"Haw, Davidge! That's why you sit here sucking on smoked snakemeat!"
I pulled the little rascal out of my mouth and pointed it at the Drac. "I notice your breath has a snake flavor too, Drac!"
Jerry snorted and turned away from the fire. I felt stupid, first because we weren't going to settle an argument that had plagued a hundred worlds for over a century. Second, I wanted to have Jerry check my recitation. I had over a hundred generations memorized. The Drac's side was toward the fire, leaving enough light falling on its lap to see its sewing.
"Jerry, what are you working on?"
"We have nothing to talk about, Davidge."
"Come on, what is it?"
Jerry turned its head toward me, then looked back into its lap and picked up a tiny snakeskin suit. "For Zammis." Jerry smiled and I shook my head, then laughed.
* * *
We talked of philosophy:
"You studied Shizumaat, Jerry; why won't you tell me about its teachings?"
Jerry frowned. "No, Davidge."
"Are Shizumaat's teachings secret or something?"
Jerry shook its head. "No. But we honor Shizumaat too much for talk."
I rubbed my chin. "Do you mean too much to talk about it, or to talk about it with a human?"
"Not with humans, Davidge; just not with you."
"Why?"
Jerry lifted its head and narrowed its yellow eyes. "You know what you said… on the sandbar."
I scratched my head and vaguely recalled the curse I laid on the Drac about Shizumaat eating it. I held out my hands. "But, Jerry, I was mad, angry. You can't hold me accountable for what I said then."
"I do."
"Will it change anything if I apologize?"
"Not a thing."
I stopped myself from saying something nasty and thought back to that moment when Jerry and I stood ready to strangle each other. I remembered something about that meeting and screwed the corners of my mouth in place to keep from smiling. "Will you tell me Shizumaat's teachings if I forgive you… for what you said about Mickey Mouse?" I bowed my head in an appearance of reverence, although its chief purpose was to suppress a cackle.
Jerry looked up at me, its face pained with guilt. "I have felt bad about that, Davidge. If you forgive me, I will talk about Shizumaat."
"Then, I forgive you, Jerry."
"One more thing."
"What?"
"You must tell me of the teachings of Mickey Mouse."
"I'll… uh, do my best."
* * *
We talked of Zammis:
"Jerry, what do you want little Zammy to be?"
The Drac shrugged. "Zammis must live up to its own name. I want it to do that with honor. If Zammis does that, it is all I can ask."
"Zammy will pick its own trade?"
"Yes."
"Isn't there anything special you want, though?"
Jerry nodded. "Yes, there is."
"What's that?"
"That Zammis will, one day find itself off this miserable planet."
I nodded. "Amen."
"Amen."
The winter dragged on until Jerry and I began wondering if we had gotten in on the beginning of an ice age. Outside the cave, everything was coated with a thick layer of ice, and the low temperature combined with the steady winds made venturing outside a temptation of death by falls or freezing. Still, by mutual agreement, we both went outside to relieve ourselves. There were several isolated chambers deep in the cave; but we feared polluting our water supply, not to mention the air inside the cave. The main risk outside was dropping one's drawers at a wind chill factor that froze breath vapor before it could be blown through the thin face muffs we had made out of our flight suits. We learned not to dawdle.
One morning, Jerry was outside answering the call, while I stayed by the fire mashing up dried roots with water for griddle cakes. I heard Jerry call from the mouth of the cave. "Davidge!"
"What?"
"Davidge, come quick!"
A ship! It had to be! I put the shell bowl on the sand, put on my hat and gloves, and ran through the passage. As I came close to the door, I untied the muff from around my neck and tied it over my mouth and nose to protect my lungs. Jerry, its head bundled in a similar manner, was looking through the door, waving me on. "What is it?"
Jerry stepped away from the door to let me through. "Come, look!"
Sunlight. Blue sky and sunlight. In the distance, over the sea, new clouds were piling up; but above us the sky was clear. Neither of us could look at the sun directly, but we turned our faces to it and felt the rays of Fyrine on our skins. The light glared and sparkled off the ice-coveredice-covered rocks and trees. "Beautiful."
"Yes." Jerry grabbed my sleeve with a gloved hand. "Davidge, you know what this means?"
"What?"
"Signal fires at night. On a clear night, a large fire could be seen from orbit, ne?"
I looked at Jerry, then back at the sky. "I don't know. If the fire were big enough, and we get a clear night, and if anybody picks that moment to look…" I let my head hang down. "That's always supposing that there's someone in orbit up there to do the looking." I felt the pain begin in my fingers. "We better go back in."
"Davidge, it's a chance!"
"What are we going to use for wood, Jerry?" I held out an arm toward the trees above and around the cave. "Everything that can burn has at least fifteen centimeters of ice on it."
"In the cave—"
"Our firewood?" I shook my head. "How long is this winter going to last? Can you be sure that we have enough wood to waste on signal fires?"
"It's a chance, Davidge. It's a chance!"
Our survival riding on a toss of the dice. I shrugged. "Why not?"
We spent the next few hours hauling a quarter of our carefully gathered firewood and dumping it outside the mouth of the cave. By the time we were finished and long before night came, the sky was again a solid blanket of grey. Several times each night, we would check the sky, waiting for stars to appear. During the days, we would frequently have to spend several hours beating the ice off the wood pile. Still, it gave both of us hope, until the wood in the cave ran out and we had to start borrowing from the signal pile.
That night, for the first time, the Drac looked absolutely defeated. Jerry sat at the fireplace, staring at the flames. Its hand reached inside its snakeskin jacket through the neck and pulled out a small golden cube suspended on a chain. Jerry held the cube clasped in both hands, shut its eyes and began mumbling in Drac. I watched from my bed until Jerry finished. The Drac sighed, nodded and replaced the object within its jacket.
"What's that thing?"
Jerry looked up at me, frowned, then touched the front of its jacket. "This? It is my Talman— what you call a Bible."
"A Bible is a book. You know, with pages that you read."
Jerry pulled the thing from its jacket, mumbled a phrase in Drac, then worked a small catch. Another gold cube dropped from the first and the Drac held it out to me. "Be very careful with it, Davidge."
I sat up, took the object and examined it in the light of the fire. Three hinged pieces of the golden metal formed the binding of a book two-and-a-half centimeters on an edge. I opened the book in the middle and looked over the double columns of dots, lines, and squiggles. "It's in Drac."
"Of course."
"But I can't read it."
Jerry's eyebrows went up. "You speak Drac so well. I didn't remember… would you like me to teach you?"
"To read this?"
"Why not? You have an appointment you have to keep?"
I shrugged. "No." I touched my finger to the book and tried to turn one of the tiny pages. Perhaps fifty pages went at once. "I can't separate the pages."
Jerry pointed at a small bump at the top to the spine. "Pull out the pin. It's for turning the pages."
I pulled out the short needle, touched it against a page and it slid loose of its companion and flipped. "Who wrote your Talman, Jerry?"
"Many. All great teachers."
"Shizumaat?"
Jerry nodded. "Shizumaat is one of them."
I closed the book and held it in the palm of my hand. "Jerry, why did you bring this out now?"
"I needed its comfort." The Drac held out its arms. "This place. Maybe we will grow old here and die. Maybe we will never be found. I see this today as we brought in the signal fire wood." Jerry placed its hands on its belly. "Zammis will be born here. The Talman helps me to accept what I cannot change."
"Zammis, how much longer?"
Jerry smiled. "Soon."
I looked at the tiny book. "I would like you to teach me to read this, Jerry."
The Drac took the chain and case from around its neck and handed it to me. "You must keep the Talman in this."
I held it for a moment, then shook my head. "I can't keep this, Jerry. It's obviously of great value to you. What if I lost it?"
"You won't. Keep it while you learn. The student must do this."
I put the chain around my neck. "This is quite an honor you do me."
Jerry shrugged. "Much less than the honor you do me by memorizing the Jeriba line. Your recitations have been accurate, and moving." Jerry took some charcoal from the fire, stood and walked to the wall of the chamber. That night I learned the thirty-one letters and sounds of the Drac alphabet, as well as the additional nine sounds and letters used in formal Drac writings.
The wood eventually ran out. Jerry was very heavy and very, very sick as Zammis prepared to make its appearance, and it was all the Drac could do to waddle outside with my help to relieve itself. Hence, woodgathering, which involved taking our remaining stick and beating the ice off the dead standing trees, fell to me, as did cooking.
On a particularly blustery day, I noticed that the ice on the trees was thinner. Somewhere we had turned winter's corner and were heading for spring. I spent my ice-pounding time feeling great at the thought of spring, and I knew Jerry would pick up some at the news. The winter was really getting the Drac down. I was working the woods above the cave, taking armloads of gathered wood and dropping them down below, when I heard a scream. I froze, then looked around. I could see nothing but the sea and the ice around me. Then, the scream again. "Davidge!" It was Jerry. I dropped the load I was carrying and ran to the cleft in the cliffs face that served as a path to the upper woods. Jerry screamed again; and I slipped, then rolled until I came to the shelf level with the cave's mouth. I rushed through the entrance, down the passageway until I came to the chamber. Jerry writhed on its bed, digging its fingers into the sand.
I dropped on my knees next to the Drac. "I'm here, Jerry. What is it? What's wrong?"
"Davidge!" The Drac rolled its eyes, seeing nothing; its mouth worked silently, then exploded with another scream.
"Jerry, it's me!" I shook the Drac's shoulder. "It's me, Jerry. Davidge!"
Jerry turned its head toward me, grimaced, then clasped the fingers of one hand around my left wrist with the strength of pain. "Davidge! Zammis… something's gone wrong!"
"What? What can I do?"
Jerry screamed again, then its head fell back to the bed in a half-faint. The Drac fought back to consciousness and pulled my head down to its lips. "Davidge, you must swear."
"What, Jerry? Swear what?"
"Zammis… on Draco. To stand before the line's archives. Do this."
"What do you mean? You talk like you're dying."
"I am, Davidge. Zammis two hundredth generation… very important. Present my child, Davidge. Swear!"
I wiped the sweat from my face with my free hand. "You're not going to die, Jerry. hang on!"
"Enough! Face truth, Davidge! I die! You must teach the line of Jeriba to Zammis… and the book, the Talman, gavey
"Stop it!" Panic stood over me almost as a physical presence. "Stop talking like that! You aren't going to die, Jerry. Come on; fight, you kizlode sonofabitch…"
Jerry screamed. Its breathing was weak and the Drac drifted in and out of consciousness. "Davidge."
"What?" I realized I was sobbing like a kid.
"Davidge, you must help Zammis come out."
"What… how? What in the Hell are you talking about?"
Jerry turned its face to the wall of the cave. "Lift my jacket."
"What?"
"Lift my jacket, Davidge. Now!"
I pulled up the snakeskin jacket, exposing Jerry's swollen belly. The fold down the center was bright red and seeping a clear liquid. "What… what should I do?"
Jerry breathed rapidly, then held its breath, "Tear it open! You must tear it open, Davidge!"
"No!"
"Do it! Do it, or Zammis dies!"
"What do I care about your goddamn child, Jerry? What do I have to do to save you?"
"Tear it open…" whispered the Drac. "Take care of my child, Irkmaan. Present Zammis before the Jeriba archives. Swear this to me."
"Oh, Jerry…"
"Swear this!"
I nodded, hot fat tears dribbling down my cheeks. "I swear it…." Jerry relaxed its grip on my wrist and closed its eyes. I knelt next to the Drac, stunned. "No. No, no, no, no."
Tear it open! You must tear it open, Davidge!
I reached up a hand and gingerly touched the fold on Jerry's belly. I could feel life struggling beneath it, trying to escape the airless confines of the Drac's womb. I hated it; I hated the damned thing as I never hated anything before. Its struggles grew weaker, then stopped.
Present Zammis before the Jeriba archives. Swear this to me….
I swear it….
I lifted my other hand and inserted my thumbs into the fold and tugged gently. I increased the amount of force, then tore at Jerry's belly like a madman. The fold burst open, soaking the front of my jacket with the clear fluid. Holding the fold open, I could see the still form of Zammis huddled in a well of the fluid, motionless.
I vomited. When I had nothing more to throw up, I reached into the fluid and put my hands under the Drac infant. I lifted it, wiped my mouth on my upper left sleeve, and closed my mouth over Zammis' and pulled the child's mouth open with my right hand. Three times, four times, I inflated the child's lungs, then it coughed. Then it cried. I tied off the two umbilicals with berrybush fiber, then cut them. Jeriba Zammis was freed of the dead flesh of its parent.
* * *
I held the rock over my head, then brought it down with all of my force upon the ice. Shards splashed away from the point of impact, exposing the dark green beneath. Again, I lifted the rock and brought it down, knocking loose another rock. I picked it up, stood and carried it to the half-covered corpse of the Drac. "The Drac," I whispered. Good. Just call it "The Drac." Toad face. Dragger.
The enemy. Call it anything to insulate those feelings against the pain.
I looked at the pile of rocks I had gathered, decided it was sufficient to finish the job, then knelt next to the grave. As I placed the rocks on the pile, unmindful of the gale-blown sleet freezing on my snakeskins, I fought back the tears. I smacked my hands together to help restore the circulation. Spring was coming, but it was still dangerous to stay outside too long. And I had been a long time building the Drac's grave. I picked up another rock and placed it into position. As the rock's weight leaned against the snakeskin mattress cover, I realized that the Drac was already frozen. I quickly placed the remainder of the rocks, then stood.
The wind rocked me and I almost lost my footing on the ice next to the grave. I looked toward the boiling sea, pulled my snakeskins around myself more tightly, then looked down at the pile of rocks. There should be words. You don't just cover up the dead, then go to dinner. There should be words. But what words? I was no religionist, and neither was the Drac. Its formal philosophy on the matter of death was the same as my informal rejection of Islamic delights, pagan Valhallas, and Judeo-Christian pies in the sky. Death is death; finis; the end; the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out… Still, there should be words.
I reached beneath my snakeskin
s and clasped my gloved hand around the golden cube of the Talman. I felt the sharp corners of the cube through my glove, closed my eyes and ran through the words of the great Drac philosophers. But there was nothing they had written for this moment.
The Talman was a book on life. Talman means life, and this occupies Drac philosophy. They spare nothing for death. Death is a fact; the end of life. The Talman had no words for me to say. The wind knifed through me, causing me to shiver. Already my fingers were numb and pains were beginning in my feet. Still, there should be words. But the only words I could think of would open the gate, flooding my being with pain— with the realization that the Drac was gone. Still… still, there should be words.
"Jerry, I…" I had no words. I turned from the grave, my tears mixing with the sleet.
* * *
With the warmth and silence of the cave around me, I sat on my mattress, my back against the wall of the cave. I tried to lose myself in the shadows and flickers of light cast on the opposite wall by the fire. Images would half-form, then dance away before I could move my mind to see something in them. As a child I used to watch clouds, and in them see faces, castles, animals, dragons, and giants. It was a world of escape— fantasy; something to inject wonder and adventure into the mundane, regulated life of a middle-class boy leading a middle-class life. All I could see on the wall of the cave was a representation of Hell: flames licking at twisted, grotesque representations of condemned souls. I laughed at the thought. We think of Hell as fire, supervised by a cackling sadist in a red union suit. Fyrine IV had taught me this much: Hell is loneliness, hunger, and endless cold.
I heard a whimper, and I looked into the shadows toward the small mattress at the back of the cave. Jerry had made the snakeskin sack filled with seed pod down for Zammis. It whimpered again, and I leaned forward, wondering if there was something it needed. A pang of fear tickled my guts. What does a Drac infant eat? Dracs aren't mammals. All they ever taught us in training was how to recognize Dracs— that, and how to kill them. Then real fear began working on me. "What in the hell am I going to use for diapers?"
It whimpered again. I pushed myself to my feet, walked the sandy floor to the infant's side, then knelt beside it. Out of the bundle that was Jerry's old flight suit, two chubby three-fingered arms waved. I picked up the bundle, carried it next to the fire, and sat on a rock. Balancing the bundle on my lap, I carefully unwrapped it. I could see the yellow glitter of Zammis's eyes beneath yellow, sleep-heavy lids. From the almost noseless face and solid teeth to its deep yellow color, Zammis was every bit a miniature of Jerry, except for the fat. Zammis fairly wallowed in rolls of fat. I looked, and was grateful to find that there was no mess.
The Reel Stuff Page 27