My mad dash got me through into the main cave in half a minute. I burst into the open, still hollering wildly, without an instant’s thought of what might be waiting for me. Luckily Vorchek had been as good as his word, had held the tunnel guards at bay way over there among the rocks. When I appeared those fellows turned and charged for me. Vorchek barked a command. They didn’t understand his words, but his tone was unmistakable, as was the pistol he brandished. They stopped dead. Vorchek produced his camera, attached the flash, fired the shutter. At the blinding flash the warriors backed off, staggered. I flew by, the professor coming slowly after me, walking backward.
I paused to wait for him. I did because more Indians were coming at a run. He caught up with me. “Did you see, boy?” he hissed. “Did you see?”
“I saw!” came my strangled croak.
“Back to our quarters, then, where you will tell me all. Let us hurry, but do not reveal to our hosts your panic.”
The pursuit was unorganized, and there were fewer than a dozen yet involved, though their warning cries must have carried to many ears. Detouring twice to avoid curious groups, we regained our spartan rooms, where Theresa and Dr. Parker awaited us. They were aware that something untoward was going on.
Parker knew his colleague pretty well, I guess. “What have you been up to, Vorchek?” he demanded.
“Big things, my friend, a major discovery, unless I miss my bet. Mr. Walters has told me nothing, lacking, I dare say, time or breath to do so, but from observing his reactions I have the highest hopes. Indeed, the highest hopes!”
Theresa gasped. “Professor, you didn’t try for it, did you?”
“Yes, my dear,” Vorchek replied grandly. “To Mr. Walters goes the honors in this case. He undertook the investigation, while I watched his back.”
“What investigation?” Parker asked. To the girl he said, “You knew something was up?”
“The professor discussed his ideas with me. He always does. I don’t know why he didn’t tap me for it.”
Vorchek said kindly, “Miss Delaney, the dangers were too harrowing. I would not risk you in such a feat.”
“But you would me!” I wailed.
Vorchek pushed aside the curtain, leaned out the door. “Company coming,” he said quietly. “Developments will soon accrue. Get on with it, Mr. Walters. Tell us of the Anasazi herd.”
“They’re people,” I responded listlessly. “They aren’t animals. These Indians kill people. They eat people. They’re cannibals.”
VIII. A Sticky Situation
Parker muttered tonelessly, “Right again, Vorchek.”
The professor beamed, nodded. “Of course, sir, it had to be. We had the olden records, conjoined with the modern circumstantial evidence. Archeological data prove that the ancient Anasazi were that grisly kind, a society of anthropophagi-- cannibals, to be blunt-- who preyed upon their neighbors and subject races during their epoch of ascendency. No wonder they generated so much ill will, culminating in a veritable war of extermination being waged against them. This I knew or deduced before we came. It remained to establish the precise degree to which their marvelous elder tradition continued in force. The modern disappearances, the relative lack of natural foodstuffs in these parts, suggested arcane possibilities. However, I still await eye-witness information from this quaking young man.”
“I ate their food,” I groaned, choking back an impulse to vomit.
“Stupid moron,” hissed Theresa. “That’ll teach you not to listen. Oh yeah, Finn, watch where you’re sitting, too.”
“Leather,” I said, gargling on the word. “Everything is leather. They make it from--”
“Most distressing, I imagine,” said Vorchek, as he fired his pipe, “but that is irrelevant at this juncture. Mr. Walters, a complete description, if you please.”
I told them. I told them the whole wretched story. I saw the warriors lead their beasts out the door of the pueblo pen, only they weren’t animals, rather men that behaved as such, were treated as such... died as such. The vision tormented me as I spoke. Those poor victims were so squalid, dirty, unkempt, creeping naked on all fours, locked in that adobe and stone barn, I reckoned, never able to stand, until their masters came to destroy them. Their treatment outraged, as did their supine behavior. How could men tolerate it?
Vorchek coolly stated, “Cultural adaptation is key to this intriguing phenomenon. In the old days the Anasazi feasted on a plenitude of captives from other tribes. That source was largely cut off after they fled into the Earth’s interior. The occasional visitor constitutes merely a snack to them. These Indians, I therefore provisionally determine, created a separate class among their own tribe, a social category of faux beasts. From birth, I suspect, they are raised as animals, denied instruction, perhaps subjected to enforced behavioral modification. Note that, according to Mr. Walters, they did not speak. Perhaps they can not. The surgical removal of their tongues at an early age, combined with cultural deprivation, would enormously inhibit brain development. They do not rail against their fate, any more than do the cattle of our fields.”
“It’s revolting,” Theresa burst out.
“Yet it works!” Vorchek cried, with reprehensible delight. He gestured wildly with his pipe. “The system functions. The Anasazi have survived, when by all odds they should have vanished into the endless night of abysmal extinction.”
“It’s impossible!” Parker blurted. “Come on, Vorchek, this won’t do, and a man of your acumen should see that. The system you posit must be ephemeral, in perpetual decline. A society that subsists largely by cannibalizing itself? Impossible, I say, and ridiculous. I grant that your theories have been validated to a shocking degree, but it can’t be as you tell it. The numbers don’t add up. Do the calculations.”
“I have done, “ responded the professor with a trace in his voice of superior smugness, “and I confidently assert to you that a case can be made. It is needless on my part to admit that confirmation awaits lengthy and enhanced research-- we must have that, regardless of the cost-- but with what we know now I glean the outlines of the Anasazi framework, and can temporarily fill the gaps with educated reason. As with all anthropophagic societies through time, these people employ human foodstuffs as supplements to diet. Often there may be a ritual component as well, a colorful aspect into which we must delve in the future. That aside, we may safely assume that covert hunting and gathering in Canyon Diablo provides them with a bare, or likely somewhat less than required, living. There are deer, rabbits, birds galore in certain seasons, and the spring brings with it a short period of luxuriant plant growth, the berries, nuts, herbs, and desert succulents which made up their traditional diet. These, garnished with a healthy modicum of human flesh, should give them a sufficiently protein-rich menu to guarantee existence.”
“Healthy, he calls it,” I jeered.
“A fascinating discussion,” Theresa said coldly, “and I’d love to hear more, but trouble is about to knock. I think every Anasazi in town is out there.” I peeked. Good lord, they were everywhere, and they were close, the ranks of warriors in the van. For all I knew they were about to rush us.
Dr. Parker said, “We’d better find out where we stand,” which sounded sheer idiocy to me. I knew what that bunch wanted. They intended to make us disappear... into their gullets.
Vorchek sniffed, actually smiled. He said, “I suppose it is my duty to talk to them.” He knocked out his pipe, drew his gun, sallied forth to face them.
He talked to them. The Indian I recognized as the medicine man Mogo-Dee-Neena broke from his vicious crowd, stood man to man with the professor between their army and our tiny party. They spoke back and forth, Vorchek quietly, with real or feigned (or insane) assurance, Mogo with alarming gesticulations and hysterical ranting. It was unintelligible, naturally, but I figured Vorchek was questioning and soothing, the other accusing and threatening. Their meaningless repartee went on, with alternate calm and storm, for nearly half an hour. Then Mogo withdrew, j
oining a clutch of important types which included the so-called king Elech-Tee-Daya, who looked our way uncommonly fierce. Vorchek rejoined us, his habitual aplomb undisturbed. He cocked his hat, straightened his tie before he spoke.
“Well, my friends, the situation is as dire as we could reasonably expect. According to their shaman-- who speaks on this matter with the king’s authority-- we know too much, have proven ourselves by our late actions unregenerate enemies, and we are to be killed when opportunity and custom permits. They plan for us a grand ritual, involving a bonfire at the top of their tower, to which we will be led if taken alive, burnt-- char-broiled, as it may be-- and consumed, a feasting consecrated to no less a worthy than Xenna-Ina-Foor. My attempts to assuage their anger failed utterly. Mogo-Dee-Neena was quite declamatory on that point.”
“We heard that part,” Theresa said.
“Quite,” acknowledged Vorchek. “I explained to him that Mr. Walters was a callow, feckless youth who meant no harm, but my opponent in debate would have none of it.”
“You told him it was me?” I screamed.
“Certainly I did. The tactic suggested itself to me. Besides, the prints of your tennis shoes told the tale, to men trained in tracking. Sadly, our hosts do not accept the premise. You are guilty in their eyes, by extension, all of us.”
“We’ve got to fight our way out,” I demanded. “We have the gun. A sudden rush--”
“Would take us about fifty yards,” snapped Parker.
“I fear so,” Vorchek sighed. “Besides, another hostile act on our side would permanently imperil our return. We must never forget our goal of maximizing data.”
“To hell with that,” I snarled. “Vorchek, you’re a fool. Can’t you understand that if we get out of this mess-- the mess you dragged us into-- that the result won’t be more study, but military action? The cops, and the army, will come storming down here with machine guns and flamethrowers and whatever else it takes to bust up this bloody racket. Face it, pal: one way or another, your research daydreams are finished!”
Vorchek stared at me, his hawk features tight, unfathomable. Presently he said, in little more than a whisper, “Parker, you heard our companion. His views, I take it, are set in concrete. You know, Doctor, that if we reveal the secrets of the Anasazi to the world-- even the mere fact of their kingdom’s existence-- then all of our dazzling plans are for nought. A great anthropological experiment will be annihilated. A life’s worth-- our lives-- of disciplined study will be wasted, thrown away, left pitifully incomplete. Think, Parker: these people throve before the Aztecs, before the Maya. We have them here before us. Can not we keep them, that we may learn from them?”
Dr. Parker said, with a glance at me, “I take your point, Vorchek. You and I have discussed it before. That requires unanimity.”
“I know how to keep my mouth shut,” announced Theresa. With a silly grin at the professor she added, “I’m used to it.”
“Forget it,” I declared, clipping her words. “It won’t wash. The Anasazi are nothing but kidnappers and murderers, of the worst sort. We have a duty.”
“To which our duty to science must bow,” Vorchek replied absently. Then, abruptly, “So be it. I now know where we stand, both from within our team and without. Further discussion here is senseless. The Anasazi mean to slay us. If we bring the conflict to a head with fighting, then we die. I do not intend to die. Miss Delaney, apportion our rations. I must eat and reflect. Afterward, I shall ask for a truce, go forth among them and, as the saying goes, dicker for terms.”
IX. Vorchek’s Solution
We ate. There wasn’t much decent food left. I dreaded being forced to accept the native fare, even assuming they were willing to feed us. Maybe they would, to fatten us, although their herd had looked pretty scrawny. Then, exhausted, I retired to my cramped stone cubicle, tried to sleep. My recent adventures kept me anxious, antsy, and I slept or dozed in short spurts, with frequent feverish awakenings. I would huddle my arms in the musty darkness, sink into troubled slumber again. Once I woke to the sound of low voices, an exchange in scant whispers, further muffled by stone walls. Vorchek and Parker were rapt in earnest conversation. At first I did not heed them, until the gist of their words struck me. What I heard sounded bizarre, yet slightly, improbably hopeful.
Vorchek was saying, in response to a heated retort, “I do not ask you to approve, only to accept. It is a way. I tell you it is the only way. I deigned to see the matter from their point of view. As they put it, we are asking a great deal, an incredible forbearance on their part. I ask them to implicitly trust us. In return, they insist that we suborn our modern niceties to their cherished customs. All things considered, I call it a fair trade.”
“It’s madness,” Parker shot back. “Even if we did such a thing, we don’t know they’d honor the agreement.”
“The calculated risk, you can be sure, torments both sides. Will they free us if the deal is made? Will we keep silent if we return to our world? Both sides take chances. If this comes off, you and I live, may venture here again in the years to come, relishing the rich studies that we keep ever to ourselves. Knowledge, Parker, for the sake of knowledge; it not that enough? It is for me. It is for you. I chose you with an understanding of your mind and heart.”
“The price is monstrous.”
“A small affair, trivial in the grand scheme, quickly over. We gain what we desire, in exchange for the loss of worthless trash. I foresaw the possibility.”
Parker gasped. “Don’t say that, Anton. Please don’t. I could almost believe that you planned it all from the start.”
I thought Vorchek broke off a chuckle. “Do not plague yourself with sterile doubts, Parker. I revolved ideas in my mind, entertained potential outcomes; that is all. Surely you questioned my decision to bring with us such refuse.”
“Stop it, Vorchek; no more.” A long silence, then: “An end to talk. We do what must be done. If we devote our lives to the selfless cause of science, that will atone for much. You’re in charge. Arrange it. And the girl?”
“Miss Delaney is a wonderfully level-headed young woman. In addition, she is, after her odd fashion, remarkably fond of me. I can bring her around.”
I heard no more then. During a later period of brief wakefulness, my groggy brain pondered the import of what I’d vaguely overheard. So Vorchek, that old fox, had contrived a way out. He’d struck a deal with the Anasazi, receiving the promise of safe exit in return for that unstated offering to the Indians, something inconsiderable to gratify their pride. Trinkets, glass baubles, maybe a can of soup; what would those monsters think of chicken noodle? Whatever it was that Parker whined about, our gift to them meant nothing to us, bought us everything. On that score, Vorchek got my vote.
A hand rocked me roughly awake. It was Theresa. She said gruffly, “It’s time. Get up.”
I shook my head to clear the fog. “Time? Oh, time. I’m right with you.” I remembered. I bounded up, slipped on my shoes.
She said, “Don’t stand there, come on. We mustn't waste a second.”
“What about my stuff? And the professor’s tripod?”
“Skip it. You’re traveling light.” We joined the others in the outer chamber. Parker glanced at me, looked hastily away, busied himself with gear. Vorchek regarded me impassively. Theresa snubbed my offer to help her with her pack. They were all loaded.
The professor pulled out his gun, held it down at his side, cautious but non-threatening. He said, “We go. My friends, no scenes, I implore you. Our hosts disapprove of public displays. Whatever happens, do not act to offend them.”
“We’ve been over that,” murmured Theresa. “There’s nothing left to say.” We emerged from the pueblo, stood under the faint greenish light of the subterranean lichen. The Indians were all around in a tight semi-circle, with their ranks divided to form a straight and narrow passage of bodies aimed at the upper tunnel, the one leading to the highest cavern room and the outside world. King Elech and medicine man Mogo s
tood by the human tunnel with their nobles, all feathers and skulls and grave faces and shining eyes. Their eyes puzzled me, how they reflected so much light. I turned. A great bonfire blazed atop that high tower. That was creepy. The Anasazi were up to one of their unspeakable rituals, I reckoned. It looked like serious business. Vorchek raised his right hand, a sign of peace. Elech acknowledged it likewise. The professor stepped forward. We followed him, filing after, Theresa, Parker, myself. We entered the corridor of warriors, all muscles and spears and frightful visages, standing like evil statues to each side. My flesh crawled. Those bloody savages could reach out and touch us...
Came a shout from their king. Powerful arms seized me, pinioning my arms, gripping my chest in a constrictive embrace. I shrieked. My companions marched on, steadily, inexorably, their footsteps faltering not. I screamed, “Vorchek, Parker, what’s happening? Save me!”
Theresa bowed her head as the trio grew indistinct in the gloom. I heard Vorchek’s muttered, fading admonition, “Dismiss it as an unpleasant dream, my dear. So much of life is sacrifice.” Then the Indians started hooting and howling, and I was dragged backwards.
They mobbed me. They splashed ochre paint on my face, pressed black feathers into my hair. I begged, pleaded, and the crowd roared with feral joy. They swiveled me about, and I saw the tower, and the terrible fire that sprayed glistening rays from the rocky roof, and I understood; them, my comrades, everything.
I screamed out my soul until pained hoarseness clogged my tongue. Vorchek told me he brought me along as “insurance”, his “ace in the hole”. In return for the expedition’s safe departure he offered the Anasazi his “worthless trash”. He meant me, he always meant me! Parker’s disbelieving surmise had been correct. The professor, ever calculating one step ahead, had gambled on the possibility of this outcome before we ever left the world of civilization and sunlight. An elegant solution, according to his remorseless cunning, neat and clever. I hadn’t given him enough credit. I was the price he was willing to pay; I, and my unspeakable, primordial fate.
9 Tales Told in the Dark 5 Page 6