FINALLY THE TWO MEN COME FOR ME. (I KEEP thinking men, but I’m not sure. The clothes don’t give me any signals I know of and everybody looks so soft and chubby.) I guess I’m presentable. By now it’s darker out. Of course there’s the glow of the dust. I know from my parents that it never gets really dark. Maybe I’m not as presentable as I think, since they waited till this twilight time to take me out.
We get onto one of those wobbly porches hanging from nothing, and swing off slowly. In a way I’m scared and in a way I’m not because everything is so fascinating. Besides, would they really put me in danger after they took all the trouble to get me back? I hardly pay attention to my fear except to hang on tight. I stare at the buildings. They’re all exactly the same. When I look out over them from the high point of the porch’s swing, it makes me think of a field of huge shiny blades of grass. As we start down I stare at the ground where a few people stroll. Not a single one walks fast. There are no streetlights. They’re not needed. Nothing is lit except inside the windows. The dust rings and the moons—both at the half-moon stage—are enough so that no lights are needed.
The blue one looks to be a lot farther away than the red. Or is it just smaller? And does one always follow the other like it seems to now?
We touch down a few minutes later.
So far the men haven’t talked to me—just to themselves. I think the language has changed some since our parents left fifty years ago, but I understand a lot of it. They’re not talking about me but about the colors of something—colors of music, I think they said.
For sure these are males, their voices are gravely. I wonder if they’re the ones undressed me and dressed me when I was drugged.
They take me to one of those slim towers. They say, “This is where you’ll….” Something or other. Seemed like “collide” or “fall down.” Maybe, “crash.”
The room is on the twelfth floor. I think twelfth. I’m not sure of our numbers. The elevator comes up the middle so that when we get out there are windows on all sides. I know they have elevators back there, too, but last time I was in one I was eight years old so it’s as scary as the porch. All the rooms must be pretty small in these towers, and the higher, the smaller. I’m glad they didn’t put me any higher. I wanted to ask them: Is this all just for looks so the towers will all be alike or what? But I didn’t.
One says, “Go on loosen up. We’ll take you to a….” And another word I don’t know. “You’ll meet a Special.” I think that’s what he said.
Then they leave. I wouldn’t know how to escape if I wanted to, or even how to go down and take a walk. And I want to … at least I want to take a walk. I want to be on my own, wandering the city, but I’d be lost in five minutes.
Everything that happens makes me wish for Lorpas. With him, I’d laugh. Or maybe we’d discover how to go take a walk.
Except it is beautiful. From here I can look at all these other spires—as far as you can see, nothing but spires. And the moons. My parents talked of them every time there was a starry night back there, as if two moons was always better than the stars. I try to see those twirling bird things but I guess they’re only out in the daytime.
I haven’t been to any kind of town since I was a child. The Secret City isn’t really a city. We were living like cavemen. Or rather like moles in our burrows.
I’m thirsty and I don’t know how to get a drink. I don’t even know where they pee. There are buttons for everything but I don’t dare push them because the one I did push turned on bright lights, but then wouldn’t turn them back off.
I dare to pee into a depression in the floor. I hope that’s not where breakfast will appear.
I lie down on the bed. This one is different from the cot in that gray cell. You sink in more than you want to. At first I jump up because I think the bed is going to swallow me, but there’s no place else except the floor. And would they really try to eat me? I lie down again. There are no blankets so nothing to hide under to block out the light. The bed seems warm, but I still don’t like how it curls up around you. Lorpas would hate it even more than I do, what with his claustrophobia.
To think it was just last night I slept next to him, his hand on my arm. There was the sound of the stream and crickets. Why didn’t we kiss then, when we had the chance?
But everything is making me so tired I don’t find it hard to sleep … that is, after a time of letting tears drip down. At least the bed has no fancy scary way of drying them. But then my hair is a bother. It’s stiff and uncomfortable. I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe you’re supposed to wash it out every night but I can’t even get myself a drink. But I do fall asleep soon and sleep soundly.
LORPAS
THE BOTTOM OF THE SCREE IS FULL OF BOULDERS. I find the man first. He’s dead. That’s a bad sign for Mollish. I’m hoping…. I need her…. She was such a wonderfully tough and wise lady. She’s the only old one I’ve seen for a long time and she was so unlike all the others in loving this world more than her own. Allush said she’d been a servant and that was why she liked it better here. Makes me wonder about my world. There were things our parents wouldn’t talk about. Mother thought she was a cut above even our own people. I’d try to argue with her but she always said there was nothing to say about it, why should she argue? She just was, and if I couldn’t see it, it didn’t matter to her. She said it wasn’t the sort of thing nice people talked about.
At first I can’t find Mollish. That’s because she’s farther up on the steep slide of scree and partly covered up with gravel. When I see her, I think she might be all right—she didn’t have that far to fall. I have a hard time getting up to her. I slide down almost as much as I crawl up.
But she’s dead. Not a mark on her that I can see. Maybe she was just too old for a fall and a fight.
I dig in my heels and prop myself beside her. It’s hard to sit there without sliding.
I sit a long time. I hold her hand. I think how we both liked it here. How she was an old one who could see through all the jingoistic bullshit of our parents. All the more reason, then, that I’m right in wanting to stay. Why didn’t I talk to her more? My God, the things I could have found out that my parents never would have told me, but all I did was pay attention to Allush.
I miss her, Allush, Allusha, but I keep telling myself, she got what she wanted. At least that. I hope she’s happy there. I hope she can come back if she doesn’t like it.
I’ve no idea how long I sit there—it seems I’m mostly not thinking at all, I just sit—empty—then I see the sun is getting low. If I don’t hurry back to the trail, I’ll have to sit here all night. I can’t climb up in the dark and I left my flashlight back in my pack. And I completely forgot about that man I knocked out. I wonder what mischief he’s gotten himself into.
When I take Mollish’s backpack and bedroll, she slides the rest of the way down the scree slope. As do I. Her backpack was what was holding her up. I leave her there next to the man. I walk beyond the scree and climb back to my backpack. I sling both packs … one on each sore shoulder … and go back to check on the man. I may be sorry, but if he’s stuck here he won’t know what to do. He’ll need me.
HE’S SITTING WITH HIS BACK AGAINST THE HIGH side of the trail shivering. He’s dressed unsuitably for the side of a mountain in high altitudes and in this season. I unroll Mollish’s bedroll and lay it over his shoulders.
I remember that odd jerk of the head, as if to throw back long hair. It means thanks. Mollish did that, too. All the old ones did.
He says something. Though that was my first language, I don’t understand. I shake my head, no, but all my gestures are from here, he won’t know what that means.
I sit beside him and get out some of our dried food and a canteen of Mollish’s tea. He tastes the meat and gags as I would do after half a bite of caterpillar. But he drinks the tea as if he doesn’t dare but is too thirsty not to. I don’t blame him his fear.
Odd though, that they never bothered to learn one
of these languages just in case of getting stuck here. Even when our parents first came they never thought it was important to know more than a few words of English or Spanish. Of course these men have no role but to snatch people back.
I’d climb down and get the tubes I threw over and give them back to him if thought it would help him go home, but I’m afraid he’ll snatch me back with him or burn me if I won’t come. They all seem to think we’d be better off home whether we want to go or not. I suppose because it’s so much more civilized there, but I would have been happy up in the Secret City where it’s even less civilized … as long as I didn’t have to live underground. I was all set to stay up there. Maybe I would have except for Youpas.
But strange how it was so empty—that I only saw those three people in all my wandering around. I wonder if there are any more of us up there, or if they dwindled away and died or maybe got bored like Allush was and left for the Down or got lost trying to find it. No wonder Youpas was upset that Allush was so taken with me, she’s his only hope for a mate, too. For sure, when he finds out we’re not there, he’ll follow us down, but he doesn’t know Allush has gone back to the homeworld. He’ll blame me for that.
WE’LL HAVE TO SPEND THE NIGHT ON THE LEDGE. It’s going to be a dark, cloudy night. Too dangerous for two of us to walk this rocky trail single-file with just my tiny flashlight.
He’s cold even after I wrap him in Mollish’s bedroll. And he’s frightened. When he looks at me, it’s wide-eyed—like a scared baby animal looking at the mother for help. I thought maybe it would be dangerous sleeping with him next to me after I’d knocked him out, but I can see on his face that I’m his only hope.
I make him put on my long underwear over his shorts. I zip him into Mollish’s sleeping bag, I squeeze his shoulder. I say, “Sleep now.” As I say it, I use two fingers and shut his eyes for him. “Sleep. Sleep.” (He might as well start learning the language.) Of course his eyes pop open again right away.
I lie down. We’re head to head, both of us in the only place we can be, stretched out right in the middle of the trail. I turn out the flashlight. No stars, no moon. I wonder what he thinks of night on this world. Jet black. Scary. Maybe tomorrow night he’ll get to see stars. I hope so. With their two moons always in the way, my kind can’t ever have seen a sky full of stars.
If he comes down with me in the morning, I’ll have to do something about that pompadour and that crazy shirt. Shorts for heaven’s sake!
I HAVE A HARD TIME SLEEPING. I MISS ALLUSHA. We always slept next to each other, looking up at the stars and the moon—whispering after Mollish had gone to sleep. Mollish knew the stars as much as Ruth did. Sometimes she pointed out the constellations, too. Now both she and Ruth are dead and all my fault.
And there’s a big problem, I don’t know the way. Neither towards town nor back to the city. If towards town, all I know is east and (I hope) south enough to avoid the town where I was in jail. But going east should be enough. We’ll hit Route 395 somewhere. No way to miss it. It goes north and south between two mountain ranges for hundreds of miles.
And Youpas will be following us, waiting for a chance to kill me. When he finds out Allush got snatched and I didn’t stop her he’ll be after me more than ever. Should I turn back even so? Take this man to the Secret City to hide out there with the beacons and wait for rescue? Try to find it again, that is. But I don’t want to have a showdown with Youpas. I’ll take him to the Down. Give him a chance to learn a few things about this world. Maybe he can go back and tell our people to stop snatching us without asking. I wonder if it would do any good. Maybe there’s a reason they want us back. Could be as simple as that we’re dangerous to our own people here. What if we’re found out by the natives? Who knows what will happen then. Homo sapiens sapiens off, yet again, to wipe out Neanderthals.
IN THE MORNING WE WAKE TO HAIL AND THUNDER. This ledge is a bad place to be in lightning. Here, there’s no shelter whatsoever. I have a decent hat, but he doesn’t even have one of those baseball caps the old ones always wore. I put my hat on his head. He says, “Ayyaa, ayyaa,” but I say, “Yes.” Then he ducks his head as, thanks.
I pack up, give him Mollish’s backpack and we hurry on—down and east. I’m not thinking which way to go. I just want to get us back into the tree line to someplace more sheltered. Then I’ll think. Also, on this rough ground, I need a cane but there won’t be any possible sticks until we get into the trees. Thinking cane makes me think of Ruth again. Hers must still be up behind the pink wall where I got shot.
Rain or no, the man stops every now and then and looks around. His stopping makes me stop and look, too. I try to imagine what he’s thinking—maybe that everything is ugly compared to his world, just like Mother said it was. Even so, whatever he’s thinking, I appreciate the view even more than I normally do. I think: my snowy peaks, my silvery waterfalls on the mountain across from us, my, my, my beautiful world.
While we’re still fairly high, the rain stops. Shortly after it does we watch a turkey vulture soar out from the cliff, just above us. Later, in the trees below, we walk through fireweed as high as our heads. In this sheltered side of the mountain, it’s still in bloom. A magpie flies across our path and I hear the man gasp. I guess no magpies back on our home world. I’d rather not be where there aren’t any magpies.
We don’t stop to eat until we’re well into the valley. We sit on a rock and I chew that stringy jerky from some ratlike rodent. He’s hungry enough now to eat some without gagging. We both drink Mollish’s tea.
I point to myself and say Lorpas, and he points to himself and says Narlpas.
I say, “I’m going to have to do something with your hair.” I gesture. “Hair,” I say. I keep talking. “Your hair won’t do. It’s a little late in the season, but we might meet natives any time even so. I’ve seen men attacked for less. Well, not very often.”
Then I point to him. I say, “From now on you’re not Narlpas. Narlpas, ayyaa. You’re Jack.” I point to me. “And I’m not Lorpas. Ayyaa Lorpas. I’m Norman.”
I take a good look at his barrel chest and heavy eyebrow ridges, at that coarse black hair. To the natives, we all look as if from the same family. I say, “We’re brothers, and you, my friend, have a speech defect, and though you’re most likely just as smart as I am, I’m going to be telling everyone you’re a little dim-witted.”
After we eat, I rinse his hair in the icy stream to take out the stiffener and tie it back in a ponytail.
First he thought I was going to drown him. Or maybe freeze him. I couldn’t make him understand. I said, “Ayyaa. OK, OK.” Finally I had to gesture as if to hit him again and he gave up and let me rinse his hair.
Afterwards he smiled. Relieved. Knowing he’d made a mistake about me. He said, “OK, OK,” and we both laughed. After that things are different between us. He’s still scared—more than scared … terrified … but at least not of me.
I wish I had scissors. Neither of us will be very presentable. Especially with him in my long underwear (now under the shorts). I still have Ruth’s pink razors. When we get closer to a town we’ll shave and bathe. After sweating out here in the wild for a couple of weeks, I’m pretty stinky.
I find myself a cane, just the piece of a dead branch, but I’ll go a lot faster.
The trail has been following a stream ever since we got into the trees. That afternoon, I stop and catch a fish, make a fire and fry it. Jack refuses to eat it. He prefers another piece of dried rodent. Odd that he manages to eat that without too much of a problem. That doesn’t give me much respect for the food back on the homeworld. I think of Allush. I wonder if she likes the food. Nothing worse than alien food. I wonder if there are any good trees for her to climb. I wonder if her clothes and messy hair are as ridiculous there as this man’s are here. Well, they are. Even here on this world she’d have had to get a haircut and cleaned up.
I’m tired and depressed. It’s not late but I stop. I find a level spot away from the trail an
d roll out the bedrolls. I like seeing my beautiful world new and fresh as if through Jack’s eyes, but I’d much prefer bedding down with Allush and Mollish beside me.
Jack, on hands and knees, examines dirt and pebbles. Plucks at plants. At first he’s afraid to touch them but I pull some out to show him it’s all right. I say, “Plants,” and, “These aren’t poison. Not to eat, though, but there’s others that are. We’ll eat some as soon as I see some good ones.” I think it’s good for me to keep talking so as to give him a feel for the language.
I wonder if he thinks this whole world is nothing but mountains and forests and hardly any people. I wonder if he thinks wandering around and sleeping on the ground is the usual way.
It’s dusk. Animals start coming out. A doe walks right in on us. We sit like stones and watch. I say, “Deer.” When I say it, the doe does a double take and runs.
A jackrabbit and a gray fox, come together, stay not three yards apart and don’t pay any attention to each other or to us. The jackrabbit is as big as the fox. I say, “Fox and Jackrabbit.” And off they go.
He says, “Jack.” I say, “Ayy yaa. Jack rabbit.” He says, “OK, OK.” I guess we’re talking.
He’s getting used to being Jack and he calls me Norman. Well, he can’t say Rs. The old ones had the same problem. He calls me No man. There’s some truth in that.
I show him how to work the flashlight. I put it by his bedroll. Again I say, “Sleep.” And he tries to repeat it.
“Not Shleep. Sleep.” A logical mistake. Our language is so full of “Sh” sounds. I think: Allush, Allusha, and Mollish.
The Secret City Page 7