Walter turned for another two minutes of rapid cross-talk, then suddenly he rocked back to squat on his heels. I noticed an abrupt change in his manner when he looked across at me.
“Holy Hell,” he said. “Steven, you’re a magician. I don’t see how you could read something significant out of a casual look at one of my slides, but I think we may have hit the jackpot here.” He stared across at the lake. “Lunga just told me there’s a whole ‘iron house’ at the bottom of that pond, with a lot of stuff in it like that piece of junk he’s holding. But it’s all made in one piece, and too heavy for them to bring up—they ran ropes to it. When the water was clear they could see it down there. He thinks it was the tunicate’s house at first, and it lived down there until they caught it in a big net and held it up at the surface. Lunga suggests that we could attach a cable from the bus, and use that to drag the whole thing up, and if we did that, he’d trade it to us—for a lot of goods.”
My stomach felt like a lump of lead, and my heart was racing. “Ask him if he’s sure there was only one. There could be others, still living down there.”
Walter spat out the question, and Lunga shook his head firmly.
“No chance of that, he says.” Walter sighed. “There was only the one. But he says there have been other changes in the pond since the tunicate died. There are fish in it now, and before it didn’t have any. The villagers say that the tunicate’s death brought those fish. They try to catch them now, that’s one reason the pond is dirty.” He groaned. “Steven, do you see what they did? They caught it, the only one, and they kept it as a god—kept it on the surface until they killed it.”
If my heart had raced before, now it felt as though it had stopped completely. Walter didn’t know much about tunicates; he didn’t understand the possible significance of his own words. But what he had said suggested that one of my own fantasies could be true.
I could not speak. Luckily, Walter for his own reasons felt just as strong a need to get away to where he could think as I did. We made rapid and disorganized farewells to Lunga, promising to consider his possible deal, and staggered back down hill to our own camp.
When we arrived back at the bus we found that we had been gone less than two hours. It felt like weeks.
I didn’t want Walter to tell Jane and Wendy what we had heard, but of course there was no way of stopping him. Luckily he omitted some facts that I considered relevant—Jane might have picked up their significance.
“From god knows where,” he said. He was walking up and down in the camp, shaking with tension and excitement.
“Light-years, it must have been. And landed here—crash-landed, I bet. So what did they do? The stupid black bastards caught him, and named him as a god, and kept him in a net. Until the poor bugger died.”
Walter was more upset than I had ever seen him before. He doesn’t have a speck of racist in him. That “black bastards” revealed more of his torment than a thousand curses.
The two women were staring at him skeptically, then glancing from time to time at me.
“Calm down, Walter,” said Jane. “You’re jumping to conclusions again. Steven, you were there too and you haven’t said a word. Do you agree with all this?”
I shook my head. “How can I? They were talking gobbledy-gook. You know I can’t understand more than one word in four when you talk to Lunga.”
“I’m damned sure I didn’t misunderstand anything,” snapped Walter. “I know quite well that Steven didn’t follow everything—but he saw that piece of ship that Lunga had with him.”
They looked at me, and I shrugged. “I certainly saw something. But it could have been a lot of stuff—from a television set, or a crashed airplane, or some other mechanical gadget. Hell, I couldn’t tell what it was—any more than Walter could. Electronics isn’t our line.”
“But what are we going to do?” said Walter desperately. “All right, suppose there’s a chance I have it wrong. We can’t risk the chance that I’m correct, and do nothing. We have to act!”
Jane and Wendy looked at each other. I could imagine their train of thought: first we had trouble with Steven, then as soon as he seems to be behaving normally we get a problem with Walter. Just one damn thing after another….
“Sure, we have to act,” said Jane. “But we don’t have to do anything right away.” She took Walter by the elbow and began to tug him gently towards the bus. “Nothing will happen if we delay for a day or two, will it? Kintongo won’t go away, and the machine will still be there at the bottom of the lake tomorrow, or a week from now. So I say we shouldn’t rush into anything. We should get out of here, take our trip, and think it over while we’re gone.”
“You mean, just do nothing? Damn it, Jane—”
“It’s your own rule, Walter—you’ve preached it at me often enough. When in doubt, think it out. So let’s do that, while we’re away looking at birds.”
Walter glared at her, but he still allowed himself to be towed along. I knew he was hooked, and it was time for me to get into the conversation.
“I agree with Jane,” I said. “You three carry on. But I think I’ll hang around here and take a day’s rest. I don’t feel all that good.”
“Sick?” said Wendy at once, and she moved to my side.
“Not sick.” I allowed her to feel my forehead. “See? I’m tired, that’s all. I haven’t been sleeping well since we first got off the plane.”
They all knew that. On the other hand, they wanted me along with them, or it wouldn’t be the right mixture. I let them talk a little more, to the point where Wendy was ready to assure me I could get lots of sleep on the trip, then I nodded my head to the tent pitched on the other side of the trailer.
“If I stay it solves another problem,” I said. “Them. Can you imagine them putting out their cigarettes and keeping quiet? One shot from those rifles, and you’d scare off every bird in Africa. Those two won’t shut up just because you want them to. But if I’m here, I’ll bet they stay with me. They don’t want to split up, and they’d rather loaf here than crawl through the bush after you three.”
“I was planning on sneaking off without them,” said Walter. “I parked the bus with that in mind. We can do a clear run for half a mile down the hill, with the clutch in and the engine off.”
“You can still do that if you want to,” I said. “But this way they’ll feel no duty to chase after you. Make sure there’s plenty of food and gin here, and I guarantee they’ll decide to stay and guard me.” I patted Walter on the shoulder, turning him to face Jane and Wendy. “Don’t argue about it, now. You three go off and enjoy yourselves. And don’t worry, I’ll find plenty to occupy me here—even if I don’t feel like sleeping and eating the whole time.”
Jane, Walter, and Wendy left within the hour. The two army men were predictably irritated when they finally yawned their way out of their tent and discovered what had happened, but they showed no interest at all in pursuit on foot.
I tried friendly conversation with them. I failed completely. We understood each other easily enough, despite my clumsy French, but I was rebuffed by averted eyes and uncomfortable body language. I gave up after a few minutes. They happily accepted my offer of two bottles of gin and took them back to the shade of the trailer.
I went to our tent and lay on my camp bed all afternoon. I had a lot to do, but I could not begin at once. My activities must wait until dusk. I was in a peculiar mental state. Jittery, but peaceful. My mind felt in a turmoil, yet at the same time I was totally contented. I was doing exactly what I wanted to do.
Darkness near the equator comes fast, a heavy curtain pulled without warning across the horizon. With the last glimmer of light I was quietly approaching the lake on the side opposite from Kintongo. It was full dark when I undressed, stacked my clothes twenty yards from the lake, and straightened to look again at the village. The earth was warm beneath my feet, holding the day’s heat. Acro
ss the pool the cooking fires were burning brightly enough to hinder anyone who might look across in my direction. I walked forward and eased cautiously into the calm water.
It felt pleasantly cool and soothing on my body, and the bottom sloped away steeply. In a few steps I was chest-deep. I stood motionless, took a dozen long, deep breaths, then dove out and down. As my head went under I felt a vibration through my whole body, as though the water of the pool was in small, turbulent waves.
I switched on the flashlight. Part of my afternoon had gone to making it waterproof, wrapping it tightly in transparent plastic bags and sealing them shut. It was a powerful nine-volt lamp, meant for use reading in the tent or in the bush at night, and its focused beam cut a zone of illumination through the cloudy green water. I directed the light downwards, following the incline to the deepest part of the pond, and swam along the narrow cone.
The structure that Lunga had told us about was visible at once. It was a blue-gray octahedron, about ten meters across, lying slightly tilted on the bottom. The edges and corners were beveled and smooth, and I could see large, rectangular openings in the middle of two of the faces. I swam toward one of them, halted a few feet away, and directed the beam inside. The whole interior was a maze of lines and cables, criss-crossing in all directions. The walls were riddled with small pockets, each a few inches across and about the same depth. After a few seconds I switched off the flashlight, turned, and kicked my way back to the surface.
I took another dozen long breaths. The structure made no sense. There were no mechanical controls, no dials or screens or instruments; no furnishings, nothing recognizable as living accommodation. It did not fit with our ideas for a vehicle or a home.
I went back down. This time I went closer and put my head and upper body in through one of the openings.
That action almost killed me. The gentle vibration that I had sensed at the surface became overpowering within the hull. It took me, shook me, and elevated me. I could feel happiness running wild along my veins, and for the first time in my life I understood the reason for existence. I finally had something to protect, to live for and to cherish.
In that moment of revelation I opened my mouth wide enough to gasp out air and inhale water. I choked, dropped the flashlight, convulsed, and was lucky enough to jerk away from the aperture and drift upwards toward the surface. I came out at last into open air, where I let out an agonized cough and ejected cold water from my lungs. Then I was forced to float for a couple of minutes, recovering my breath. My heart was racing at full speed, like a fast drumbeat inside my chest.
Finally I was able to dive again. I approached the octahedron cautiously and picked up my flashlight, still switched on.
And it was then, hesitating once more near the openings in the hull, that I saw them. A dozen long-tailed darting shapes, each about two feet long, flashed away from the light beam and wriggled off to the dark shelter on the other side of the pond. I swam after them until I ran out of air, watching them retreating from the flashlight and my tiring body. Then I let myself float again to the surface, paddled slowly back to the place I had entered the pond, and dragged myself out. I lay down at poolside, hardly able to move. My brain was possessed by an intolerable knowledge.
This knowledge: Lunga had looked in the pool for another tunicate, but all he had found were fish. Naturally. Neither he nor Walter knew one key fact: the larval form of a tunicate looks nothing like the mature animal; it looks like a sort of tadpole, free-swimming and with a well-developed head and tail.
Anger boiled inside me. Kintongo had found Master Tunicate, taken him as their god, and held him on the surface until starvation, asphyxiation, or chemical imbalances had brought a slow and agonizing death. But the story was not over. Now they would hunt for and catch the children of their god, to serve with their cassava and smoked monkey.
I could not live with that thought. I lay for a long time, consumed by rage and fear. At last, I dressed myself and headed back for our camp.
Our camp lay on the slope of the volcanic cones, about six hundred yards downhill from the village of Kintongo. I walked back there slowly. And I realized the distance would be a real curse for the night’s work.
Not yet, though. My main worry initially was the army men. They had stayed in the camp, interested in neither wild life nor village. They would probably be there now, and maybe in a foul mood. If they interfered it might affect my plans.
I concluded that I could not permit any hint of that. But I knew what to do. My thoughts had a strange, abstract purity to them, emerging full-blown in my brain with every detail clear.
I tiptoed the last hundred yards to camp, but it was really unnecessary. They had obviously been drinking since afternoon, and were both snoring by the trailer when I approached. One of them stirred as I reached for his gun, but he gave me no trouble.
That was progress. I could take the next, laborious step.
Even if the mini-bus had been available, I dared not risk the noise. It took nearly four hours to make three heavily laden journeys on foot up to a point just outside the perimeter of the village. Each trip I piled the cans I was carrying into a neat stack by a twisted, fire-scarred tree. On the third trip I went almost into the village itself. Everything was quiet. The eating, the drinking and the late night story-telling were finished.
I realized now that I should not have attempted the fourth trip. I had enough material already. But I wanted to make doubly sure, and after a few minutes rest I set off again to our camp. I was getting impatient, too—it was full night, and the moon was shrouded in thick fast-moving clouds. Rain would be a disaster at this stage. I hurried the final couple of hundred yards into camp, making no attempt to travel quietly, and headed again for the store of gasoline cans.
I found Walter, Jane, and Wendy, waiting for me by the mini-bus.
Naturally, they had found the bodies of the two army men. I had made no attempt to conceal them. I had assumed, you see, that I would have ample time. And that should have been true. But Wendy must have worried about me, and instead of staying through the night they had cut short their watch and headed for home.
Their faces held not accusation; just bewilderment, and the sick expression that accompanies a sudden discovery of death.
“Steven!” Wendy came running to me and put her arms around me. “Something terrible has happened to the army men. They’re both dead.”
I could feel her shivering against me. And I felt the spasm, as though an electric shock had been applied to her, when she jerked back from me.
I peered down at her. My head was roaring, a maelstrom of conflicting needs and urges. I should have had lots of time. If they had been away most of the night, as they said they would be, everything would have been all right. We would all be together at this moment, drinking Jane’s gin and ready to head back to America. But I had been too hurried and careless.
“Steven. Your jacket. Your jacket.”
Her voice was puzzled. Still no accusation, but an odd and lifeless weight. I had a sudden premonition. They would want to indulge in endless discussions. They would demand explanations, and they would want to do something about the army men. Worst of all, unless I could give them a full explanation they would try to stop me.
I turned, wanting to ignore them and head back to the village at once. But then I hesitated. They might follow me there, disturb me, prevent me from taking the necessary actions. And that was intolerable. I had to explain.
“I have to go back to the village at once,” I said. “There’s work to be done there. They killed him, you know. You see that, don’t you? He came here to help us. And they murdered him.”
“Steven.” Walter came up close to me and grabbed my arms. He tilted his head up, staring at my eyes in the light of the gasoline lamp. Tears were rolling helplessly down my cheeks. “My God. Pull yourself together. There’s been bad work here.”
; Then he stopped and took a slow step away from me. Like Wendy, he had seen the blood on my jacket.
“Stay here, all of you,” I said. “I must go back to the village. You won’t be needed. They murdered, and they are trying to murder again. That has to be taken care of properly. It will be only an hour’s work. After that we can talk as much as you want.”
But they wouldn’t do it, you see. They couldn’t understand what had to happen; so instead they came and stood around and wouldn’t let me leave. And I had to leave.
“Wendy,” I said. “Get out of the way, please. I told you I have work to do. It’s very important. If you won’t help me, than at least don’t hinder me.”
She clutched at my arm. “He’s sick again,” she said to Jane and Walter. “I told you he was getting worse. Give me a hand with him. We have to get him to bed and give him sedatives.”
Her words destroyed me. Sick again. She had promised she would never mention my problem to anyone else, ever. I broke loose from her, broke loose from Walter, avoided Jane’s quick restraining lunge, and ran away from the light of the gasoline lantern. They must not follow me to the village. I did what had to be done, and then I ran off into the brush. I felt full of energy, strong and confident. But I was still worried by the danger of rain. And the tears ran free down my cheeks.
I reached the outskirts of the village in just a few minutes. I took two cans of gasoline from the heap and carried them cautiously into the middle of Kintongo. The great outer case, the sarcophagus of Master Tunicate, still stood outside the biggest hut. I splashed gasoline all around its base. I was generous in the amount, and I tried not to rush. The funeral pyre of a god deserved some time and care. Then I worked my way slowly outward, covering the walls of every building with liquid and placing a broad ring of gasoline around each one. There were ten buildings. I made four trips, each time expecting that someone would stir inside one of them. But they slept deeply.
When all the dry vegetation was thoroughly soaked, I ran a thin trail of gas thirty yards from the village and ignited it. The flame seemed to catch and hesitate for a second, close to my feet, then it ran off as fast as my eye could follow along the line I had marked. Within ten seconds there were flames everywhere in the village. The huts were all blazing.
Dancing With Myself Page 6