The young added to the clutter of the clearing, and to our problems. They seemed to love to scamper about the feet of their older kin, and had no more sense of keeping clear of a walking adult than an Earth cat. Often they were stepped on, frequently with fatal results. Every day I had to carry small bodies into the woods and bury them. If I had not, the additional stench would have driven us away.
After a month of fruitless effort Pastor Gorman gave up trying to teach his religion to the Pinks. “We’ll have to help them advance culturally,” he said. He tried, by example, to induce them to cultivate a plot of land, and to plant it with yams.
The Pinks only ate his seed.
By the third month, he was thoroughly discouraged. “Perhaps we’d better see what we can do with the Uglies,” he said. “If we can convert them, we will at least be able to save the lives of many Pinks. That way we will give something to both races.”
I decided to go along with him this time. He was impractical, but kind old fellow, and I had developed a deep affection for him. We packed a tent, provisions for a month—I took along a spare pistol and ammunition—and set out for the Uglie village.
* * * *
The Uglies did not welcome us, but neither did they interfere as we set up our tent near their village and unpacked our provisions. For several hours a crowd of them watched, but when we did nothing unusual they wandered back to their village.
The Uglie village was on the banks of a deep, muddy river. The huts were primitive reed structures, built around a wooden framework, but they were surprisingly clean.
We stayed until our provisions ran out. Each day Pastor Gorman went into the village and waited in a square near the center until he had a chance to talk with any Uglies passing by. At first he talked about anything that might seem to be of interest to them, gradually leading the conversations around to his God. The Uglies, in their restrained way, were a courteous people, and always listened to him. Especially in the evenings. Often most of the population would gather in the square to listen to his preachings. And he did what I thought was a very good job. But whether or not he made any real progress I could not tell.
“How intelligent are they?” I asked him one night as we lay in our sleeping bags.
“The linguists figured about 80 percentile.” He was tired and beginning to grow discouraged again.
“That should be intelligent enough. Do you think they understand what you’re telling them?”
“I’m quite certain they do,” he answered listlessly, “but I’m afraid words aren’t very convincing to them. If only I had a way to give them some kind of practical demonstration. But of course I can’t expect God to perform a miracle for me. I’ll just have to do the best I can.”
“I notice they won’t discuss your teachings with you,” I said. “I wonder why not.”
He shrugged. “That I don’t understand either. Probably some tribal mores. I suppose it would take years to really understand any alien culture, even one as primitive as this. But it’s very frustrating.”
He rolled over on his side to face me. “This may sound vain, Johnny, but I’m certain they respect me—perhaps even like me. A few discussed their own rudimentary religion with me. It seems they have a vague kind of pantheism: Every object—every tree, rock, and insect—has its individual god. The gods have a definite order of greatness—what that order is I haven’t bothered to learn. But theirs isn’t a fanatical belief; they take it quite casually. I’m certain I could convert them, if I could only think of the proper method.” He returned to the problem that was always close behind his desire to convert the Uglies. “I’ve got to stop that killing of the Pinks, Johnny.”
* * * *
Pastor Gorman had his work to keep him occupied, but I was at loose ends. I was becoming more bored every day. I still had no luck hunting, and as a last resort I took to wandering among the Uglies, observing the way they lived, and talking to them—about anything, just to be occupied.
They led lives much like the tribes of old Africa, with a family life, affection between children and parents, and respect for community laws and mores.
The purple shading of their light tan complexions, that we had noticed earlier, was caused by the blood that coursed just beneath the surface of their translucent skin. When one observed closely enough the veins could be readily traced. The hide cloaks they wore were made of the cured skins of Pinks.
Gorman avoided them during their meal preparations, but I had less reluctance. I found that they tied the carcasses of the slain Pinks to short vine-ropes and let them float in the river for several days before cooking. Perhaps to remove the salt. The carcasses were then placed in prepared clay pits, a square-cornered species of leaf was stuffed into the stomach cavities and more clay packed around the outside. Fire was built around the crypts and the meat baked. At first they offered portions to me, but of course I refused. Every day the hunters brought in more dead Pinks. Whenever Gorman happened to see them he suffered renewed agonies of grief.
Near the end of our month in the village I learned something that startled me, though I might have guessed it earlier: They believed that Gorman—and probably I also—was mad!
I had read that primitive tribes often have a peculiar respect for their madman, usually believing them to be inhabited by spirits. That probably was the biggest reason we still remained unharmed.
* * * *
We returned to the ship when our supplies ran out. We spent two days and two nights there. Pastor Gorman seemed to be having a mighty inward struggle. By the third morning, he had come to a decision. He explained it to me as we packed more provisions.
“If I were at all wise, I’d be able to convert at least one of those races,” he said, “but I’m afraid it’s a task bigger than I’m capable of handling, Johnny. Oh, I’m going to keep trying,” he went on as he saw that I intended to protest, “but to be honest, I doubt that I will ever be successful.
“So I’ve decided to give the Pinks a means of defending themselves. The decision was not easy. I’m not even certain that what I intend doing is God’s way, but I can only do what I think best. I’m going to teach the Pinks to use the bow and arrow. With that weapon they can defend themselves against the Uglies’ spears and knives. If it works the way I hope, each side will learn respect for the weapons of the other, and the killings will stop.”
Something about his decision disquieted me, but I couldn’t place exactly what it was. I thought for several minutes before I said, “I can’t give you a reason, but I don’t think you’re doing the right thing. Maybe it’s because I’ve come to admire the Uglies, while I despise the Pinks. The Uglies have more of the traits we have always thought of as desirable in a race. Such as family integrity, tolerance and respect for the rights of others, and honor. While the Pinks are shiftless and selfish, with none of the better traits, as far as I can see. It doesn’t seem right that you should help them against the Uglies.”
“I understand how you feel, Johnny,” Pastor Gorman answered. “But don’t you see, what you admire in the Uglies—and what the Pinks lack—is only the result of a greater intelligence and higher cultural development? That greater advance cannot be allowed to compensate for their murder of the Pinks. Surely you understand that.”
“I don’t know.” I could think of no valid argument, but I still felt he was making a wrong decision.
“This I am sure of,” Gorman said earnestly, “if I’m to follow God’s way, I must do everything I can to stop that killing!”
* * * *
To give him credit, Pastor Gorman intended to be as fair as he possibly could. He was going to return to the Uglie village and tell them what he intended to do. Theirs would be the choice then: They could cease their killing of the Pinks, or accept the consequences. I went with him again, but this time I doubted my own sanity. We were asking to be killed. But I had developed too deep an affection for the old man to let him go alone.
That evening Gorman took up his usual stan
ce in the village square. However, he had traversed the huts during all the afternoon, telling the natives that his talk that evening would be of special importance, and asking them to attend.
Most of the villagers were there. Gorman talked again of his God, building up to the explanation that killing was the worst offense that could be committed against Him. He explained how, as His servant, he must do all he could to prevent murder. Once again he asked them to cease their wanton slaughter. Finally he warned that if they would not, he would give the Pinks weapons with which to fight back.
I think the Uglies understood the importance of what he told them; I think, also, that they believed he might have the power to do what he threatened. There was a long period of subdued but serious conversation. The Uglies wandered about, forming and reforming groups for discussion. But the end was discouraging for Gorman. They returned to their huts without a word to him.
The next day, when a hunting party brought in the bodies of a female and a child Pink, we left them. “They have made their choice,” Pastor Gorman said fatalistically.
* * * *
It took him more than another month to teach the Pinks the use of the bow and arrow. Yet they were surprisingly eager to learn, and as surprisingly adept. I had doubted that they had the intelligence or the perseverance to acquire the necessary skill, but they listened quite attentively, and followed Pastor Gorman’s instructions fairly well. They did not, I am certain, understand at all the reason it was being taught them, but accepted it more as a game. I may have been prejudiced, but my view was that to them it presented only another means to practice their continual mischief. I had very little affection for them.
Gorman readily found a type of tree whose springy limbs could be made into splendid bows, and to them he attached the thin vine-ropes he had learned to use in the Uglie village. He had the most difficulty finding adequate arrows. The Pinks would not do the work of carving them. However, he found a weed that maintained its toughness of stem some time after drying. It could be easily pulled from the ground, and the pointed root—being still moist—made a stout head. The Pinks had only to break off the top, trim a few root sprouts, and they had a serviceable arrow. They weren’t too accurate, and they could seldom be used more than once for they splintered easily, but they were very abundant, and the Pinks always had a natural supply near at hand. Some of the more intelligent of them learned to put slivers of stone in the arrow heads, and made them into deadly weapons.
Then we sat back to wait. “One day soon a Pink will use his bow and arrow to defend himself against an attacking Uglie,” Gorman said, “and their emancipation will begin.”
* * * *
Less than a week later I found the bodies of two Uglies in the woods. A dozen arrows sprouted from their stomachs and legs. As the days went on I found more bodies. I hunted almost every day now. I still found no animals, and I suppose I had given hope of ever finding any, but I wanted to observe the results of Pastor Gorman’s stratagem.
Another month went by while I saw few signs of the Uglies, and never a live one. And the Pinks were becoming more numerous. As a second month stretched to an end the Pinks seemed to literally pack into our clearing. Most of them appeared gaunt and hungry. Several times we returned to the woods to hunt for yams to feed them, but found only holes from which the vegetables had been taken. We saw also that the bark had been stripped from most of the trees. Often we observed Pinks pulling up small shrubs and gnawing at the roots. They were always hungry now.
One trip into the woods I went as far as the Uglie village, and what I saw sickened me. It was deserted. I found the bodies of children, and a few adults, lying in the huts. It was evident that they had starved to death.
When I returned to the ship I had lost much of my sympathy for Pastor Gorman and his religion. I told him what I had seen, and my conclusions. “Your scheme had resulted in mass homicide,” I told him. “The Uglies have been wiped out.”
He looked up, startled. “That can’t be true,” he protested.
“Have you seen an Uglie lately?” I asked.
“No, but…” He turned and went into the ship. I followed him and found him packing supplies.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To see if what you say is true.”
I packed supplies of my own and followed him.
* * * *
For eight days we traveled along the big, muddy river. We found five villages of the Uglies. All were deserted, with the same signs of death I had observed before. Our last doubt was resolved.
The Uglie race had been obliterated!
On the way back to the ship we found more signs of starvation—starvation of the Pinks. Several times we found emaciated bodies.
In all our wandering we had still seen no animal, I reflected idly. Suddenly I had the answer. “This world has no animals—other than the Pinks and Uglies,” I said, hearing the tone of awakened wonder in my own words.
“I know,” Pastor Gorman answered dully. His shoulders were bowed, as though he carried a great weight. But I wondered if he really understood the situation here.
“The Pinks were the only source of food the Uglies had,” I said. “They had to kill to survive.”
“I know that too—now,” he answered.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” I asked, really angry with him for the first time. “You’ve killed off a noble race, to help a race of sneak thieves. And have you helped even them? Look around you. You’ve upset this world’s ecological balance. Even the race you tried to help is due for starvation and wide-spread death.”
“What you say is true,” he agreed. His face was twisted in lines of dumb agony. “But where was I wrong? I had to do what I could to end that murder of the Pinks. The method I chose may have been unwise, but I know I was right to try to stop that wicked practice.”
“Is the lion wicked because it must kill the antelope—if it is to survive, itself?” I asked. “Here we had the same situation, with the only difference being that the Uglies and the Pinks were more intelligent than the lions and the antelopes. Can you really feel that you are justified in what you did?”
He walked with his head back and his eyes closed tightly, and his face made a flinching grimace at my words. I had no need to goad him further. He had something within that was already serving him his punishment. And would probably continue to do so the rest of his life. He had only done what he knew was God’s will. Yet…
I would not have wanted to face his conscience.
The 19th Golden Age of Science Fiction Page 40