The Saliva Tree

by Brian W Aldiss

  “Is it to be wondered at?” he said, smoothing her hair with his hand. “She'll be better once she's recovered from the shock.”

  They kissed each other, and after a minute she passed him a ladleful of milk. He drank and then spat it out in disgust.

  “Ugh! What's got into the milk? Is Neckland trying to poison you or something? Have you tasted it? It's as bitter as sloes!”

  She pulled a puzzled face. “I thought it tasted rather strange, but not unpleasant. Here, let me try again.”

  “No, it's too horrible. Some Sloane's Liniment must have got mixed in it.”

  Despite his warning, she put her lips to the metal spoon and sipped, then shook her head. “You're imagining things, Greg. It does taste a bit different, 'tis true, but there's nothing wrong with it. You'll stay to take a bite with us, I hope?”

  “No, Nancy, I'm off now. I have a letter awaiting me that I must answer; it arrived when I was in Norwich. Listen, my lovely Nancy, this letter is from Dr. Hudson-Ward, an old aquaintance of my father's. He is headmaster of a school in Gloucester, and he wishes me to join the staff there as a teacher on most favorable terms. So you see I may not be idle much longer!”

  Laughing, she clung to him. “That's wonderful, my darling! What a handsome schoolmaster you will make. But Gloucester that's over the other side of the country. I suppose we shan't be seeing you again once you get there,”

  “Nothing's settled yet, Nancy.”

  “You'll be gone in a week and we shan't never see you again. Once you get to that there old school, you will never think of your Nancy no more.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Are you my Nancy? Do you care for me?”

  Her eyelashes came over her dark eyes. “Greg, things are so muddled here1 meanyes, I do care, I dread to think I'd not see you again.”

  Recalling her saying that, he rode away a quarter of an hour later very content at heartand entirely neglectful of the dangers to which he left her exposed.

  Rain fell lightly as Gregory Rolles made his way that evening to “The Wayfarer” inn. His friend Bruce Fox was already there, ensconced in one of the snug seats of the inglenook.

  On this occasion. Fox was more interested in purveying details of his sister's forthcoming wedding than in listening to what Gregory had to tell, and since some of his future brother– in-law's friends soon arrived, and had to buy and be bought libations, the evening became a merry and thoughtless one. And in a short while, the ale having its good effect, Gregory also forgot what he wanted to say and began whole-heartedly to enjoy the company.

  Next morning, he awoke with a heavy head and in a dismal state of mind. The day was too wet for him to go out and take exercise. He sat moodily in a chair by the window, delaying an answer to Dr. Hudson-Ward, the headmaster. Lethargically, he returned to a small leather-bound volume on serpents that he had acquired in Norwich a few days earlier. After a while, a passage caught his particular attention:

  “Most serpents of the venomous variety, with the exception of the opisthoglyphs, release their victims from their fangs after striking. The victims die in some cases in but a few seconds, while in other cases the onset of moribundity may be delayed by hours or days. The saliva of some of the serpents contains not only venom but a special digestive virtue. The deadly Coral Snake of Brazil, though attaining no more than a foot in length, has this virtue in abundance. Accordingly, when it bites an animal or a human being, the victim not only dies in profound agony in a matter of seconds, but his interiors parts are then dissolved, so that even the bones become no more than jelly. Then may the little serpent suck all of the victim out as a kind of soup or broth from the original wound in its skin, which latter alone remains intact.”

  For a long while, Gregory sat where he was in the window, with the book open in his lap, thinking about the Grendon farm, and about Nancy. He reproached himself for having done so little for his friends there, and gradually resolved on a plan of action the next time he rode out; but his visit was to be delayed for some days: the wet weather had set in with more determination than the end of April and the beginning of May generally allowed.

  Gregory tried to concentrate on a letter to the worthy Dr. Hudson-Ward in the county of Gloucestershire. He knew he should take the job, indeed he felt inclined to do so; but first he knew he had to see Nancy safe. The indecisions he felt caused him to delay answering the doctor until the next day, when he feebly wrote that he would be glad to accept the post offered at the price offered, but begged to have a week to think about it. When he took the letter down to the post-woman in “The Three Poachers,” the rain still fell.

  One morning, the rains were suddenly vanished, the blue and wide East Anglian skies were back, and Gregory saddled up Daisy and rode .out along the mirey track he had so often taken. As he arrived at the farm. Grubby and Neckland were at work in the ditch, unblocking it with shovels. He saluted them and rode in. As he was about to put the mare into the stables, he saw Grendon and Nancy standing on the patch of waste ground under the windowless east side of the house. He went slowly to join them, noting as he walked how dry the ground was here, as if no rain had fallen in a fortnight. But this observation was drowned in shock as he saw the nine little crosses Grendon was sticking into nine freshly turned mounds of earth.

  Nancy stood weeping. They both looked up as Gregory approached, but Grendon went stubbornly on with his task.

  “Oh, Nancy, Joseph, I'm so sorry about this!” Gregory exclaimed. “To think that they've allbut where's the parson? Where's the parson, Joseph? Why are you burying them, with– out a proper service or anything?”

  “I told Father, but he took no heedl” Nancy exclaimed. Grendon had reached the last grave. He seized the last crude wooden cross, lifted it above his head, and stabbed it down into the ground as if he would pierce the heart of what lay under it. Only then did he straighten and speak.

  “We don't need a parson here. I've got no time to waste with parsons. I have work to do if you ent.”

  “But these are your children, Joseph! What has got into you?”

  “They are part of the farm now, as they always was.” He turned, rolling his shirt sleeves further up his brawny arms, and strode off in the direction of the ditching activities.

  Gregory took Nancy in his arms and looked at her tear– stained face. “What a time you must have been having these last few days!”

  “I1 thought you'd gone to Gloucester, Greg! Why didn't you come? Every day I waited for you to cornel”

  “It was so wet and flooded.”

  “It's been lovely weather since you– were last here. Look how everything has grown!”

  “It poured with rain every single day in Cottersall.”

  “Well, I never! That explains why there is so much water flowing in the Oast and in the ditches. But we've had only a few light showers.”

  “Nancy, tell me, how did these poor little mites die?”

  “I'd rather not say, if you don't mind.”

  “Why didn't your father get in Parson Landon? How could he be so lacking in feeling?”

  “Because he didn't want anyone from the outside world to know. You seeoh, I must tell you, my dearit's Mother. She has gone completely off her head, completely! It was the evening before last, when she took her first turn outside the back door.”

  “You don't mean to say she”

  “Ow, Greg, you're hurting my arms! Sheshe crept upstairs when we weren't noticing and sheshe stifled each of the babies in turn, Greg, under the best goose feather pillow.”

  He could feel the color leaving his cheeks. Solicitously, she led him to the back of the house. They sat together on the orchard railings while he digested the words in silence.

  “How is your mother now, Nancy?”

  “She's silent. Father had to bar her in her room for safety. Last night she screamed a lot. But this morning she's quiet.”

  He looked dazedly about him. The appearance of everything was speckled, as if the return of his
blood to his head somehow infected it with a rash. The blossom had gone almost entirely from the fruit trees in the orchard and already the embryo apples showed signs of swelling. Nearby, broad beafas bowed under enormous pods. Seeing his glance, Nancy dipped into her apron pocket and produced a bunch of shining crimson radishes as big as tangerines.

  “Have one of these. They're crisp and wet and hot, just as they should be.”

  Indifferently, he accepted and bit the tempting globe. At once he had to spit the portion out. There again was that vile bitter flavor!

  “Oh, but they're lovely!” Nancy protested.

  “Not even 'rather strange' nowsimply lovely'? Nancy, don't you see, something uncanny and awful is taking place here. I'm sorry, but I can't see otherwise. You and your father should leave here at once.”

  “Leave here, Greg? Just because you don't like the taste of these lovely radishes? How can we leave here? Where should we go? See this here house? My granddad died here, and his father before him. It's our place. We can't just up and off, not even after this bit of trouble. Try another radish.”

  “For heaven's sake, Nancy, they taste as if the flavor was intended for creatures with a palate completely different from ours . . . Oh . . .” He stared at her. “And perhaps they are. Nancy, I tell you”

  He broke off, sliding from the railing. Neckland had come up from one side, still plastered in mud from his work in the ditch, his collariess shirt flapping open. In his hand, he grasped an ancient and military-looking pistol.

  “I'll fire this if you come nearer,” he said. “It goes okay, never worry, and it's loaded. Master Gregory. Now you're a– going to listen to me!”

  “Bert, put that thing away!” Nancy exclaimed. She moved forward to him, but Gregory pulled her back and stood before her.

  “Don't be a bloody idiot, Neckland. Put it away!”

  “I'll shoot you, bor, I'll shoot you, I swear, if you mucks about.” His eyes were glaring, and the look on his dark face left no doubt that he meant what he said. “You're going to swear to me that you're going to clear off of this farm on that nag of yours and never come back again.”

  “I'm going straight to tell my father, Bert,” Nancy warned.

  The pistol twitched. “If you move, Nancy, I warn you I'll shoot this fine chap of yours in the leg. Besides, your father don't care about Master Gregory anymorehe's got better things to worry him.”

  “Like finding out what's happening here?” Gregory said. “Listen, Neckland, we're all in trouble. This farm is being run by a group of nasty little monsters. You can't see them because they're invisible”

  The gun exploded. As he spoke, Nancy had attempted to run off. Without hesitating, Neckland fired down at Gregory's knees. Gregory felt the shot pluck his trouser leg and knew himself unharmed. With knowledge came rage. He flung himself at Neckland and hit him hard over the heart. Falling back, Neckland dropped the pistol and swung his fist wildly. Gregory struck him again. As he did so, the other grabbed him and they began furiously hitting each other. When Gregory broke free, Neckland grappled with him again. There was more pummeling of ribs.

  “Let me go, you swine!” Gregory shouted. He hooked his foot behind Neckland's ankle, and they both rolled over onto the grass. At this point, a sort of flood bank had been raised long ago between the house and low-lying orchard. Down this the two men rolled, fetching up sharply against the stone wall of the kitchen. Neckland got the worst of it, catching his head on the corner, and lay there stunned. Gregory found himself looking at two feet encased in ludicrous stockings. Slowly, he rose to his feet, and confronted Mrs. Grendon at less than a yard's distance. She was smiling.

  He stood there, and gradually straightened his back, looking at her anxiously.

  “So there you are, Jackie, my Jackalums,” she said. The smile was wider now and less like a smile. “I wanted to talk to you. You are the one who knows about the things that walk on the lines, aren't you?”

  “I don't understand, Mrs. Grendon.”

  “Don't call me that there daft old name, sonnie. You know all about the little gray things that aren't supposed to be there, don't you?”

  “Oh, those . . . Suppose I said I did know?”

  “The other naughty children will pretend they don't know what I mean, but you know, don't you? You know about the little gray things.”

  The sweat stood out on his brow. She had moved nearer. She stood close, staring into his eyes, not touching him; but he was acutely conscious that she could touch him at any moment. From the corner of his eye, he saw Neckland stir and crawl away from the house, but there were other things to occupy him.

  “These little gray things,” he said. “Did you save the nine babies from them?”

  “The gray things wanted to kiss them, you see, but I couldn't let them. I was clever. I hid them under the good feather pillow and now even / can't find them!” She began to laugh, making a horrible low whirring sound in her throat.

  “They're small and gray and wet, aren't they?” Gregory said sharply. “They've got big feet, webbed like frogs, but they're heavy and short, aren't they, and they have fangs like a snake, haven't they?”

  She looked doubtful. Then her eye seemed to catch a move– ment. She looked fixedly to one side. “Here comes one now, the female one,” she said.

  Gregory turned to look where she did. Nothing was visible. His mouth was dry. “How many are there, Mrs. Grendon?”

  Then he saw the short grass stir, flatten, and raise near at hand, and let out a cry of alarm. Wrenching off his riding boot, he swung it in an arc, low above the ground. It struck something concealed in thin air. Almost at once, he received a terrific kick in the thigh, and fell backwards. Despite the hurt, fear made him jump up almost at once.

  Mrs. Grendon was changing. Her mouth collapsed as if it would run off one corner of her face. Her head sagged to one side. Her shoulders fell. A deep crimson blush momentarily suffused her features, then drained, and as it drained she dwindled like a deflating rubber balloon. Gregory sank to his knees, whimpering, buried his face in his hands, and pressed his hands to the grass. Darkness overcame him.

  His senses must have left him only for a moment. When he pulled himself up again, the almost empty bag of women's clothes was still settling slowly to the ground.

  “Joseph! Joseph!” he yelled. Nancy had fled. In a distracted mixture of panic and fury, he dragged his boot on again and rushed round the house towards the cowsheds.

  Neckland stood halfway between barn and mill, rubbing his skull. In his rattled state, the sight of Gregory apparently in full pursuit made him run away.

  “Neckland!” Gregory shouted. He ran like mad for the other. Neckland bolted for the mill, jumped inside, tried to pull the door to, lost his nerve, and ran up the wooden stairs. Gregory bellowed after him.

  The pursuit took them right to the top of the mill. Neckland had lost enough wit even to kick over the bolt of the trapdoor. Gregory, burst it up and climbed out panting. Throughly cowed, Neckland backed towards the opening until he was almost out on the little platform above the sails.

  “You'll fall out, you idiot,” Gregory warned. “Listen, Neckland, you have no reason to fear me. I want no enmity between us. There's a bigger enemy we must fight. Look!”

  He came towards the low door and looked down at the dark surface of the pond. Neckland grabbed the overhead pulley for security and said nothing.

  “Look down at the pond,” Gregory said. “That's where the -Aurigans live. My GodBert, look, there one goes!”

  The urgency in his voice made the farmhand look down where he pointed. Together, the two men watched as a depression slid over the black water; an overlapping chain of ripples swung back from it. At approximately the middle of the pond, the depression became a commotion. A small whirlpool formed and died, and the ripples began to settle.

  “There's your ghost, Bert,” Gregory gasped. “That must have been the one that got poor Mrs. Grendon. Now do you be– lieve?”

&nb
sp; “I never heard of a ghost as lived under water,” Neckland gasped.

  “A ghost never harmed anyonewe've already had a sample of what these terrifying things can do. Come on, Bert, shake hands, understand I bear you no hard feelings. Oh, come on, man! I know how you feel about Nancy, but she must be free to .make her own choice in life.”

  They shook hands and grinned rather foolishly at each other.

  “We better go and tell the farmer what we seen,” Neckland said. “I reckon that thing done what happened to Lardie last evening.”

  “Lardie? What's happened to her? I thought I hadn't seen her today.”

  “Same as happened to the little pigs. I found her just inside the barn. Just her coat was left, that's all. No insides! Like she'd been sucked dry.”

  It took Gregory twenty minutes to summon the council of war on which he had set his mind. The party gathered in the farmhouse,, in the parlor. By this time, Nancy had somewhat recovered from the shock of her mother's death, and sat in an armchair with a shawl about her shoulders. Her father stood nearby with his arms folded, looking impatient, while Bert Neckland lounged by the door. Only Grubby was not present. He had been told to get on with the ditching.

  “I'm going to have another attempt to convince you all that you are in very grave danger,” Gregory said. “You won't see it for yourselves. The situation is that we're all animals together at present. Do you remember that strange meteor that fell out of the sky last winter, Joseph? And do you remember that ill– smelling dew early in the spring? They were not unconnected, and they are connected with all that's happening now. That meteor was a space machine of some sort, I firmly believe, and it brought in it a kind of life thatthat is not so much hostile to terrestrial life as indifferent to its quality. The creatures from that machine1 call them Aurigansspread the dew over the farm. It was a growth accelerator, a manure or fertilizer, that speeds growth in plants and animals.”

  “So much better for us!” Grendon said.

  “But it's not better. The things grow wildly, yes, but the taste is altered to suit the palates of those things out there. You've seen what happened. You can't sell anything. People won't touch your eggs or milk or meatthey taste too foul.”