The skins were spread and wrapped around tree trunks and pegged in place to dry. The tree trunks were kept in an open place near the entrance to the cave, but under an overhang that faced away from the ocean. About two-thirds of the skins put up in this manner cured; the remaining third would rot.
Beyond the skin room was the smokehouse: a rock-walled chamber that we would hang with rows of snakemeat. A greenwood fire would be set in a pit in the chamber's floor; then we would fill in the small opening with rocks and dirt.
"Uncle, why doesn't the meat rot after it's smoked?"
I thought upon it. "I'm not sure; I just know it doesn't."
"Why do you know?"
I shrugged. "I just do. I read about it, probably."
"What's read?"
"Reading. Like when I sit down and read the Talman."
"Does the Talman say why the meat doesn't rot?"
"No. I meant that I probably read it in another book."
"Do we have more books?"
I shook my head. "I meant before I came to this planet."
"Why did you come to this planet?"
"I told you. Your parent and I were stranded here during the battle."
"Why do the humans and Dracs fight?"
"It's very complicated." I waved my hands about for a bit. The human line was the Dracs were aggressors invading our space. The Drac line was that the humans were aggressors invading their space. The truth? "Zammis, it has to do with the colonization of new planets. Both races are expanding and both races have a tradition of exploring and colonizing new planets. I guess we just expanded into each other. Understand?"
Zammis nodded, then became mercifully silent as it fell into deep thought. The main thing I learned from the Drac child was all of the questions I didn't have answers to. I was feeling very smug, however, at having gotten Zammis to understand about the war, thereby avoiding my ignorance on the subject of preserving meat. "Uncle?"
"Yes, Zammis?"
"What's a planet?"
* * *
As the cold, wet summer came to an end, we had the cave jammed with firewood and preserved food. With that out of the way, I concentrated my efforts on making some kind of indoor plumbing out of the natural pools in the chambers deep within the cave. The bathtub was no problem. By dropping heated rocks into one of the pools, the water could be brought up to a bearable— even comfortable— temperature. After bathing, the hollow stems of a bamboo-like plant could be used to siphon out the dirty water. The tub could then be refilled from the pool above. The problem was where to siphon the water. Several of the chambers had holes in their floors. The first three holes we tried drained into our main chamber, wetting the low edge near the entrance. The previous winter, Jerry and I had considered using one of those holes for a toilet that we would flush with water from the pools. Since we didn't know where the goodies would come out, we decided against it.
The fourth hole Zammis and I tried drained out below the entrance to the cave in the face of the cliff. Not ideal, but better than answering the call of nature in the middle of a combination ice-storm and blizzard. We rigged up the hole as a drain for both the tub and toilet. As Zammis and I prepared to enjoy our first hot bath, I removed my snakeskins, tested the water with my toe, then stepped in. "Great!" I turned to Zammis, the child still half dressed. "Come on in, Zammis. The water's fine." Zammis was staring at me, its mouth hanging open. "What's the matter?"
The child stared wide-eyed, then pointed at me with a three-fingered hand. "Uncle… what's that?"
I looked down. "Oh." I shook my head, then looked up at the child. "Zammis, I explained all that, remember? I'm a human."
"But what's it for?"
I sat down in the warm water, removing the object of discussion from sight. "It's for the elimination of liquid wastes… among other things. Now, hop in and get washed."
Zammis shucked its snakeskins, looked down at its own smooth-surfaced, combined system, then climbed into the tube. The child settled into the water up to its neck, its yellow eyes studying me. "Uncle?"
"Yes?"
"What other things?"
Well, I told Zammis. For the first time, the Drac appeared to be trying to decide whether my response was truthful or not, rather than its usual acceptance of my every assertion. In fact, I was convinced that Zammis thought I was lying— probably because I was.
* * *
Winter began with a sprinkle of snowflakes carried on a gentle breeze. I took Zammis above the cave to the scrub forest. I held the child's hand as we stood before the pile of rocks that served as Jerry's grave. Zammis pulled its snakeskins against the wind, bowed its head, then turned and looked up into my face. "Uncle, this is the grave of my parent?"
I nodded. "Yes."
Zammis turned back to the grave, then shook its head. "Uncle, how should I feel?"
"I don't understand, Zammis."
The child nodded at the grave. "I can see that you are sad being here. I think you want me to feel the same. Do you?"
I frowned, then shook my head. "No. I don't want you to be sad. I just wanted you to know where it is."
"May I go now?"
"Sure. Are you certain you know the way back to the cave?"
"Yes. I just want to make sure my soap doesn't burn again."
I watched as the child turned and scurried off into the naked trees, then I turned back to the grave. "Well, Jerry, what do you think of your kid? Zammis was using wood ashes to clean the grease off the shells, then it put a shell back on the fire and put water in it to boil off the burnt-on food. Fat and ashes. The next thing, Jerry, we were making soap. Zammis' first batch almost took the hide off us, but the kid's getting better…."
I looked up at the clouds, then brought my glance down to the sea. In the distance, low, dark clouds were building up. "See that? You know what that means, don't you? Ice-storm number one." The wind picked up and I squatted next to the grave to replace a rock that had rolled from the pile. "Zammis is a good kid, Jerry. I wanted to hate it… after you died. I wanted to hate it." I replaced the rock, then looked back toward the sea.
"I don't know how we're going to make it off planet, Jerry—" I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my vision. I turned to the right and looked over the tops of the trees. Against the gray sky, a black speck streaked away. I followed it with my eyes until it went above the clouds.
I listened, hoping to hear an exhaust roar, but my heart was pounding so hard, all I could hear was the wind. Was it a ship? I stood, took a few steps in the direction the speck was going, then stopped. Turning my head, I saw that the rocks on Jerry's grave were already capped with thin layers of fine snow. I shrugged and headed for the cave. "Probably just a bird."
* * *
Zammis sat on its mattress, stabbing several pieces of snakeskin with a bone needle. I stretched out on my own mattress and watched the smoke curl up toward the crack in the ceiling. Was it a bird? Or was it a ship? Damn, but it worked on me. Escape from the planet had been out of my thoughts, had been buried, hidden for all that summer. But again, it twisted at me. To walk where a sun shined, to wear cloth again, experience central heating, eat food prepared by a chef, to be among… people again.
I rolled over on my right side and stared at the wall next to my mattress. People. Human people. I closed my eyes and swallowed. Girl human people. Female persons. Images drifted before my eyes— faces, bodies, laughing couples, the dance after flight training… what was her name? Dolora? Dora?
I shook my head, rolled over and sat up, facing the fire. Why did I have to see whatever it was? All those things I had been able to bury— to forget— boiling over.
"Uncle?"
I looked up at Zammis. Yellow skin, yellow eyes, noseless toad face. I shook my head. "What?"
"Is something wrong?"
Is something wrong, hah. "No. I just thought I saw something today. It probably wasn't anything." I reached to the fire and took a piece of dried snake from the griddle. I blew
on it, then gnawed on the stringy strip.
"What did it look like?"
"I don't know. The way it moved, I thought it might be a ship. It went away so fast, I couldn't be sure. Might have been a bird."
"Bird?"
I studied Zammis. It'd never seen a bird; neither had I on Fyrine IV. "An animal that flies."
Zammis nodded. "Uncle, when we were gathering wood up in the scrub forest, I saw something fly."
"What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I meant to, but I forgot."
"Forgot!" I frowned. "In which direction was it going?"
Zammis pointed to the back of the cave. "That way. Away from the sea." Zammis put down its sewing. "Can we go see where it went?"
I shook my head. "The winter is just beginning. You don't know what it's like. We'd die in only a few days."
Zammis went back to poking holes in the snakeskin. To make the trek in the winter would kill us. But spring would be something else. We could survive with double layered snakeskins stuffed with seed pod down, and a tent. We had to have a tent. Zammis and I could spend the winter making it, and packs. Boots. We'd need sturdy walking boots. Have to think on that….
It's strange how a spark of hope can ignite, and spread, until all desperation is consumed. Was it a ship? I didn't know. If it was, was it taking off, or landing? I didn't know. If it was taking off, we'd be heading in the wrong direction. But the opposite direction meant crossing the sea. Whatever. Come spring we would head beyond the scrub forest and see what was there.
* * *
The winter seemed to pass quickly, with Zammis occupied with the tent and my time devoted to rediscovering the art of boot making. I made tracings of both of our feet on snakeskin, and, after some experimentation, I found that boiling the snake leather with plumfruit made it soft and gummy. By taking several of the gummy layers, weighting them, then setting them aside to dry, the result was a tough, flexible sole. By the time I finished Zammis' boots, the Drac needed a new pair.
"They're too small, Uncle."
"Waddaya mean, too small?"
Zammis pointed down. "They hurt. My toes are all crippled up."
I squatted down and felt the tops over the child's toes. "I don't understand. It's only been twenty, twenty-five days since I made the tracings. You sure you didn't move when I made them?"
Zammis shook its head. "I didn't move."
I frowned, then stood. "Stand up, Zammis." The Drac stood and I moved next to it. The top of Zammis' head came to the middle of my chest. Another sixty centimeters and it'd be as tall as Jerry. "Take them off, Zammis. I'll make a bigger pair. Try not to grow so fast."
* * *
Zammis pitched the tent inside the cave, put glowing coals inside, then rubbed fat into the leather for waterproofing. It had grown taller, and I had held off making the Drac's boots until I could be sure of the size it would need. I tried to do a projection by measuring Zammis feet every ten days, then extending the curve into spring. According to my figures, the kid would have feet resembling a pair of attack transports by the time the snow melted. By spring, Zammis would be full grown. Jerry's old flight boots had fallen apart before Zammis had been born, but I had saved the pieces. I used the soles to make my tracings and hoped for the best.
I was busy with the new boots and Zammis was keeping an eye on the tent treatment. The Drac looked back at me.
"Uncle?"
"What?"
"Existence is the first given?"
I shrugged. "That's what Shizumaat says; I'll buy it."
"But, Uncle, how do we know that existence is real?"
I lowered my work, looked at Zammis, shook my head, then resumed stitching the boots. "Take my word for it."
The Drac grimaced. "But, Uncle, that is not knowledge; that is faith."
I sighed, thinking back to my sophomore year at the University of Nations— a bunch of adolescents lounging around a cheap flat experimenting with booze, powders, and philosophy. At a little more than one Earth year old, Zammis was developing into an intellectual bore. "So, what's wrong with faith?"
Zammis snickered. "Come now, Uncle. Faith?"
"It helps some of us along this drizzle-soaked coil."
"Coil?"
I scratched my head. "This mortal coil; life. Shakespeare, I think."
Zammis frowned. "It is not in the Talman."
"He, not it. Shakespeare was a human."
Zammis stood, walked to the fire and sat across from me. "Was he a philosopher, like Mistan or Shizumaat?"
"No. He wrote plays— like stories, acted out."
Zammis rubbed its chin. "Do you remember any of Shakespeare?"
I held up a finger. " 'To be, or not to be; that is the question.' "
The Drac's mouth dropped open; then it nodded its head. "Yes. Yes! To be or not to be; that is the question!" Zammis held out its hands. "How do we know the wind blows outside the cave when we are not there to see it? Does the sea still boil if we are not there to feel it?"
I nodded. "Yes."
"But, Uncle, how do we know?"
I squinted at the Drac. "Zammis, I have a question for you. Is the following statement true or false: What I am saying right now is false."
Zammis blinked. "If it is false, then the statement is true. But… if it's true… the statement is false, but…" Zammis blinked again, then turned and went back to rubbing fat into the tent. "I'll think upon it, Uncle."
"You do that, Zammis."
The Drac thought upon it for about ten minutes, then turned back. "The statement is false."
I smiled. "But that's what the statement said, hence it is true, but…" I let the puzzle trail off. Oh, smugness, thou temptest even saints.
"No, Uncle. The statement is meaningless in its present context." I shrugged. "You see, Uncle, the statement assumes the existence of truth values that can comment upon themselves devoid of any other reference. I think Lurrvena's logic in the Talman is clear on this, and if meaningless is equated with falsehood…"
I sighed. "Yeah, well—"
"You see, Uncle, you must first establish a context in which your statement has meaning."
I leaned forward, frowned, and scratched my beard. "I see. You mean I was putting Descartes before the horse?"
Zammis looked at me strangely, and even more so when I collapsed on my mattress cackling like a fool.
* * *
"Uncle, why does the line of Jeriba have only five names? You say that human lines have many names."
I nodded. "The five names of the Jeriba line are things to which their bearers must add deeds. The deeds are important— not the names."
"Gothig is Shigan's parent as Shigan is my parent."
"Of course. You know that from your recitations."
Zammis frowned. "Then I must name my child Ty when I become a parent?"
"Yes. And Ty must name its child Haesni. Do you see something wrong with that?"
"I would like to name my child Davidge, after you."
I smiled and shook my head. "The Ty name has been served by great bankers, merchants, inventors, and— well, you know your recitation. The name Davidge hasn't been served by much. Think of what Ty would miss by not being Ty."
Zammis thought awhile, then nodded. "Uncle, do you think Gothig is alive?"
"As far as I know."
"What is Gothig like?"
I thought back to Jerry talking about its parent, Gothig. "It taught music, and is very strong. Jerry… Shigan said that its parent could bend metal bars with its fingers. Gothig is also very dignified. I imagine that right now Gothig is also very sad. Gothig must think that the line of Jeriba has ended."
Zammis frowned and its yellow brow furrowed. "Uncle, we must make it to Draco. We must tell Gothig the line continues."
"We will."
* * *
The winter's ice began thinning, and boots, tent, and packs were ready. We were putting the finishing touches on our new insulated suits. As Jerry had given the Talman t
o me to learn, the golden cube now hung around Zammis' neck. The Drac would drop the tiny golden book from the cube and study it for hours at a time.
"Uncle?"
"What?"
"Why do Dracs speak and write in one language and the humans in another?"
I laughed. "Zammis, the humans speak and write in many languages. English is just one of them."
"How do the humans speak among themselves?"
I shrugged. "They don't always; when they do, they use interpreters— people who can speak both languages."
"You and I speak both English and Drac; does that make us interpreters?"
"I suppose we could be, if you could ever find a human and a Drac who want to talk to each other. Remember, there's a war going on."
"How will the war stop if they do not talk?"
"I suppose they will talk, eventually."
Zammis smiled. "I think I would like to be an interpreter and help end the war." The Drac put its sewing aside and stretched out on its new mattress. Zammis had outgrown even its old mattress, which it now used for a pillow. "Uncle, do you think that we will find anybody beyond the scrub forest?"
"I hope so."
"If we do, will you go with me to Draco?"
"I promised your parent that I would."
"I mean, after. After I made my recitation, what will you do?"
I stared at the fire. "I don't know." I shrugged. "The war might keep us from getting to Draco for a long time."
"After that, what?"
"I suppose I'll go back into the service."
The Reel Stuff Page 29