The Totems of Abydos

by John Norman

  “For a long time I could not recall Allan,” said the beast. “Sometimes, even now, I forget him.”

  “You make me afraid,” said Rodriguez.

  “I could never harm you,” said Brenner. “You are the only person who has ever cared for me.”

  Rodriguez did not respond.

  “What is your life?” asked Brenner.

  “I am the pariah,” said Rodriguez, simply. “Such are not unoften found in totemistic villages. They serve a useful social function. They provide the community with something to look down upon, something to despise and ridicule. Too, they may be utilized to perform tasks which others might find unwelcome, distasteful or repulsive, even taboo. For example, they may make contact with, and care for, and wash, and feed, those who are temporarily taboo, for example, from having attended to the burial of the dead.”

  “Pons die?” asked Brenner.

  “They are quite mortal,” said Rodriguez.

  “Where do they keep you?”

  “I stay in the temple.”

  “In the darkness?”

  “I have my own darkness. They feed me. I have my thoughts.”

  “Never leave me,” said Brenner. “I do not want to be alone.”

  “I will one day leave you,” said Rodriguez.

  “Stay,” said Brenner.

  “Do you think I find this form of life acceptable?” asked Rodriguez. “Do you think I care for the darkness, the weakness, the pain? Do you think I am not aware of this ugliness, this tiny face at the bottom of a head, of the revolting thinness, the shrillness, of my speech, of my disproportions, my ungainliness? Do you think that I am not aware of this pathetic, ludicrous, diminutive monstrosity I have been made? Do you truly think I will continue to indefinitely submit to this humiliation? Do you think I care for these things? Do you think I will grant the final victory to Pons?”

  “Do not leave me,” said Brenner.

  “In any event,” said Rodriguez, “the days of this frail house, this humiliating prison in which I have been placed, are numbered.”

  “Do not speak so,” said Brenner, alarmed.

  “But there is something I want to learn first,” said Rodriguez.

  Brenner was silent, troubled.

  “Are you now wholly the beast?” asked Rodriguez.

  “I do not know,” said Brenner.

  “Surely you are still curious,” said Rodriguez.

  “Concerning what?” asked Brenner.

  “That which we came here to learn,” said Rodriguez.

  “Would that we had never come here!” cried Brenner.

  “I would have come again,” said Rodriguez.

  “How is that?” asked Brenner, horrified.

  “The answer is here!” said Rodriguez. “It is within our grasp!”

  “I do not understand,” said Brenner.

  “The theory! The theory!” said Rodriguez.

  “I do not understand,” said Brenner.

  “Take me to the graveyard,” said Rodriguez.

  “I do not understand,” said Brenner.

  “We will learn the truth!” said Rodriguez.

  “You are blind,” said Brenner.

  “You shall be my eyes,” said Rodriguez.

  “They have come for you, to take you back,” said Brenner. He could see some Pons, three of them, in the vicinity of the platform.”

  “No!” protested Rodriguez.

  “Yes,” said Brenner.

  “It is late?” said Rodriguez.

  “Yes,” said Brenner.

  “Are you afraid to look into these matters?” asked Rodriguez.

  “Perhaps,” said Brenner.

  “Are you are afraid to learn the truth of the fathers?” asked Rodriguez.

  “Perhaps it is a truth best not known,” said Brenner.

  “You must help me,” said Rodriguez.

  “It is late,” said Brenner.

  “Allan,” said Rodriguez.

  “We will descend now,” said Brenner.

  “Of course,” said Rodriguez.

  Rodriguez then seized the fur of the beast, at its shoulder, and, clinging to it, was borne to the platform, and then to the level. The three Pons who had come to the vicinity of the platform, seeing the descent of the beast, withdrew well into the trees.

  “Hold to the string,” said Brenner. “I fear stealthy ones may be about.” It was spring, you see, and that is a time when intrusions are most frequent, when animals tend to range, young ones seeking to mark out territories for themselves, older ones, robust animals, seeking to extend theirs. Another dangerous time is the depth of winter, when food is scarce, when one must sometimes range out of one’s own country, to find it. To be sure, it was difficult enough, at any time, to police the territory effectively, as it was quite large, and there were many beasts, like sinister itinerants, which came and went within it. Too, some predators, almost negligible to the beast, constituted serious threats to animals as small as Pons.

  Brenner watched the tiny, eyeless one grasp the string. It then went toward the village, followed by the Pons.

  “What could the small, eyeless one want in a graveyard?” the beast asked itself. That seemed very strange. It then decided that it was sleepy, and returned to its lair, for a nap. “How had it all begun, what did it all mean?” Brenner later asked himself. But then the beast curled up, and fell asleep.

  Chapter 36

  The beast, after a time, after some weeks, forgot the small, eyeless one, who had not returned to the platform. The spring was a very hard time for it, for no reason that it clearly understood. It often howled in misery, on the cliffs. It became restless. It left its own territory, from time to time, for no other purpose than to meet stealthy ones, and kill them.

  The summer came, and then the fall, and winter. And then one day, after a rain, on a cold day in early spring, it found a small, sodden sack of grain on the platform.

  It then recalled the small, eyeless one.

  Swiftly then did it take scent. Yes, the scent was that of the small, eyeless one! Well did the beast recall it. But the trail did not lead back, parallel to the approach, to the string. There seemed but a single trail, where there should have been two, the approaching trail and then, somewhat fresher, of greater insistency, a returning trail. That was odd. The beast turned about, almost frantically, here and there. It detected no signs of a stealthy one. Then, to its surprise, and apprehension, it discovered the trail, which did not return to the village, but ascended the cliffs. The beast looked upward, alarmed, at the heights. “Rodriguez!” screamed Brenner, silently. The beast put its paws against the cliff. The small, eyeless one had, presumably on its hands and knees, feeling its way, ascended the cliff. In an instant the beast had scrambled to the height of the cliff and stood there, looking wildly about. It erected its ears. It distended its nostrils. It became an alert, living web of apprehension. The trail led down, over the edge of the cliff. It looked down, fearing to see a small, crumpled body below. Then, hastily, it hurried down, and, at the foot of the cliff, picked up the trail again. It went across the valley, to the cliffs. Then it went along the cliffs. The small, eyeless one had used them as a guide. It might have taken the small, eyeless one hours to grope his way along the cliffs, but the beast, in moments, had bounded beside them, pausing only an instant, now and again, to confirm the trail. Footprints soon became visible in the mud. Panting, its lungs gasping for breath, it surmounted a rise, and came to the graveyard at the end of the cliffs. In its center, standing as though lost, amongst the grassy knolls, a scarp in its hand, bent over, its robes soaked in the cold rain, shivering, was the small, eyeless one.

  “Allan, is that you?” it asked.

  “Yes,” said Brenner.

  “You did not meet me at the platform!”

  “You have not come for months,” said Brenner.

  “They would not let me come,” it said.

  Brenner was silent.

  “I have run away,” it said.

/>   “You should not have done so,” said Brenner.

  “I must know!” it said.

  Brenner did not respond to this.

  “I have stolen a scarp!”

  “To what purpose?” asked Brenner.

  “That I might use it to kill any who might try to stop me!” it cried. “I tell you I must know, and I will know!”

  “You are ill,” said Brenner.

  “I am dying,” it said.

  “No!” said Brenner.

  “Which is the oldest grave?” it asked. The rain now, again, was pouring down. “Tell me!?” it cried. “Tell me!” Brenner was silent.

  “Do not let the Pons have the final victory!” it cried.

  “We thought that one,” said Brenner, “or perhaps that one.”

  “Open it,” said Rodriguez. “Open them both. Open them all.”

  “Out here you will die,” said Brenner. He himself shivered. His own fur was soaked with water and the cold wind whistled through it.

  “My life is not important,” it cried. “Can you not understand that?”

  “It is important to me,” said Brenner.

  “Help me!” it cried.

  Brenner shook his great head. The small one, of course, did not see this movement.

  “Before I die I would know the truth!”

  “To whom will you tell it?” asked Brenner. “To the grass, to the rain, to a beast?”

  “Help me!” it cried.

  “You cannot stay here,” said Brenner. “You are ill. You will die here.”

  “You are only a beast!” it cried. “Go away! Leave me! I do not need you! I do not want you! Go away! Go away!”

  Brenner then watched the small figure, in its sopped robes, the rain streaming over its head, bending down, unsteady, half falling, grope about, with its free hand and scarp, and locate the side of a grassy knoll. It then, on the side of this knoll, fell to its knees and begin to gouge at its side with the scarp. In moments the small figure, tiny, frenzied, coughing, was covered with wet grass and mud.

  “Emilio,” said Brenner.

  “Go away!” shrieked the tiny, high-pitched voice.

  Brenner reached down and, turning his head to one side, gently picked up the small figure in its mouth. It struck at him with the scarp, again and again, and Brenner tasted his own blood, running inside the inner, lower lip.

  “Let me learn the truth! Let me die!” it begged.

  Brenner carried him back to the village and put him down, gently, before the gate. He then withdrew so that the Pons might be more willing, given the security of this distance, to emerge through the gate. He saw them come out, and retrieve the scarp, which the small figure surrendered, and then, gently, take him within. Then Brenner came to the gate. He saw the faces of Pons within. They were frightened, that he should be at this proximity to them. “Care for him,” said Brenner.

  The beast then returned to the valley.

  It went, in the driving rain, to the place of the grassy knolls. There, with its great claws, and might, it tore open what seemed likely to be the oldest grave, and peered within. It then went to the other graves in the place of knolls and, one by one, opened them. With its large eyes, in that broad, monstrous head, it looked into them. Then it turned about and returned to its lair.

  Behind it, as it returned to its lair, lay the graveyard. Stones and clods of earth were strewn about. There was a great deal of mud in the area now and much of the grass was flat and slick with rain. The sky was dark. There was a cold wind. Rain continued to fall. It pelted into the graves, and, from the sides, trickled into them. The graves naturally became quite muddy. Soon, puddles formed, their surfaces reacting to the descent of the rain.

  Just within its lair the beast shook its fur, spattering water about. It was cold, and miserable. It then lay down, and rather curled about itself, rather as though it would warm itself with its own body. In a moment or two, it was asleep.

  The graves had all been empty.

  Chapter 37

  “What is this theory?” asked Brenner.

  It was now a warm afternoon, in the late summer. Rodriguez had wished to be carried to the summit of the cliff. He could see nothing from there, of course, but the sun was pleasant there, on the rock, and there was a gentle, refreshing breeze moving over the forest, and, perhaps most important, he recalled, that if he had had eyes, there would have been, from this point, a most impressive and beautiful view. We may conjecture that he saw this view, so to speak, in his memory.

  Although the body of the former Pon in which his brain found its current habitat was a frail one, one wretched and vulnerable, and subject to infection, and cold, and misery, it was, at this point, within its limitations, healthy and sound. Rodriguez had been, several weeks ago, recovered from the door of death. He had been nursed back to health by the Pons with care, and with what skills remained to them of such matters, from long ago.

  Before coming back to the height of the cliff Brenner had, at Rodriguez’ request, accompanied his friend to the graveyard. Rodriguez had himself clambered down into several of the graves, slipping down their now crumbling sides, as though to verify for himself that they were indeed empty.

  “The sarcophagi in the chambers are also empty,” Brenner had informed him. “I examined them, opening them, and reclosing them, in the weeks after I returned you to the village.”

  “All empty?” Rodriguez had asked.

  “Yes,” had said Brenner.

  “The Pons are in crisis,” said Rodriguez.

  Brenner looked over the forest, toward the village.

  “They have been treating you well?”

  “They have treated me well, since you brought me back to the village,” said Rodriguez.

  “They would let you come here, when you wish?”

  “Yes, now,” said Rodriguez.

  “But it is dangerous,” said Brenner.

  “There is the string,” said Rodriguez. “I can hold to that.”

  “It is only a string,” said Brenner.

  “No one has more,” said Rodriguez.

  “In what ways are the Pons in crisis?” asked Brenner.

  “Sesostris, who was the keeper of the git,” said Rodriguez, “is a reflective fellow. Sometimes we talk.”

  “I can remember,” said Brenner, “when you thought Pons lacked names.”

  “He is aware that things must change.”

  “In what way?” asked Brenner.

  “Do you know what occurred here a thousand years ago?” asked Rodriguez.

  “That which has recurred most recently,” said Brenner.

  “After that,” said Rodriguez.

  “No,” said Brenner.

  “They did not speak to you of it?”

  “No,” said Brenner.

  “A thousand years ago,” said Rodriguez, “in the beginning of his generation, some of the offspring were less than Pons. They would fall to all fours.”

  Brenner turned to regard Rodriguez.

  “In the generation before that, one such incident had occurred. But in the last generation, several.”

  Brenner looked out, over the forest.

  “These offspring were destroyed, of course.”

  “I do not understand,” said Brenner.

  “They were monkeys, literally,” said Rodriguez.

  Brenner shuddered.

  “Do you recall,” asked Rodriguez, “how we thought the Pons were at the beginning?”

  “Of course,” said Brenner.

  “They are not the beginning,” said Rodriguez. “They are the end.”

  “They are totemistic,” said Brenner.

  “Yes,” said Rodriguez.

  “Then this makes no sense,” said Brenner.

  “There is a darker, more terrible sense than you understand here,” said Rodriguez.

  “Continue,” said Brenner.

  “There is an ancient theory of totemism,” said Rodriguez. “I have spoken to you of it, often. It is not a pre
tty theory, and it is not politically acceptable. Most do not know of it, because of the effectiveness of its suppression. As you know, nothing is permitted to be truth other than that which serves the purposes of those in power.”

  “Continue,” said Brenner.

  “We do know, of course, the pervasiveness, and ancientness, of totemism, recorded on a thousand worlds, of how it seems to lie, betrayed in its vestiges, at the base of civilization after civilization, of how it apparently antedates gods and heroes, religions and philosophies, codes and laws.”

  “Yes,” said Brenner.

  “We may then suspect,” said Rodriguez, “that it is correlated with, and reflects, something very profound in the psychology of various rational, or protorational, species, in particular, those whose propagation involves at least two sexes and a period of parental care.”

  “Naturally,” said Brenner.

  “What could this be?” asked Rodriguez.

  “I do not know,” said Brenner.

  “You never knew your mother and your father.”

  “Of course not,” said Brenner.

  “I did,” said Rodriguez. “I knew both.”

  “You killed your father,” recalled Brenner.

  “He abused my mother,” said Rodriguez. “That, in any event, was my excuse. It served at the time.”

  “Your excuse?”

  “It was not, really, that he had not abused her,” said Rodriguez, “but rather that I hated him, for she belonged to him, and not to me. I wanted the wholeness of her attention and love, with all the uncompromising, merciless greed of a child. He was the intruder, the enemy. That was why, really, I slew him. Do you think this was so terrible?”

  “You were a child,” said Brenner. “You did not know any better.”

  “I had been insufficiently socialized,” said Rodriguez. “But, other than that, do you think that I was so much different from others?”

  “Perhaps not,” said Brenner. “I do not know.”

  “I do not think so,” said Rodriguez. “They would tell you that I am strange, that I am rare, and that anyone who even suspects he might be like me is terrible, and must conceal this at all costs, and pretend to be pure and innocent, but that is not really true. That little drama, that triangle, of father, mother and son is thematic in our species, and, I think, in several others.”