Edmund Cooper

by Transit

  Barbara accepted defeat gracefully. ‘Now we know what it’s like,’ she said, ‘we can fix ourselves up with an official holiday later—and no record marches.’

  Avery laughed. ‘We can have a dozen a year if you feel like it—without any loss of pay.’

  ‘But this will still be the most precious one,’ she said. ‘The honeymoon isn’t over yet. Let’s make the most of it.’

  They did—all through the long hot afternoon. Then they bathed once more in the sea, and finally made their way back to camp, tired out, and with the deliciously shared guilt of intimate conspirators. As they passed the remembered rock pool, Avery thought about his fleeting vision of a land mass across the sea. He scanned the horizon intently; but, although the air was very clear, there was nothing to be seen. Perhaps it had been a bank of cloud after all. In his present mood, it did not seem to matter greatly. It was much more important that Barbara’s hand was lying in his....

  Tom and Mary looked at their faces and instinctively understood. Mary had seen them coming, and all four met on the shore. They flung their arms round each other as if they had been separated for months.

  ‘Well, now,’ said Tom solemnly, ‘you two look as if you have had a harrowing time—very harrowing indeed. I can see we shall have to nurse you back to health.’

  ‘Only back to strength,’ retorted Avery. ‘We have already demonstrated the quality of our health.... Incidentally we’ve also found where the golden people live. And we are on an island, Tom, not a very big one. How the devil we managed to avoid finding out for so long, I’ll never know.’

  ‘We have news for you, too,’ said Tom. ‘Mary’s pregnant. She suspected it for some time, but now she has the classic symptom.’ He grinned. ‘It operates early in the morning, just before breakfast—so that I have to do the work.’

  ‘Felicitations,’ said Avery to Mary. He kissed her. ‘I only hope you don’t get strange yearnings for pickled onions and that sort of thing. The nearest grocery shop is an awful long way.’

  Barbara was feeling smug. ‘If I don’t join you at the clinic soon, Mary dear, the law of averages will have gone bust.’

  Suddenly, Tom became serious. ‘Damned if I know what we are going to do about doctors and midwives and all that rot.’

  But Mary was strangely unperturbed. ‘Stop worrying. What do you think women have been doing for about a million years?’

  - As they were going back to camp, Avery had a sublime thought. ‘We never drank that bottle of champagne, did we? I knew there would be a good excuse for it sooner or later.’

  Tom began to hurry on ahead. ‘I’ll try to get it cooled down to blood temperature in the sea,’ he called.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Apart from Mary’s morning sickness—which, exasperat-ingly, sometimes became an afternoon sickness or an evening sickness—the next few days developed into a sort of halcyon period at Camp Two.

  The first thing Avery did was draw a map of the island —although ‘map’ was far too grand a term for what was, essentially, a simple diagram based upon hazy recollections and measurements that were little more than imaginative guesswork. However, his calculations of the length of the Grand Tour, about forty-five miles, was derived from time spent actually on the move. It seemed reasonably sound, give or take a few miles.

  That, then, was the perimeter of the island. He thought, though he could not be sure, that its oudine was roughly that of a Chianti bottle. On the first day and part of the second he had the impression that, allowing for local irregularities, the coast tended to curve gently in one direction only. Then it appeared to go reasonably straight until it twisted quite sharply at the Chianti bottle’s neck. By coast, he estimated that the camp of the golden people was about twenty miles away. But if his idea of the island’s shape was right, both camps were roughly opposite each other—on the wide part of the bulge. Overland, the distance from Camp Two to that of the golden people should be about eight or ten miles.

  ‘Now that we know roughly how near they live,’ said Tom, ‘I begin to feel a little less secure. Something tells me we are going to have real trouble on our hands, sooner or later.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Avery. ‘But life has been reasonably peaceful so far—apart from that little frolic of theirs in Camp One. Maybe they, too, have enough sense not to press their luck. If we had found out earlier where they were, and retaliated, the cold war would have been a pretty hot one by now.’

  ‘I’d like to take a good look at their camp, all the same,’ remarked Tom. ‘You never know, we might learn something useful.’

  Avery shook his head. ‘There’s too much risk of provoking them. Barbara and I were lucky. Next time—if there is a next time—the luck may run out. Eventually, we’ll try to find some way of establishing friendly contact; but it’s the sort of thing that’s best done slowly— very slowly.’

  And that was how the matter was left for the time being. However, spurred on by what the golden people had achieved, Tom and Avery began to think very seriously of building some sort of permanent accommodation. In the cold fight of day, Mary’s pregnancy presented many problems. There was no serious obstacle to bringing up a baby in a tent; but it seemed, somehow, incongruous. Besides, on the assumption—which, as time passed, was growing into a certainty—that They did not intend to provide return tickets to Earth, it was clear that Camp Two could not be regarded as a suitable base for ever. A more spacious settlement would be needed; for as Tom said—only half jokingly—if they were going to found a tribe, they ought to choose a good strip of land with lebensraum.

  The weather seemed to be getting steadily hotter. Mary was the one to suffer most. The heat and the morning sickness sapped her energy, and she became listless. But fortunately, about ten days after Barbara and Avery had returned, rain came—not just a downpour, but a miniature monsoon. It lasted over a week, and during that time the air began to grow cooler and fresher. Apart from necessary excursions for food and water, they spent most of the time in their tents, reading, listening to the record player or making love.

  Barbara was quite delighted about the monsoon because it meant that she and Avery were thrust into close proximity most of the time, and there was still so much of him that she wanted to discover, still so many things to be shared. The only real drawback to the monsoon was that it made cooking impossible; and although there was a great variety of fruit that they could eat, after a time they began to long for meat and fish.

  The rain ended suddenly at dawn one morning. They came out of their tents to find a steaming and iridescent world....

  Avery began to paint. He began to paint like a man possessed—or like one who was suddenly trying to recover all the wasted years.

  The paints and canvas boards had lain in his trunk for months, untouched, unwanted. But now he was suddenly and profoundly grateful for them. He was grateful that They should have provided them. Above all, he was simply grateful for being alive.

  Now that the fever of painting was on him once more, he could think of hardly anything else—except Barbara. Hunting, fishing, collecting fruit, looking for a site for the camp—even swimming—all these had become annoying irrelevancies. They irritated him. The real things in life were problems of form and texture and composition. He began to look with new eyes at the alien world in which he found himself. He began to see it as if for the first time. What painter in the whole history of art had ever had such a glorious opportunity! As he worked, Avery decided that he was a very lucky man indeed.

  He painted anything and everything. He painted landscapes and seascapes. He painted Camp Two and a still-life with fruit, rabbitype skins and tomahawks. He painted Tom and Mary swimming, and a nude and a head of Barbara. He even painted crabs in a rock pool.

  After a time, Tom, who was getting more than a little impatient with Avery’s obsession, took to going off on hunting or fruit-collecting expeditions by himself. Sometimes, when she was well enough, he took Mary: sometimes, when she could be distracted from
her admiration of the greatest painter since Leonardo, he took Barbara.

  It was one of these hunting expeditions that brought the halcyon period to an end.

  Avery had begun a portrait of Mary—which was to be, he announced, a birthday present to her son.... Or daughter Mary’s sickness was slowly diminishing;

  but mornings were still an uneasy time for her. She was lethargic, and strenuous activity tended to produce unwelcome responses in her stomach. So mornings were an excellent opportunity to sit for the portrait. She felt she ought to be working; but Avery’s contention that sitting was working helped to reduce her feelings of guilt at seeing Barbara do all the chores.

  On this particular morning, however, she and Avery were alone in camp. The meat supply was down to zero, and so, almost, was the fruit supply. Tom and Barbara had gone to remedy the situation. They had not taken the gun because it was a standing rule that it should be kept at Camp Two for purely defensive purposes.

  Time passed—with Avery quite oblivious of its passing—and Mary became tired of the sitting. They abandoned it for a spell, while Avery went to freshen up in the sea and Mary lay on the shore, relaxing and watching him. Presently, he came out.

  ‘How about another short session before lunch? Or will it be too tiring?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m fine now, thanks. But it will only have to be a short one, because Tom and Barbara will be coming back any time.’

  ‘Nonsense. They only left about an hour ago.’

  She laughed. ‘Tom’s right. This painting mania has done a mischief to your faculties.... They have been away about three hours.’

  Avery said nothing. He was already back at his painting. He had just seen something spontaneous in her eyes that he might otherwise have missed completely.

  Presently, he saw that she was fidgeting. ‘Do be still, dear—otherwise your left breast is going to look like a dented melon.’

  ‘Sorry.... My back has been aching a bit.’

  He was solicitous. ‘Hell, you should have said so as soon as it started... . No, it’s not your fault, it’s mine for being too bloody obsessional. Tom will murder me if he finds I’ve made you tired Shall I rub it a bit for you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I wish they’d get back. They’ve been away ages. Do you think anything can have happened?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Avery confidently. ‘Tom can take care of most things. So can Barbara, too, for that matter.’ Mary stretched, then lay back on the sand. ‘It’s not most things I’m worried about,’ she retorted.

  Avery continued to add a few touches to the portrait. Presently he said: ‘I’ve just thought of a name for our island. It ought to have a name. How about El DoradoT Mary smiled. ‘Apart from golden spheres and golden people, it somehow doesn’t seem like the sort of place where there is any real gold.’

  He put down his brushes and stared critically at the portrait. Then he turned to her. ‘If you’ll excuse a hoary old platitude, my dear, the real gold is always only where you find it Somehow, my resentment of Them is growing less and less—because you and Tom, Barbara and I all seem to have found something that may or may not be gold, but if it isn’t, by the Lord, it seems a dam good substitute. Personally, I’m happier now, I think, than I have ever been.... Yes, El Dorado sounds all right. Let’s go democratic and take a vote on it when they get back.’

  Mary sat up, looking anxiously along the shore and then at the luxuriant green wall of trees and vegetation. ‘I wish they’d hurry up. I’m beginning to get worried. Something must have happened.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ began Avery. ‘It’s your condition that makes ’ He stopped. The words froze.

  About forty yards away, a figure had just emerged from among the trees. It was Tom. He swayed and reeled uncertainly—like a drunken man trying to find his way home. As he stumbled towards them, Avery saw that his tattered brown shirt was ominously red.

  Mary gave a pathetic cry and jumped to her feet. Avery ran towards Tom.

  He blinked at them both and screwed his eyes up as if trying to focus. ‘Sorry, old man,’ he mumbled thickly. ‘Not much good.... The bastards got Barbara. I—I.’ Suddenly he crumpled. The broken shaft of a javelin was sticking out of his back—high, near the shoulder.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Somehow, between them, they got him up the ladder and into a tent. Avery laid him face down, gently, on one of the camp beds.

  Mary was white-faced and trembling. But when she spoke, she made a tremendous effort to keep her voice normal. ‘Can—can you take it out, Richard?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, with more confidence than he felt. ‘I’ll get it out— You’d better go for some water And, Mary—don’t hurry. You understand?’

  She nodded dumbly, and went out of the tent.

  Avery knelt down. ‘Tom, old son, can you hear me?’ Pushing urgently through all his pity and friendship for Tom was something more selfish, more agonizingly personal. Barbara, Barbara, he thought. Please be all right. Oh, my love, please be all right...

  ‘Tom, can you hear me?’ Avery was shocked at the sudden harshness in his voice. He wanted to know. He had to know. He fought back a terrible impulse to lift Tom up and shake the truth out of him.

  ‘Tom! For Christ’s sake, wake up!’

  But there was no response. Tom had managed to stay conscious until he got back, and that was all.

  Oh, God, don’t let him die, pleaded Avery. I must know. I must]

  Then suddenly the panic stopped, and an icy calmness came over him. Sweat ran down his face and into his mouth. It was cold and bitter. He looked at Tom—eighteen inches of javelin sticking out of his back, and the blood pulsing darkly through the dark patches on his shirt where it had already dried and cracked—he looked at Tom and was filled with shame.

  ‘Sorry, old son,’ he murmured gendy. ‘I can’t go to pieces on you, can I?’

  He bent down to examine the javelin, mumbling to himself as he did so. ‘Number one, it’s got to come out. Number two, there’s only one bloody way to get it out.

  ... Don’t hold it against me, Tom. Whatever happens, don’t hold it against me. I’jn only a poor ignorant clod trying to do my best.’

  He gave the javelin a cautious and tentative pull. Nothing happened. It must be embedded in bone or muscle—possibly both.

  Then he tried a quick hard wrench. All that happened this time was that Tom’s body lifted an inch or two from the bed. It plopped back heavily, forcing out of him a vague sound that was half groan and half grunt.

  Sweet Christ, thought Avery, what the hell am I going to do? Whatever it was, it was going to have to be done in a hurry. Mary wasn’t going to sit on her anguish for ever.

  The answer was obvious and logical; and he didn’t like it at all, for it seemed somehow to reduce Tom to the status of a lump of meat. But Avery could think of nothing else, so it had to be done.

  He placed one foot in the small of Tom’s back, took a grip on the javelin with both hands, and heaved.

  It came out. And with it, it tore out of Tom a thin, high-pitched animal scream that was mercifully cut off by returning unconsciousness. Avery was afraid there was going to be a fountain of blood—a result of his clumsiness in tearing an artery or vein—but there wasn’t. It just bubbled out in a sad, thin rivulet. The javelin fell to the ground out of Avery’s shaking fingers.

  Mary came back with water and bandages from a first-aid kit. The sight of her galvanized Avery into action. He ripped Tom’s shirt back and exposed the area all round the wound. The hole was smaller than he would have thought. He began to bathe the blood away. It was coming out slower.

  ‘Richard, how is he?’ Her voice was flat, carefully drained of emotion. It sounded like a child making the supreme effort of not crying.

  Avery took a gamble. ‘Lucky, I think.’ He smiled at her. ‘Nothing vital seems to be hit. He’s a tough customer, is your Tom. But I don’t imagine he’ll be doing handsprings for a few days.’

  She seemed relieved, but
not much. ‘I wish I could A have helped. I feel so....’ Her voice tailed away.

  ‘We’ve got to stop this damn bleeding,’ said Avery. ‘I’m going to squeeze a wad of cotton wool through in the Dettol, then pack it over the wound and bind it as tight as I can Unless you can think of anything better?’

  She shook her head.

  They cleaned the wound thoroughly and pressed a small mountain of cotton wool over it. Then, while Mary held the cotton wool in position, Avery turned Tom over and got him up into a half-sitting position.

  By the time Mary had cut the rest of his shirt away, the cotton wool was soaked through. They got a bigger wad—in fact the rest of the supply—and pressed that on. Then Avery began to put on the bandage, winding tightly under the armpits and then across the chest and back, as high as possible. The first bandage lasted about six full turns. They put four on altogether.

  While Avery was struggling to pin the last one, Tom —surprisingly, even miraculously—returned to consciousness.

  ‘My back’s burning,’ he mumbled. ‘What’s happening to my back? Who the hell ’ He opened his eyes wide, and gripped Avery’s arm weakly. ‘Richard, did you ?’

  ‘Yes, it’s out. Take it easy The operation was hardly a text-book example, but the patient is still alive.’ ‘Darling,’ said Mary. ‘How do you feel?’

  More miracles. Tom managed a sound that might charitably be interpreted as a laugh. ‘How do I feel? That’s a good one! I need some whisky.... Oh, my God! They got Barbara! ’ The remembering of it seemed to hit him physically.

  ‘You said that before.’ Avery tried to keep his voice normal. ‘Don’t play it for suspense a second time.’

  Mary found a bottle of whisky and held it to Tom’s lips. She tilted it too much. He coughed and spluttered, and the whisky ran down his chest. The cough made him contort with pain.

  He controlled both the pain and the cough with an effort. ‘We must have gone too near their bloody camp, I suppose.... No, I’ll be honest, I wanted to see their territory.... Don’t even know whether we got anywhere near it. We were following a stream. Barbara thought it might be the one they used.... Next thing you know, we practically walked into one of the big boys. He had javelins, we had tomahawks.... We stood staring at each other for a couple of seconds—mutual shock. Then he began to play with a javelin, and I yelled to Barbara to run for it.... The first one missed us both. I stopped to throw a tomahawk then started after her Next thing, I collected it in the back. I must have made a hell of a noise. Barbara turned round and came towards me. Then I passed out.’