The World of the Variants

by J. -H. Rosny aîné

  Awah had returned, not out of fear but by virtue of the prudence that was innate in my prehistoric people as in almost all savages, which dissuades them from needlessly braving perils in which their strength and skill are likely to be defeated.

  As soon as Touanhô was on her feet I asked: “Where’s Namhâ?”

  “Touanhô has not seen Namhâ since she left the caves.”

  Awah and Wanawanoûm looked at one another indecisively. “We must start tracking the bears again!” I cried.

  That was the only possible course of action, as we did not know where Namhâ and he old woman were. My companions did not raise any objection, but Touanhô could not go with us and at least three men would be necessary to confront the bears.

  “Touanhô will stay with the mammoth,” the young woman declared.

  The old mammoth had not been domesticated at all; it wandered at the hazard of its senile fantasy.

  “What if it abandons Touanhô?” I objected.

  “It’s slow…Touanhô can follow it.”

  That was obvious, and the primitive woman’s resilience reassured me. Awah and Wanawanoûm had not waited for my decision; they were already back on the trail. I was long in going after them.

  Unless they had been delayed, the predators had to have a long lead. We went into a wood of beeches and birches, pressing forward as rapidly as Awah’s senses and Wanawanoûm’s sagacity permitted. In spite of the inevitable pauses, we moved quite quickly; it did not take us long to reach the other side of the wood—as chance would have it, the bears had taken the most direct route. From there, we could see the granite mass in which the caves were hollowed out.

  Awah and Wanawanoûm discovered that the bears had been on the point of invading our refuge; there were tracks alongside the rock-face. After a detour, we picked them up again on the plain. Our enemies were nowhere to be seen; either they had hidden in some thicket or they had taken shelter in one of the numerous outcrops of rock that cut across the territory—but their tracks could not escape my companions.

  Suddenly, a clamor brought us to a halt and, on turning round, we saw the old woman. She had spotted the bears and had hidden among the trees with Touanhô’s daughter.

  “Namhâ is beyond the Red Hill!” she shouted.

  “Are the bears pursuing Namhâ?” I shouted, in anguish.

  She made an affirmative sign; she explained that the young woman had disappeared on the other side of the hill before the bears could begin their ascent.

  We required no more than ten minutes to reach the Red Hill. When we reached its crest, we finally saw the bears. They were indulging in a phantasmagorical gesticulation. Each was crouched at the extremity of a block of basalt; their heads and one of their paws disappeared periodically. After a fairly extended movement, the heads and the paws reappeared, while they emitted furious roars.

  Wanawanoûm was the first to understand the significance of the bizarre scene, and called out. A tremulous voice replied: Namhâ’s voice.

  As we continued to advance, Awah and I soon understood what Wanawanoûm had guessed. The basalt block, shaped like a prism, had a cleft cutting all the way through it. Namhâ had slid sideways into the cleft with her child. The bears had not been able to follow them; they could only insert their narrow heads and long necks into the fissure, along with one of their paws, but their upper bodies remained outside. As we drew closer, the scene seemed more ominous. We could vaguely discern Namhâ, standing upright, with the baby in her arms. When the bears reached down it seemed that it would only require a slight effort for them to reach the unfortunate girl.

  “Namha should not be afraid!” I shouted. “We’re coming to help her.”

  Before proceeding with the attack we conferred rapidly. It was primarily a matter of succeeding; Namhâ’s situation would not get any worse for some time. We had a good chance; in Awah’s hands the axe and club were formidable weapons, Wanawanoûm threw his harpoon with great skill, and I had my revolver, loaded with six hardened bullets.

  The bears were hesitant. Our presence, which was connected with a disagreeable memory, certainly puzzled them. Perhaps, if we attacked deliberately, they might take flight, even though they must be exasperated by their disappointments—but I thought it important to destroy them. Their flight would leave the peril in place.

  If I could only bring the mammoth! I thought.

  My eyes explored the surroundings. There was as much chance of discovering the colossus as there was of our running around for a long time without finding it. Wanawanoûm, who must have had a similar idea, took a long look around the horizon.

  “Waô!” he said. His extended finger pointed out a distant silhouette.

  “Let Awah and Wanawanoûm wait,” I recommended. “The mammoth will help us!”

  “Awah will wait.”

  I had already started running. When I was within range, I shouted an appeal. The mammoth stopped grazing, raised its massive head and came toward me. I brought it back to my companions and declared: “Let’s attack! It’s necessary that the snow-bears should be injured!”

  I cocked my revolver and marched toward the male, while Awah made ready to attack the female.

  XI.

  After a momentary hesitation, Wanawanoûm decided to follow me, persuaded that the powerful Awah could reckon with the she-bear, while he had his doubts about me. I had, moreover, chosen the more redoubtable of the two predators.

  Without worrying about the effects of my action on the superstitious mentality of my hosts, I made immediate use of the revolver. The bear, hit by two bullets, turned round with a furious growl and hurled itself forward. However serious its wounds might be, its vigor seemed intact. Within a moment it had covered the distance separating us.

  Wanawanoûm, initially amazed by the gunshots, recovered his composure. He threw a harpoon, which sank into the beast’s side and deadened its speed, which permitted me to take better aim. A bullet penetrated its yellow breast, and the bear collapsed with a sort of cavernous sigh. It got up quite promptly and resumed the attack, but it was tottering. My fourth bullet struck its shoulder, and I was about to finish it off when the mammoth appeared.

  The scene was brief. Seized and crushed by the monstrous trunk, the bear exploded like a goatskin bottle, and was then reduced to a pulp beneath feet like pile-drivers.

  Awah had carried forward the attack in his own fashion. After feigning to draw away, he had come back, circling a mound. The she-bear was suspicious; when the prehistoric man reappeared, she began to gain ground. It was the detonations of my revolver that stopped her. In her dim consciousness, she glimpsed the danger to her companion and, I imagine, the necessity of coming to his aid.

  At the moment when Wanawanoûm threw his harpoon at the male, I saw the she-bear, which, avoiding Awah, attempted an oblique movement toward her companion in adventure. A new detonation stopped her short; she must have seen the mammoth running forward, and a sure instinct told her what to do: she fled. In the meantime, however, Awah had approached within spear-range. His harpoon lodged in the she-bear’s side just as the mammoth crushed the panting body of the male. She turned furiously, hesitated for a second, and then resumed her flight.

  Although weakened slightly by her wound, she gained ground. Dreading that she might escape, I uttered a cry that the mammoth had learned to understand; all four of us launched ourselves in pursuit. You would have thought that the mammoth was trotting—and, in fact, it was not moving at top speed. Nevertheless, it was running fast enough to overhaul the fugitive well before she could reach the nearest thicket, and she knew it. She veered sideways toward a small chain of rocks, and climbed up the steepest slope. The maneuver proved disastrous; the other side was perpendicular.

  We surrounded the beast easily, and I was getting ready to fire when Awah, gripped by a sudden overexcitement, ran up the slope in his turn and hurled a spear. With a screech that was almost a sob, the she-bear plastered herself against the granite, begging for mercy. Awah thought
that she was exhausted—an excusable error in a man who had never hunted large predators. He took two more steps, raised his axe, and struck twice. The she-bear threw herself upon our companion, and rolled down the slope with him.

  When Awah got up, the she-bear was dead—but he had a broken arm and a deep wound in his chest.

  There was no other notable incident until the day when darkness descended upon the territory. Awah’s arm, crookedly healed, had lost some of its strength and skill. That circumstance conferred an authority on me that was all the more necessary because the effects of the revolver had awakened unfavorable ideas in the minds of my companions. My physical condition was the best possible argument. It imposed respect in the women and in Wanawanoûm. Awah also submitted to it, not out of fear—he was extremely brave and did not even fear death—but primitive wisdom.

  I became the chief of our fragmentary tribe, the person who disposed the community’s resources as he wished, and to whom obedience was due on pain of death. My will became a supreme argument, on condition that it respected the affiliation of the tribe and its sacred relationship with the mammoths.

  I was able to dispense with any explanation regarding my revolver and my rifle. That would have been an error, liable to sow seeds of mistrust. I therefore affirmed that the Sons of the Mammoth, when they had lived in the southern lands, had made an alliance with the fire-axe and the fire-spear, and that that alliance would be renewed if we ever saw the hunting grounds of our great ancestors again. The story initially gave rise, if not to manifest incredulity, at least to a fearful—and fundamentally hostile—incomprehension. A second repetition succeeded in rendering it plausible. The females were the first to come round, then Wanawanoûm; Awah took more than a month to accommodate it within his rebellious brain.

  The long night passed peacefully until the middle of January. The temperature in the grottoes dropped slightly, but without our experiencing any consequent discomfort; we could, moreover, obtain an agreeable warmth in the deepest cave of all.

  Namhâ was pregnant again, but not Touanhô. Both of them showed me a faithful and increasing affection. I asked nothing of the morrow. A perfectly healthy life, a dream-filled insouciance, no servitude, female companions I loved sincerely, and who never subjected me to any of the torments that we owe to their civilized sisters, and nourishment that I found flavorsome—what more could I need to make life seem charming?

  In the month of February, when I was returning with Awah, Wanawanoûm and the mammoth from a sort of tour of inspection of the domain, we felt the ground tremble. It was so brief and so feeble, that I would scarcely have given it a thought had I not been on the alert. After the previous incident, the event seemed to me to be very ominous; it seemed no less so to my companions.

  The shock was not repeated that day, and if there was any damage to the territory, we could not find it—but a week later, the warning was renewed, with greater force. The caves exhibited numerous fissures and a part of the granite frontier collapsed.

  Wanawanoûm issued a pessimistic prediction: “The Earth will open up and devour the Sons of the Mammoth.”

  The polar day was approaching when a third, violent quake shook the caves and the entire habitat. It was just as we were going to sleep; we woke up with a start. A part of the roof came down in the next cave—and when we went outside, we were not long delayed in observing sinister collapses everywhere.

  A few peaceful weeks followed. The Sun rose; its gentle light gave us some confidence—but in the month of April, a feeble shock reminded us of our peril.

  “We must get ready to escape!” I declared.

  It was the time when the Sun marked midday. The women listened to me with a dread full of hope. Wanawanoûm acquiesced, ready to obey. Only Awah seemed not to hear me. He was by far the most attached to the territory, as to the ancestral traditions, and it was difficult for him to believe that there was anything else outside but the pale locales that horrified him.

  I said to him, softly: “What does Awah think?”

  He replied, in a bleak tone: “Awah no longer has his strength. Awah is no longer the chief.”

  XII.

  We worked actively in the weeks that followed. With a part of our stores of barley we made large biscuits, to which we were able to add pemmican, dried mushrooms and roots. The rest of the barley was to constitute the mammoth’s nourishment.

  Salvation presented itself in a disheartening and sinister form. It would probably be necessary to flee before summer, which rendered the enterprise much more difficult and perilous. My only good fortune was that I knew the route, and that my poor comrades in exploration and myself had set up signposts—some of which, however, must have been obliterated by the weather.

  We finished our preparations before the end of April. There were provisions for 20 days, and we would doubtless kill some game en route. Moreover, if we succeeded in crossing the desert region rapidly, we would find edible vegetation for the mammoth.

  In addition to the natural difficulties, one moral problem presented itself. What were we going to do with the old mammoth? It was impossible for it to make the journey; it would cause us considerable delay, would consume barley uselessly and, after all, would certainly perish one way or another, in conditions which could hardly avoid being embarrassing.

  The only reasonable course was to abandon it. Its fate would be no worse, since it could not survive until the annihilation of the ancient pastures. There were, therefore, no grounds for hesitation—and on my own account, I had no hesitation. In this instance, however, my companions’ wishes had a capital importance. I did not know what those wishes were; I delayed an explanation that, undertaken awkwardly, might have led to disaster. If, perchance, Awah and Wanawanoûm, not to mention Touanhô, were to demand that the Father go with us, I would have no means of causing my opinion to prevail, save by trickery—for there was no possibility of using force; in totemic matters, my companions would have perished rather than compromise.

  I opened myself up to Touanhô first; she had the most flexible mind and knew the mentality of her companions better than Namhâ. I did not ask her advice, of course—that would have opened the way to ominous uncertainties—but one morning, when we were walking in the plain, I said: “The Father of Mammoths will not leave these pastures. He’s too old. He won’t survive from a day in the snowfields. We would have killed him.”

  Touanhô looked at me with surprise and disquiet, but she raised no objection. Eventually, she said: “What if he wants to follow us?”

  That was an excellent question, in that it furnished me with a perhaps peremptory argument. “If he wants to follow us, he will follow us. The Sons of the Mammoth will bow down to him.”

  In truth, that was a risk—but I knew that if his companion did not summon him, the old mammoth would not go out into the snows.

  I hesitated for a few days more, and then decided to talk to the males. “The Sons of the Mammoth,” I said, “will only take the Ancestor if he wishes to follow us. If he prefers to remain in the pasturelands, he might live until their end—but the snow would kill him.”

  “How can we know the Ancestor’s will?” Wanawanoûm asked.

  “He will know that we want to save ourselves,” I affirmed. “He knows already. When he sees his companion depart, he will choose.”

  The question was not resolved that day. Awah had made no reply. He lived in a disturbing mutism. I returned to the issue several times, without persuading him to offer his opinion, and I began to fear a redoubtable opposition.

  One morning—I mean the hour when we got up—Awah said, abruptly: “The Ancestor will not follow us. He will die in his pasturelands. That is better for him and his son.”

  He spoke bitterly; I sensed that he envied the beast rather than lamenting him. The mammoth had ended his days; he could no longer be of use to his descendants, animal or human—while he, Awah, was still too young to abandon his race!

  Tragic events hastened our departure. There w
ere no more earthquakes, but collapses, which were reshaping the locale from day to day. Grass, bushes and woods would sink in a matter of hours; holes took the place of mounds, even hills. The animals fled recklessly; stags and hinds went to perish in the white wilderness. The birds flew southwards. The granite ring that had protected the habitat for millennia was crumbling all along its length. We camped in the open. I had got everything ready for a sudden departure and, in addition to the provisions, I had packed a cargo of large diamonds that were, in my estimation, worth between five and six million francs.

  The caves collapsed in their turn, at the very moment when we were heading toward the devastated zone that separated us from the Arctic wilderness. We were nearly swallowed up several times; chance alone saved us. When we were safe, I turned to take one last look at the singular and blessed region in which I had known the life of freedom that our descendants will never know again.

  In the distance, on a granite islet, I glimpsed the massive silhouette of the old mammoth. He was standing still, as if stupefied; I understood that he was rapidly going numb and that that numbness had further increased the inertia of his ancient brain. It seemed impossible that he could survive for more than 24 hours, assuming that he would not be crushed by a rockslide.

  My companions had seen what I had seen; a sudden emotion gripped the young women; they extended their arms toward the place where the caves had formerly been. Awah and Wanawanoûm remained imperturbable and taciturn; the old woman moaned periodically.

  The journey was painful, even though it was favored by relatively mild temperatures. Furthermore, the air was perfectly still. The wind only got up two or three times in the first ten days. I had taken all possible precautions for the halts; we were buried up to the neck in deer-skins lined with feathers; our tent was very primitive but, all in all, efficacious. The mammoth seemed the most sorely tested, although it revealed an unexpected endurance; it went forward with a rapidity superior to that of dogs or reindeer.