The Totems of Abydos

CHAPTER 32





It was now in the depth of winter.

Too, it was late in the afternoon. The beast, the moisture from its breath visible in the chill air, lay indolently on the top of the snowy cliff, the snow melted beneath the warmth of its body, looking toward the village. Perhaps in such weather, and at such a time, one might have expected it to be snug in its lair, asleep, particularly as it had fed earlier, and well, but it could often be found where it was, and, secure in the luxury of its winter pelting, it was not in the least uncomfortable.

Something was coming toward the platform. It was a tiny, frail animal. It was perhaps shedding, strange in the winter, as its outer skin was a different color from its body, and seemed loose about it. Too, it walked in the unusual fashion which the beast, from the darkness of the forest, had remarked upon occasion before, amongst certain animals, on two legs. It interested the beast that the animal could maintain its balance with such ease, given so eccentric a posture. It was much superior in this to one of the other small bipedalian animals of the forest, the tree clinger, which would frequently return to the security of all fours. It did not, on the other hand, seem that it would be adept at climbing, or leaping from branch to branch, or swinging amongst them like a graceful, wingless bird. The footprints of the animal, tiny, and close together, were visible behind it in the snow, even in the half light. It walked as though it were in pain. It is cold, too, thought the beast. See how it clutches its skin about it, how it shivers. The beast doubted that it would be good to eat, at least that specimen. Too, as we have noted, it had recently fed. At such a time even fleet ones could graze within yards of it. The head of the animal, concealed in the strange skin, seemed large for its size.

The beast cocked its head to one side.

It was clear now. The little animal was holding to the string, or, at least, reaching out, from time to time, to touch it, as if to reassure itself that it was still there. Why could it not just look, wondered the beast. Did it expect it to be gone when it reached for it? Was it afraid of that? Where could it go? It was there. Perhaps it had always been there. Perhaps it would always be there. And, if not, what difference would it make? The string was not important to the beast, though it found it interesting. But the string, it seemed, was important to the other animal. It seemed afraid to let it go. Perhaps it needed the string. Perhaps it must hold on to the string, or perish, thought the beast. But ,if so, that is very unfortunate, for the string is very old, very thin, and worn. It might be broken, or taken away.

The beast continued to observe the approach of the small creature.

It must now be able to see me, thought the beast, at least if it looked up. I have made no effort to conceal my presence. But it does not look up.

Yes, the small animal below, making its way, shivering, through the snow, clearly now, was holding to the string, clutching it. Then, when it came to the end of it, it let it go and began, forelimbs outstretched, taking small, shuffling steps, to grope its way forward. This puzzled the beast. It is in the dark, it thought. But it is not in the dark, because it is still light. It is true it is becoming dark. The beast, of course, in its own case, had seldom been in the dark, except when it slept, or closed its eyes. Even with no moon there were the stars, and the beast had little difficulty in seeing by their light. It could see even in most of the passages it had explored in the cliffs, those strange squared passages so unlike a normal cave, and those rooms off the passages, some of which contained large boxes and strangely formed stones. When the stars were obscured by clouds, it was more difficult, but even then there was normally some light, filtering through the clouds, and, too, one could tell much by smell, by hearing the currents of air moving about objects, by noting the effect of drafts on the hair of one’s body.

The small creature had now come to the platform, and had put out its forelimbs, touching it.

Its presence there, of course, from the point of view of the beast, was not an intrusion. Only certain presences would have counted as intrusions, providing occasions for activity. Many animals came and went in the beast’s territory, and in the thousands of subterritories, maintained by other animals, within his territory, without concerning it. What did it matter, so to speak, that ants might be found in the world of wolves? They did not count. The beast was even fond of a small git, which it occasionally watched, which nested near one of the posts of the platform.

“Are you there?” called a small, shrill voice from below, that of the tiny creature which had groped its way forward to the platform. How strange that high, thin, shrill voice is, thought the beast. If a creature is so small, it thought, better perhaps that it be silent.

“Are you here?” called the small animal.

Suddenly the beast rose to its feet, disturbed. The hair on the back of its neck rose up, like the collar of a cloak behind it. Its fur shook, as if casting off water. It had, for the first time, realized suddenly, comprehending it consciously, that these noises it heard, diminutive, and pathetic, but in their way as real as thunder and rushing water, not like the puzzling, mysterious noises in its mind, those which the ear could only seem to hear, were, like the noises within, intelligible. They could be understood, and it understood them. Such things were words, and they came from without, not from within.

The small creature was now looking up. It must surely see him. Perhaps it had heard, above it, the scratching on the rock, as it had sprung up, and the snapping of its hide and fur, like leather shaken in the wind.

“Are you there?” called the tiny voice.

The beast resumed its recumbent posture, uneasily. It must put such things from its mind. There were mysteries enough. What had such things to do with food or drink, or shelter, or such things? But it was odd, and unsettling, to hear the noises of the mind, or things like them, coming not from within, but from without, from the outside, in recognizable form, and from so odd and deformed a creature as stood below.

“Are you there?” called the creature.

The beast now rose again to its feet. It was agitated, for this presence was not as harmless as it might seem. Somehow, in one way or another, it seemed to threaten its peace, perhaps even the foundations of its world. I am angry, thought the beast. One bite could finish such a creature, it thought. It made its way, lightly, down the cliff toward the platform. Gently it padded across the platform. Then it crouched down, belly low, on the platform, tail lashing behind it. But I am sated, it thought. Why had it come down? It was angry. But, too, it was curious. And, too, it was a little afraid, because there was some threatening linkage, it knew, between this thing, this pathetic, insignificant, tiny thing, and the strange thoughts, and the strange dreams, with which for the past months it had been troubled.

“Are you there?” whispered the small creature.

The beast looked at it. Its body was very small, but the head, comparatively, was large, or at least large for the body. Would it not be heavy, that head, to be carried by such a body? The head had a tiny face, much too small for it, much like the faces of some of the little, loose-skinned, two-legged creatures it had seen in the forest. But the back of the head was large. In the tiny face, seemingly lost in the larger head, there were two holes. No eyes gleamed out from those holes. They were empty.

“Are you there?” whispered the tiny thing.

The beast growled, menacingly.

The small creature thrust an object onto the platform, and then turned about, and, as it could, feeling its way, fled. The beast saw it reach the string, and grasp it, and then hurry away.

The beast, with its teeth, and holding it down with one paw, tore open the object on the platform, and smelled it. It could not eat such stuff. It lifted it up, and shook it, scattering grains about.

It looked after the small animal, which had now disappeared through the trees. How odd, it thought, that such a thing, and others like it, could live in the forest.

It then stood on the platform.

Some small birds alighted on the platform, and, here and there, and some almost at its feet, pecked at the material which had been flung about.