The People

by Зенна Гендерсон

  I stood at the foot of the long lift to the door of the ship and stared upward. People brushing past me were only whisperings and passing shadows.

  "How can they?" I thought despairingly out of the surge of weakness that left me clinging to the wall. "How can they do it? Leaving the Home so casually!" Then a warm hand crept into mine and I looked down into Simon's eyes. "Come on, Gramma," he said. "It'll be all right."

  "I-I-" I looked around me helplessly, then, kneeling swiftly, I took up a handful of dirt-a handful of the Home-and, holding it tightly, I lifted up the long slant with Simon.

  Inside the ship we put our things away in their allotted spaces and Simon tugged me out into the corridor and into a room banked with dials and switches and all the vast array of incomprehensibles that we had all called into being for this terrible moment. No one was in the room except the two of us. Simon walked briskly to a chair in front of a panel and sat down.

  "It's all set," he said, "for the sector of the sky they gave us, but it's wrong." Before I could stop him, his hands moved over the panels, shifting, adjusting, changing.

  "Oh, Simon!" I whispered, "you mustn't!"

  "I must," said Simon. "Now it's set for the sky I See."

  "But they'll notice and change them all back," I trembled.

  "No," said Simon. "It's such a small change that they won't notice it. And we will be where we have to be when we have to be."

  It was as I stood there in the control room that I left the Home. I felt it fade away and become as faint as a dream. I said good-by to it so completely that it startled me to catch a glimpse of a mountaintop through one of the ports as we hurried back to our spaces. Suddenly my heart was light and lifting, so much so that my feet didn't even touch the floor. Oh, how wonderful! What adventures ahead! I felt as though I were spiraling up into a bright Glory that outshone the sun­

  Then, suddenly, came the weakness. My very bones dissolved in me and collapsed me down on my couch. Darkness rolled across me and breathing was a task that took an my weakness to keep going. I felt vaguely the tightening of the restraining straps around me and the clasp of Simon's hand around my clenched fist.

  "Half an hour," the Oldest murmured.

  "Half an hour," the People echoed, amplifying the murmur. I felt myself slipping into the corporate band of communication, feeling with the rest of the Group the incredible length and heartbreaking shortness of the time.

  Then I lost the world again. I was encased in blackness. I was suspended, waiting, hardly even wondering.

  And then it came-the Call.

  How unmistakable! I was Called back into the Presence! My hours were totaled. It was all finished. This-side was a preoccupation that concerned me no longer. My face must have lighted as Thann's had. All the struggle, all the sorrow, all the separation-finished. Now would come the three or four days during which I must prepare, dispose of my possessions, say my good-bys-Good-bys? I struggled up against the restraining straps. But we were leaving! In less than half an hour I would have no quiet, cool bed to lay me down upon when I left my body, no fragrant grass to have pulled up over my cast-aside, no solemn sweet remembrance by my family in the next Festival for those Called during the year!

  Simon I called subvocally. You know! I cried. What shall 1 do?

  I See you staying. His answer came placidly.

  Staying? Oh how quickly I caught the picture! How quickly my own words came back to me, coldly white against the darkness of my confusion. Such space and emptiness from horizon to horizon, from pole to pole, from skytop to ground. And only me. Nobody else anywhere, anywhere!

  Stay here all alone? I asked Simon. But he wasn't Seeing me any more. Already I was alone. I felt the frightened tears start and then I heard Lytha's trusting voice-until your promise is kept. All my fear dissolved. All my panic and fright blazed up suddenly in a repeat of the Call.

  "Listen!" I cried, my voice high and excited, my heart surging joyously, "Listen!"

  "Oh, David! Oh, 'Chell! I've been Called! Don't you hear it? Don't you hear it!" "Oh, Mother, no! No! You must be mistaken!" David loosed himself and bent over me.

  "No," whispered 'Chell. "I feel it. She is Called."

  "Now I can stay," I said, fumbling at the straps. "Help me, David, help me."

  "But you're not summoned right now!" cried David. "Father knew four days before he was received into the Presence. We can't leave you alone in a doomed, empty world!"

  "An empty world!" I stood up quickly, holding to David to steady myself. "Oh, David! A world full of all dearness and nearness and remembering! And doomed? It will be a week yet. I will be received before then. Let me out! Oh, let me out!"

  "Stay with us, Mother!" cried David, taking both my hands in his. "We need you. We can't let you go. All the tumult and upheaval that's to start so soon for the Home-"

  "How do we know what tumult and upheaval you will be going through in the Crossing?" I asked. "But beyond whatever comes there's a chance of a new life waiting for you. But for me-What of four days from now? What would you do with my cast-aside? What could you do but push it out into the black nothingness. Let it be with the Home. Let it at least become dust among familiar dust!" I felt as excited as a teener. "Oh, David! To be with Thann again!"

  I turned to Lytha and quickly unfastened her belt.

  "There'll be room for one more in this ship," I said.

  For a long moment, we looked into each other's eyes and then, almost swifter than thought, Lytha was up and running for the big door. My thoughts went ahead of her and before Lytha's feet lifted out into the open air, all the Old Ones in the ship knew what had happened and their thoughts went out. Before Lytha was halfway up the little hills that separated ship from ship, Timmy surged into sight and gathered her close as they swung around toward our ship.

  Minutes ran out of the half hour like icy beads from a broken string, but finally I was slanting down from the ship, my cheeks wet with my own tears and those of my family. Clearly above the clang of the closing door I heard Simon's call. Good-by, Gramma! I told you it'd be all right. See-you-soon!

  Hurry hurry hurry whispered my feet as I ran. Hurry hurry hurry whispered the wind as I lifted away from the towering ships. Now now now whispered my heart as I turned back from a safe distance, my skirts whipped by the rising wind, my hair lashing across my face.

  The six slender ships pointing at the sky were like silver needles against the rolling black clouds. Suddenly there were only five-then four-then three. Before I could blink the tears from my eyes, the rest were gone, and the ground where they had stood flowed back on itself and crackled with cooling.

  The fingers of the music drew me back into the home. I breathed deeply of the dear familiar odors. I straightened a branch of the scarlet leaves that had slipped awry in the blue vase. I steadied myself against a sudden shifting under my feet and my shield activated as hail spattered briefly through the window. I looked out, filled with a great peace, to the swell of browning hills, to the upward reach of snow-whitened mountains, to the brilliant huddled clumps of trees sowing their leaves on the icy wind. "My Home!" I whispered, folding my heart around it all, knowing what my terror and lostness would have been had I stayed behind without the Call.

  With a sigh, I went out to the kitchen and counted the four rosy eggs in the green dish. I fingered the stove into flame and, lifting one of the eggs, cracked it briskly against the pan.

  That night there were no stars, but the heavy rolls of clouds were lighted with fitful lightnings and somewhere far over the horizon the molten heart of a mountain range was crimson and orange against the night. I lay on my bed letting the weakness wash over me, a tide that would soon bear me away. The soul is a lonely voyager at any time, but the knowledge that I was the last person in a dying world was like a weight crushing me. I was struggling against the feeling when I caught a clear, distinct call-"Gramma!"

  "Simon!" My lips moved to his name.

  "We're all fine, Gramma, and I just Saw Eve
with two children of her own, so they will make it to a new Home."

  "Oh, Simon! I'm so glad you told me!" I clutched my bed as it rocked and

  twisted. I heard stones falling from the garden wall, then one wall of my room dissolved into dust that glowed redly before it settled.

  "Things are a little untidy here," I said. "I must get out another blanket. It's a little drafty, too." "You'll be all right, Gramma," Simon's thought came warmly. "Will you wait for me when you get Otherside?"

  "If I can," I promised.

  "Good night, Gramma," said Simon.

  "Good night, Simon." I cradled my face on my dusty pillow. "Good night."

  "Oh!" breathed Meris, out of her absorption. "All alone like that! The last, last anyone, anywhere-"

  "But she had the Home longer than anyone else," said Valancy. "She had that dear familiarity to close her eyes upon before opening them in the Presence-"

  "But how could Bethie possibly remember-" began Meris.

  "It's something we can't quite explain," said Jemmy. "It's a Group consciousness that unites us across time and distance. I guess Simon's communicating with Eva-lee before he was Called brought her Assembling more directly to us. Eve, you know, was Bethie's mother."

  "It's overwhelming," said Karen soberly. "We know, of course, about the Home and how it was lost, but until you're actually inside an emotion, you can't really comprehend it. Just imagine, to know that the solidness of earth beneath your feet is to become dust scattered across the sky so soon-so soon!"

  The group was silent for a while, listening to memories and to a Past that was so Present.

  The silence was suddenly shattered by a crashing roar that startled everyone into an awareness of Now.

  "Good heavens!" cried Meris. "What's that!"

  "Adonday veeah!" muttered Jemmy. "They've got that old clunker going again. Johannan must have done something drastic to it."

  "Well, he started it just in time to stop it," said Valancy. "We've got a journey to go and we'd better eat and run. Karen, is it all ready?"

  "Yes," said Karen, heading for the shadowy house. "Meris has a lovely kitchen. I move that we move in there to eat. It's chilling a little out here now. Jemmy, will you get the boys?"

  "I'll set the table!" cried Lala, launching herself airborne toward the kitchen door.

  "Lala." Valancy's voice was quiet, but Lala checked in mid-flight and tumbled down to her feet. "Oh!" she said, her hands over her mouth. "I did forget, after I promised!"

  "Yes, you did forget," said Valancy. her voice disappointed, "and after you promised."

  "I guess I need some more discipline," said Lala solemnly.

  "A promise is not lightly broken."

  "What would you suggest?" asked Karen from the kitchen door, as solemnly as Lala.

  "Not set the table?" suggested Lala, with a visible reluctance. "Not tonight," she went on gauging carefully the adult reaction. "Not for a week?" She sighed and capitulated. "Not set the table for a whole month. And every meal remember a promise is not lightly broken. Control is necessary. Never be un-Earth away from the Group unless I'm told to." And she trudged, conscientiously heavy-footed, into the house with Karen.

  "Isn't that a little harsh?" asked Marls. "She does so love to set the table."

  "She chose the discipline," said Valancy. "She must learn not to act thoughtlessly. Maybe she has a little more to remember in the way of rules and regulations than the usual small child, but it must become an automatic part of her behavior."

  "But at six-" protested Meris, then laughed "-or is it five!"

  "Five or six, she understands," said Valancy. "An undisciplined child is an

  abomination under any circumstances. And doubly so when it's possible to show off as spectacularly as Lala could. Debbie had quite a problem concerning control when she returned from the New Home, and she was no child."

  "Returned from the New Home?" said Meris, pausing in the door. "Someone else? Oh, Valancy, do you have to go home tonight? Couldn't you stay for a while and tell me some more? You want to Assemble anyway, don't you? Couldn't you now? You can't leave me hanging like this!"

  "Well," Valancy smiled and followed Meris into the kitchen. "That's an idea. We'll take it up after supper."

  Jemmy sipped his after-supper coffee and leaned back in his chair. "I've been thinking," he said. "This business of Assembling. We have already Assembled our history from when Valancy joined our Group up to the time Lala and the ship came. We did it while we were all trying to make up our minds whether to leave Earth or stay. Davy's recording gadget has preserved it for us. I think it would be an excellent idea for us to get Eva-lee's story recorded, too, and whatever other ones are available to us or can be made available."

  "Mother Assembled a lot because she was separated from the People when she was so young," said Bethie softly.

  "Assembling was almost her only comfort, especially before and after Father. She didn't know anything about the rest of her family-" Bethie whitened. "Oh, must we remember the bad times! The aching, hurting, cruel times?"

  "There was kindness and love and sacrifice for us interwoven with the cruel times, too, you know," said Jemmy. "If we refuse to remember those times, we automatically refuse to remember the goodness that we found along with the evil."

  "Yes," admitted Bethie. "Yes, of course."

  "Well, if I can't persuade all of you to stay, why can't Bethie stay a while longer and Assemble?" asked Meris.

  "Then she'll have a lot of material ready for Davy's gadget when she gets home."

  And so it was that Meris, Mark, and Bethie stood in the driveway and watched the rest of the party depart prosaically by car for the canyon-if you can call prosaic the shuddering, slam-bang departing of the Overland, now making up clamorously for its long afternoon of silence.

  Assembling is not a matter of turning a faucet on and dodging the gushing of memories. For several days Bethie drifted, speechless and perhaps quite literally millions of miles away, through the house, around the patio, up and down the quiet street and back into the patio. She came to the table at mealtimes and sometimes ate. Other times her eyes were too intent on far away and long ago to notice food. At times tears streaked her face and once she woke Mark and Meris with a sharp cry in the night. Meris was worried by her pallor and the shadows on her face as the days passed.

  Then finally came the day when Bethie's eyes were suddenly back in focus and, relaxing with a sigh onto the couch, she smiled at Meris.

  "Hi!" she said shyly. "I'm back."

  "And all in one piece again," said Maria. "And about time, too! 'Licia has a drake-tail in her hair now-all both of them. And she smiled once when it couldn't possibly have been a gas pain!" So, after supper that night, Mark and Meris sat in the deepening dusk of the patio, each holding lightly one of Bethie's hands.

  "This one," said Bethie, her smile fading, "is one I didn't enjoy. Not all of it. But, as Jemmy said, it had good things mixed in."

  Hands tightened on hands, then relaxed as the two listened to Bethie Assembling, subvocally

  ANGELS UNAWARES

  HEBREWS 13:2

  I still have it, the odd, flower-shaped piece of metal, showing the flow marks on top and the pocking of sand and gravel on its bottom. It fits my palm comfortably with my fingers clasped around it, and has fitted it so often that the edges are smooth and burnished now, smooth against the fine white line of the scar where the sharp, shining, still-hot edge gashed me when I snatched it up, unbelievingly, from where it had dripped, molten, from the sloping wall to the sandy floor of the canyon beyond Margin. It is a Remembrance thing and, as I handled it just now, looking unseeingly out across the multiple roofs of Margin Today, it recalled to me vividly Margin Yesterday-and even before Margin.

  We had been on the road only an hour when we came upon the scene. For fifteen minutes or so before, however, there had been an odd smell on the wind, one that crinkled my nose and made old Nig snort and toss his head, shaking the harn
ess and disturbing Prince, who lifted his patient head, looked around briefly, then returned to the task.

  We were the task, Nils and I and our wagonload of personal belongings, trailing behind us Molly, our young Jersey cow. We were on our way to Margin to establish a home. Nils was to start his shining new mining engineering career, beginning as superintendent of the mine that had given birth to Margin. This was to be a first step only, of course, leading to more accomplished, more rewarding positions culminating in all the vague, bright, but most wonderful of futures that could blossom from this rather unprepossessing present seed. We were as yet three days' journey from Margin when we rounded the sharp twist of the trail, our iron tires grating in the sand of the wash, and discovered the flat.

  Nils pulled the horses up to a stop. A little below us and near the protective bulge of the gray granite hillside were the ruins of a house and the crumpled remains of sheds at one end of a staggering corral. A plume of smoke lifted finger-straight in the early morning air. There was not a sign of life anywhere.

  Nils flapped the reins and clucked to the horses. We crossed the flat, lurching a little when the left wheels dipped down into one of the cuts that, after scoring the flat disappeared into the creek.

  "Must have burned down last night," said Nils, securing the reins and jumping down. He lifted his arms to help me from the high seat and held me in a tight, brief hug as he always does. Then he released me and we walked over to the crumple of the corral.

  "All the sheds went," he said, "and. apparently the animals, too." He twisted his face at the smell that rose from the smoldering mass.

  "They surely would have saved the animals," I said, frowning. "They wouldn't have left them locked in a burning shed."