The Land of Foam

by Ivan Yefremov

  The next day the elephants climbed on to a stony plateau overgrown with tall bushes so bent by the wind that they bowed down to the earth in green humps scattered about the grey dry grass.

  Every breath of the wind that blew in their faces brought a pleasant freshness. Pandion brightened up. The air was filled with a strange fragrance, long forgotten yet still familiar and infinitely dear; but soon it was lost amongst the strong perfumes wind-carried from the sun-heated leaves of the forest that lay below them. Wide, easy slopes stretched to a great distance, dark strips and patches of forest thickets marring the even blue of their bare surface. Far away on the horizon a high mountain range loomed purple in the haze.

  “Tengrela, my country, is over there!” screamed Kidogo in ecstasies of joy and the whole party turned to look in that direction.

  Kidogo waved his arms, sobbed and laughed and his mighty shoulders shook with excitement. Pandion could well understand the feelings of his friend, but nevertheless an indeterminate sense of jealousy embittered him; Kidogo had reached his homeland, but how much had he, Pandion, to overcome before the great hour came when he, like his friend, would be able to say: “This is my native land!”

  Unnoticed by the others, Pandion turned away and his head drooped; at that moment he could not share his friend’s joy.

  The elephants descended a bare black slope of volcanic rock where no vegetation could get a foothold on the solidified lava. Their path crossed a level platform dotted with numerous small lakes. The gleaming stretches of clear, blue water stood out in sharp contrast to the black banks. Pandion gave a shudder as he suddenly saw before him Thessa’s deep blue eyes and black tresses. The blue lakes seemed to be looking at him in reproach like the eyes of Thessa herself. Pandion’s thoughts carried him back to Oeniadae, a vague but strong feeling of impatience filled his breast, and he moved over to his friend and embraced him. The tanned sinewy hand of Cavius lay in Kidogo’s black hand and the three friends joined their hands in a firm and joyous handshake.

  The elephants were continuing the descent; the banks of a broad river-valley spread on both sides of them. A little farther on, it was joined by a similar valley on the right, and the two streams they carried, joining into a single river, raced on, gaining more water the farther they went. For a time the elephants followed the left bank, marching at the foot of a line of eroded cliffs. Ahead of them the cliffs dropped back from the river whose pure, clear water gurgled merrily as it rushed on through the shade of tall trees, that met in a green arch over the river which was here some fifteen cubits wide. The elephants halted before they reached the trees.

  “This is the place,” said the caravan leader. “We don’t go any farther.”

  The three friends descended from their elephant and said farewell to their hosts. The caravan crossed the river and the three friends stood for a long time watching the great grey beasts climb the slope leading to a flat-topped eminence to the north of the river. An involuntary sigh of regret broke from the lips of all three as the mighty animals disappeared into the distance. The friends lit signal fires to guide the party that was following behind on foot.

  “Let us go and look for reeds and small trees to build rafts with,” said Kidogo to the Etruscan. “We can make the rest of the journey quickly by water. You, cripple, wait here by the fire and look after your leg,” said the Negro to Pandion with rough tenderness.

  Pandion and Cavius left Kidogo on the bank of the river amongst his fellow-tribesmen.

  The smell of the nearby sea intoxicated the two friends, who had grown up on its shores. They pushed off their raft and floated down the left-hand sleeve of the river. Soon the raft was brought to rest on a sand bar. The friends climbed up the steep bank, their feet and legs tangling in the tall grass. They made their way over a hilly ridge and, panting with excitement, hurried to the top and stood stock-still in silence, unable to speak or even to breathe.

  They were overwhelmed by the endless expanse of the ocean; the gentle splashing of the waves sounded like thunder to them. Cavius and Pandion stood breast-high in the tall grass with the feathery leaves of palm-trees waving high over their heads. The line where the green of the foothills joined the burning sunlit sands of the seashore looked almost black. The golden sand was fringed with the silver line of the surf beyond which transparent green waves rose and fell. Farther out at sea a straight line marked the edge of the offshore reefs, dazzlingly white against the blue of the open sea. Light fluffy patches of cloud dotted the sky. On the beach, a clump of five palms leaned out over the water, the light even breeze opening their leaves out and then folding them again like the tattered wings of birds with dark-brown and golden feathers. The leaves of the palms, the colour of cast bronze, shut out the view of the sea and their sharp edges were tinged with brilliant fire, so great was the strength of the sun that shone through them. The moist wind, bringing with it the salt smell of the sea, flowed over Pandion’s face and bare breast as though it were embracing him after years of separation.

  Cavius and Pandion sat down on the cool firm sand that was as level as the floor of a house.

  After a short rest they threw themselves into the gently rolling waves and the sea welcomed them, tossing them tenderly on her bosom. Pandion and Cavius, their arms cutting through the sparkling crests of the waves, enjoyed to the full the smell of the salt spray until the sea-water began to make their healing wounds burn. When they left the water the two friends stood on the beach feasting their eyes on the distant ocean. It spread before them like a blue bridge that somewhere joined the waters of their native sea; at that very moment similar waves were rolling against the white cliffs of Hellas and the yellow rocks of Cavius’ native Etruria.

  The young Hellene felt his eyes fill with tears of joyous excitement; he no longer thought of the tremendous distance that still separated him from his home. Here was the sea and beyond it Thessa was waiting for him; there awaited everything that was near and dear to him, abandoned and hidden by years of harsh trials and the countless stadia of wearisome journey.

  The two friends stood on a narrow strip of beach, their faces to the sea. Behind them rose high mountains covered with ominous forests, the fringe of a strange land whose burning deserts, plains, dry plateaux and dark and humid forests had held them captive so long; a land that had taken years of life from them, years that could have been devoted to their families. Their liberation had been bought by a long heroic struggle and titanic effort. If all that effort had been devoted to their native lands, it would have earned them honour and glory.

  Cavius placed his heavy hands on Pandion’s shoulder.

  “Our fate is now in our own hands, Pandion!” he exclaimed. The fires of passion gleamed in his eyes, usually dark and morose. “There are two of us; surely we can reach the waters of the Green Sea now that we have fought our way to the shores of the Great Arc. Yes, we shall return and on the way we shall be the mainstay of our Libyan companions, who know little of navigation…”

  Pandion nodded his head but did not speak. Now that he stood face to face with the sea he felt absolute confidence in his own strength.

  Kidogo’s voice rang out over the beach. The worried Negro, followed by a crowd of his excited tribesmen and his fellow-travellers, was seeking the friends. Pandion and Cavius were taken back to the river and were ferried across to the other side where several oxen awaited them for the transport of the wounded and their weapons arid other belongings.

  A short stage would bring their wanderings to an end. The promise made by Kidogo under the trees on the banks of the Nile, when they stood beside their dying comrades after the terrible battle with the rhinoceros, had been fulfilled. All nineteen of the former slaves were given a hearty welcome and an opportunity to rest in a huge village near the sea, on the banks of a wide river that flowed parallel to the one they had floated down after leaving the Elephant People.

  As far as Pandion and Cavius were concerned, the finest thing of all was the news that the Sons of the Win
d, after an interval of twenty years, had, in the previous year, again visited those shores. “Sons of the Wind” was the name given by Kidogo’s tribe to the Sea People who had, from time immemorial, come periodically from the northern seas to the Southern Horn in search of ivory, gold, medicinal herbs and the skins of wild beasts. The local people said that the Sons of the Wind were in outward appearance like the Etruscan and the Hellene, only their skin was darker and their hair even more curly. The year before four black ships had come, following the ancient route of their forefathers. The Sons of the Wind had promised to come again as soon as the period of storms in the Sea of Mists was over. According to the calculations of experienced people, the ships should come in three months time. It would take them much longer to build their own ship, quite apart from the fact that the sea route was unknown to them. Pandion and Cavius doubted whether the Sea People would take them on board their ships together with ten of their comrades, but Kido-go, winking and chuckling mysteriously, said that he would arrange that.

  There was nothing left to do but wait, although they were tormented by uncertainty. The Sons of the Wind might not return again for another twenty years. Pandion and Cavius comforted themselves with the thought that if the ships did not appear by the appointed time they would begin building their own ship.

  Kidogo’s return was an event that was celebrated by noisy feasting. Pandion soon grew tired of the feasts; he grew tired, too, of hearing his prowess praised and of having to repeat stories about his native land and about the adventures he had been through.

  Quite accidentally it happened that Kidogo, constantly surrounded by his relatives and friends, distracted by the admiration of the women, somehow got separated from Pandion and Cavius, and the friends met less frequently. Kidogo was now journeying into the new life by his own path which did not coincide with that of his friends. Those of Kidogo’s travelling companions who belonged to related tribes soon left for their own homes. The party that was left consisted of Pandion, Cavius and ten Libyans, who considered that their return home depended on the Etruscan and the Hellene.

  The twelve strangers were accommodated in a big house of grey-green sun-dried clay, but Kidogo insisted that Cavius and Pandion move to a beautiful dome-shaped house near his own. After the many years of wandering, Pandion was able at last to sleep on his own bed. These people did not sleep on skins or bundles of grass on the ground; they made bedsteads, wooden frames on legs, which supported a net of plaited, pliable reeds, that gave rest to the body and was especially pleasant for Pandion’s wounded leg.

  Pandion now had a great deal of spare time which he spent near the sea where he sat for hours either alone or with Cavius, listening to the regular rumble of the waves. He was in a state of constant alarm. His boundless vitality had been sapped by the vicissitudes of his long journey in a hot debilitating climate. He had changed greatly and admitted it himself. There had been a time when, given wings by youth and love, he had been able to leave behind the girl he loved, his home and his native land, following the urge to learn more of the art of the ancients, to see foreign lands and to learn something of life.

  Now he knew the meaning of the bitterest nostalgia, he knew the meaning of joyless captivity, the oppressiveness of despair, the stultifying drudgery of the slave. Uneasily Pandion asked himself whether or not his creative inspiration had left him, whether or not he was capable of becoming a great artist. At the same time he felt that he had seen and experienced much that had left its mark on him, that had enriched him with a great knowledge of life, with numerous unforgettable impressions.

  Pandion would often gaze lovingly at the spear presented to him by the father of his lost Iruma, the spear that he had carried through plains and forest, the spear that had so often saved him in moments of mortal danger. He regarded it as a symbol of manly courage, a guarantee of human fearlessness in the struggle against the Nature that reigns supreme in the hot expanses of Africa. He would carefully stroke the long blade before he returned it to the bag that Iruma had stitched. This piece of leather, brightly embroidered in wool, was all that was left to remind him of the distant, kind and gentle girl that he had met at the crossroads on his difficult journey home. With these thoughts in his mind Pandion turned to look at the dark mountains that stood between the ocean and the country he had passed through. The endless days of that long journey floated slowly before his eyes…

  And over all stood the image of Iruma, full of life, and beckoning him irresistibly… She was the same as he had seen her the last time, standing against the trunk of the tree whose flowers were like red torches… Pandion’s heart began to beat faster. His imagination gave him a perfect picture of the sheen of her dark and tender skin, her mischievous eyes filled with the fires of passion… Iruma’s tiny round face drew, close to his and he heard the endearing notes of her voice…

  Pandion gradually became acquainted with the manners and customs of Kidogo’s jolly and friendly people. They were tall, their black skins had a coppery hue, all of them were well built. Most of them engaged in agricultural pursuits. They cultivated the low palms for their oil-bearing nuts and also bananas, huge herbaceous plants with gigantic leaves that spread fanwise from a bunch of soft stems. The curved, crescent-shaped fruit of the banana plant grew in huge clusters and provided tasty and aromatic food. Bananas were gathered in large numbers and formed the staple diet of the people. Pandion enjoyed them greatly, eating them raw, boiled or fried in oil. The local inhabitants also engaged in hunting, gathered ivory and skins and also collected the magic, chestnut-like nuts that had cured Pandion of his strange torpor; they also kept poultry and herds of cattle.

  There were many skilled craftsmen amongst Kidogo’s people — builders, smiths and potters. Pandion admired the work of many artists whose skill was no whit less than that of Kidogo.

  Their huge houses, built of squared stones, sun-baked brick or hard, rammed clay, were all decorated with intricate and beautiful ornaments carved with great precision on the walls. In some cases the walls were decorated with highly coloured frescoes that reminded Pandion of the ancient frescoes in Crete. He saw earthenware vessels of beautiful shape and covered with fine drawings, delicately executed. In the buildings devoted to public meetings and in the houses of the chiefs there were many coloured wooden statues. Pandion greatly admired the carvings of people and animals in which characteristic features were portrayed by the faithful recording of the artist’s impression.

  Pandion, however, considered that the sculptors of Kidogo’s tribe lacked a profound understanding of form. The same was true of the masters of Aigyptos. The statues of Tha-Quem were lifeless in their fixed poses despite the precision with which they were carved and the brilliant finish that resulted from many centuries of experience. Kidogo’s people, on the contrary, recorded in their carvings the most acute impressions but only in partial, deliberately stressed details. When the young Hellene pondered over the work of the local craftsmen, he had a vague feeling that the path to perfection in sculpture must lie in some completely new direction and not in the blind effort to reproduce nature nor in attempts to reflect certain partial impressions.

  Kidogo’s people loved music and played on complicated instruments made of rows of little wooden planks fixed on long hollow gourds. Some of the sad and tenderly expansive songs affected Pandion greatly, reminding him of the songs of his homeland.

  Cavius was sitting beside the dying fire near their house, chewing stimulating leaves* and pensively stirring with a stick ashes in which yellow fruits were baking.

  (Leaves from any bush of the Sterculiaceae family.)He had learned to make flour from bananas and bake cakes from it.

  Pandion came out of the house, sat down beside his friend and looked idly over the high rows of the houses and at passers-by.

  A soft evening light descended on the dusty paths and was lost in the motionless branches of the shady trees.

  Suddenly Pandion’s attention was attracted to a passing woman. He had noticed
her when they first arrived at Kidogo’s village, but since then had not chanced to meet her. He knew that it was Nyora, the wife of one of Kidogo’s relatives. Even in a tribe whose women were famous for their beauty, Nyora was outstanding. She walked slowly past the friends with all the dignity of a woman who was conscious of her own beauty. Pandion gazed at her in frank admiration, and the creative urge came back to him in all its former strength.

  Nyora wore a piece of greenish-blue cloth tightly bound round her loins; a string of blue beads, heavy heart-shaped earrings and a narrow gold band on her left wrist were her only ornaments. Her short black hair was gathered on the crown of her head and braided in a fantastic style that made her head seem longer. Her big eyes showed calm from under long lashes and the cheek-bones under the eyes formed little round hillocks, like those of healthy and well-fed children amongst the Hellenes.

  Her smooth black skin was so resilient that her body seemed to be cast from iron; it shone in the rays of the setting sun, its coppery hue turning to gold. Her long neck, inclined slightly forward, gave her head a proud poise.

  Pandion admired Nyora’s tall and lithe figure, her easy but restrained movements. To him she seemed like an incarnation of one of the three Graces, goddesses that, according to the belief of his country, had control over living beauty and made its attraction irresistible.

  Suddenly the Etruscan gave Pandion a light tap on the head with his stick.

  “Why don’t you run after her?” asked Cavius, half in joke and half in chagrin. “You Hellenes are always ready to fall in love with a woman…”

  Pandion looked at his friend without anger but rather as though he were seeing him for the first time and then threw his arms impetuously round his shoulders.

  “Listen, Cavius, you don’t like to talk about yourself… Aren’t you at all interested in women? Don’t you feel how beautiful they are? Don’t you feel that they are part of all this,” Pandion made a sweeping circle with him arm, “the sea, the sun, the beautiful world?”