Our concerns about the nutritional adequacy of the foods here were also eased. After watching us closely for many weeks, John came to the conclusion that the food here is nearly adequate, although lacking in fat, and, according to Josephine, low in Vitamin B-12. Accordingly, he directed us to adopt the rather more slow-moving pace that this tropical atmosphere seems to induce, and Josephine instructed Prometheus, on its return, to load the crawler with smaller, more specific vitamins. This left room aboard the crawler for the obstetrical forceps John wanted to have on hand just in case (they had to be specially fabricated by the Christmas Bush on Prometheus, since they certainly hadn't been included in the original supply of medical tools), a few child-sized medical instruments, and some personal items. Among these was a supply of very thin, tough paper for John, several pairs of scissors made of a non-rusting alloy, and a gift from Deirdre: my eyes blurred as I recognized her warm thoughtfulness—it was a laminated photograph of the crew left aboard. I'm not the only one to spend delighted minutes poring over those beloved countenances!
Our easier life has lead to some genuine play—rather fun to watch, and even to participate in. Nels used a bit of burnt stick to draw, upon some large flat stones, various targets, and the men instantly began to try to hit them with every sort of missile and projectile afforded by our surroundings. Little pebbles, hard shards of obsidian, even leftover nutshells were hurled from varying distances with varying techniques, and much boasting and betting accompanied their trials. Practice at these games of skill continue yet, but in a calmer way, as it was determined inevitably, that the real champion, with whatever ammunition, is Jinjur! Her aim is uncanny, and Shirley is a very close second. The men must vie, rather halfheartedly, for third place. To give them credit, their force is tremendous, and several targets have been completely shattered!
I discovered, to my joy, that the finer strands of fiber from the peethoo tree are equal in strength and fineness to the linen threads in my favorite laces, so I can not only keep them in good repair, I can create new ones. They are not as purely white as some of the originals, nor is my skill nearly as fine, but I enjoy making some narrow edgings for the borders of my sarong, saving the lovely pieces I brought with me for the special occasions when I can wear them as Richard likes, with no other garments at all!
The sarongs, and the pareus worn by the men, increase our resemblance to a tribe in the South Pacific. Our outdoor life has altered our appearances, as it has increased our physical strength, and we are having, somewhat to our surprise, a great deal of fun.
Recently, I set out early to gather firewood, and explored far up the little stream. To my delight, I found a spot where it fell some thirty feet into a pool, surrounded by large rocks. It became a favorite retreat, a place to stand, bemused, while the water poured unceasingly over one's head! The only drawback, possibly, was the distance from Council Rock; Shirley had finally to give up on the idea of constructing such a shower closer to home, after examining the terrain minutely.
Her latest creation was a small but extremely sturdy floating dock. It rises and falls smoothly with the various tides, and provides the visiting Jollys with a trustworthy platform from which to communicate with the flouwen. The flouwen have been tremendously inquisitive every since we've known them, but I was a little surprised to see how eagerly the Jollys come to question them! Their conversations range over all that is on this world and all the flouwen can share of other worlds. Some of the most entertaining conversations that we hear, deal with their evaluations of us!
"The sky-people still move with particularly unnecessary rapidity," said Seetoo. "Their excessive speed frequently results in significant errors and miscalculations. It is obvious that slowing their pace would be considerably more efficient and make much more efficacious use of effort. Have you seen the one they call 'Daaveed' make those laborious ascents to the top of the boobaa tree for fruit, only to have it rejected by the one they call Seeneemaan?"
"Dumb! Too much working anyway!" was Little Red's verdict. "Always asking questions, trying out, lifting, piling up, digging, moving things around with hands . . .but slow and clumsy in water!"
"Most extraordinary!" agreed the Jolly.
As comfortable as the two beings sound together, the fact of their own peculiarities doesn't seem to occur to them as they, so to speak, shake their heads over our own oddities.
Cinnamon's gardening desires have led her to plant flowering bushes and specimens all around the Big House, and at every vantage point along the paths we take. Jinjur's long-frustrated desire to be a farmer has resulted in cages of every sort of small animal. Her detachment from these specimens is far from truly agricultural, however; she is forever taking them out to play with or train, so that we are surrounded now by a private zoo of pets. But we are so few, and this world is so large, that we have tacitly accepted it as our own Eden, to enjoy and play with in great freedom.
My journal serves to remind us of anniversaries of various sorts, as they occur, and sometimes we decide to celebrate in some fashion. With our limited resources, this usually amounts to no more than a few words of congratulation, or the occasional small gift. For my birthday, Richard surprised me with a pretty little thimble, carved out a bit of nut-husk, and smoothed with fine sand until it was as silky to touch as finely polished ebony. I was most pleased and touched, although he admitted readily that the idea was Carmen's!
So our days and nights continue in harmony, with our surroundings and with each other. We are fortunate to have what we need so easily available, and what we might only desire so completely unattainable. Those two facts, coupled with the generous size of our domain, serve to keep us content, and willing to live at peace with ourselves and our alien friends.
Our first crop of grain was successfully harvested just yesterday. It was deliberately small, as storage is more difficult than cultivation, and successive crops are already in the ground. Our friend Seetoo the Jolly was interested in our success; his eyes hovered above the harvest, and we learned, later, from the Giant himself, that what had most intrigued him was the planting of the grain in straight lines! Such a procedure was so automatic with Nels and Cinnamon, that they gave it no thought, and the Jolly is taken with the aesthetics of the line. He was more excited than I had ever seen him, and I anticipate an entire new art form for the Jolly, as the delights of geometry are revealed—both by us and by the flouwen, who are also enjoying their meetings of minds.
Our domestic interests have by no means obviated our curiosity about the mysteries of our new home. Nels and John, after a great deal of careful observation of the jookeejooks, and thoughtful questioning of the Jolly, have hypothesized that the one evolved from the other. At some point in their development, the Jollys severed the connections between trunk and eyes and hands, much as a human umbilical cord is severed, while still maintaining the functions of the freed appendages. How this transition managed to occur is still a puzzle.
The jookeejooks, themselves, are proving as useful to us as they are to the Jollys. Jinjur's little farmyard provides us with both fruit and the "steaks" Arielle was contemplating, although they are rather more similar to a vegetarian version of a steak than actual meat. The protein they supply us seems adequate, and even tasty. Years of living on the products of Nels's laboratory have made us none too critical of flavor, and Nels is, I think, glad to be free of that task and out in the open fields.
I still work at the fishing, though less vigorously than I did; no doubt my strength for the job will return after the child's birth. At present, I am grateful for Richard's assistance, with even so small a boat as mine—and even more grateful for his construction of a small rudder. I could almost become philosophical about my direction coming under control!
It became apparent immediately that, although we could not alter Josephine's preemptory accomplishment, we could indeed determine the identity of the father in each case; Josephine concurred that such information was vital to assuring a knowledgeable use of the t
iny gene pool among us. It was quietly satisfactory to me to learn that Richard is the father of the child I carry; as it was for Arielle to know that David was the one selected for her, and Cinnamon's male was Nels. The pairing of these three couples was already a matter of affection as well, although we have no assurance of their permanence: Jinjur declared, without being asked, that she would not perform a marriage for anyone at any time, so any commitments that exist are private, which is probably as it should be!
John is anticipating being the father of two children: Carmen's baby, which he expected, and Jinjur's, which he did not! I think Jinjur is secretly delighted at the prospect of becoming a mother. And Shirley, whose unchosen mate was Nels, is thinking pleasurably of rearing a young Viking; I notice some speculative glances at the other men, as well!
Shirley's considerable energies turned toward nest-building with enthusiasm. I heard her just a short time ago, exhorting and supervising:
"John! You and Nels, place the bottom of that pole right here, and walk it upright! Are you ready up there, David? Grab the top and straighten it! Straight! To your left just a bit! That's good, now, take a bight around the roof-ridge . . .Richard! The floor's beginning to slope again towards the back! It's got to have a tiny slope the other way, or the rain . . ."
She is enlarging the Big House, so that the front of it is an open, roofed, porch sort of arrangement, well above the slope of Council Rock. The work is going nicely under her determined leadership. She looks magnificent, these days, swelling with pregnancy as a Norse goddess would swell. The Big House will soon be spacious and airy, and complete until she decides it needs more work!
The Big House even has a front patio—flat flagstones where we can clean the mud and sand off our feet before stepping inside—and a small "lawn" of "moss," usually found only on rocks on the rain-drenched volcanic slopes, but now living comfortably on flagstones where Cinnamon makes sure it gets watered every day it doesn't rain. Set in the sand in front of the lawn is a neat sign, saying: "Keep Off The Grass!"
Our private retreats are much more humble, although Arielle's resembles that of a bowerbird, as the adoring David fetches ever-changing decorations of flowers, shells, and bits of driftwood for her to arrange. My own nest is soft, and dry, and small—I am as fond of comfort as a cat, and this is cozy and private, and ample for our needs; I have no desire for a structure which requires maintenance chores, and neither does Richard.
The flouwen have been visiting us only occasionally, when it is necessary for them to replenish their internal store of ammonia. Last time, Little Red (no longer so little!—life here evidently agrees with the creatures, and he is bigger and louder than ever) began shouting to us while still far out in the water.
"Hi! Hi! Hi! We've been fighting! I won!"
Jinjur and I straightened from our task, and looked out in concern. The rapidly approaching flouwen looked as usual. At a more reasonable distance, Little Purple's calm tones announced, "Little Red is bragging. We found a large shark eating the filter-fish. It had six eyes that swam ahead of it, and six gatherers that herded the filter-fish into its mouth. It was quite large, with many sharp teeth in its mouth, and could have eaten enough of us in one bite to turn us into a youngling. But we attacked its eyes and gatherers with focused sonar bursts and drove it away."
"Big fight! Big shark!" bragged Little Red, loudly.
"Big, yes, and very carnivorous!" agreed Little White, then added thoughtfully, "The shark was quite similar in design to a Jolly. Both have six freely-moving eyes that return to the main body periodically to report their observations, and both use six freely-moving gatherers as hands to gather in food. Perhaps they have a common ancestor despite the fact that one is designed to operate on land and the other in water."
"Humans and dolphins are similar in the same way," I remarked. "Despite one having legs and the other having fins, they are both mammals and have high intelligence. Since the Jollys are intelligent, perhaps these sharks are too."
"This shark did not have intelligence," replied Little White.
"Shark dumb!" interjected Little Red.
Ignoring Little Red's outburst, Little White continued on, "As we approached the shark, I listened carefully to the sounds it was making. The main body, the eyes, and the gatherers were emitting only simple clicks and chirps, sufficient only to see each other and their prey with sonar sight. There was no evidence of any complex sound variations such as would be needed to use sound for talking. Since they don't talk, they must not be intelligent."
"You are probably correct in your observations," I replied. "Although dolphins and whales use clicks and chirps for seeing underwater, they also are able to make other sounds that are for communication. We still don't understand the language, but we do know they are talking to each other."
I noticed with pleasure Little White's careful use of language, as he describes to us what he has observed. This scientific attitude means that his evidence is genuinely useful, and he and Nels spend much time together these days, more or less comparing notes. However, this particular visit was unusually brief.
"Come on! Come on! I'm feeling too bulky, let's . . ." The final word was new to me—a strange conglomeration of hissing consonants.
"What's that?" I asked. "What does that word mean?"
But they were gone.
How long it has been since my last entry! And why, when I have always been so meticulous in chronicling everyday mundane matters, have I not taken the time to describe the tumultuous events of the past few weeks? Perhaps because, although they are vivid to those who live through them, the events are only part of the age-old human cycle, and the arrivals of six new people into the world we share is only important to ourselves. But I have just taken a quiet look around, and want to record what I see.
Nearest by, Richard is holding our small son, with that over-careful, masculine awkwardness that has melted tougher hearts than mine. Just out of sight, I can hear Jinjur admonishing her son . . ."Every meal a banquet! Every task an honor! Every . . ." The wee lad is already in the Corps!
In the glow of the firelight, Cinnamon is sitting in the curve of a vine suspended from the rooftree, keeping up a slow swinging with one brown foot, and singing. To my surprise, I hear the notes are minor, and it dawns on me she is singing an Inuit song to the baby she is nursing. Across from me, David sits crosslegged on the porch, the harp in his lap making an accompaniment to Cinnamon's song. At a little distance, Shirley is curled around her baby in the comfortable hammock she built, peacefully asleep. John, too, lies in a hammock, awake, and with the strange expression of pride and dismay that has so often been on his face since the births of his children! Arielle is arranging something by the fire, her baby held so much more gracefully than Richard's, and prattling to the infant in French, of a sort. Nels is watching Cinnamon, more awe on his face than was there with the completion of his new legs. And Carmen looks radiant, content to stare dreamily into the fire as she cradles her child. Perhaps she is the most happy? No, I think it must be I; I am utterly content, to be marooned on Eden.
Our lives are now flowing in simple routines; domestic affairs take some attention, but we are resolved to keep unnecessary tasks from multiplying; the small ones's needs are basic and simple, so we tend to those. We're also resolved to enjoy every minute, and are fortunate that we still have all the curiosity and intelligence for which we were chosen. Therefore, every day is different, while every day's the same—the ease of living, our mutual amicability, the constantly unfolding tapestry of the world around us—all make for happiness, and it will be our delight as well as our responsibility to share it with, and maintain it for, our children.
Today we took the babies to show to the Jollys. They listened, with grave interest, to Jinjur's graphic description of their births.
"Tell me, please, Commander Major General Jinjur . . ." (I think the Jollys treasure titles for their own sakes.) "Did not the experience cause you physical pain?"
"Wow!
Did it ever!" agreed Jinjur, and became more graphic yet.
"I think," declared the Jolly, "that, on the whole, I prefer the more civilized methods we employ among ourselves. Seeds can be nurtured with so much more—cultivation, can they not?"
It rendered Jinjur speechless, temporarily.
Upon our return to Council Rock, we found the flouwen waiting for us. We went down to display our offspring, proudly. Richard stepped into the calm warm water, and gently laid our child upon Little Red's surface. The baby squalled at the change, and Little Red, after a quick sonar exploration of the small body, passed him to Little White.
"Make sure you keep his mouth and nose out of the water," warned Richard.
"Is that the noisy part? I can hear that from the outer edge of the lagoon!" said Little Red.
"It certainly is built like a miniature human," said Little White, exploring the interior of the baby with sonic vibrations. The vibrations soothed the baby, and he began to coo. "Except the head is too big for the body, and some of the smaller sticks inside are still soft."
Marooned on Eden Page 29