Vamireh

by J. -H. Rosny aîné

  Elem interposed herself again. The deflected arrow vanished in the darkness.

  Then the others armed themselves—but Vamireh disappeared while the chief sadly put a stop to the pursuit. “Don’t run to death. He could not understand my words, and your cries frightened him.”

  The fire received new combustible materials, and while the flames burned brightly, the Orientals went back to sleep, distressed by the incident in which their naivety in thinking that they had been understood had rendered the chief’s prudence futile.

  XV. Reinforcements

  Dawn was expanding over the forest and the old man was still undecided. It was now impossible to fight the wild man with any certainty of victory; his far superior strength put open combat out of the question, and any ambush would fail by virtue of his prudence. Reinforcements could only be obtained from tribes more than two weeks’ march away. Should he reconnoiter the enemy territory and come back with an army? Might some insurmountable obstacle present itself, though? Did the forest have an end?

  Long were his prayers and the rites that gave voice to his thoughts. In the pale flames of the fire and the arabesques of the branches his gaze sought the answer to the enigma, but he said nothing; tribal wisdom holds that a prudent chief act without causing the inexperienced caprice of the young to hesitate. He picked up his weapons, studied the direction of the shadows, observed the flight of certain birds, and then took his companions away.

  They soon understood that they were marching southwards. Great plains extended in that direction all the way to high hills—infertile plains into which rare explorers ventured; it was dog territory. A little further to the east, after a journey of six days, they would have been able to meet friendly tribes. The young ones were astonished, but said nothing.

  The journey proceeded, punctuated by brief halts. They maintained their direction until dusk. The night was bad; torrential rain poured down on the forest four hours before dawn. The fire was extinguished, and their soaked bodies shivered in every gust of wind. It was necessary to construct a shelter, and the daylight was already bright when they got under way again.

  The four sullen men were no longer talking to one another. Everything radiated ferocity; the rain pierced all shade; the earth impeded their feet with heavy mud; the prowling of predators in the thickets was a perpetual threat. A pack of wolves began to follow them at a distance, in anticipation of a death. Snakes multiplied, ominously suspended from branches. The dread of winter whipped up their appetites; it was necessary to fight wolves for a slain hind. Nostalgia for huts and caves filtered into the Orientals’ hearts, requited by dreams of the joys of the hearth. The old man alone remained impenetrable, bowing his head beneath the downpours and accepting the contrary fate.

  The second night was particularly cold; fortunately, they discovered another clearing, on the edge of which they succeeded in maintaining a fire of twigs. They got under way again early; the moss on the trees and flocks of birds flying toward the plains were again sufficient for orientation. They were less certain, though, forced to make numerous halts. The young men looked at one another furtively and somberly, obstinately turning their faces eastwards. Around the eighth hour, they began to exchange words in low voices, and appeared to be animated by a leaven of revolt.

  Meanwhile, the old man marched on, robust and proud. He began to think aloud, gravely, and even to laugh with a sort of enthusiasm. Sagacious, by the standards of those primitive times, he seemed to be gifted with a far and double sight, and a revelatory inner voice.

  In the middle of the day the Sun pierced the clouds. A warm and sweet-scented mist rose from the ground. The old man extended his arms and shouted prayers at the star, then turned to his companions.

  “Who has the right to exempt himself from obedience? If the Council wants your hut, you must surrender your hut; if it wants your arm, you must surrender your arm; if it wants your life, you must surrender your life. Am I not, in spite of my age, the strongest of us and the cleverest? Your hair is not white and the Spirits do not speak to you as yet. Curb your pride, or it will bring great misfortune upon you!”

  Repentance and terror filled the souls of the young men then; they prostrated themselves and yielded once again to the authority of experience. The chief announced that they would reach the edge of the forest at twilight, as confirmed by the presence of large migratory quadrupeds, lovers of the plain.

  They felt safe again, and hopeful, in spite of the rain, the dark forest and the increased numbers of wandering predators. Six wolves perished under their poisoned arrows; the rest scattered. The humans seemed to have regained the scepter—but the cataracts fell even harder, and an impetuous wind rushed through the treetops; the predators emerged from the shadows, anxiously, and the maltreated humans became lamentable again.

  The wolves regrouped; the laughter of large hyenas in the undergrowth became sharper. The approach of dusk redoubled the hostile voices, the clamor of hateful lives. The Orientals started trotting. The breath of wolves panted behind them; the wind blinded them with volleys of dead leaves. The eyelid of the night closed rapidly upon the torment. Then the chief stopped.

  The wolves with phosphorous pupils closed their circle more tightly. They howled, their lips pulled back over sharp fangs. They had few arrows left; it was impossible to make a fire. It was necessary to resign themselves to march by night, with infinite precautions. In any case, the edge of the forest would be their salvation. Slowly, keeping the wolves at bay with spears, the three Asiatics continued on their way…

  After the third hour of darkness—the ninth since noon—they perceived a clearing opening on to the plain. The chief formed the rearguard, his desiccated fibers full of resistance, still petrifying the confused wolf-pack with his gaze, but ready to succumb.

  To the victorious shouts of the humans, a distant barking responded. The wolves howled in profound anguish; then a rustling became audible in the thickets, the friction of hundreds of invisible bodies, abrupt volleys of yapping and the defeat of the wolves, followed by their flight, in the midst of growls of rage and cries of helplessness and agony.

  Then the tranquil Orientals reached the limit of the forest. There, in a troop under the leadership of a captain, their allies the dogs were waiting for their friends.

  XVI. The Rain

  The diluvian period of summer, which covered the Quaternary sky every year, was approaching. The wind freshened then; cold often killed flowers and fruits on the branch, and immense consecutive famines exterminated the fructivores. The rivers and streams overflowed. Humans cloistered themselves in highland caves, well-provisioned, and hibernated, passing the time fabricating tools and weapons.

  In anticipation of these evil days, Vamireh paddled all day long. Elem, conquered and submissive, helped. The cooked flesh of red deer served as nourishment, with the addition of wild fruits, fresh roots and eggs stolen from belated nests. Vamireh watched over Elem tenderly, and their nights on the fluvial shores had the immense poetry of childishness. They were well-protected against the torrential rain; the canoe, supported by four pillars, served as a roof; large branches were distributed on every side, and the spelaea pelt sealed the windward side. It was during this time that the tall western nomad became the spouse of the daughter of countries unknown.

  The crackling rain—the loud noise of the forest peppered by the invasion of the drops—was already presaging winter and the joy of the Refuge. The first cold spell confirmed the prognosis. Vamireh, deprived of clothing in favor of Elem, shivered in the precocious north wind. The next day, he was obliged to spend the morning hunting for some furry beast. A bear was ambushed, its heart traversed by a spear-thrust. Its brain, combined with the brain and bone marrow of a reindeer, served to imbue the hide, which had been well scraped in advance, stripped of its fat and tendons.

  From then on, they were both warm while they slept. Elem, delighting in the comfort, laughed softly, infinitely confident, but Vamireh remained anxious about the imminent d
eluges of rain, which would render the forest uninhabitable. The predators, more aggressive, and the dangerously hungry wolf packs, would amplify the eternal battle in the thickets; weapons would be broken in the perpetual conflict. It might be necessary to stop over for weeks in some cave to make more harpoons and spears, not to mention the nocturnal harshness of temporary encampments and the ferocious downpours beneath the open sky.

  However ungentle the beginning of the diluvian period might be, they could reach the caves by the end of July, but only by making haste and making use of every day. Vamireh was not remiss in that; from dawn to dusk his vigorous hands plied the paddle. Unfortunately, the canoe suffered some damage, and it was necessary to spend three days carefully repairing it.

  Finally, they took to the water again. The swollen river, stained with mud, was already overflowing its lower banks. The current offered more opposition; it was necessary to keep to the side; large floating tree-trunks were an ever present threat, along with terrible tangled masses of algae.

  Elem spent the greater part of the day wrapped up in her fur, in a daze as the water went by. Meals were her principal occupation. In order to take them, they moored the canoe in an inlet. Thanks to a provision of twigs kept under cover, the fire flamed well enough to finish cooking a portion of deer, a wading bird or a fish harpooned en route.

  The cold dry climate of the Magdalenian Era on the steppes of Europe, although ameliorated in the south-east, nevertheless involved the sudden return of cold before the autumnal equinox. That return gave rise to partial migrations among monkeys, fallow deer, jackals, rodents, and wading birds. Anthropoids then retreated toward the tropics, while the mammoth herds arrived in greater numbers and the forefathers of the Indian elephant, the descendants of the great Chellean anticus, came down from the mountains.

  Vamireh sometimes stopped paddling when a herd of fallow deer or jackals appeared on the bank as he was passing, but he was veritably impassioned by an exodus of monkeys along some defile, or when they swung through the treetops from one islet to the next to reach the other shore. Flowing in their hundreds, with stormy shrieks, they were seen swinging out and leaping 20 meters, catching hold of branches and leaping again. Their faces grimaced, as if moved by thoughts; they made very human gestures, scratching their foreheads, picking off their lice, sitting on their backsides, peeling fruit with their fingers and teeth. Vamireh found their ornately-bordered ears, their forward-directed eyes, the dexterity and intelligence of their movements extremely charming.

  One day, a furious mother threw her child on to the ground. The young monkey, injured, moaned in vain; the others seemed reluctant to burden their column with an invalid. Moved, the tall nomad ran to pick up the infant. He found it whimpering, clutching its breast. Placed in the warm, with fruit nearby, the animal became docile. It liked to sleep in Elem’s lap, to install itself on Vamireh’s shoulder, to catch water in its hand and to quarrel with its reflection in the river; the mere sight of it, mobile, full of caprices, devoted to little games, made Vamireh’s heart swell.

  Was there a race of human dwarfs? On this matter, he interrogated Elem, and learned that their language was unknown, that they lived like animals. She mentioned the men of the woods, however, constructors of huts, and Vamireh remembered the creature with the amber eyes, spare hair and furry body that he had encountered previously.

  One day, at the hour when a vague redness trembling in the daylight announced the setting of the sovereign star, Elem uttered a scream and the Pzânn’s paddle ceased stirring the waves. Humans had appeared on the right bank. They were small in stature, with curved spines, and a sad and humble ugliness was fixed upon their faces. Armed only with ancient clubs, black hair gathered in little tufts hung down to their chins.

  “They’re worm-eaters,” Elem murmured, in disgust. “In summer, they go into the forests and nourish themselves on soft creatures hidden in shells. In the rainy season they go down to the sea shore, and no sacred tribe tolerates their proximity.”

  Vamireh observed the “worm-eaters” feverishly. Their jaws were pre-eminent; their foreheads sloped gently down to their enormous brow-ridges. The backs of their heads, enlarged, seemed too heavy; their hips were not arched and they leaned on their clubs to assist them in walking. For a while they searched among the aquatic plants for roots and stoned fruits, all depositing their finds in a heap in front of the leader of the troop. Along their route they had been collecting univalve mollusks, tubers and edible leaves, so the pile was already considerable. When dusk was very near, they grouped around the chief, and the latter distributed the food equally.

  “They’re fair!” murmured Vamireh, satisfied. Then, seeing them light a fire, he yielded to sentiment and steered the canoe toward them, making fraternal gestures. They were excited at first, but the small number of the newcomers calmed them down. They contemplated the tall nomad and his companion silently and gravely. The man’s stature, unknown in the Orient, amazed them. They were, however, prompt to sympathize with him, although they maintained a visible mistrust of Elem, who reproduced the type of their most ferocious persecutors.

  There were no women among them. The latter followed them at a considerable distance, in confused hordes. Spring brought the sexes together in traditional locations, then the male bands abandoned the female bands for the summer, autumn and winter. They were defeated. Sprung at an early stage from the anthropomorphic matrix of the Tertiary, entered into the external ways of humankind by the adoption of weapons and social methods, having progressed too far from the animal to re-enter it abruptly without weakening, they were doomed in confrontation with the vigorous younger branches of organic potential8—that singular force which abandons the higher type of red man in confrontation with the Aryan. Relegated, moreover, to the arid steps or the depths of forests, physically weak and ill-equipped for hunting the rapid sylvan fauna, they were falling gradually into vegetarianism, skilful in discovering buried tubers, recognizing edible stems and roots, provisioning themselves with stoned fruits and watermelons, grains and sunflower seeds and fond of all mollusks, spending winters on the shores of the Caspian Lake or the Black Sea, living by rudimentary fishing.

  An adorable instinct of generosity rendered the life of the individual precious to the mass; the strictest equality regulated divisions and everyone devoted himself to saving his brethren from the claws of predators. By virtue of that, they were still the masters of the lion, the bear, the leopard and even anthropoid apes. Their fear of the brachycephali, the hunters of the fecund steppes, was immense, however; they had seen their kinfolk perish in thousands beneath arrows and spears. They never approached within six days march of enemy encampments, and even avoided solitary groups.

  Vamireh captivated them with his puerile laughter, and his generosity in offering them food supplies from his canoe: slices of venison and sturgeon, and ducks’ eggs. These provisions too were carefully shared out, to the Pzânn’s delight. The latter, having made a present to the chief of a fox-fur, was dumbfounded when he saw the fur carefully cut up and a piece of it offered to everyone. His hearty laughter, and his attempts to make the absurdity of such a practice understood, induced some distrust in the “worm-eaters,” but their terror of Elem was even more manifest, as was the disgust experienced by the young woman, so Vamireh decided, regretfully, to leave.

  They re-embarked—but when he was some distance away, hidden by the reeds, he watched for some time, making whispered exclamations. The worm-eaters stoked up their fires and huddled around them, and after constructing a small hut out of branches, into which the chief slid, they squatted on their heels in the open, burying their faces in their knees, with the palms of their hands on their heads, and went to sleep.

  The Pzânn then conceived a great pity for the fate of his inferior brothers. When he put into shore the murmur of his lips was full of bitterness. He remained in a somber mood during the evening meal, and was late going to sleep. Having risen before dawn, he watched the departure of the wor
m-eaters. He saw them swim across the river and move on eastwards. When they had disappeared, he uttered a melancholy sigh; then he woke his companion and set the canoe afloat.

  Four days of laborious travel went by. On the fourth night a storm unleashed its fury, trees came crashing down, the waters of the river rose up in enormous waves, and the entire forest trembled. Sheltered beneath a rocky ledge, Vamireh slept, peaceful and resigned. Elem spent the night praying, imploring the Unknown for mercy. The insinuating force whistled through the thickets, bent the tall trees, and confused voices launched cries of help.

  The storm died down before dawn. The day was mild; the Sun appeared between the clouds; the forest resumed a warm and humid life. The broad, mud-tinted river, abundant and tranquil, was charged with the debris of the previous day’s battle. Fish that had swum upriver began to descend toward the sea. They swam in shoals, close to the surface, exhausted and physically depleted by the labor of reproduction. The weary Elem slept; the light-hearted Vamireh paddled toward his distant fatherland.

  In the course of the monotonous hours, the idea of the distance to be covered and the speed of their progress soothed the Pzânn’s brain. He was scarcely more any longer than an extended will, an organism plunged into a fluid dream of water and air; the splashing of the one and the endless caress of the other sent his flesh to sleep. Immobilizing his memory upon a few words, and upon the images of his father, his mother, his valiant brother Khouni or his young sister, capering like a kid goat, without his being able to contrive the effort to link the two elements together and imagine them speaking.

  Some six hours after noon, however a troubling phenomenon became manifest, and the tall nomad’s entire attention was drawn to it.