Bestiary!

by Jack Dann

  He went to his desk, took up his pen, and wrote in postscript on the letter to his president, My dear friend: This evening I saw one of the first griffins to return. Their coming, though unpredictable, was nevertheless inevitable. They will remain, I gather, until we decide our fate, one way or another. Hearing a strange cry in the night, a mingling of lion's roar and eagle's scream and more than both, he wrote further, The cry of the griffin in the great cities of the world will become as familiar as the cry of the cock in the country, and even as the cock's cry wakens us from sleep and is portentous of the morning when we shall not be alive to hear it, so the cry of the griffin, on the roofs above traffic, is troublous, calling us, humanity, to a cognizance of our existence and heralding our possible end.

  When Gunar awoke in the morning it was, as every day, to no other thought but the Conference. Not until he passed the desk on his return from his bath and saw that the letters had been taken up by his aide for mailing was he reminded of the griffin. He stood still, startled and amused by such a dream. Well, the times evoked it. He had never before worked under such a strain and the enigma of the times had taken form and substance, emerged in his dream a thing in itself, had become a living creature.

  But as he was dressing, the laughter within ceased, and he was overcome by melancholy. It came to him that the griffin might have been other than a dream. His few hours of sleep had been shallow and hot, as if he had slept in a thunderstorm; remembering his sleep, he was almost certain he had not dreamed. If the fabulous being had appeared, it had been an actual one. But, of course, it had not appeared. He could negate the event, he could prove it had been a dream by seeing again his letter to his president, the signature constituting the end without postscript. He walked slowly to the door of the adjoining apartment, already tired as if at the end of the day. How old was he now? Fifty-six? And how long did men live, usually?

  "Norbert, young man," he called, rapping at the half-open door, "you've not posted the letters yet? The three letters?"

  His aide appeared at the door, opening it wider. "They made the plane at seven-thirty."

  "The letter to the president?"

  "All three were sealed," said Norbert, "and envelopes addressed. Did you wish to make changes?"

  "A whim," he replied. He looked sharply at his aide. Norbert wrote symphonies, the modern kind; his disharmonies were not what they seemed but merged into a complete harmony. Was he not the one to understand the griffin? "If I tell him," thought Gunar, "if I tell him, laughing a little, with gestures, with shudders, why, two believing will make it untrue."

  But Norbert seemed more erect than usual this morning, his eyes bluer, his fair hair fairer. He liked parties, and the atmosphere for him was still charged with his virtuosity. The emissary decided that to explain the griffin to him would bring the creature down to the level of a piano recital and the sensual laughter of short-armed women.

  "Come" he said, signaling for Norbert to accompany him.

  In the cab Gunar sat in a corner, holding his hat and gloves on his crossed knees, listening to Norbert read foreign newspapers on the UN proceedings. The cab came to a halt as traffic changed, and he gazed into the street. In a basement tailor shop, the name on the window so worn that the dim light within turned the letters translucent and coppery, a tailor sat sewing at his machine while his wife sat by the window, drinking from a cup.

  As Gunar took in the shop and its occupants, he saw his second griffin. She—it was a female, as he could tell by the lack of red feathers on her breast—was sliding along the fence before the row of basement shops, the eagle head lifted and stiff with impending alarm.

  He grasped Norbert's hand, and the young man laid down his paper. "You see," he said, as if he had tried before to convince his aide, "a female griffin."

  Norbert bent across him to look. The griffin slipped down the stairs into the tailor's shop, pushing the door open with a claw, and for a moment Gunar saw, simultaneously, the eagle's head through the window and the lion's tail waving on the stairs. Persons passing paid no attention, or only slight, as to a cat or a sparrow. The couple did not look up, neither the man from his sewing nor the wife from her cup. Gunar Vries was appalled. They went about their pursuits as before, while this enigma, this beast of life or death, slid along their streets, jangled their business bells.

  "But are they so common a sight already?" he asked.

  "What are?" Norbert had taken up his reading again, but courteously allowed himself to be engaged in conversation.

  "The griffins. A female went into the tailor shop and you made no to-do about it."

  "I didn't see one," said Norbert. "I didn't know what to look for. I'm sorry. What is it like?"

  Gunar Vries drew into his corner again. "It's not a thing that you look for," he replied.

  The delegates to the General Assembly of the United Nations assembled at their quarters at Flushing Meadow. Gunar Vries sat in his place, his aide beside him, taking no part in the conversation before the fall of the gavel. The chairman entered, and following at his heels was a male griffin, larger, older than the one that had slept in Gunar's room. The creature was hoary and unkempt. Its eyes were yellow fire. It seated itself to the right of the chairman and with archaic grace surveyed the persons assembled.

  That evening after supper the president replied by telephone. "Gunar, what's this talk of a griffin?" he asked. "It's a beast of classical antiquity, is it not? Well, to what use are you putting it?"

  Ernest Gorgas was a fine man, and there was no one Gunar respected more. But how impotent the president's voice, how distant not only in space but in time! Gunar had the peculiar anticipatory feeling of hearing it fade away, as if mankind were running instantly into a post-historic age.

  "Gunar," the president continued, his voice grinding into the receiver, louder, adamant, yet deeply kind and respectful, "the plea that you made to the Assembly today for international unity was the most moving I have ever heard. It was more forceful, even, than the American Wilikie's One World. And the delivery of it—the eloquence, the impassioned tone! Maneuvering it the way you did was uncalled for and yet the most called-for thing in the world. If you are in your way sidestepping praise, being modest, bringing up this tale of a griffin coming to your room with a warning, it's no use. Gunar, my friend, there is no appointment that I have made in my term of office that has given me greater satisfaction."

  "Ernest," replied Gunar, "the man who feels that he is not deserving of praise makes no move to sidestep it. He has a deaf place in his ear the size of a pea, and with this he hears praise. No, my friend, a male griffin was in my room last evening. Since then I have seen two more. One, slipping along the street, female and playing nervous; the other, a more bestial creature and at the same time looking as if imbued with an omniscient intelligence. It was sitting to the right of the chairman today and commented often; succinctly, too. But though its voice was louder than any there it went unheard. At the conclusion of my speech it came to me and told me that it heard Demosthenes, and that my eloquence exceeded his. It had been sent alone to take in the American Revolution and had heard Patrick Henry—it said that that gentleman's vigor did not touch mine. I did not take these comparisons as praise but was convinced that the precariousness of our times has never been equalled and that orators are made by the periods in which they live."

  A long pause followed. When the president spoke again the subject was changed. He inquired about the discussions underway, Gunar's criticism and forecast of results.

  Within another day the rumor had been circulated among the delegates that Gunar Vries, emissary from S—, was suffering from hallucinations. The suspicion was not relayed to newsmen or to anyone outside the circle of official delegates. It was a matter of respect not only for the member, as a distinguished person, and for his family, but for the delegates combined. If one was susceptible to weakness of this kind, it might be construed that all were. The curious thing was that the emissary seemed to be in full command
of his intelligence while at the conference table. No criticism could be cast upon the deft, perspicacious way in which he handled his country's interests. Not only this, he was one of the most energetic in tackling the problems of all humanity.

  Gunar Vries was called home on the second day after his speech. Newsmen, inquiring of him the reason for his departure, were told that he believed that his president was in possession of information that could not be discussed by phone or letter or through a messenger. In Gunnar's place, to be guided by Norbert through the formalities, there appeared the youngest member of the supreme court of S , a man not much older than Norbert, but with his own history up to ninety years already in his eyes.

  Carrying his portfolio, Gunar Vries returned to S . He was met at the airport by the president, and together they were driven to the palace. They dined and secluded themselves in the president's study.

  "Gunar," said Ernest, as they sat facing each other, "I could not ask for a better emissary. You have used the energy of twelve men. Now, wound-up as you are, you will think I am crazy, you will think I am reckless putting your personal health before the welfare of the nation. But I want you to take a rest for awhile. Let someone else, not your caliber but competent enough, assume your duties. You go to your farm, wear an old hat, go hunting, milk your cows, sow your wheat. We need as many hands as we can get working the land, and as much space yielding. Go home for awhile, Gunar."

  Gunar Vries had never been so frightened in his life. It was like the fear, only worse, that he had experienced as a boy of seventeen, when he had left his father and come to the city to study, when for the first time he had lived alone. For several days he had been almost unable to breathe. He had thought he would never again see his father or make a friend, he had thought that he was trapped in that one room forever.

  "Has any action of mine," Gunar now asked slowly, "met with your disapproval? Have you found that the ability I evidenced as your minister of foreign affairs, have you found that this ability falls short of my responsibility as a delegate to the United Nations?"

  Ernest gripped his forehead, half-hid his painful eyes with his hand. "They say that you see griffins."

  "But I told you so myself."

  "Doesn't it seem peculiar to you?"

  "You prefer to quote the ones to whom it seems peculiar? No, my friend, it is the most natural thing in the world."

  "But you are the only one who sees them."

  "Does that fact make the griffin nonexistent?" He felt a sharp derision coming on, took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. He tried to suppress the snort, but could not. It was his opinion of organized disorganization.

  "If you take such a derogatory view of the Conference," the president said, "you won't want to return."

  "On the contrary," Gunar replied, leaning forward to stuff his handkerchief away in his rear pocket, "they need me. They can't do without me. The time will come, believe me, when everyone there will see that creature sitting to the right of the chairman. And what a creature!"

  "Gunar." The president hesitated. "Before you go home, perhaps it would be wise for you to consult a psychiatrist. They have not all gone to greener pastures in the United States. There might be still. a capable one or two practicing in France or Switzerland."

  "I would have no belief in him if he did not see griffins himself," replied Gunar, laughing a little. "But for your sake, to relieve you of anxiety and shame, I shall resign from the UN and from the Ministry. Name someone else to the post."

  He wanted to rise from the chair, as a gesture fitting to climax, but found that he could not. His heart was palpitating. Well, he had seen his father again, made a friend, and been in so many rooms he could not remember them all. A boy's loneliness doesn't last, nor does that of a disgraced diplomat. You reach out for people, you have no more enemies... .

  Gunar traveled home by train that night, and a female griffin was co-occupant of his compartment. When he entered, she was already asleep on the couch, eagle head tucked under her right wing, left wing and left hind leg hanging to the floor. He sat opposite her and watched her in the dimly lit, rocking compartment.

  He rode to his farm on the wagon of a neighbor. "You want to surprise Mrs. Vries?" the neighbor asked. The man had found Gunar, portfolio in hand, standing by his wagon, waiting for him to come from the assessor's office.

  "No," replied Gunar. "I just came home, that's all."

  "You are tired from the Conference?" the neighbor inquired, believing that it was over. He noticed the diplomat's sagging shoulders and sadness, and he halted the horses. "What's the world coming to?" he asked gently, confidentially, as if Gunar Vries was the one to know.

  And Gunar Vries laid his brow in his hand and wept, while the morning sun got in under his overcoat collar and warmed the nape of his neck.

  For several days he went about his farm like a man taking a rest. He milked the cows, drove the tractor. There was a deep, still pool in his forest and he went to bathe in it, likening it to his loneliness. If he were drowning in it and cried out, no man would be near enough to help him. But when he left the pool and dressed again, his body was clean and deserving of respect because of its contact with loneliness, and approaching the farm he loved instantly from afar every small figure working.

  Then one morning he saw on the roof of the east barn a young male griffin, and he called to it. The creature turned its large golden head slantwise.

  "Come," coaxed Gunar, "a lamb? A pan of milk?" And when the creature eyed him without replying, he added, "A calf?"

  The griffin dropped its beak and picked at something between its toes. "But I ate, just a couple of centuries ago. Caught four Arimaspi in a ravine."

  Alice begged Gunar to wait until she summoned Theodore, but he said no, that he would probably meet the boy in the city.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed, for she had given him an idea. "I intend to speak on the steps of the Technological University anyway. When the scientific students see my griffin, it will be a triumph, believe me."

  She went along the road with him, holding his elbow against her side and crying, and he bent his head away, unable to bear her grimaces. The griffin was slinking along the other side of the fence, and in a fit of energy suddenly both flew and ran, beating its wings close to earth, for a good half-mile down the fence. Why couldn't she see a thing like that?

  He halted and caressed her, pushing back her short, pale hair. "Do you know that I love you?" he asked. "Yes," she wept.

  "The tour is a minor thing," he said. "I make it simply to return to you. If I don't go, how much longer and of what consequence will our love be?"

  When he set out again, alone, the griffin was returning to meet him, loping.

  So he came to Afia, capital of S--, with the griffin at his side. He was dressed as for a session of the UN. He wore his favorite suit, tailored in London on a fine Scottish tweed, a white shirt, a dark red silk tie, and he carried a black Homburg and gray suede gloves. He took rooms in a first-rate hotel.

  Entering the park around which were grouped the government buildings, he mounted the flagpole base and pleaded with refugees, messengers passing to and fro, and clerks eating their lunches, to recognize his companion. In the evening he let himself be enveloped by the crowds pouring into the operas and symphonies and cinemas. Jostled and stepped upon, he began to recount his experiences, and some persons, with mail order tickets and in no hurry, tarried around him. At midnight, when the streets were being deserted, he returned to his hotel, and the griffin spent the night in the vicinity.

  By the second day word had circulated that this man in the streets was actually Gunar Vries, come to tell of the existence of a fabulous beast or bird. The citizens jammed the streets, the fire escapes, the roofs for blocks around the House of Commerce and Gunar made his speech on the steps facing the park. Overjoyed as he was with the size of his audience, he spoke with such passion that the griffin, already unnerved by the crowd, its flesh creeping with the emissary's harping upo
n its existence, suddenly rose straight up into the air, screaming.

  "Can't you see it?" Gunar Vries cried, pointing to .the griffin beating the air, its beak open and its tongue flickering, its eyes fierier than ever, absorbing the three o'clock sun. After hovering thirty feet about Gunar's head, it continued up and settled on a cornice three stories above him.

  The people gazed upward, but lowered their eyes with no change in them. They did not ridicule the speaker, however. They were solemn and attentive, remembering the man he once was. While about them, more griffins, curious as to the throngs, flew in and came to rest on the roofs of distant buildings, their dark forms like statues of themselves against the sky.

  Gunar Vries descended the steps, and the people made way for him. He was not disheartened. There was time for other cities and other assemblages. He wanted especially to draw a great crowd in New York, city of the Conference. The griffin flew down and followed at his heels; he heard its wings flapping in descent and then the click of its claws on the stone. A guttural warble in its throat, a sign of uneasiness.

  Two members of the police force stepped through the crowd to Gunar Vries. The force had been reluctant to take action against him for disturbing the peace, considering his prestige, but during the course of his speech they had received instructions from Ernest Gorgas himself: "Quietly, with respect for his person as a private citizen and as a former diplomat, arrest and transport him to quarters in the Hall of Justice. Detain him there until further instructions.

  "Gunar Vries," said one, "it's the president's wish." "If I resist?" he asked.

  The other officer touched his elbow, and Gunar told himself, "All their force will be unavailing and will seem afterward like a touch at my elbow." He reached behind him, laid his hand on the griffin, and brought it forward.

  "If I mount you," he asked, "can you rise with my weight?"

  The griffin nodded, but was perturbed and glazed its eyes. "When you asked me to accompany you, did you also ask that I convey you? It's seldom we convey a mortal."