Gladiator

by Philip Wylie

  XXIII

  Hugo had no friends. One single individual whom he loved, whom he couldhave taken fully into his confidence, might, in a measure, have resolvedhis whole life. Yet so intense was the pressure that had conditioned himthat he invariably retreated before the rare opportunities for suchconfidences. He had known many persons well: his father and mother, AnnaBlake, Lefty Foresman, Charlotte, Iris, Tom Shayne, Roseanne, evenSkorvsky--but none of them had known him. His friendlessness wasresponsible for a melancholy yearning to remain with his kind. Havingalready determined to go away, he sought for a kind of compromise.

  He did not want to be in New York, or Washington, or any other city; thelandscape of America was haunted for him. He would leave it, but hewould not open himself to the cruel longing for his own language, thesight of familiar customs and manners. From his hotel in New York hemade excursions to various steamship agencies and travel bureaus. Hehad seen many lands, and his _Wanderlust_ demanded novelty. For days hewas undecided.

  It was a chance group of photographs in a Sunday newspaper that excitedhis first real interest. One of the pictures was of a man--erect,white-haired, tanned, clear-eyed--Professor Daniel Hardin--a processionof letters--head of the new expedition to Yucatan. The other pictureswere of ruined temples, unpiled stone causeways, jungle. He thoughtinstantly that he would like to attach himself to the party.

  Many factors combined to make the withdrawal offered by an expeditionideal. The more Hugo thought about it, the more excited he became. Thevery nascency of a fresh objective was accompanied by and crowded withnew hints for himself and his problems. The expedition would take himaway from his tribulations, and it would not entirely cut him off fromhis kind: Professor Hardin had both the face and the fame of adistinguished man.

  A thought that had been in the archives of his mind for many months camesharply into relief: of all human beings alive, the scientists were theonly ones who retained imagination, ideals, and a sincere interest inthe larger world. It was to them he should give his allegiance, not tothe statesmen, not to industry or commerce or war. Hugo felt that in onequick glimpse he had made a long step forward.

  Another concept, far more fantastic and in a way even more intriguing,dawned in his mind as he read accounts of the Maya ruins which were tobe excavated. The world was cluttered with these great lumps ofincredible architecture. Walls had been builded by primitive man,temples, hanging gardens, obelisks, pyramids, palaces, bridges,terraces, roads--all of them gigantic and all of them defying thepenetration of archaeology to find the manner of their creation. Was itnot possible--Hugo's heart skipped a beat when it occurred to him--thatin their strange combination of ignorance and brilliance the ancientshad stumbled upon the secret of human strength--his secret! Had notthose antique and migratory peoples carried with them the formula whichcould be poured into the veins of slaves, making them stronger thanengines? And was it not conceivable that, as their civilizationscrumbled, the secret was lost, together with so many other formulae ofknowledge?

  He could imagine plumed and painted priests with prayer and sacrificecutting open the veins of prehistoric mothers and pouring in the magicpotion. When the babies grew, they could raise up the pyramids, walls,and temples; they could do it rapidly and easily. A great enigma wasthus resolved. He set out immediately to locate Professor Hardin andwith difficulty arranged an interview with him.

  Preparations for the expedition were being carried on in an ordinary NewYork business office. A secretary announced Hugo and he was conductedbefore the professor. Daniel Hardin was no dusty pedagogue. Hisknowledge was profound and academic, his books were authoritative, butin himself he belonged to the type of man certain to succeed, whateverhis choice of occupation. Much of his life had been spent in fieldwork--arduous toil in bizarre lands where life depended sometimes ontact and sometimes on military strategy. He appraised Hugo shrewdlybefore he spoke.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Danner?"

  Hugo came directly to the point. "I should like to join your Yucatanexpedition."

  Professor Hardin smiled. "I'm sorry. We're full up."

  "I'd be glad to go in any capacity--"

  "Have you special qualifications? Knowledge of the language? Ofarchaeology?"

  "No."

  The professor picked up a tray of letters. "These letters--more thanthree hundred--are all from young men--and women--who would like to joinmy expedition."

  "I think I should be useful," Hugo said, and then he played his trump,"and I should be willing to contribute, for the favour of beingincluded, a sum of fifty thousand dollars."

  Professor Hardin whistled. Then his eyes narrowed. "What's your object,young man? Treasure?"

  "No. A life--let us say--with ample means at my disposal and no definitepurpose."

  "Boredom, then." He smiled. "A lot of these other young men areindependently wealthy, and bored. I must say, I feel sorry for yourgeneration. But--no--I can't accept. We are already adequatelyfinanced."

  Hugo smiled in response. "Then--perhaps--I could organize my own partyand camp near you."

  "That would hamper me."

  "Then--a hundred thousand dollars."

  "Good Lord. You are determined."

  "I have decided. I am familiar with the jungle. I am an athlete. I speaka little Spanish--enough to boss a labour gang. I propose to assist youin that way, as well as financially. I will make any contract with youthat you desire--and attach no strings whatever to my money."

  Professor Hardin pondered for a long time. His eyes twinkled when hereplied. "You won't believe it, but I don't give a damn for your money.Not that it wouldn't assist us. But--the fact is--I could use a man likeyou. Anybody could. I'll take you--and you can keep your money."

  "There will be a check in the mail to-morrow," Hugo answered.

  The professor stood. "We're hoping to get away in three weeks. You'llleave your address with my secretary and I'll send a list of the thingsyou'll want for your kit." He held out his hand and Hugo shook it. Whenhe had gone, the professor looked over the roof-tops and swore gleefullyto himself.

  Hugo discovered, after the ship sailed, that everyone called ProfessorHardin "Dan" and they used Hugo's first name from the second day out.Dan Hardin was too busy to be very friendly with any of the members ofhis party during the voyage, but they themselves fraternizedcontinually. There were deck games and card games; there were long anderudite arguments about the people whom they were going to study. Whatwas the Mayan time cycle and did it correspond to the Egyptian Sothiccycle or the Greek Metonic cycle. Where did the Mayans get their jade?Did they come from Asia over Bering Strait or were they a colony ofAtlantis? When they knew so much about engineering, why did they not usethe keystone arch and the wheel? Why was their civilization decadent,finished when the _conquistadores_ discovered it? How old werethey--four thousand years or twelve thousand years? There wereinnumerable other debates to which Hugo listened like a man new-born.

  The cold Atlantic winds were transformed overnight to the balm of theGulf stream. Presently they passed the West Indies, which lay on thewater like marine jewels. Ages turned back through the days ofbuccaneering to the more remote times. In the port of Xantl a ricketywharf, a single white man, a zinc bar, and a storehouse filled withchicle blocks marked off the realm of the twentieth century. The shipanchored. During the next year it would make two voyages back to thehomeland for supplies. But the explorers would not emerge from thejungle in that time.

  An antiquated, wood-burning locomotive, which rocked along overtreacherous rails, carried them inland. The scientists became silent andpensive. In another car the Maya Indians who were to do the manuallabour chattered incessantly in their explosive tongue. At the lastsun-baked stop they disembarked, slept through an insect-droning night,and entered the jungle. For three weeks they hacked and hewed their wayforward; the vegetation closed behind them, cutting off the universe ascompletely as the submerging waves of the sea. It was hot, difficultwork, to which Hugo lent himself with an energy that ast
ounded evenHardin, who had judged him valuable.

  One day, when the high mountains loomed into view, Hugo caught his firstglimpse of Uctotol, the Sacred City. A creeper on the hillside fellbefore his machete, then another--a hole in the green wall--and there itstood, shining white, huge, desolate, still as the grave. His arm hungin mid-air. Over him passed the mystic feeling of familiarity, thatfugitive sense of recognition which springs so readily into a belief inimmortality. It seemed to him during that staggering instant that heknew every contour of those great structures, that he had run in thestreets, lived, loved, died there--that he could almost remember thenames and faces of its inhabitants, dead for thousands of years--that hecould nearly recall the language and the music--that destiny itself hadarranged a home-coming. The vision died. He gave a great shout. Theothers rushed to his side and found him trembling and pointing.

  Tons of verdure were cut down and pushed aside. A hacienda wasconstructed and a camp for the labourers. Then the shovels and pickswere broken from their boxes; the scientists arranged theirparaphernalia, and the work began, interrupted frequently by theexultant shouts that marked a new finding. No one regretted Hugo. Hemade his men work magically; his example was a challenge. He could domore than any of them, and his hair and eyes, black as their own, hisgranite face, stern and indefatigable, gave him a natural dominion overthem.

  All this--the dark, starlit, plushy nights with their hypnotic silences,the vivid days of toil, the patient and single-minded men--was respiteto Hugo. It salved his tribulations. It brought him to a gradualassurance that any work with such men would be sufficient for him. Hewas going backward into the world instead of forward; that did notmatter. He stood on the frontier of human knowledge. He was a factor inits preparation, and if what they carried back with them was no morethan history, if it cast no new light on existing wants andperplexities, it still served a splendid purpose. Months rolled byunheeded; Hugo gathered friends among these men--and the greatest ofthose friends was Daniel Hardin.

  In their isolation and occasional loneliness each of them little bylittle stripped his past for the others. Only Hugo remained silent abouthimself until his reticence was conspicuous. He might never have spoken,except for the accident.

  It was, in itself, a little thing, which happened apart from the mainfield of activity. Hugo and two Indians were at work on a small templeat the city's fringe. Hardin came down to see. The great stone in theroof, crumbled by ages, slipped and teetered. Underneath the professorstood, unheeding. But Hugo saw. He caught the mass of rock in his armsand lifted it to one side. And Dan Hardin turned in time to perceive thefull miracle.

  When Hugo lifted his head, he knew. Yet, to his astonishment, there wasno look of fear in Hardin's blue eyes. Instead, they were moderatelysurprised, vastly interested. He did not speak for some time. Then hesaid: "Thanks, Danner. I believe you saved my life. Should you mindpicking up that rock again?"

  Hugo dismissed the Indians with a few words. He glanced again at Hardinto make sure of his composure. Then he lifted the square stone back toits position.

  Hardin was thinking aloud. "That stone must weigh four tons. No manalive can handle four tons like that. How do you do it, Hugo?"

  Hot, streaming sun. Tumbled debris. This profound question asked again,asked mildly for the first time. "My father--was a biologist. A greatbiologist. I was--an experiment."

  "Good Lord! And--and that's why you've kept your past dark, Hugo?"

  "Of course. Not many people--"

  "Survive the shock? You forget that we--here--are all scientists. Iwon't press you."

  "Perhaps," Hugo heard himself saying, "I'd like to tell you."

  "In that case--in my room--to-night. I should like to hear."

  That night, after a day of indecision, Hugo sat in a dim light andpoured out the story of his life. Hardin never interrupted, nevercommented, until the end. Then he said softly: "You poor devil. Oh, youpoor bastard." And Hugo saw that he was weeping. He tried to laugh.

  "It isn't as bad as that--Dan."

  "Son"--his voice choked with emotion--"this thing--this is my life-work.This is why you came to my office last winter. This is--the mostimportant thing on earth. What a story! What a man you are!"

  "On the contrary--"

  "Don't be modest. I know. I feel. I understand."

  Hugo's head shook sadly. "Perhaps not. You can see--I have triedeverything. In itself, it is great. I can see that. It is, objectively,the most important thing on earth. But the other way--What can I do?Tell me that. You cannot tell me. I can destroy. As nothing that evercame before or will come again, I can destroy. But destruction--as Ibelieve, as you believe--is at best only a step toward re-creation. Andwhat can I make afterwards? Think. Think, man! Rack your brains! What?"His hands clenched and unclenched. "I can build great halls and palaces.Futile! I can make bridges. I can rip open mountains and take out thegold. I am that strong. It is as if my metabolism was atomic instead ofmolecular. But what of it? Stretch your imagination to its uttermostlimits--and what can I do that is more than an affair of petty profit tomyself? Mankind has already extended its senses and its muscles to theirtenth powers. He can already command engines to do what I can do. It isnot necessary that he become an engine himself. It is preposterous thathe should think of it--even to transcend his engines. I defy you, I defyyou with all my strength, to think of what I can do to justify myself!"

  The words had been wrung from Hugo. Perspiration trickled down his face.He bit his lips to check himself. The older man was grave. "All youremotions, your reflections, your yearnings and passions, come--to that.And yet--"

  "Look at me in another light," Hugo went on. "I've tried to give you aninkling of it. You were the first who saw what I could do--glimpsed afraction of it, rather--and into whose face did not come fear, loathing,even hate. Try to live with a sense of that. I can remember almost backto the cradle that same thing. First it was envy and jealousy. Then, asI grew stronger, it was fear, alarm, and the thing that comes fromfear--hatred. That is another and perhaps a greater obstacle. If I foundsomething to do, the whole universe would be against me. These littlepeople! Can you imagine what it is to be me and to look at people? Acrowd at a ball game? A parade? Can you?"

  "Great God," the scientist breathed.

  "When I see them for what they are, and when they exert the tremendousbulk of their united detestation and denial against me, when I feel ragerising inside myself--can you conceive--?"

  "That's enough. I don't want to try to think. Not of that. I--"

  "Shall I walk to my grave afraid that I shall let go of myself,searching everywhere for something to absorb my energy? Shall I?"

  "No."

  The professor spoke with a firm concentration. Hugo arrested himself."Then what?"

  "Did it ever dawn on you that you had missed your purpose entirely?"

  The words were like cold water to Hugo. He pulled himself together witha physical effort and replied: "You mean--that I have not guessed it sofar?"

  "Precisely."

  "It never occurred to me. Not that I had missed it entirely."

  "You have."

  "Then, for the love of God, what is it?"

  Hardin smiled a gentle, wise smile. "Easy there. I'll tell you. Andlisten well, Hugo, because to-night I feel inspired. The reason you havemissed it is simple. You've tried to do everything single-handed--"

  "On the contrary. Every kind of assistance I have enlisted has failed meutterly."

  "Except one kind."

  "Science?"

  "No. Your own kind, Hugo."

  The words did not convey their meaning for several seconds. Then Hugogasped. "You mean--other men like me?"

  "Exactly. Other men like you. Not one or two. Scores, hundreds. Andwomen. All picked with the utmost care. Eugenic offspring. Cultivatedand reared in secret by a society for the purpose. Not necessarily yourchildren, but the children of the best parents. Perfect bodies,intellectual minds, your strength. Don't you see it, Hugo? You are not
the reformer of the old world. You are the beginning of the new. Webegin with a thousand of you. Living by yourselves and multiplying, youproduce your own arts and industries and ideals. The new Titans!Then--slowly--you dominate the world. Conquer and stamp out all thesethings to which you and I and all men of intelligence object. In theend--you are alone and supreme."

  Hugo groaned. "To make a thousand men live my life--"

  "But they will not. Suppose you had been proud of your strength. Supposeyou had not been compelled to keep it a secret. Suppose you could havefound glorious uses for it from childhood--"

  "In the mountains," Hugo whispered, his eyes bemused, "where the sun iswarm and the days long--these children growing. Even here, in thisplace--"

  "So I thought. Don't you see, Hugo?"

  "Yes, I see. At last, thank God, I do see!"

  For a long time their thoughts ran wild. When they cooled, it was toformulate plans. A child taken here. Another there. A city in thejungle--the jungle had harboured races before: not only these Mayas, butthe Incas, Khmers, and others. A modern city for dwellings, and thesetremendous ruins would be the blocks for the nursery. They would teachthem art and architecture--and science. Engineering, medicine--theirown, undiscovered medicine--the new Titans, the sons of dawn--so rantheir inspired imaginations.

  When the night was far advanced and the camp was wrapped in slumber,they made a truce with this divine fire. They shook each other's hands.

  "Good-night, Hugo. And to-morrow we'll go over the notes."

  "I'll bring them."

  "Till evening, then."

  Hugo lay on his bed, more ecstatic than he had ever been in his life. Byand by he slept. Then, as if the ghosts of Uctotol had risen, his mindwas troubled by a host, a pageant of dreams. He turned in his sleep,rending his blankets. He moaned and mumbled. When he woke, he understoodthat his soul had undergone another of its diametric inversions. The madfancies of the night before had died and memory could not rekindle them.Little dreads had goaded away their brightness. Conscience was bickeringinside him. Humanity was content; it would hate his new race. And thenew race, being itself human, might grow top-heavy with power. If histheory about the great builders of the past was true, then perhaps thisincubus would explain why the past was no more. If his Titans disagreedand made war on each other--surely that would end the earth. He quailed.

  Overcome by a desire to think more about this giants' scheme, he avoidedHardin. In the siesta hour he went back to his tent and procured thebooks wherein his father had written the second secret of life. Hecrammed them into his pocket and broke through the jungle. When he wasbeyond sight and sound, he dropped his machete and made his way as nonebut he could do. With his body he cut a swath toward the mountains andemerged from the green veil on to the bare rocks, panting and hot.Upward he climbed until he had gained the summit. To the west werestrewn the frozen billows of the range. To the east a limitless sea ofverdure. At his feet the ruins in neat miniature, like a model. Above,scalding sun and blue sky. Around him a wind, strangely chill. Andsilence.

  He sat with his head on his hands until his thoughts were disturbed. Ahumid breath had risen sluggishly from the jungle floor. The sun wasdull. Looking toward the horizon, he could see a black cloud. For aninstant he was frightened, the transformation had been so gigantic andso soundless. He knew a sudden, urgent impulse to go back to the valley.He disobeyed it and watched the coming of the storm. The first rapier oflightning through the bowels of the approaching cloud warned him again.Staunchly he stood. He had come there to think.

  "I must go back and begin this work," he told himself. "I have found afriend!" The cloud was descending. Thunder ruminated in heaven's garret."It is folly," he repeated, "folly, folly, folly in the face of God."Now the sun went out like an extinguished lamp, and the horizon creptcloser. A curtain of torrential rain was lowered in the north. "Theywill make the earth beautiful," he said, and ever and again: "This thingis not beautiful. It is wrong." His agitation increased rapidly. Thecloud was closing on the mountain like a huge hand. The muscles in hislegs quivered.

  "If there were only a God," he whispered, "what a prayer I would make!"Then the wind came like a visible thing, pushing its fingers over thevegetation below, and whirling up the mountain, laden with dust. Afterthe wind, the rain--heavy, roaring rain that fell, not in separatedrops, but in thick streams. The lightning was incessant. It illuminatedremote, white-topped peaks, which, in the fury of the storm, appeared tobe swaying. It split clouds apart, and the hurricane healed the rents.All light went out. The world was wrapped in darkness.

  Hugo clutched his precious books in the remnants of his clothing andbraced himself on the bare rock. His voice roared back into the stormthe sounds it gave. He flung one hand upward.

  "Now--God--oh, God--if there be a God--tell me! Can I defy You? Can Idefy Your world? Is this Your will? Or are You, like all mankind,impotent? Oh, God!" He put his hand to his mouth and called God like aname into the tumult above. Madness was upon him and the bitter ironywith which his blood ran black was within him.

  A bolt of lightning stabbed earthward. It struck Hugo, outlining him infire. His hand slipped away from his mouth. His voice was quenched. Hefell to the ground.

  After three days of frantic searching, Daniel Hardin came upon theincredible passage through the jungle and followed it to the mountaintop. There he found the blackened body of Hugo Danner, lying face down.His clothing was burned to ashes, and an accumulation of cinders wasall that remained of the notebooks. After discovering that, ProfessorHardin could not forbear to glance aloft at the sun and sky. His facewas saddened and perplexed.

  "We will carry him yonder to Uctotol and bury him," he said at last;"then--the work will go on."