Virdon and Burke were relieved; for a while it looked as though they might be turned away. Then, they would have had to take up their journey again, carrying Galen to the next farm house. They didn’t welcome that thought. They started to pick up the litter, to carry Galen into the house, but Polar shoved them both away. Virdon and Burke were startled, but they knew that they didn’t dare object.
“Not you two,” said Polar. “Anto and I will carry him in.” There was no disagreement from the humans. Polar motioned toward another building, a good distance from the house. “You two can wait in the barn,” said the ape. His voice took on a stern tone. “Don’t touch anything or steal anything, or I’ll put the Patrol on you.”
Virdon and Burke exchanged amused looks. They were being treated like the slaves of a bad film or novel from their own time. With a shudder the two humans realized that here, two thousand years in the future, in a world ruled by apes, that was precisely what they were. It was so easy to overlook the fact, especially when they were only with Galen. It was when they had to deal with other apes that the difference in social position was underlined.
“Just take care of him,” Virdon said softly.
The younger of Polar’s two sons looked at the humans thoughtfully. “What’d you do to him?” he asked.
Zantes stood as Anto and Polar hefted the litter. She gave Remus a warning look. “You’re as bad as your father,” she said. “Now go inside.” Virdon and Burke, realizing that the situation was now completely out of their control, began heading for the barn that Polar had indicated. With a grunt, the ape farmer and his elder son moved toward the house, carrying the heavy litter. Galen was unconscious.
The barn was a simple, functional structure. There was a stall with a cow. Nearby, a pile of straw stood somewhat in disarray. The humans could imagine that Remus spent a good amount of time playing in it. Virdon looked around. Burke, with no hesitation, went straight for the pile of straw. The cow mooed softly; a cricket started chirping somewhere in the barn; the steps of the humans sounded loud and foreign in the peaceful quiet. They were grateful for the respite, and for the first time in many hours they allowed themselves the luxury of relaxation.
Burke just collapsed on the straw. “Man,” he said, sighing, “I could sleep standing up, balanced on the tip of an icicle. You want to see some serious sleeping, you just watch me. Some people just sleep, without any appreciation or technique. Me, man, I’m a serious sleeper.” He stretched his arms out and yawned, looking around the barn. “Diesel tractors, hah! If Columbus had landed here, he wouldn’t have got off the boat!”
Virdon laughed. He let himself fall down on the other side of the straw pile. “If you’re so tired,” he said mockingly, “try closing your mouth and see if the rest of you’ll go to sleep.”
Outside of the barn, unknown to either Burke or Virdon, Anto was approaching with a pitchfork in his hands. His expression was murderous.
Burke and Virdon were already dozing when they were jerked awake by the creaking of the barn door. They looked up in surprise, curious about what might have happened. They expected that there was some news about Galen. Instead, they saw Anto coming closer, his pitchfork held in a menacing manner. The young ape jabbed at Burke with it.
“Ouch!” cried Burke. “Hey!” Anto’s expression of hate did not change. Burke tapped Virdon’s shoulder. “What now, boss?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“I’m not sure,” said Virdon. “I have this feeling that our host’s strapping son has taken an instant dislike to us. That is, if you want my opinion, and immediate analysis of the situation.”
“Thank you, Alan Virdon,” said Burke. “And now—” Anto jabbed at Burke again. “Okay, Sarge,” said the astronaut. “Take it easy. I didn’t hear reveille . . .”
Virdon scrambled to his feet. Burke, more cautiously, arose and kept a wary eye on the pitchfork. Virdon attempted to look cheerful and unafraid; he nodded a pleasant greeting to Anto. It had no effect. Anto continued to hold the pitchfork in a threatening aspect.
The young ape spoke through clenched teeth. “Why did you sleep so close to the cow?”
“Oh, that,” said Burke. “Well, you see, we both figured that the straw would be a good place to sack out, and the straw, as you can see, was put very near the cow. Now, we thought about moving the pile of straw but, as you remember, your father warned us not to touch anything.” This speech only made Anto more confused. He could not believe that Burke was serious, yet there was no reason for the human to be otherwise.
“You would move a pile of straw?” asked Anto. He shook his head and repeated his first question. “Why did you sleep so close to the cow?”
“Does she seem to object?” asked Burke. “We’ve gotten along very nicely, I think.”
Virdon realized that Burke’s bantering was only getting them deeper into trouble. He interrupted his friend. “We meant your cow no harm,” he said.
“Ha!” snorted Anto contemptuously. “Humans are a curse to cows! Everyone knows that.”
The cow mooed again. All three turned to it. The sound seemed to come at an ill-timed moment; it made Anto increasingly angry. Neither Burke nor Virdon could understand the significance of the situation.
Anto regarded the cow with a look which the humans found difficult to interpret. “Five years,” said Anto musingly. “Five years I’ve waited for the bull calf! My own bull . . . to start my own farm. And nothing but female calves . . . heifers. For the landlord!”
Burke still didn’t quite understand, but he thought it was time that Anto stopped being so threatening. “Well, look,” said Burke in mild tones, “put the hay stabber down, eh? Maybe this’ll be your lucky year.”
Virdon was completely lost. He didn’t know what to say or do to extricate them from an obviously serious circumstance. It was a feeling he didn’t enjoy. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“Hah,” said Anto, in a distrustful voice. “You understand. When a son becomes of age, he must wait for a bull calf to be born before he can start his own farm. Five years I’ve waited for the bull calf. And the signs were against me, nothing but female calves. This year I knew the signs were right . . . until you came.”
Virdon nodded. “A kind of rite of passage,” he whispered to Burke. “These back-country apes must have many local customs. Superstitions, really. Initiation rites.”
The cow mooed again. There was an anxious quality to the sound.
“You hear?” asked Anto. “You are a bad omen. If you have put a curse on her, I may kill you . . .”
“Hey,” said Virdon desperately, “wait a minute.”
“Remove the curse,” said Anto. “Go away. Today!”
The door creaked again. All three turned to look. It was Remus, the younger son, running in to them, excited and showing undisguised curiosity. But also on his face was a look that said he had information . . . and, what was rare for him, authority. “Hey, you two!” he said, panting a little, “Galen is awake and asking to see you. He’s awake—”
Virdon and Burke headed for the door, but Anto stopped them momentarily with the fork. “Wait a minute,” said the ape with disgust. “Wash first. It’s bad enough having humans in the house. But wash first. You carry a smell with you.”
Virdon and Burke looked at each other, first with amusement, then with a stifled outrage. There was nothing that they could say or do.
Inside the farmhouse it was bright and clean. Galen had been quartered in Remus’ room. The chimpanzee rested on a crude bunk, awake and very pleased just to be alive. His spirits had lifted a good deal from the depression he had entered immediately after his fall. Zantes was finishing the application of a new dressing to Galen’s wound. Behind her, stood Polar, watching in silence.
It was some time since Galen had been able to relax in such comfort; the great pain in his leg could almost be ignored in the atmosphere of hospitality and friendliness that the household of Polar and Zantes had shown him. He had no reason to believe tha
t things had gone any differently with his human friends. Galen smiled at Zantes. “That’s very good,” he said. “You’ve done this before.”
Zantes looked up, a little embarrassed. “Once, a long time ago, I trained to be a nurse. Until I met Polar . . .”
Polar grunted. It was obvious that he thought that Zantes’ meeting him was the best luck she had ever had. “Humph!” he said. “The city. No place to raise a family.”
This was obviously an old, old argument. “Not even to visit?” asked Zantes wistfully.
“Some day,” said Polar with finality.
“Every time,” said Zantes, “every time, the same answer.”
“Well,” said Polar with what he believed to be reasonableness, “Anto needs his bull calf. Remus is barely out of rompers . . .”
Jillia, the daughter, entered, carrying a freshly fluffed new pillow to place under Galen’s head. She did it coyly; she was evidently pleased with the presence of this handsome young chimpanzee. Polar did not miss the look she gave Galen.
“Jillia hasn’t even sought out a husband,” he said.
“Daddy—!” cried Jillia in embarrassment. She stepped back, shocked by her father’s lack of tact. Galen laughed softly. He was a city ape himself, and he prided himself on a certain sophistication which was lacking in everyone except, possibly, Zantes. He observed Polar with a kind of innocent condescension.
“You’re young and strong,” said Zantes to Galen. “You will heal more quickly than an older ape. Still, you won’t be able to stand on that leg for some time.”
Zantes’ words worried Polar. He did not like the idea of Galen and his companions staying around his house that long. “How long do you mean?” he asked.
“Why, several days at least,” said Zantes, wiping her face with her apron. “Possibly a couple of weeks. There’s no definite amount of time to these things. We can only let nature take its course.”
“I can’t have those humans hanging around,” said Polar loudly. “It’s dangerous. They’ve been known to kill cows—just for the meat!”
Galen spoke up soothingly. “Virdon and Burke won’t kill your cows,” he said.
“Where are they from?” asked Jillia. “Those humans, I mean? Why are they with you?”
There was an uncomfortable moment. Galen hesitated, unwilling to answer Jillia’s innocent question. “You must let them stay,” he said at last, avoiding the matter. “They’ll work for their keep.”
Polar snorted derisively. “Work?” he said. “Of course they’ll work! That’s what humans are for!”
Zantes stood up. “Well?” she said.
Polar was uneasy. He didn’t like the situation at all, but he was always helpless to go against the strong will of his wife. “I’ll see,” he said at last. He strode quickly from the room.
Zantes turned back to Galen. “He means well. You’ll see,” she said.
Galen had a sudden thought. “Did you send for my friends?” he asked.
There was a look of mild revulsion on Jillia’s face. She was a bright young ape woman, but she shared many of the same beliefs and prejudices that her father and brothers accepted. “How can you keep calling them . . . friends?” she asked softly.
Outside, at the side of the barn, a tub of water sat on a bench. Burke took off his roughly knit shirt and began washing himself. Virdon had already finished and was drying himself on a rough towel. He put his own shirt back on; as he did so, he gazed thoughtfully toward Polar’s farmhouse. “I think we’ve got to stand inspection,” he said. “Are you ready?” He tossed the towel to Burke, who dried himself and began putting his shirt back on.
The two men watched as Polar walked toward them. With his father was Remus, while Anto, still very angry, stood a few feet away. “I have decided,” said Polar, trying to project an image of paternal prerogative. “You can stay until your . . . friend . . . is well. Or able to walk.” Polar stood, his arms folded. He had made his pronouncement. Burke and Virdon said nothing. It was clear to them who had made that decision. It had not been Polar.
Anto advanced, his expression full of hate and fear. “No!” he cried.
Polar gave his elder son a quick, warning look. His voice, when he spoke, was stern, the voice of a patriarch in a family dependent on the earth for its living. “Enough!” he said. “I have said what my word on this is. I do not change my word.” Anto had been given his orders.
The young ape did not accept the state of affairs with good grace. He was not in the least mollified; his face darkened with fury. “The cow is my say,” he said, his lip curling in a hateful sneer. “They must stay away from the cow!” With those words Anto strode angrily away. Polar gazed after his son silently. Burke and Virdon, still mystified by the peculiar ways of these country people, did not know how to placate their host. They decided that the best thing to do was to remain silent.
Polar watched Anto disappear behind the barn. “He’s right about that,” he said. “The cow is his say until the calf is born.”
Virdon and Burke exchanged curious glances. The situation here was strange, even for the oftentimes illogical world of the apes. “Anything you say,” said Virdon, trying to demonstrate his good will.
Polar had not finished delivering his decision. “But you will work,” he said, in the tones of the boss of a road gang. “Every day, you will work! Just as though I could afford you!”
Burke laughed, although there was no humor in the sound. “Sure,” he said. “We come cheap.”
Polar glared. “Just as though I owned you!” he said. Neither Burke nor Virdon liked the sound of that, but there was nothing they could do except hope that Galen would recover quickly.
Remus looked up at his father. His expression was suddenly excited. Here were two human slaves, just like the rich apes owned. No one near Polar’s farm was wealthy enough to afford human slaves. Polar and the farmers like him were all tenant farmers, giving most of what they grew and earned from their meager harvest to their landlord. Indeed, one of the principal reasons that Virdon and Burke had encountered so much prejudice and bad treatment from Polar and his family was that the apes had only rarely even seen a human being. Zantes alone, having spent a large amount of time before her marriage in the central city, was accustomed to seeing humans.
Remus was delighted at the idea of having slaves, of having one for his very own. “I get one of them,” he said, his eyes wide with the prospect. “One of them’s mine.”
Polar looked down fondly at his younger son. “We’ll see,” he said, in the ageless manner of the devoted but sometimes helpless parent. “We’ll see, Remus.”
In the distance, during this conversation, Virdon watched a cloud of dust rising on the road; a rider on horseback was approaching, riding hard and fast toward Polar’s farm. There was no possible way that a stranger could be good news for the fugitives. Virdon watched the approaching rider with growing anxiety. He pointed toward the road. “Who’s that?” he asked.
Polar turned to look where Virdon was pointing. The ape shielded his eyes with one hand and stared for a moment. It became apparent after a while that he didn’t like what he was seeing. He, too, watched the rider coming closer. Virdon and Burke fidgeted nervously. They wanted to hide from the stranger’s arrival, but they couldn’t think of a way to do so without unnecessarily arousing Polar’s suspicions.
The rider’s identity did that unpleasant job for them. He turned back to the humans, a worried expression on his face. “It’s the mounted Patrol,” he said. There was a tense pause. “Are you sure you are not escaped bonded slaves?” he asked at last.
Virdon was in a hurry to reassure Polar and to find a quick place of concealment. “No, sir. I pledge you that,” he said. “We are free humans.”
Polar saw something in Virdon’s speech that the human had not intended. The ape’s expression grew sly. “You will work for me!” he said, reminding Virdon and Burke of their promise.
“Yes,” said Virdon hastily. The rider was v
ery close.
Polar thought for a brief instant. “All right,” he said, the lure of free labor too much for him. “Hide back there. I’ll talk to him.”
Burke and Virdon hurried to find a hiding place back toward the small farm’s outbuildings. As they ran, Polar and Remus started walking slowly and casually back toward the front of their house.
The horseman, an official-looking, uniformed mounted Patrolman, came thundering up in front of the farmhouse. About the same time, Polar and Remus arrived to meet the Patrolman. The farmer and the young ape were genuinely curious about what the uniformed gorilla had to say: it was not often that the tenant farmers were involved in the mysterious, vaguely sinister activities of the police and the military. The gorillas had a kind of native excitement about them. The farmers privately held the gorillas in contempt, just as the gorillas held the other members of the ape culture, the orangutans and the chimpanzees, in similar contempt.
The gorilla Patrolman did not dismount. He took advantage of the respect his uniform demanded and the superior psychological position of his mounted posture. This particular gorilla’s manner was even more surly than usual. “Whose farm is this?” he demanded.
“This is Polar’s farm. I am Polar.”
The front door of the house opened, and Zantes walked toward her husband, as curious about the Patrolman as she had been earlier with the arrival of Burke, Virdon, and Galen.
The gorilla gave a derisive snort. He did not want to spend more time in the company of inferior farmers than he had to. “Listen well, Polar,” he said, in a voice both bored and scornful. “I am from the Patrol post. I am rounding up escaped bonded slaves. Have you seen any?”
Planet of the Apes 01 - Man the Fugitive Page 11