Classic PJ Farmer

by Philip José Farmer

  Alice’s scream brought me upward. Too fast, for I bumped my head hard against a branch. Despite the pain, I turned back to see what was the trouble and charged through the brush. And I banged my shins hard against some object and fell flat on my face, knocking my breath out.

  When I rose, I saw I’d tripped over my own watertank. I didn’t stop to thank whatever gods might be for my good fortune. Instead, I picked the tank up and, running up to them, brought it crashing down against the back of his head. Soundlessly, he crumpled. I threw the container to one side and went to Alice.

  “You all right?” I asked.

  “Yes-s,” she said, sobbing, and put her head on my shoulder.

  I judged she was more frightened and mad than hurt. I patted her shoulder—she had beautifully smooth skin—and stroked her long black hair. But she wouldn’t quit weeping.

  “That filthy creep! First he ruins my sister, and now he tries to do the same to me.”

  “Huh?”

  She raised her head to look at me. Look down at me, rather— she was an inch or two taller.

  “Peggy was my half-sister, daughter by my fathers first marriage. Her mother married a Colonel Rourke. But we were always close.”

  I wanted to hear more, but the immediate situation demanded my attention.

  I turned Polivinosel over. His heart was still beating. Blood flowed from the gash in the back of his scalp, not the clear ichor you expect from a god’s veins.

  “Type O,” said Alice. “Same as it was before. And don’t worry about him. He deserves to die. He’s a big stupid jerk of a Don Juan who got my sister in trouble and wouldn’t…”

  She stopped and gasped. I followed her stricken gaze and water had spilled into the dirt. And again I felt that sudden wrench of thirst. It was purely mental, of course, but that knowledge didn’t make me less dry.

  She put her hand to her throat and croaked, “All of a sudden, I’m thirsty.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it unless we find a source of uncontaminated water,” I said. “And the longer we stand around talking about it, the thirstier we’ll get.”

  The tank was empty. Stopping to check this sad fact, I saw light flash on something beneath a bush. I retrieved my upper plate. With my back toward Alice, I inserted the teeth and, feeling a little more assured, told her we’d better start walking on.

  We did, but she still had the water problem on her mind. “Surely, there are wells and creeks that aren’t infected. Only the river is filled with the Brew, isn’t it?”

  “If I were sure of that I’d not have taken the watertank,” I was unkind enough to point out.

  She opened her mouth to reply. But just then we heard voices down the path and saw the flare of approaching torches. Quickly, we stepped into the brush and hid.

  The newcomers were singing. Their song owed its music to The Battle Hymn of the Republic, but the words were Latin. It was wretched Latin, for their accent paid allegiance to the beat of the original English meter. It didn’t bother them at all. I doubt if many even knew what they were singing.

  “Orientis partibus Adventavit Asinus, Pulcher et Fortissimus, Sarcinis aptissimus. Orientis partibus Adventavit… Eeeeek!”

  They had rounded the trails bend and discovered their god, bleeding and unconscious.

  Alice whispered, “Let’s get out of here. If that mob catches us, they’ll tear us apart.”

  I wanted to watch, to learn from their behavior how we should act when among the natives. I told her so, and she nodded. Despite our antagonism, I had to admit that she was intelligent and brave. If she was a little nervous, she had good reason to be.

  These people didn’t act at all as I’d thought they would. Instead of wailing and weeping, they stood away from him, huddled together, not quite sure what to do. I didn’t see at first what caused their attitude. Then I realized from their expressions and whispers that they were afraid to interfere in the affairs of a demigod—even one as demi as Polivinosel.

  The thing that italicized their indecision was their youthful-ness. There wasn’t a man or woman in the group who looked over twenty-five, and all were of superb physique.

  Something made a loud cracking noise down the path behind us. Alice and I jumped, as did the whole group. They took off like a bunch of scared rabbits. I felt like joining them, but I stayed. I did, however, pray that this wouldn’t be another nerve-rocking monster.

  It was merely a naked native, a tall lean one with a long thin nose, who looked as if he ought to be teaching in some college. The effect was intensified by the fact that he had his nose in a book. As I’ve said, the moonlight was strong enough for reading, but I hadn’t really expected anyone to take advantage of it.

  His scholarly appearance was somewhat marred by the dead squirrel, large as a collie, which hung around his neck and over his shoulders. He had been hunting, I suppose, though I’d never heard of hunting squirrels in the dark. Moreover, he carried no weapons.

  All of this, except for the squirrel’s size, was surprising. I’d seen camera shots of the great beasts taken along the Area’s edge.

  I watched him closely to see what he’d do when he saw Polivinosel. He disappointed me. When he came to the prostrate form, he did not hesitate or give any sign that he had seen the god except to lift his feet over the outstretched legs. His nose remained dipped in the book.

  I took Alice’s hand. “Come on. We’re following him.”

  We walked behind the reader for perhaps a half-mile. When I thought it was safe to stop him, I called out to him. He halted and put his squirrel on the ground and waited for me.

  I asked him if he had noticed Polivinosel lying on the path.

  Puzzled, he shook his head.

  “I saw you step over him,” I said.

  “I stepped over nothing,” he insisted. “The path was perfectly clear.” He peered closely at me. “I can see you’re a newcomer. Perhaps you’ve had your first taste of the Brew. Sometimes, at first, it gives strange sensations and visions. Takes a little time to get adjusted to it, you know.”

  I said nothing about that, but I did argue with him about Polivinosel. Not until I mentioned the name, however, did he look enlightened. He smiled in a superior manner and looked down his long nose.

  “Ah, my good man, you mustn’t believe everything you hear, you know. Just because the majority, who have always been ignorami and simpletons, choose to explain the new phenomena in terms of ancient superstition is no reason for an intelligent man such as yourself to put any credence in them. I suggest you discard anything you hear—with the exception of what I tell you, of course—and use the rational powers that you were lucky enough to be born with and to develop in some university, providing, that is, you didn’t go to some institution which is merely a training ground for members of the Chamber of Commerce, Rotary, Odd Fellows, Knights of Columbus, Shriners, or the Lions, Moose, Elk, and other curious beasts. I scarcely—”

  “But I saw Polivinosel!” I said, exasperated. “And if you hadn’t lifted your feet, you’d have fallen over him!”

  Again, he gave a superior smile. “Tut, tut! Self-hypnotism, mass delusion, something of that sort. Perhaps you are a victim of suggestion. Believe me, there are many unsettling things in this valley. You mustn’t allow yourself to be bamboozled by the first charlatan who comes along and has an easy—if fantastic—explanation for all this.”

  “What’s yours?” I challenged.

  “Dr. Durham invented some sort of machine that generates the unknown chemical with which he is now infecting the Illinois River. And eventually, we hope, the waters of the world. One of its properties is a destruction of many of the sociologically and psychologically conditioned reflexes which some term inhibitions, mores, or neuroses. And a very good thing, too. It also happens to be a universal antibiotic and tonic—such a combination!—besides a number of other things, not all of which I approve.

  “However, he has, I must admit, done away with such societal and politico-
economic structurologies and agents as factories, shops, doctors, hospitals, schools—which have hitherto devoted most of their time and energy to turning out half-educated morons—bureaucracies, automobiles, churches, movies, advertising, distilleries, soap operas, armies, prostitutes, and innumerable other institutions until recently considered indispensable.

  “Unfortunately, the rationalizing instinct in man is very hard to down, as is the power-drive. So you have charlatans posing as prophets and setting up all sorts of new churches and attracting the multitudes in all their moronic simplicity and pathetic eagerness to grasp at some explanation for the unknown.”

  I wanted to believe him, but I knew that the Professor had neither ability nor money enough to build such a machine.

  “What is the peasants’ explanation for the Brew?” I asked.

  “They have none except that it comes from the Bottle,” said the Rational Man. “They swear that Durham derives his powers from this Bottle, which, by description, is nothing more than a common everyday beer bottle. Some declare, however, that it bears, in stiacciato, the image of a bull.”

  Guilt brought sweat out on my forehead. So, it had been my gift! And I’d thought I was playing a harmless little hoax on my likable but daffy old Classical-Lit prof!

  “That story is probably derived from his name,” I said hastily. “After all, his students used to call him ‘Bull.’ It wasn’t only the fact that his name was Durham. His wife led him around with a ring in his nose, and—”

  “In which case, he fooled his students,” said the Rational Man. “For he was, beneath that mild and meek exterior, a prize bull, a veritable stallion, a lusty old goat. As you may or may not know, he has any number of nymphs stabled in his so-called Flower Palace, not to mention beautiful Peggy Rourke, now known as the—”

  Alice gasped. “Then she is living! And with Durham!”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Well that depends upon whether or not you listen to these charlatans. Some of them would have it that she has become transfigured in some mystical-muddled manner— multiplied, they call it—and is each and every one of those nymphs in Mahrud’s seraglio, yet is in some way none of them and exists in essence only.”

  He shook his head and said, “Oh, the rationalizing species that must invent gods and dogmas!”

  “Who’s Mahrud?” I asked.

  “Why, Durham spelled backward, of course. Don’t you know that there is a tendency in every religion to avoid pronouncing the True Name? However, I believe that those fakers, the Scrambled Men, invented the name, mainly because they couldn’t say it right. They insisted the predeity name be distinguished from the Real One. It caught on fast, probably because it sounded so Oriental and, therefore, in the minds of these peons, mystical.”

  I was getting so much data all at once that I was more mixed up than ever.

  “Haven’t you ever seen Mahrud?” I asked.

  “No, and I never shall. Those so-called gods just don’t exist, any more than the Allegory or the Ass. Nobody with a rational mind could believe in them. Unfortunately, the Brew, despite its many admirable qualities, does have a strong tendency to make one illogical, irrational, and susceptible to suggestion.”

  He tapped his high forehead and said, “But I accept all the good things and reject the others. I’m quite happy.”

  Shortly after this, we came out on a country road I recognized.

  The Rational Man said, “We’ll be coming soon to my house. Would you two care to stop? We’ll have this squirrel to eat and lots of Brew from the well in the backyard. Some of my friends will be there, and we’ll have a nice intellectual talk before the orgy starts. You’ll find them congenial—they’re all atheists or agnostics.”

  I shuddered at the idea of being asked to drink the hated Liquor. “Sorry,” I said. “We must be going. But tell me, as a matter of curiosity, how you caught that squirrel. You’re not carrying any weapon.”

  “Can’t,” he replied, waving his book.

  “Can’t? Why not?”

  “No, not can’t. K-a-n-t. Kant. You see, the Brew has had this extraordinary effect on stimulating certain animals’ growth. More than that, it has, I’m sure, affected their cerebral systems. They seem much more intelligent than before. A combination of increase in size of brain and change in organization of neurons, probably. Whatever the effect, the change has been most remarkable in rodents. A good thing, too. Wonderful source of meat, you know.

  “Anyway,” he continued, as he saw my increasing impatience, “I’ve found that one doesn’t need a gun, which no longer explodes in this area, anyway, nor a bow and arrow. All one has to do is locate an area abundant in squirrels and sit down and read aloud. While one is both enjoying and educating oneself, the squirrel, attracted by one’s monotonous voice, descends slowly from his tree and draws nearer.

  “One pays no attention to him—one reads on. The beast sits close to one, slowly waving its bushy tail, its big black eyes fixed on one. After a while, one rises, closes the book, and picks up the squirrel, which is by now completely stupefied and never comes out of its state, not even when one takes it home and cuts it throat.

  “I’ve found by experiment that one gets the best results by reading The Critique of Pure Reason. Absolutely stuns them. However, rabbits, for some reason, are more easily seduced by my reading Henry Millers Tropic of Capricorn. In the French translation, of course. Friend of mine says that the best book for the birds is Hubbard’s Dianetics, but one ought to take pride in one’s tools, you know. I’ve always caught my pheasants and geese with Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex.”

  We came to his estate and said good-by to him. Stepping up our pace, we walked for several miles past the many farmhouses along the gravel road. Some of these had burned down, but their occupants had simply moved into the barn. Or, if that had gone up in flames, had erected a lean-to.

  “Photographs from Army balloons have shown that a good many houses in the city have burned down,” I said. “Not only that, the grass is literally growing in the streets again. I’ve been wondering where the burned-out people were living, but this shows how they manage. They live like savages.”

  “Well, why not?” asked Alice. “They don’t seem to have to work very hard to live in abundance. I’ve noticed we haven’t been bitten by mosquitoes, so noxious insects must have been exterminated. Sanitation shouldn’t bother them—the Brew kills all diseases, if we’re to believe that squirrel-reader. They don’t have much refuse in the way of tin cans, paper, and so on to get rid of. They all seem very happy and hospitable. We’ve had to turn down constant invitations to stop and eat and drink some Brew. And even,” she added with a malicious smile, “to participate in orgies afterward. That seems to be quite a respectable word now. I noticed that beautiful blonde back at the last farm tried to drag you off the road. You’ll have to admit that that couldn’t have happened Outside.”

  “Maybe I am bald,” I snarled, “but I’m not so damned repulsive that no good-looking girl could fall in love with me. I wish I had a photo of Bernadette to show you. Bernadette and I were just on the verge of getting engaged. She’s only thirty and—”

  “Has she got all her teeth?”

  “Yes, she has,” I retorted. “She didn’t get hit in the mouth by a mortar fragment and then lose the rest of her upper teeth through an infection, with no antibiotics available because enemy fire kept her in a foxhole for five days.”

  I was so mad I was shaking.

  Alice answered softly, “Dan, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t know.”

  “Not only that,” I plunged on, ignoring her apology. “What have you got against me besides my teeth and hair and the fact that I thought of this conditioning idea and my superiors—including the President—thought enough of my abilities to send me into this area without ten thousand Marines paving the way for me? As far as that goes, why were you sent with me? Was it because your father happens to be a general and wanted to grab some glory for you and him by associa
tion with me? If that isn’t militaristic parasitism, what is? And furthermore…”

  I raved on, and every time she opened her mouth, I roared her down. I didn’t realize how loud I was until I saw a man and a woman standing in the road ahead of us, watching intently. I shut up at once, but the damage was done.

  As soon as we were opposite them, the man said, “Newcomer, you’re awfully grumpy.” He held out a bottle to me. “Here, drink. It’s good for what ails you. We don’t have any harsh words in Mahrudland.”

  I said, “No, thanks,” and tried to go around them, but the woman, a brunette who resembled a cross between the two Russells, Jane and Lillian, grabbed me around my neck and said, “Aw, come on, skinhead, I think you’re cute. Have a drink and come along with us. We’re going to a fertility ceremony at Jonesy’s farm. Polivinosel himself’ll be there. He’s deigning to mix with us mortals for tonight. And you can make love with me and ensure a good crop. I’m one of Poli’s nymphs, you know.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve got to go.”

  I felt something wet and warm flooding over my scalp. For a second, I couldn’t guess what it was. But when I smelled the hop-like Brew, I knew! And I responded with all the violence and horror the stuff inspired in me. Before the man could continue pouring the liquid over my head, I tore the woman’s grip loose and threw her straight into the face of her companion. Both went down.

  Before they could rise, I grabbed Alice’s hand and fled with her down the road.

  After we had run about a quarter of a mile, I had to slow to a walk. My heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest, and my head was expanding to fill the dome of the sky. Even my setting-up exercises hadn’t fitted me for this.

  However, I didn’t feel so bad when I saw that Alice, young and fit as she was, was panting just as hard.

  “They’re not chasing us,” I said. “Do you know, we’ve penetrated this area so easily, I wonder how far a column of Marines could have gone if they’d come in tonight. Maybe it would have been better to try an attack this way.”

  “We’ve tried four already,” said Alice. “Two by day, two by night. The first three marched in and never came back, and you saw what happened to the last.”