that pisang is poison, why do you keep it in the same container with dju-di? For that matter, why do you keep it in its undistilled state at all?”

  Madu nodded agreement. “I have often asked the same question, and the answers I get make no sense.”

  “It’s the excitement of danger,” Lari said. “Don’t you enjoy the dju-di more knowing there’s the element of chance you’ll get pisang?”

  “That’s what I said,” Madu repeated. “The answers make no sense.”

  At this point Kuat broke in. His speech was slightly slurred, but he spoke intelligently enough. “In the first place, there is tradition. In the old days, under the first Kahn and before Xanadu came under the jurisdiction of the Lords of the Instrumentality, there was a great deal of lawlessness on Xanadu. There were power struggles for leadership. People came here from other planets to plunder our richness. There had to be some simple way of eliminating them before they knew they were being eliminated. The double pitcher is copied, so they say, from a Chinesian one brought by the first Kahn. I don’t know about that, but it has become traditional here. You won’t find a dju-di holder on Xanadu without its corresponding pisang holder.” He nodded wisely, as if he had explained everything, but the Space Lord was not satisfied.

  “All right,” he said, “you make the pitchers in the traditional way, but why, by Venus’s clouds, must you continue to put pisang in them?”

  Kuat’s answer, when it came, was in even more slurred tones than his previous speech; the effects of too much dju-di began to make him sound intoxicated, and the Space Lord made mental note to heed Madu’s injunctions not to exceed two cupfuls of the drink. Kuat gave a rather leering smile and wagged a finger admonishingly at Lord Kemal.

  “Strangers mustn’t ask too many questions. Might still be enemies around and we’re all prepared. Anyway, that’s the way we execute criminals on Xanadu.” His laugh was uninhibited. “They don’t know what they’re getting. It’s like a lottery. Sometimes I tease them a little. Give them dju-di first, and they start to think they’re going to be freed. Then I give them another cup, and they don’t suspect a thing. Drink it happily because nothing happened with the first cup. Then when the paralysis hits them—ha! you should see their faces!”

  For an instant the latent dislike which the Space Lord had conceived for Kuat sprang full grown. But the man’s intoxicated, in effect, he thought. And then: But is this the real man speaking?

  “No, no, Kuat, you don’t mean that!”

  Realization seemed to return to Kuat. He gave his brother’s knee a reassuring pat. “No, no, course don’t. Think I’ll go to bed. You’ll take care of guest, won’t you?”

  He staggered slightly as he stood up but managed to walk fairly steadily from the room.

  Suddenly the barrier was down slightly. He could not read Kuat’s mind, but the Space Lord could sense, somewhere on the planet, something evil, strange, unlawful. A coldness seemed to replace the warmth of the dju-di in his veins.

  Across the white dunes the wind was beginning to rise. Far from the city, protected by the ancient crater lake of the sunless sea, the laboratory had a deceptive exterior placidity. Within, the illegal diehr-dead, not yet quite sentient, stirred in their ambiotic fluid; outside, trees bearing their deadly fruit seemed to quiver as if in dread anticipation.

  Madu sighed. “I knew he shouldn’t have had that last one, but he would do it.” She turned toward Lari, oblivious of the Space Lord, and said reassuringly:

  “Of course he didn’t mean what he said about teasing the prisoners. He’s been so good to us all these years…nobody could be so kind to us and cruel in other ways, could he?”

  Once more the Space Lord glanced in Lari’s direction. The handsome young face, vital but young, so young, held a look of uneasiness. “No, I suppose not, and still I’ve heard tales…” He broke off, remembering the presence of the Space Lord. “Of course it’s all nonsense,” he concluded, but Lord Kemal had the feeling that he was trying as much to reassure himself as to erase the bad impression his brother had made.

  “We will eat now,” Madu said brightly, and stood up to go into the dining salon. Again the Space Lord felt as if the subject were being changed.

  II

  In after years the Space Lord remembered. Thoughts raced through his mind. Oh, Xanadu, there is nothing with which to liken you in all the galaxies. The shadowless days and nights, the treeless plains, the sudden rainless blasts of thunder and lightning which somehow add to your charm. Griselda. The only pure animal I ever knew. The great rumbling purr, the soft pink nose with the black spot on one side, the eyes which seemed to look beyond the features of my face into my very being. Oh, Griselda, I hope that somewhere you still bound and leap…

  But now: the first few days of the Lord Kemal bin Permaiswari on Xanadu passed quickly as he was introduced to the infinite pleasures of Xanadu.

  On the day following Kemal’s arrival a footrace had been scheduled in which Lari was to run. The element of competition which had been brought back to Xanadu was part of a deliberate return to the simpler joys which mankind in its mechanization had forgotten.

  Crowds at the stadium were gay and bright. Most of the young girls wore their hair loose and flowing; the women, old and young alike, wore the typical costume of Xanadu: tiny short skirt and open sleeveless jacket. On most worlds the older women would have looked grotesque or at least ludicrous in this costume, and the younger women would have seemed lewd. But on Xanadu there was a basic innocence and acceptance of the body, and almost without exception the women of Xanadu, irrespective of age, seemed to have retained their lovely lithe figures, and there was no false modesty to call attention to their seminudity.

  Most of the young people, male and female alike, wore the shimmering body powder which the Space Lord had first noted on Madu; some matched the powder to their clothes, other
s to their hair or eyes. A few wore a colorless luminescent dusting. Of them all, the Space Lord thought Madu the loveliest.

  She radiated excitement, a portion of which communicated itself to Lord Kemal. Kuat seemed unemotional.

  “How can you sit there so calmly?” she asked.

  “The boy’ll win, you know. Anyway horse racing is more exciting.”

  “For you, maybe. Not for me.”

  Lord Kemal was interested. “I have never seen this racing,” he said. “What is it? The horses all run together to see which is the fastest?”

  Madu nodded agreement. “They all start at a given signal and run a predetermined path. The one who reaches the goal first is the winner. He,” she nodded her head playfully in Kuat’s direction, “likes to bet, that is to wager, that his horse will win. That is why he likes horse races better than human races.”

  “And you have no wager on the human races?”

  “Oh, no. It would be degrading to human beings to wager on their abilities or accomplishments!”

  There were three races that day, each one narrowing the field of contestants. It became evident that there was no real competition; Lari so far outdistanced the others that it was almost embarrassing. If he had not been so obviously a superb runner, it would have been easy to assume that the others had held back in order to allow the brother of the governor of Xanadu to win.

  Kuat went off to the center of the stadium to participate in a copy of an ancient ritual from old Manhome in which a crown of golden leaves was set on Lari’s hair.

  In his absence, Lord Kemal heard various whisperings behind him in which he caught the words “dance with the aroi,” “old governor will not be pleased,” “too bad his mother…” Madu seemed not to be listening.

  After the celebrations, when the Governor and his party had returned to the palace, Lord Kemal remembered the curious phrases; in particular he was puzzled by the present or future tense of “old governor will be (not would have been) pleased.” It stuck in his mind and fretted there, like a splinter in a sore finger. His mind was only just recovering from the wounds of the fear machines, and he decided he could not risk a further infection.

  While Kuat was having his second goblet of dju-di, Lord Kemal said, most casually, “How long have you been governor of Xanadu, Kuat?”

  The latter glanced up, sensing something beneath the casualness of the immediate question.

  Lari interrupted. “I was a small baby—”

  Kuat’s gesture silenced him. “For many years,” he said. “Does it matter how many?”

  “No, I was curious,” said the Space Lord, deciding on modified candor, “I thought that the governorship of Xanadu was hereditary, but I heard something today which made me believe that the governor your father was still alive.”

  Again Lari, before Kuat could silence him, rushed to answer. “But he is. He’s with the aroi…that’s why my mother—”

  Kuat’s frown silenced him.

  “These are not matters for the Instrumentality. These are matters of Xanadu’s local customs, protected by Article #376984, sub-article a, paragraph 34c of the instrument under which Xanadu agreed to come under the protection of the Instrumentality. I can assure the Lord that only domestic matters of purely autochthonous origin are concerned.”

  Lord Kemal nodded in ostensible agreement. He felt that he had somehow uncovered another small portion of the mystery which intrigued him, interested him as nothing else had done since Styron IV.

  III

  On the fourth “day” of his stay on Xanadu, Lord Kemal went out with Madu and Lari for his first experience beyond the walls of the city since his arrival. By this time, the Space Lord had become quite fond of the cat Griselda. It pleased him inordinately when she gave a great purr of pleasure and lay down for him to mount without awaiting a command.

  He saw animals in a new light. With poignancy he knew that underpersons, modified animals in the shape of human beings, were truly neither one thing nor the other. Oh, there were underpersons of great intelligence and power but…he let the thought trail off.

  They raced across the plains with a singular joy. Windswept, treeless, the small planet had a wild beauty of its own. The black sea lashed at the foot of the chalk cliffs. Kemal, watching the li of sand, felt the strangeness of the place once more. In the distance he saw a great bird rise, falter, then fall.

  Later, much later, the song the computer wrote when he fed it the facts of time and place became known throughout the galaxies:

  On a dark mountain

  Alone in the cloud

  The eagle paused

  And the wind shrieked aloud

  The thunder rolled

  And the mist of the cloud

  Formed the eagle’s shroud

  As it fell to the ground

  Wings battered and torn.

  And the surf

  At the foot

  Of the cliff

  Was white

  That night,

  And bright

  The wings

  Of the falling

  Bird.

  I heard

  The cry.

  Perhaps it was testimony to the depth of his feeling that the Lord Kemal fed these facts to the computer in such a way that some of his agony was expressed.

  Madu and Lari watched also as the bird fell, their bright joy overcast by something they could not quite comprehend.

  “But why?” Madu whispered. “It flew along as freely as we were riding, we bounded as it soared, all free and happy. And now…”

  “And now we must forget it,” said the Space Lord, of a wisdom born of endless endurance and a wariness he wished he did not feel. But he himself could not forget it. Hence the computer.

  “On a dark mountain…”

  More slowly now, chilled by the death of beauty, of life, they proceeded, each involved in thought.

  “What waste!” the Space Lord thought. What waste of beauty. The bird had soared free as a dream. Why? A strange current of air? Or something more deadly?

  “What did my mother feel?” thought Lari. “What were her feelings and thoughts when she walked into the warm deep dark sea—and knew she would never return?”

  Madu felt confused and lonely. It was the first time that she personally had ever confronted death in any form. Her parents were unreal to her; she had never known them. But this bird—she had seen it alive and free, flying, concerned with nothing more important than its graceful glides and soaring; and now, suddenly, it was dead. She could not reconcile the two thoughts in her mind.

  It was Lord Kemal who, because of his age and experience, recovered first. “You haven’t told me,” he said, “where we are going.”

  Madu’s smile was a feeble echo of her usual glow, but she made the effort. “We’re going to ride around the edge of the crater up there by the peak. It’s a beautiful view, and when you stand there you can almost get the idea that you can see the whole planet.”

  Lari nodded, determined to participate in the conversation despite the dark thoughts which had clouded his mind. “It’s true,” he said. “You can even see the grove of buah trees from there. It’s from the fruit of the buah trees that we get pisang and dju-di.”

  “I was curious about that,” the Space Lord said. “I haven’t seen a tree since I landed on the planet.”

  “No,” said Madu and Lari simultaneously. It created a small diversion, and they both laughed spontaneously, acting more naturally than they had since the death of the bird. Unconsciously they communicated their more cheerful attitude to the cats, which now began to bound forward once more at increased speed.

  The Space Lord’s happiness at the upswing in spirits of his young companions was tempered with chagrin that the conversation, which had started to be interesting, could not continue while their steeds were proceeding at this breakneck speed.

  As they continued uphill, however, the cats gradually began to slow. The change was imperceptible at first, but as the long cli
mb continued, Lord Kemal could feel Griselda’s increasing effort. He had begun to think that nothing could tire her, but the climb to the edge of the crater was considerably longer than it looked from below.

  That the other cats were also feeling the strain was evident from their decreased pace.

  The Space Lord reopened the conversation. “You were going to tell me about the trees,” he said.

  It was Lari who answered first. “You are quite right about not having seen any trees,” he said. “The only trees which grow on Xanadu except the buah trees are the Kelapa trees, and they grow down in the craters of the smaller volcanoes. You can see some of them too when we get to the crater rim. But the buah trees always grow in groves—there must be both male and female to bear fruit, and the fruit can only be approached at certain times. Otherwise, even to inhale the scent is deadly.”

  Madu gravely concurred. “We must always keep at a distance from the buah grove until Kuat has consulted with the aroi, and when he tells us the time is right, then everyone on Xanadu participates in the harvest. The aroi dance, and it is the best time of all…”

  Lari shook his head, disapprovingly. “Madu, there are things we don’t talk about to outsiders.”

  Her face suffused, eyes suddenly welling, she stammered, “But a Lord of the Instrumentality…”

  Both men realized her unhappiness, and each in his own way hastened to remedy it. The Space Lord said, “I’m good at not remembering things I shouldn’t.”

  Lari smiled at her and put his right hand hard on her shoulder. “It’s all right. He understands, and you didn’t mean any harm. We won’t either of us say anything to Kuat.”

  As he lay in his room after dinner, the Space Lord tried to reconstruct the afternoon. They had reached the rim of the crater and it had been as Madu said: one could feel as if the horizon were infinite. The Space Lord had felt an overwhelming sense of the magnitude of infinity, something he had never quite experienced to this degree before in all of his trips through space or time. And yet there had been a small nagging feeling that something was not quite right.