“I think we’d better have a talk with Galen,” said Virdon, recalling Anto’s challenge. “So he can stand, can he?”
Shortly, Virdon and Burke joined their chimpanzee friend in Polar’s house. When the humans entered the farmhouse, they saw Galen standing on his crude crutch. They gave him a friendly, accusing look. Galen was happy at his progress, but a little disappointed that his surprise was spoiled. “I stood for several minutes today,” he said.
Burke turned to Virdon. “Several minutes,” he said. “How do you like that? And we’re supposed to be friends.”
“Well, I wanted to surprise you,” said Galen, unaware of all that had been transpiring outside.
“Anto is chomping at the bit to get us out of here—” began Virdon. Galen cut him off with a quick gesture.
“Apes do not chomp at bits!” he said, with a slight but noticeable hint of coldness to his voice.
“I’m sorry,” said Virdon. “Anto is anxious that we leave. And I think that we’d better accommodate him, or he may get some idea of turning us in, just to be rid of us.”
Burke laughed shortly. “Maybe we should have some words with that doggone cow. Give her a dose of Epsom salts and get this whole business cleared up.”
Virdon was thoughtful. Neither Galen nor Burke seemed to understand how potentially volatile the situation was. “If the calf isn’t a bull,” he said, “we’ll still be blamed for it.”
“If the cow dies,” said Galen, “Anto is entitled to kill you.”
“It’s too late to burn incense to the right people,” said Burke. “Or apes. Or whatever. Have you noticed how much trouble I have with that?”
No one answered him. “It’s hopeless,” said Galen. “Anto is just looking for the chance to get us, and there’s no authority that we can turn to.”
“Well,” said Burke, “I’m glad that he knows his rights.”
“If you could just give me three days, maybe two . . . I’m healing fast, now,” said Galen.
Virdon considered their plight. While they worked, showing the farm family a variety of new and better ways to do everyday things, they all tended to forget, despite Anto, the grave threat that remained wherever they went. “We could carry you,” said the blond astronaut, “But as soon as we leave here, Urko or that mounted patrol is going to pick up our trail. We’ll be chased. If we could only get to some horses. I take it that this isn’t horse country.”
Galen wondered how someone as knowledgable and quick as Virdon could be so ignorant of the world’s ways. Even though Virdon and Burke did not belong to this world, the chimpanzee thought that they ought to understand the most self-evident features. “Only landed apes and police can ride horses here,” he said. “Farmers must walk, or ride cows and oxen.”
“Keep ’em poor,” said Burke, nodding thoughtfully. He, with his more cynical attitude, could often see the reasoning behind what the apes in the government were doing. And just as often, despite Galen’s defense of his people, Burke was close to the mark. “Keep ’em poor, and keep ’em too busy to know they’re getting the dirty end of the stick.”
Virdon sat down on a chair. His expression was perplexed; they were caught in a genuine dilemma, this time. Finally, with both Galen and Burke looking to him for leadership, he said, “We’ll just have to sit it out, I guess. See whether that cow . . . or Galen here . . . makes it first.”
Early the next morning, Zantes and Polar were tending to their chores in a covered work area outside the farmhouse. Zantes pulled two freshly-baked loaves of bread from a brick oven, setting them on a table where Polar sat brooding. There was an earthen jug on the table before him, filled with some strange yellow stuff.
“You know,” he said softly, his thoughts evidently somewhere else than his farm and the work he would shortly have to begin for the day, “I’ll be glad when they’re all grown up and gone.”
Zantes reacted with surprise. “That’s no way for a father to talk,” she said. But she stopped and imagined what it would be like to be alone with Polar again, when they were first married, before Anto was born . . .
Polar looked at the slippery yellow stuff that coated the finger he had stuck into the jug. “What’s this?” he asked.
Zantes glanced at her husband. “Oh,” she said, “Virdon called it ‘butter’. You put milk in a barrel, and churn it and churn it, and it comes out like that.”
Polar sighed. Virdon . . . Burke . . . Burke . . . Virdon. Every day, the two human beings did something else to change the life that Polar had always rather enjoyed, just the way it was. Perhaps some of their tricks made the work a little easier and promised better, more profitable days in the future, but it wasn’t the old life. “Milk is to drink,” said Polar, “Not to eat.”
Zantes knew better than to try to answer her husband with words. In any event, those were the same words that she said to Virdon when he had shown her how to make butter. Now she tore a heel from a loaf of warm bread, went to the table, and scooped the bread across the top of the butter crock. “Taste it,” she said. “That’s all you have to do. Then tell me if Polar the farmer is so smart, after all.”
Polar held the bread dubiously. He loved the freshness and taste of his wife’s bread, just the way it always was. But this new, human stuff was going to spoil that taste. He took a small bite; he liked it. He took another bite, while Zantes watched. “Mmmm,” said Polar.
“See?” said his wife.
Polar’s expression changed from pleasure to the doubtful, pensive look he had worn a few moments before. This newest discovery just underlined what he had been thinking about. “Since they came,” he said sadly, “I don’t know anything anymore. You know, I used to be Polar the farmer. I never made any show of being as educated or as cultured as those city apes you used to know. You realized that when you married me. You knew what kind of a life I had to offer you.”
Zantes took her husband’s hand. “I knew then, and I’ve never regretted it for an instant,” she said.
“But now,” said Polar, “even the things I thought that I knew, things that the city apes didn’t even know, turn out to be wrong. I suppose that Virdon and Burke will be turning your head, by making milk turn the color of those gold necklaces the wives of the rich farmers wear.”
Zantes laughed softly. Sometimes her husband had to be treated as gently as a baby. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “My head doesn’t turn so easily. Besides, there must be some good in them, to work so hard in exchange for the care we’re giving Galen.”
That idea made Polar thoughtful again. There were some things about the three that he still didn’t grasp. “Galen. You see, that’s what happens when you grow up in the central city. You start running with humans.”
Zantes sighed, recalling her days in the city, and wondering for the millionth time whether she would ever see it again. “These humans are not a bad sort. Not like some I’ve heard about.”
That sign of Zantes’ sympathy might be dangerous. Perhaps she was being drawn into some strange trap of the humans. “Maybe they don’t seem so bad,” said Polar. “But, still, I don’t want Jillia around them. Do you hear?”
Zantes was sympathetic, perhaps, but she was still the mother of an impressionable young girl. “Well, of course I won’t,” she said. What do you take me for?”
At the side of the barn, a clumsy but operable shower had been constructed, consisting of a tub raised on a simple scaffold, a modesty screen of rough homespun material, and a pull-cord to release the water. Burke reveled in the shower while Virdon dressed.
“You know,” said Burke, in a happier voice than Virdon had heard in a long while, “I don’t mind being a peasant as long as I have all the conveniences of the rich.”
Virdon laughed. “In this world, even the rich don’t have showers,” he said. “And I’ll tell you what. As long as you’re adding conveniences, maybe tomorrow you can put in the hot water.”
Burke snorted. “How about a cinder track around the farm, for a
little jogging?” he asked. “And a steam room and modest gym. Lockers for members and guests only. Would that be enough?”
“Well,” said Virdon, “it’s all right for openers.”
The two men had no idea that they were being observed: from one of the rolling hills on the limits of Polar’s land, the suspicious Patrol gorilla watched. To view the farm below, he had to look toward the sun. He squinted, shielding his eyes with one huge hand. From this vantage point Burke was faintly visible, moving behind the shower screen beside the barn.
The Patrol gorilla had seen enough. He stood and wiped his hands on his uniform trousers. He was confident that he had seen what he had come for. He walked slowly and thoughtfully to his horse, mounted, and galloped off.
About noon, while Virdon and Burke were busy helping Polar with the day’s tasks around the farmyard, there came a loud shout from Anto in the barn. “No!” cried Polar’s elder son. “No, no!” Then, following this yell, there started the eerie sound of a low, hollow bell being rung.
In the barn, Anto was on his knees near the cow’s stall. The ape was filled with grief. He was striking a ceramic bell with a wooden mallet, fulfilling some other strange rural tradition. The cow was lying on her side, barely moving. Anto rocked himself back and forth, moaning with almost unbearable sorrow.
This was the scene that met the eyes of Virdon and Burke, when the two men rushed into the barn. Following them were Polar and Remus, Zantes and Jillia. They all had a fairly good idea of what to expect. “It’s her time,” said Polar flatly. “The tolling of the bell . . .”
Anto paid little attention to the others. “She’s dying,” he kept repeating. “She’s dying.”
The members of the family held back, knowing that they had no part in the drama that was soon to take place. Even Burke was too unsure of the situation to offer any help. But Virdon rushed into the stall, alarmed by the condition of the cow.
Virdon made a quick diagnosis; this was something that was not new to him. Although he wasn’t an expert, he had grown up with a few more head of cattle on his farm than Polar could afford. He turned back to Burke with a very worried look on his face. Burke came to join him, and the two men conversed in whispers.
“Trouble, Doc?” asked Burke.
“If I could only remember exactly what the vet used to do in this situation,” said Virdon, frowning. He ran a hand through his blond hair and stared at the floor while he thought.
“Try hard,” said Burke, suddenly realizing the seriousness of their plight. “I’ve got a feeling that we don’t want to lose this patient. Not at all.”
Polar and Zantes, meanwhile, had walked past the two humans and were trying to comfort their son, but he pushed them away. Parents played no role in this trial; Anto was alone, with the suffering cow. Anto continued to toll the bell, underscoring the moment with a mournful tone that the two humans found almost petrifying. The tolling of the bell had a sad futility about it, an impotence mirrored in the faces of Polar and Zantes.
“Dying,” whispered Anto. “Dying . . . dying . . . dying ”
Virdon knew that absolutely nothing would be accomplished if they all just stood around and listened to Anto’s moaning and his bell-ringing. “Look, Anto,” said Virdon urgently, as he knelt beside the ape youth, “listen to me.”
Anto had hypnotized himself with his own rhythmic chanting. “Dying . . .” he whispered. “She’s dying . . .”
Virdon tried harder to break through Anton’s psychological impenetrability. “The cow is giving premature birth,” he said. “You’ve seen that before, haven’t you? Sure. And she’s suffering now because her calf is turned. Do you hear me? She needs help.”
As Anto looked slowly into Virdon’s face, he exploded with rage, shoving Virdon backward. The ape jumped to his feet, dropping the bell, leaping for a pitchfork. The elder son now turned slowly, menacing Virdon with the implement.
“Anto!” cried Zantes, “Stop!”
Polar held his wife back. From now on, he was as helpless as she. The ruling factor was the cow, and the cow was Anto’s hope and his responsibility. Where the cow was concerned, not even Anto’s father could interfere. Remus and Jillia stepped back in fright. Burke moved forward to help his friend, but Virdon waved him away. Anto advanced on Virdon slowly, threatening him with the pitchfork. “You,” said Anto, “you have done this.” His voice was slow and full of malice.
Polar thought quickly. He desperately wanted to avoid any unnecessary violence. Virdon had become a friend to him, a benefactor of the whole family. Anto’s accusation might well be true, but it had yet to be proven. “Wait!” called Polar in a stern tone of command. “The cow is not dead. You cannot claim a life yet.”
Anto remembered the rule, long established by custom and rustic superstition. He was caught in a dilemma, but he restrained his impulse to kill Virdon with the pitchfork. If Anto’s judgment were correct, then the humans were causing the cow’s troubles. In that event, merely having the human beings nearby would be enough to insure a disaster for Anto. But, on the other hand, it was possible that there would be no disaster unless Anto first killed Virdon. The ape youth compromised by holding the pitchfork threateningly close to Virdon’s neck, and awaiting developments.
“The cow needn’t die,” said Virdon, forcing his voice to be calm. “I can help. It’s just a matter of turning the calf around.”
“No!” cried Anto. “You’ve worked your last trick here. When she dies, you will die!”
There was a creaking sound from the barn door. Everyone except Anto turned to see what was happening. It was Galen, entering the barn with great effort, hobbling on his single crutch. “Anto,” he said, evidently still in some pain, “stop.”
For reply, Anto jabbed the pitchfork at Virdon, who jumped back just enough to avoid it. Burke stood by helplessly, not knowing what he could do that wouldn’t endanger Virdon even more. In the silence, the cow’s mooing came strained and pitiable. “Come in, you human-lover,” said Anto, disdaining to turn around. “Come see what you’ve done.”
Galen hobbled forward a few steps, a quick survey of the situation filling in the important details for him. The intelligent young chimpanzee understood that, at the moment, he was the only hope for Virdon, for Burke, and, possibly, for his own life. “Blame me, then,” said Galen. “It was my wound that brought them here. We’ll leave. Now. We’ll all leave.”
Polar tried to second Galen’s reasoning. He indicated to Zantes that she should stay back with Jillia; Anto’s father took a few steps forward. “You hear, Anto?” he asked. “They’ll leave.”
Anto would not listen to reason. He still didn’t know if the humans’ leaving was a good thing for the cow or not. “No one will leave,” he said. “Not until this is all over, one way or another. Toll the bell, Remus. It is probably too late for that, but toll the bell.”
Remus cautiously walked over and picked up the ceramic bell; he started to strike it slowly, making the strange, alien sound. Anto kept Virdon pinned in place with the pitchfork. No one else said anything. All that could be heard was the slow rhythm of the bell and the awful noises of the cow. No one moved.
NINE
The Patrol gorilla, riding hard from his spy mission above Polar’s farm, arrived back at his rural outpost exhausted but excited by the news he carried. He hurried into the headquarters and reported to the officer in charge, a grim-looking gorilla named Barga. “If you saw one,” Barga asked, drumming his fingers against the rough wood of his desk, “why didn’t you bring him in?”
The Patrol rider didn’t have a good reason for this. In fact, the idea hadn’t even occurred to him before now. He stammered, fidgeting with his heavy gauntlets. There was a tense silence in the Patrol headquarters. “I thought that there might be more,” said the rider lamely.
The officer roared his disapproval. “Since when are a few humans too much for a single mounted Patrolman?” he asked.
Again, the Patrol gorilla didn’t have a good ans
wer, Barga watched him impatiently. He wished that his own superiors would send him better men; sure, they were stationed far from the central city, in a region where the need for gorilla forces was small. Still, when the need arose, Barga found himself equipped with troops like this poor replica of a soldier. “Maybe many more,” said the rider at last. This was just the excuse that Barga expected to hear. “A good catch, maybe,” said the rider to save face.
Barga had to go over every detail in the Patrolman’s report. There were just too many odd things about it. “Standing beneath a stream of water, you say,” he mused. “Are you sure you haven’t been gulping down the fermented apple juice again?”
“Not a drop,” said the Patrol rider defensively. “It’s just as I say.”
“All right,” said Barga, trying to keep the discussion going before all the important features blurred irrevocably in his soldier’s weak mind. “I believe that I’ll return with you. How far?”
The rider was proud of his accomplishment. His officer had taken official notice. “Two hours’ ride,” he said. “The Polar farm. But shouldn’t we wait until dark? If they try to run, humans are easier to see in the dark.”
Barga stared aimlessly past the rider’s shoulder. “Well,” he said, yawning, “if you’re too tired—”
“No, sir,” said the soldier, dismissing that possibility from his leader’s mind.
“Prepare the mounts,” said Barga decisively. “What is your name again?”
The rider was crestfallen. “Lupuk, sir,” he said.
“Very good, Lupuk. If farmer . . . Polar . . . has been hiding humans, well, I’d like to see him hanging while it’s still daylight!”
The sun had passed zenith and had dropped about halfway down the sky, toward sunset. The Polar farmyard was deserted. No one was bustling about, doing his daily chores; dinner was not being prepared in the farmhouse; the animals had gone unfed. There was no motion to be seen other than the wind-blown leaves in the trees. There were no baking smells from the oven, only the brisk tang of newly-cut hay still hanging in the air. Birds chirped, but other than that the only sound was the slow, steady, almost eternal tolling of the ceramic bell. That chilling sound announced that the tense vigil was still going on inside the barn. Remus kept up the tolling, as his elder brother had ordered.
Planet of the Apes 01 - Man the Fugitive Page 15