Red Orc's Rage

by Philip José Farmer

  Monique Bragg, a black girl, said, "Your father, I mean Orc's father, struck you, Orc, a number of times. That sounds like your own father, Jim. He's unpredictable and confusing, too, just like Los, the way he treats you. Cruel and severe a lot of times but, sometimes, kind and tender, like a real father should be. That's bewildering to a kid."

  "Which father you talking about?" Jim said. "My father in this world or the father in the other world?"

  Monique smiled, revealing big white teeth. "Both, you dummy. Only this Los isn't like your real father in some ways. He's a very handsome and powerful person, lord and master of all he surveys, you might say, not a worthless drunken bum like your real father."

  "Monique!" Doctor Scaevola said softly but firmly. "Please refrain from personal remarks."

  "Sure, Doc," Monique said. "Only. . . I didn't say anything about his father he hasn't said. I was just pointing out certain things, how Los and this woman. Orc's mother -- Enitharmon? -- resemble his own parents. They sort of reflect them, don't you think? That's what this is all about, anyway, isn't it? How this world and the Tiersian are mirror images, wasn't that what you said? Distorted mirrors."

  "That's an aspect," Scaevola said, "but we don't want to dwell too much on parallelisms, especially those that're rather obvious. Unless you're leading up to another point?"

  "Maybe it's the differences that're most important," Monique said. "Like Orc's mother seems to be under Los's thumb just as Jim's mother is. But she's beautiful and powerful, and she can stand up to him. To a point, anyway. Maybe she's going to rebel, even kill Los. That's something your mother'd never do, right, Jim? But maybe you're hoping she will some day. Is that so, Jim?"

  "How would I know?" Jim said heatedly. "I'm not making this up, you know! Things'll go the way they go, not how I think they should go!"

  There was silence for a moment except for Moober's brief snicker.

  Then Scaevola said, "Of course! Remember, we're not writing stories. These things really do happen. Whether they exist inside your mind or outside your mind, they exist. A thought is as much an existent as a, uh. . ."

  "A fart!" Moober said loudly and doubled up with laughter.

  "Both evanescent but nevertheless existing in their own moment of glory or putridness," Scaevola said.

  "Hey, there are millions of fathers and mothers more or less like mine on Earth," Jim said. "So, there are some in the Lords' worlds. Nothing strange about it. Quit the psychologizing, for Christ's sake."

  Brooks Epstein spoke up for the first time during the session. He was a tall, dark, and lean youth who wore thick horn-rimmed glasses. Though he was from Gold Hill, he had escaped the insults and disdain cast at Sherwood. Epstein's father had been wealthy, but he had gone bankrupt and then killed himself. Epstein's mother had just enough insurance to place her son in therapy at Wellington Hospital.

  "Quit psychologizing?" he said. "I thought we were here to do just that!"

  "We're here to get therapy, get well, not sit around and analyze each other until we fall apart," Jim said. "Analyzing is like disassembling. We'll never put the pieces back together. Humpty Dumpty himself, you know."

  "Thank you, Doctor Freud," Epstein said. "Anyway. . ."

  The group broke up with almost everybody mad at everybody else. Doctor Scaevola tried to patch the rents and wounds and cool off their tempers before the session ended. This time, his soft words, reasonableness, and compromise had not worked. Some of the group were, so far, too timid to dare offend anybody. Others were inclined to be nasty, and the characters they had chosen to merge with were arrogant and ill-tempered. The staff members had to put the lid on these patients now and then. At the same time, they had to keep from suppressing the youths so much that they erupted out of control or were in danger of losing their Tiersian identities.

  No matter how pugnaciously and offensively the members behaved, they were putting up a front. All had low self-esteem, a crippling part of their own personae. To gain a genuine self-esteem was one of the goals of the therapy but hard to achieve. To think of themselves as worthwhile, they had to become somebody else for a while.

  A few minutes after the session, Jim was told that he had a visitor, Sam Wyzak. Doctor Scaevola was not available just then, so Doctor Tarchuna had to give permission for Jim to see Sam. He sent it through the phone in his office. Eager, Jim strode to the small lobby reserved for visitors. A male nurse, Dave Gurscom, stood in the doorway and watched them.

  Sam rose from the chair when Jim entered the room. He smiled broadly and advanced toward his friend, his arms waving. They met in the middle of the room and embraced. Jim was very glad to see him, but he could not help wrinkling his nose at Sam's odor. Since Jim had been in the hospital, he had been showering daily and had sent out his dirty laundry to his mother. He said nothing to Sam about his unwashed body and clothes. After all, the clothes Jim was now wearing had been donated by Sam. Without them, he would have been clad only in hospital-provided pajamas, a robe, and slippers.

  Sam lost his smile after they quit embracing. He sat down heavily on the chair.

  "Jim, I got some things to say to you, got to get some things clear. There's a thing I got to do, and you won't like it. Or maybe you will, I don't know. But I've come to an impasse, as they say. Gotta go but don't really want to."

  "Go where?"

  "To California. Hollywood, to be exact. Gotta get the hell out of this cruddy place, the armpit of the universe. I'm in a bad fix. I'm in a rehab center for chemical dependents, for dope fiends, as my father says. The courts're on my neck. The judge says I gotta straighten out, he don't want me flunking, no way. He gets weekly reports from my folks and the school, and they just aren't good enough. I'm still flunking my ass though I am trying hard to bring my grades up."

  He put his fingers over his eyes and looked at Jim through the spaces among his fingers as if they were prison bars. His voice got shaky.

  "Jim, I can't take no more of this! I'm running off to California, gonna disappear, really drop out. I don't know what the hell I'll do there, become a street person, most likely. For a while, anyway. I'll be taking my guitar, though. I might get into a band. Maybe not. I ain't what you'd call a great musician, but that never stopped lots of rock stars. Anyway, I'm going to try for it. Anything'll be better than what I'm doing now."

  Jim was silent for a minute. Sam had dropped his hands onto his lap, but his black eyes were zeroed in on Jim's face. He seemed to be hoping that. . . what? That his old buddy would utter wise words that would rescue him?

  Jim waved his hand. It was a vague gesture that indicated nothing except possibly hopelessness. What could he, Jim Grimson, incarcerated in a mental ward, wearing borrowed clothes, estranged from just about everybody he could name except for Doctor Porsena and a few patients, the connections with them not really tight, what could he do for his old friend?

  He could not help thinking about his own plans, too, though he felt like a big prick worrying about himself when Sam was in such a bad situation. Sam had told him on the phone several days ago that he could live at the Wyzaks' when he became an outpatient. He and Sam would share the bedroom and Sam's clothes and eat at Sam's table. Mrs. Wyzak, big-hearted as ever, had made the offer. She knew that Jim's parents were in a very small apartment and had no money to help support their son. Jim's eighteenth birthday was coming up soon. After that, the welfare money allotted for him would be cut off. Besides, Eric Grimson did not want Jim to live with him.

  Now that Sam was taking off, would his parents still take his friend in?

  Jim cleared his throat and said, "You're not talking to the wise old man on top of the mountain, the ancient guru who sees all, knows all, who can set you on the right path to health, wealth, and fame. I'm sorry, Sam, but I don't know what to say except to wish you luck. I could tell you to sign up for Doctor Porsena's therapy. But he's got a long waiting list. I was luckier than hell to be admitted so quickly."

  Sam did not reply. His face was unreadabl
e. But Jim thought that he detected reproach and fright in it.

  "Jesus, Sam, I want to help you! But I just can't!"

  Sam said, "I didn't expect nothing from you. You can't ask a drowning man to save you from drowning. I just thought I'd tell you what I'm going to do. I wasn't asking for your blessing."

  "Damn, Sam! I feel like shit! I'm failing you!"

  "What the hell," Sam said. He rose from the chair. "Mom won't refuse you even if I'm not there. In fact, she'll probably be gladder than ever to have you. Mothering's her big thing, you know. That and bossing people around."

  His voice broke. Tears oozed out and slid down to the comers of his mouth. "Jesus, when we were kids together, pretty happy, you know, even though things were tough a lot of times, we couldn't have dreamed that we'd turn out like this."

  Jim could think of nothing better to do than to enfold Sam in his arms and pat his back. That was all he could do, and maybe it was enough. Sam sobbed for a moment, then released himself and wiped the tears with a dirty handkerchief.

  "Hey, Jim! We think we're grown up and don't need nobody, right! But when the chips are down, as the buffalo hunter said, we turn out to still be babies. I admit I'm a little scared. Why not? I'm just kidding myself when I pretend to be as tough as fried shoe leather. I wouldn't tell this to anyone but you, Jim. I don't really want to leave. Things've gotten too rough, though. It's adios, Belmont City! California, here I come! Mom's going to cry her heart out, but maybe, deep down, she'll be glad to get rid of me. She won't have to be on my neck all the time because I'm such a pain in the ass to her."

  "Do you think you could keep in touch with me, write me a postcard now and then?"

  "If I can steal a postcard and a pencil," Sam said. "I won't have much money."

  He laughed, and he said, "Hey, it might be a lot better than I think! California's the golden state, ingots of gold laying around on the streets, ice cream cones growing from trees, starlets just aching to lay a skinny, penniless, dumb Polack. At least I won't freeze my ass off out on the street come winter. And even the garbage cans'll have food better than what I eat here."

  "Maybe you should think more about it," Jim said. "Look before you leap, and all that."

  Something came over Jim then. His words of caution suddenly seemed to be those of a coward. It was as if an electrical current running through him had reversed itself and was now running in the opposite direction.

  He said, "What the hell, Sam! I don't mean that! It'll be a great adventure! It'll at least be different! Better to live like a lion for a day than like a dog forever! You know for sure you have no future here! Go to California! It'll be exciting, and it'll give you hope and endless opportunities! I wish I could go with you!"

  Sam blinked as if Jim had disappeared in a blinding light. He said, "What happened to you?" Then, "Why don't you come with me?"

  Jim shook his head. "I would. . . only. . ."

  "Only what?"

  "You'd have to be in my skin to know how I feel about this place, what I'm doing. This is my adventure, Sam, this ward. It's a world in itself, a world that. . ."

  How could he explain to Sam about the universes of the Lords and his adventures as Red Orc? How could he make Sam understand that golden California was lead compared to the places he had been and to which he would return? No way would Sam comprehend it.

  "You always were a little strange, Jim, even though we got along great. What the hell could this puzzle farm have for you? For me, anyway. It'd be nothing."

  He held out his hand. "So long, Jim. Hope we meet again some other place, a better place, too."

  Jim shook his hand. That Sam had offered it instead of embracing him again meant that Sam had already distanced himself. He no longer felt as close to Jim. They were very good friends who had begun to be strangers.

  Jim felt sick. That, however, was the way it had to be. Character determined destiny. His had sent him off on a different road from Sam's. It would have happened sooner or later, anyway. It had come sooner, that was all.

  Nevertheless, he felt very sad. He also regretted that he had told Sam that he would be better off opting for adventure. Immediately after thinking this, he changed his mind, and much of the sadness and all of the regret vanished. It really was best for Sam, for anyone, to leave the familiar and to venture into strange country. That is, if the familiar was a place where hopeless hardship and unconquerable failure reigned.

  Sam said, "Talk to my mother. She'll take you in when you need a home. You'll have to put up with a lot from her, but you won't starve to death. Just do what she tells you to do."

  Sam turned and walked out without a backward look. Jim called, "Good luck! I'll be with you in my thoughts, Sam!"

  Sam did not reply.

  Chapter 17

  "AAAGH!"

  The cry of the thing attacking Orc and Orc's cry mingled. Locked together, they were rolling and bouncing down the rocky face of the mountain. Orc had fallen onto his face, taking his attacker with him. Then he had rolled over. The creature had been under him for a moment. It had huge wings, a small body, a very long thin neck, and a head twice as large as his. Its beak was as hooked and as sharp as an eagle's. Its legs were exceedingly long for a flying creature. The claws were long, sharp, and curved, but they tore loose after their second rollover.

  Despite its birdlike appearance, it had no feathers.

  The two, three if Jim was counted, rolled and slid and soared down the slope. Both attacker and attacked were banged and bunged and gashed, and both cried out from pain. Then they slammed into the base of a boulder and stopped. Fortunately for Orc, the creature was between him and the rock when they crashed into it. Its body bones snapped; its wing bones had already cracked during the tumble.

  Orc tried to get up so that he could seize the bird-animal around its skinny neck and break it. He was unable to do so. But the thing was also half-paralyzed. Its legs kicked, and it swayed its snakelike neck while its beak opened and shut, clack-clacking. After a minute or so, its enormous yellow eyes glazed, and it was dead.

  Orc lay for a long time while the sun slid on its arc across the blue. He saw two creatures like his attacker above him. They were circling, their heads cocked to observe him. He hoped that he could get up before they decided that it was safe for them to land and dine on him. Meanwhile, as long as he was not in danger, he would take his ease. If ease could be called a state in which he hurt everywhere. He had lost skin from many parts of his body, including the private, and what was not scraped away was nearly so. Also, his head, knees, elbows, toe bones, ears, lips, nose, chin, and genitals had been battered many times. The pain in his head told him that he could have a concussion.

  "Welcome to Anthema, the Unwanted World!" he muttered.

  His father had certainly fixed him. But it would not be forever. If he, Orc, could do anything about it, and he would let nothing stop him, he would find his way to Los and kill him. Nevertheless, he groaned with pain. It was all right to groan and moan and even weep. No one was watching him.

  Except me, Jim thought. I'm watching. But it's OK if he relieves himself with moans and groans. I'm hurting, too, every bit as much as he, and I wish I could moan and groan. I can't. But when he does it, he's doing it also for me, though he doesn't know that.

  Jim thought intensely about loosing himself from Orc. He did not want to endure this pain a second longer than he had to. To return to his room in the ward would be to shed this tortured body immediately. But he hung on while telling himself that he would not desert Orc in the next few seconds. Something kept him from leaving. A sense of shame if he abandoned Orc? That was ridiculous. Orc would be neither hurt nor relieved if his invisible and intangible companion left him.

  Yet, Jim felt that he would be a coward if he took the easy way out.

  During Jim's battle with himself, Orc had risen and was walking slowly down the slope. Each movement of each limb was an odyssey of pain. Despite this, Orc did not stop. He left the pile of rock fra
gments at the bottom of the mountain and made his way through the forest. This was mainly trees resembling tall pines but with scarlet tufts at the ends of the branches. Their odor combined that of vanilla and peanuts. Large bushes with barrel trunks from the top of which sprouted twelve long fernlike fronds were in the spaces among the trees. Insects swarmed around the bushes. They seemed to be attracted by a yellow sticky fluid welling up from the base of the fronds. A stench like that of rotten potatoes with a dash of Limburger cheese rose from it.

  The trees were populated with mouse-sized flying mammals. They swooped down, gulped insects, and flew back to rest on the branches. One fluttered by close to Orc. He snatched it out of the air, squeezed it until its thin hollow bones broke, ripped off its wings, tore off its head and legs, and drank its blood. Then, using his fingernails, he stripped off its skin and popped it onto his mouth. Chewing slowly so that he could separate the bones from the flesh with his tongue. Orc continued through the woods.

  Jim was horrified. At the same time, he felt Orc's satisfaction at having something to eat. That feeling overcame Jim's disgust before long.

  What Jim came to know quickly, because Orc was thinking about it, was that young Lords were taught how to survive and even flourish in the wilderness. Orc had eaten raw flesh many times before. But when he was able to build a fire he would cook his meat.

  There was plenty of flint in this area. He would work it into knives, spearheads, axes, and arrowheads. Then he would kill animals with the weapons he would make and from their skins make clothing and bags. After that, he would build a raft and float down the river.

  Eighteen days after deciding this, he arrived on his raft at the broad mouth of the river. Beyond it was a sea.

  Chapter 18

  SOMEONE ELSE WAS in Orc's mind.

  Jim had been frightened many times since entering the young Lord. That there might be another person or thing sharing Orc's mind terrified him. It was so. . . so. . . loathsome and. . . creepy-crawly. It made him so sick he would have thrown up if he'd had a stomach and a throat. The presence of a stranger -- no doubt threatening -- violated him.