The Mantooth Part 36

>From the tone more than her words, Kalus knew that he had stung her, and that she did not quite forgive him. Again he felt that she was holding him responsible for the harshness of his world, as if it were somehow his fault. Again the chasm opened between them, and now he was too tired to fight it. Imperceptibly he shook his head, breathed out, and returned his attention to the sh.o.r.eline.

They were now less than a mile out, and the half-forgotten, ruinous landscape once more absorbed them.

All was flat on a large scale, and crumpled on a small: hard, bitter rock like cubes set on edge, careening madly this way and that. Within its valleys were patches of earth, green with gra.s.s and weeds, punctured ever and again by corroded girders and iron masonry-bars, to which clung bits of ornamental stone and naked, crumbling concrete. Trees were scarce and never large, their greatest numbers cl.u.s.tered in isolated patches a short distance from the coast, which seemed to have received the largest deposits of earth.

Sylviana easily saw what she had always known, that the skyline of Manhattan had been built upon solid bedrock. For this reason alone had the Island survived at all, blasted as it must have been by successive nuclear explosions. And with this she realized suddenly where the deposits of earth had come from. Besides the fact that the continental coast had been ravaged..... Long Island was gone! Just GONE. Nothing but ocean stretched eastward as far as the eye could see.

And this made her see, vividly, what she had hitherto thought of and imagined as little as possible. While her father had whisked her away and put her to sleep, like an enchanted princess, in the Canadian Rockies, an entire world had been pounded and burned to death. And the remote, less habited places of the globe had been no better off, their children, both man and animal alike, left to die and distort in the slower ravages of radiation poisoning. She did not even know how her father had protected her from the fallout, or indeed, if he had been able. Horrible thought! Would she one day die of cancer, too?

The only comfort, and it wasn't much, was that it had all happened so long ago: that the hurts had long since been healed. But what was Time, really? Had the Island forgotten? The grim hunks of marble, were they not tombstones, the remains of a pillaged graveyard? Were the gnarled trees not alive with the ghosts of the past? She could not elude the pain, or the bludgeoning sense of complicit guilt.

Had he wanted to, Kalus could have torn her apart in those moments merely by pointing, as if to say. 'Is this the humanity you mock me with? Is this the world and way of life I should mourn?' But he said nothing because he, too, seeing her spirit crushed so completely, felt through her the reality and pain of the score of books she had read to him, and realized that every book ever written was but a grain of sand in the vast desert of human struggles and emotions. Six billion intelligent beings at once sharing the globe. . .and then this. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, and shield her forever from the horror.

But he could not. 'I wish this day would end,' was the best he could manage.

But the day would not end. For good or ill, there remained yet one more scene for them to witness. And this, a vision of the inextinguishable nature of life, was in that hour both a joy and an indescribable sadness to behold. As the boat rounded a high promontory, a hidden inlet was revealed to them. Sylviana gasped, and Kalus lifted his spear in alarm.

But there was no danger. No physical danger at least.

Thirty-three naked human forms sat, or stood, or lay placidly like seals among the rocks and mossy earth of a steep embankment, with the ruins of the United Nations building standing in broken silhouette behind them.

And before them, in the deep and still waters of the inlet, a dozen fins and sleek backs rested peacefully while others moved, as if on guard, among the waters farther out. It was impossible that the whales, at least, should be unaware of their slowly logging craft; but apparently some understanding had been reached. The guards came no closer, and the Children showed no fear.

And children they truly were: none exceeded the age of sixteen. Their bodies had no hair, only the scruffy heads and thick eyebrows, the straggle of mane down neck and spine---all curly blond and brown. Their cream-colored skin was smooth and tough, and the eyes of all resembled more closely the eyes of a statue than any human's. Indeed, their very placidness was almost cold, animal in its indifference. Upon closer inspection an abnormality of the hands and feet could be seen.

The fingers were long, bony and webbed, like the sea-creatures they were, the feet slightly longer and similarly arrayed.

But in the face of all contradictory evidence, Sylviana clung with sudden conviction to the belief (perhaps unfounded) that inside them remained some spark of humanity, and a soul that might somehow be wakened.

But who would wake it? They had tarried here in their winter home long enough, and must soon return to the seal rich waters of the North.

Perhaps they would return again in autumn; perhaps they would move on. Though she could not have known this, Sylviana hung her head in unknown harmony.

At last as the day wore thin, they reached a tenable stretch of beach, and in the failing light safely landed the water-soaked craft. The smallish waves could not overturn its heavy bulk, which now served them.

They dragged it as far ash.o.r.e as they could, which wasn't far, and lit a fire to replace the sunken sun. There in the lee of a group of rocks they huddled together and slept in the sand, unable yet to think of tomorrow.

They slept, and dreamed, in sorrow.

Chapter 37

The next day brought unexpected hope. As the sun rose, dazzling, across the vast Atlantic, one of its urchins stood up among the wave-ends and stepped cautiously ash.o.r.e.

Alerted by the sixth sense that every hill-man must possess, Kalus opened his eyes and remained perfectly still. There in the clear light of morning, he witnessed a scene that recalled to him the simple act of kindness that had changed his life forever. Quietly he woke the girl, knowing that she needed this sight as much as he. Silently, together they watched, touched by the eternal resilience of life, where nothing is new under the sun, and every sunrise is the first for some newborn creature.

A small boy, perhaps four, stood close to the water's edge, holding something in his hand. The cub, having woken before them, remained in her alert, quizzical posture, a short distance from him up the sandy incline. As the boy took a few steps nearer she stood up, but did not bark or growl. Perhaps it was because they were of a kind, and understood each other without the dimness of fear. Or perhaps because they felt the simple affinity which all young creatures share, not yet hardened and made cruel by their elders and their world.

The Child continued to advance, glancing sidelong at the others: aware of their presence, but intent upon his mission. At last only a few feet separated boy and wolf. Squatting, he put the partly eaten fish in the sand in front of her, and took a step back. The pup came closer, sniffed at it briefly, then began to eat. Her tail wagged in childish contentment.

And then the miracle occurred. The Child laughed, throwing his arms up to the sky. If he had known the word ?hooray', he would certainly have used it.

Such sweet music! Sylviana thought her heart would break for it, and Kalus remembered for the first time without bitterness, the smile and trust of young Shama.

The girl sat up; she couldn't help herself. At once the child sprinted back to the sea, diving into the waters as naturally as a newly hatched sea turtle, thinking no more of the ensuing swim than a bird thinks of flight. A short distance out an impatient, affectionate orca rose between his waiting legs, and carried him home on her back.

Sylviana watched in weary peace, with dreamy eyes thinking how sweet it might be to one day have a child of her own. Until something in the emptiness of the beach arrested her.

'Kalus, the boat. It's gone!'

And so it was. He rose beside her, and pointed to a spot on the northeast horizon. There, riding ever lower in the waves, floated the craft he had so agonizingly constructed. She was appalled by his apparent calmness.

'You've got to DO something. You've got to swim out and get it.' But he only shook his head, clearing his eyes with the back of his wrist.

'Would you have me drowned for a piece of wood?'

'But how can you be so indifferent?'

'I am not indifferent, if only for the pains it cost me. But I have not yet given up hope that the boat will return to us. The tide took it out, perhaps the waves will bring it back farther north. And if it is lost, I think I can now construct a better one, more worthy of our trust.'

'But you worked so hard to bring us here.'

'Yes,' he said. 'I raged at both the sea and wind, cursing them and calling them demons. Then, when I surrendered in despair, something pulled us through, and gave us another chance. We are far out on this limb, Sylviana. We must believe in something. I will trust in the Tao that I have found, and which in all my life, has never fully betrayed me.'

But now he drew back. His eyes grew hazy, and far less confident. He paused as if in fear, for all his resolve, at the words he must now say to her.

'I give you your freedom, also..... I LOVE you. But whatever is to come, I cannot chain you to me. You must return to me, if you would, of your own free will.'

BUT THIS IS AWFUL, she thought. HIS TIMING IS TERRIBLE. She fought back the urge to say, 'And what if I don't want my freedom? Did it ever occur to you that I might feel the same way about you?'

Instead she said nothing. So be it.

And here Kalus made a fundamental error of human psychology. For while on an intellectual level a woman may be pleased at the prospect of her ?freedom', on an instinctive or emotional level, and with a man she loves, such words are a source of deep doubt and insecurity. If Kalus truly wanted and needed her, why wasn't he willing to guard her love, even fight for it? Didn't he care anymore?