Sjambak Part 2

Murphy covertly inspected his face. The skin was smooth, the color of the rising moon; the eyes were narrow, dark, superficially placid. The effect was of silken punctilio with hot ruby blood close beneath.

Satisfied with the inspector's zeal, he turned to Murphy. "Allow me to introduce myself, Tuan Murphy. I am Ali-Tomas, of the House of Singhalut, and my father the Sultan begs you to accept our poor hospitality."

"Why, thank you," said Murphy. "This is a very pleasant surprise."

"If you will allow me to conduct you...." He turned to the inspector.

"Mr. Murphy's luggage to the palace."

Murphy accompanied Ali-Tomas into the outside light, fitting his own quick step to the prince's feline saunter. This is coming it pretty soft, he said to himself. I'll have a magnificent suite, with bowls of fruit and gin pahits, not to mention two or three silken girls with skin like rich cream bringing me towels in the shower.... Well, well, well, it's not so bad working for _Know Your Universe!_ after all! I suppose I ought to unlimber my camera....

Prince Ali-Tomas watched him with interest. "And what is the audience of _Know Your Universe!_?"

"We call 'em 'partic.i.p.ants'."

"Expressive. And how many partic.i.p.ants do you serve?"

"Oh, the Bowdler Index rises and falls. We've got about two hundred million screens, with five hundred million partic.i.p.ants."

"Fascinating! And tell me--how do you record smells?"

Murphy displayed the odor recorder on the side of the camera, with its gelatinous track which fixed the molecular design.

"And the odors recreated--they are like the originals?"

"Pretty close. Never exact, but none of the partic.i.p.ants knows the difference. Sometimes the synthetic odor is an improvement."

"Astounding!" murmured the prince.

"And sometimes ... Well, Carson Tenlake went out to get the myrrh-blossoms on Venus. It was a hot day--as days usually are on Venus--and a long climb. When the show was run off, there was more smell of Carson than of flowers."

Prince Ali-Tomas laughed politely. "We turn through here."

They came out into a compound paved with red, green and white tiles.

Beneath the valley roof was a sinuous trough, full of haze and warmth and golden light. As far in either direction as the eye could reach, the hillsides were terraced, barred in various shades of green. Spattering the valley floor were tall canvas pavilions, tents, booths, shelters.

"Naturally," said Prince Ali-Tomas, "we hope that you and your partic.i.p.ants will enjoy Singhalut. It is a truism that, in order to import, we must export; we wish to encourage a pleasurable response to the 'Made in Singhalut' tag on our _batiks_, carvings, lacquers."

They rolled quietly across the square in a surface-car displaying the House emblem. Murphy rested against deep, cool cushions. "Your inspectors are pretty careful about weapons."

Ali-Tomas smiled complacently. "Our existence is ordered and peaceful.

You may be familiar with the concept of _adak_?"

"I don't think so."

"A word, an idea from old Earth. Every living act is ordered by ritual.

But our heritage is pa.s.sionate--and when unyielding _adak_ stands in the way of an irresistible emotion, there is turbulence, sometimes even killing."

"An _amok_."

"Exactly. It is as well that the _amok_ has no weapons other than his knife. Otherwise he would kill twenty where now he kills one."

The car rolled along a narrow avenue, scattering pedestrians to either side like the bow of a boat spreading foam. The men wore loose white pantaloons and a short open vest; the women wore only the pantaloons.

"Handsome set of people," remarked Murphy.

Ali-Tomas again smiled complacently. "I'm sure Singhalut will present an inspiring and beautiful spectacle for your program."

Murphy remembered the keynote to Howard Frayberg's instructions: "_Excitement! s.e.x! Mystery!_" Frayberg cared little for inspiration or beauty. "I imagine," he said casually, "that you celebrate a number of interesting festivals? Colorful dancing? Unique customs?"

Ali-Tomas shook his head. "To the contrary. We left our superst.i.tions and ancestor-worship back on Earth. We are quiet Mohammedans and indulge in very little festivity. Perhaps here is the reason for _amoks_ and sjambaks."

"Sjambaks?"

"We are not proud of them. You will hear sly rumor, and it is better that I arm you beforehand with truth."

"What is a sjambak?"

"They are bandits, flouters of authority. I will show you one presently."

"I heard," said Murphy, "of a man riding a horse up to meet the s.p.a.ce-ships. What would account for a story like that?"

"It can have no possible basis," said Prince Ali-Tomas. "We have no horses on Cirgamesc. None whatever."

"But ..."

"The veriest idle talk. Such nonsense will have no interest for your intelligent partic.i.p.ants."

The car rolled into a square a hundred yards on a side, lined with luxuriant banana palms. Opposite was an enormous pavilion of gold and violet silk, with a dozen peaked gables casting various changing sheens.

In the center of the square a twenty-foot pole supported a cage about two feet wide, three feet long, and four feet high.

Inside this cage crouched a naked man.

The car rolled past. Prince Ali-Tomas waved an idle hand. The caged man glared down from bloodshot eyes. "That," said Ali-Tomas, "is a sjambak.

As you see," a faint note of apology entered his voice, "we attempt to discourage them."

"What's that metal object on his chest?"

"The mark of his trade. By that you may know all sjambak. In these unsettled times only we of the House may cover our chests--all others must show themselves and declare themselves true Singhalusi."

Murphy said tentatively, "I must come back here and photograph that cage."

Ali-Tomas smilingly shook his head. "I will show you our farms, our vines and orchards. Your partic.i.p.ants will enjoy these; they have no interest in the dolor of an ign.o.ble sjambak."

"Well," said Murphy, "our aim is a well-rounded production. We want to show the farmers at work, the members of the great House at their responsibilities, as well as the deserved fate of wrongdoers."

"Exactly. For every sjambak there are ten thousand industrious Singhalusi. It follows then that only one ten-thousandth part of your film should be devoted to this infamous minority."