And at last we came to the edge of the Great Circle once more, at a quarter before nine o’clock by my faithful wrist-watch which had not missed a tick throughout all these alarums and excursions. Here Pelletier paused, and in a brief, emphatic speech, in Spanish, took leave of and dismissed his army, which melted away, after profound salaams in our direction, into the deeper forests forming the hinterlands of that horizon of jungle. Forty or more hostages, brought with us from the company of those Ancient Ones who had accepted the overlordship of that remarkable young chief, departed with them. They were seen no more by us.
I was far too weary—and poor Wilkes was literally tottering in his tracks—to listen very closely to what Pelletier said to the Indians. As soon as the last of them had disappeared out of our sight, the three of us started across the stretch of short grass, up the slight slope toward the center where our plane still rested on the ground. Pelletier forged ahead to get his first-aid satchel for our wounds.
The great tree was gone!
It was nearly ten o’clock when at last we sank down in the grateful shade of the plane’s broad wings, and the last thing that I remember before falling into the sleep from which I was awakened an hour and a half later, was Pelletier holding to my mouth one of our canteens, and feeling the comfort to my parched throat of the stale, tepid water it contained.
It was the roar of the rescuing plane which awakened me, at eleven thirty.
We reached Belize a few minutes before two. I had slept part of the way in the air, which is no mean feat considering the thunderous roar of the engine. I stumbled up to my bedroom in the hotel, and did not move until seven the following morning.
When I did awaken, raw with weariness, Pelletier was standing beside my bed.
“I thought I’d better tell you as soon as possible,” said he genially, “that I did all the necessary talking to that rescue party. You and Wilkes had been scouting around, making discoveries, and had got yourselves pretty well worn in the process. They swallowed that easily enough. It was ordinary engine trouble that dished us, out there where they found us. We were out of gas, too. There was the empty tank to prove it. I’ll tell you later where that gasoline went to. I’m responsible for that. You’d better stick to the same simple yarn, too. I’ve already told Wilkes.”
I nodded, and fell asleep, again, after drinking without question the glassful of stuff Pelletier handed me. I do not even remember the taste, and I have no idea what the concoction was. But just before noon, when I awakened again, I was myself once more. I got up, bathed thoroughly, and gave myself a very much-needed shave. After lunch I called on the Bishop of British Honduras, and returned to him the binoculars he had considerately loaned me with the thanks of the party.
Chapter 15
On the following morning Pelletier and I made our farewells to the splendid Wilkes, and to our other Belize friends and acquaintances. We had secured passage in a fruiter clearing that noon for Kingston, the first leg of our journey home to St. Thomas.
About four P.M. that afternoon Pelletier, whom I had not seen since luncheon on board, lumbered along the deck and stopped at my chair.
“Would you like to hear my end of it all now—or would it do better later?” he inquired. He grinned down at me.
“Later—in St. Thomas preferably, if it’s all the same to you, Pelletier,” I answered him. “I’d rather get my mind clean off it all and keep it off for the present. Later, by all means, with the home things, the home atmosphere all about me, if you don’t mind. Just now I’d rather do nothing and think nothing, and hear nothing beyond ice water, and eating fruit, and sleeping!”
“I don’t blame you,” threw back Pelletier as he shuffled ponderously away, the smoke from his big black cigar trailing behind him. We were making ten knots or so, with the wind abaft us, a following wind. I had spoken truly to Pelletier. I did not feel just then, nor indeed, for some time later, that I could easily bear more than casual reference to that experience, all of which, it will be remembered, had been crowded into less than two twenty-four-hour days.
I drank ice water. I ate fruit. I slept. And by easy stages, as we had gone to the coast of Central America, we came back again to the settled peace and comfort of the Lesser Antilles; to the kindly sophistication which is the lovely little city of St. Thomas; to the quiet efficiency of my good servants in my house on Denmark Hill. Only then, it seemed to me, could I quite bear to open my mind again to those affairs in the deep jungle of Quintana Roo, where He had established his “foci” as from time immemorial; where that had happened, with me as active participant, which the structure of our modern minds bears ill in reminiscence...
For it is not always good for a man to see the things that had fallen to Wilkes and myself to see; to have to do what we had done. There were times, even after I had got back and was settled into my accustomed routines, in St. Thomas, when I would lie awake in bed, with the scent of the tuberoses and of Cape Jessamine pouring in through my windows, and fail of ready sleep, and wonder what really had happened out there; whether or not certain aspects of that adventure were not basically incredible; whether, perhaps, my imagination had not tricked me—in other words, whether or not the whole madhouse affair had actually occurred in very truth; and if I, Gerald Canevin, occasional weaver of tales based upon the somewhat strange affairs of these islands of the Lesser Antilles, might not have suffered some eldritch change.
At such times, I found, it was salutary to change over my attention, when this proved possible, to something else, something as radically different as possible.
I played a good deal of contract bridge, I remember, during that interval of doubt and some distress mentally. I accepted more invitations than was usual with me. I wanted, in general, to be with people, sane, everyday ordinary people, my neighbors and friends, as much as possible. I took off some weight, I remember.
Chapter 16
It was not, I think, until Pelletier had related to me his account of how he had spent the period beginning with my disappearance up the tree—it had been removed, I remembered, on my arrival back at the Great Circle, and I had not asked Pelletier what had become of it—until he had marched across that “quadrangle” at the head of his army, that the whole affair, somehow, resolved itself, and ceased troubling me.
“I’ll try to tell you my end of it,” said Pelletier. He was in a characteristic attitude, sprawled out over the full length of my Chinese rattan lounge-chair on my cool west gallery, a silver swizzle-jug, freshly concocted by my house man, Stephen Penn, placed between us beside two tall greenish glasses, the ice-beads all over the outside of it; cigarettes going; myself, just after having done the honors, in another chair; both of us in fresh, white drill, cool and comfortable.
“I had very little to go on,” continued Pelletier, after a healthy sip out of his long, green glass and an accompanying slight grunt of creature satisfaction, “as you may imagine, Canevin, very little indeed. And yet, it all straightened out, cleared itself up in a kind of natural way. It was, I suppose, partly instinct, a kind of sixth sense if you like. For I had no more idea than you or Wilkes that we were running into a—well, a survival, when I looked down out of the plane and first saw that Circle sticking up to the eye out of that jungle like, like a sore thumb!”
“The first definite indication, the first clue, was of course that original crack of wind ‘out of the corner of hell,’ as Wilkes put it. Wind is air, and my mind, naturally enough, stuck to that. It was not especially brilliant to deduce an air-elemental, or, at least to have that in my mind all the way through the various happenings; before you started up the tree I mean: that wind out of nowhere; the disappearance of Wilkes; the absence of animal and insect life; those Indians getting around us. It all fitted together, somehow, under the circumstances, and after what both of us have seen of the present-day survival of magic—two thirds of the world’s population believing in it, practicing it: Lord, look at Haiti—well, I thought, if it were something supernatural, som
ething not quite of this world, why, then, Canevin, the logic of it all pointed toward the one possibly surviving elemental rather than in some other direction.
“For—don’t you see?—man has ousted those others, by his own control of the three other elements, earth, fire, water! The whole land-surface of this planet, practically, has been subjected to human use—agriculture, mines, cities built on it—and water the same. We have dominated the element of water, reduced to its allotted sphere in this man-ruled world-ships, submarines, steam—Lord, there’s no end to our use of water! Fire, too, Canevin. We have it—er—harnessed, working for us, in every ship’s engine room, every dynamo and factory, in every blast-furnace, cook-stove, campfire, automobile.
“And in all this civilization-long process, the one single element that has remained unsubdued, untamed, is air. We are a long way from what people smugly call ‘the conquest of air,’ Canevin, a mighty long way, even though we have started in on that, too. Even fire is controllable. Fires do not start by themselves. There is no such thing as ‘spontaneous combustion’! But who, Canevin, can control the winds of heaven?
“Maybe there’s more in what I’ve just said than appears on the surface. Take astrology for example. Modern science laughs at astrology, puts it in the same category as those Bodily Humours, the Melancholic, and the rest of them! Astronomers nowadays, scientists busy measuring light-years, the chemistry of Antares, whether or not there is barium on Mars, the probable weight of Eros, or the ‘new’ one, Pluto—those fellows tell us the old beliefs about the stars are so much junk. Why? Well, because, they say, the old ideas of things like zodiacal groups and so forth are ‘unscientific,’ formulated on the basis of how the stars look from Earth’s surface, merely! Artificial, unscientific! The stars must be looked at mathematically, they tell us, not as they appear from your gallery at night.
“But, Canevin, which of these modern sharps has told us where one should stand, to view the heavens? And—speaking pragmatically; that’s a good scientific word!—which of them has done more than figure out weights, distances—what of them, dry approximations of alleged facts, Canevin?—a lot of formulas like the inside of an algebra book. Which of them, the modern scientific astronomers, from my good old Professor Pickering at Harvard down—for he was the king-pin of them all—has given humanity one single, practical, useful fact, out of all their up-to-the minute modern science? Answer: not one, Canevin!
“And here’s the red meat in that coconut-think of this, Canevin, in the light of relativity, or the Quantum Theory if you like; that’s ‘modern’ and ‘scientific’ enough, God knows: the astrological approach is the normal approach, Canevin, for people living on this planet. We have to view the heavens from here, because that’s where Almighty God Who made us then put us. That’s the only viewpoint we have, Canevin, and—it works; it possesses the—er—pragmatic sanction of common sense!
“Well, now, to get down to the brass tacks of this thing, the thing we’ve been through together, I mean: what is it, as we human beings, constrained to live on Earth and meet Earth conditions know it, that upsets our schemes, plans and calculations as we deal with the three elements that we have brought under control, subdued? It’s air, Canevin.
“It’s air and air alone that sends hurricanes into these latitudes and knocks out the work and hopes of decades of effort; takes crops, animals, buildings. It’s air that just this season smashed things to pieces right nearby here, in Nicaragua; knocked old Santo Domingo City into a cocked hat. Plants can’t grow, leaf-plants especially, without air. Without air fire itself refuses to burn. That’s the principle of all the workable fire extinguishers. Without air man and the animals can’t breathe, and die like fish out of water, painfully. Without air—but what’s the use of carrying it further, Canevin?
“I had, of course, that first day and night, alone, to think in. All that, and a lot more besides, went into those cogitations of mine under that tree in the Great Circle both before and after I was there all by myself; mostly after, when I had nothing else to do but think. You see? It wasn’t so very hard to figure out, after all.
“But figuring it out was less than half the battle. I was appalled, Canevin, there with my merely human brain figuring out the possible combinations, at what He could do, if He happened to take it into His head. His head! Why, He could merely draw away the breathable air from around us three intruders, and we’d flop over and pass out then and there. He could blast us into matchwood with a hurricane at any moment. He could—well, there’s no use going over all the things I figured that He could do. The ways of the gods and demigods have never been the ways of men, Canevin. All literature affirms that. Well, He didn’t do any of those things. He was going at it His way. How to circumvent Him, in time! That was the real problem.
“I had, theoretically at least, all three of the other elements to use against Him, the same as every man has—such as a dugout of earth, out there in Kansas, against a tornado of wind; a log fire, to get over the effects of a New England blizzard. I put my mind on it, Canevin, and decided to use Fire—to burn down the tree! I did it, toward dusk of the second day.
“I soaked it, all over the trunk and lower part, and as far up as I could reach and throw, with the gasoline from the plane’s tanks. I used it all. I was counting, you see, on the rescue plane following our route the next morning when we hadn’t shown up in Belize; but, if I couldn’t get you and Wilkes back I was pretty thoroughly dished anyhow, and so, of course, were you two fellows.
“I lighted it and ran, Canevin, ran out of the shade—there wouldn’t be any left in a short time anyhow—and over to the plane and sat down under the farther wing where I could get a good look through the binoculars at those savages down yonder. I wanted to see how the idea of my fighting one element with another would strike them.
“It struck them right enough!
“There had been plenty of gasoline. The fire roared up the dry tree. It was blazing in every twig, it seemed, inside two minutes after I had set it going. Talk of a study in primitive fear! Psychology! I had it right there, all around me. The only kick I had coming was that I couldn’t watch it all at once. It was like trying to take in a forty-ring circus with one pair of eyes!
“They liked it, Canevin! That much was clear enough anyhow.
“It was a medium-sized limb, burned halfway through, which broke off and fell between me and the main blaze, that suddenly gave me the big idea. So far I hadn’t planned beyond destroying the tree, His bridge between Earth and wherever He was. But then it suddenly flashed through my mind that here was a chance to enlist those aborigines, while they were all together, and in the mood, so to speak. I went over and picked up that blazing limb. It made a magnificent torch, and, holding it up above my head where it blazed as I walked in the falling dusk, I proceeded, slow and dignified, down toward the place at the jungle’s rim where they seemed to be most thickly congregated.
“I had the wit to sing, Canevin! Never knew I could sing, did you? I did then, all the way, the best stab I could make at a kind of paean of victory. Do you get the idea? I walked along steadily, roaring out at the top of my voice. There weren’t any particular words—only a lot of volume to it!
“It occurred to me halfway down that out of those thousands some certainly would know some Spanish. The idea took hold of me, and by the time I had got near enough to make them understand I had some sentences framed up that would turn them inside-out if it got across to their primitive minds! I stopped, and raised the torch up high over my head, and called it out like old Cortez ordering a charge!
“For a few instants right afterwards I waited to see the effect. If any. They seemed to be milling around more or less in groups and bunches. That, I figured, would be the fellows who understood Spanish telling the others! Then—then it worked, Canevin! They prostrated themselves, in rows, in battalions, in tribes! And every one of them, I was careful to notice, still kept within the safe shelter of the woods. I had, you see, told them who I w
as, Canevin! I was the Lord of the Fire, that was all, the Great Friend of mankind, the Lord, the Destroyer, the Big Buckaroo and High Cockalorum of all the Elements, and pretty much everything else besides. Spanish lends itself, somehow, to those broad, general statements!
“And then, once again, I had an inspiration. I gathered myself together after that first blast that I had turned loose on them, and let go another! This time I informed them that I was destroying my enemy the Ruler of the Air, who was their enemy as well—I gathered that, of course, from their fear of the Circle—Who had been having His own way with them for a couple of thousand years or thereabouts; that they could see for themselves that I was right here on the tabu-place the Circle, and unharmed; and then I called for volunteers to come out of the woods and stand beside me in the Circle!
Chapter 17
“Canevin, there was a silence that you could have cut with a knife. It lasted and lasted, and lasted! I began to get afraid that perhaps I had gone too far, in some unrealizable way—with savages, you know: not a single, solitary sound, not a whisper, from that mob weighed down with sixty generations of fear.
Then—to a rising murmur which grew into a solid roar of astonishment—one of them, an upstanding young man with an intelligent face, stepped out toward me. I suppose that fellow and his descendants will have epic songs sung about them for the next sixty generations, nights of the full moon.
“I had had the general idea, you see, of getting this mob convinced: the new harmlessness of the ancient tabu-ground for conclusive evidence; and then enlisting them. Precisely what I was going to do with them, what to set them at doing, wasn’t so clear as the general idea of getting them back to me.
“And right then, when it was working, everything coming my way, I very nearly dropped my authoritative torch, my symbol of the firepower! I went cold, Canevin, from head to foot; positively sick, with plain, shaking, shivering fear! Did they all suddenly start after me with their throw-sticks and blow-guns? Did an unexpected hurricane tear down on me? No. Nothing like that. I had merely thought, quite suddenly, out of nowhere, of something! The air was as calm around me as ever. Not an Indian made a hostile gesture. It was an idea that had occurred to me—fool, idiot, moron!
The Golden Age of Weird Fiction MEGAPACK™, Vol. 1: Henry S. Whitehead Page 23