The Totems of Abydos

CHAPTER 33





With a certain form of throat, and oral cavity, a certain type of tongue, and a certain arrangement of teeth, of course, it is not easy to reproduce many sounds which would be the more natural and appropriate issuances of a different form of apparatus. This obvious fact makes clear the importances of translation mechanisms, of one or another level of sophistication, throughout the galaxy. Some of these are responsive to auditory inputs, and others, of course, to visual inputs, and others, yet, to inputs such as the traces of complex chemical exudates. But, invariably, aside from certain constructed devices and certain marvels of biochemical engineering, speech was an overlaid function, utilizing an apparatus obviously developed for other purposes, such as holding, tearing, grinding, tasting, swallowing, breathing, and such. On the other hand, amongst organisms utilizing a vocal apparatus, as opposed to those utilizing the modulation of wing speeds, the rubbing of chitinous limbs, frictions amongst adjacent platings, the articulation of patterns of moisture, condensing in cold air, expelled from blow holes, the secretion of chemicals, and such, it was usually possible for one organism to produce sounds which, once certain adjustments were made, could be accepted as surrogates of others. This is particularly easy to do, if the throat, for example, has been prepared, or altered, in a certain way.

Since that winter day, several weeks ago, the beast had been much disturbed by its insights into its own unusual capacities, which seemed to have been acquired in its new habitat, as, in its deepest memories, and even in its dreams, it could not recall them from the old home.

It was not at all pleased with many of the sounds it made, as they were quite different from the sounds which came to it from time to time in his mind, and in the unusual dreams, when he spoke such sounds, and in another form. Indeed, it often put such things from itself, impatiently, and contemptuously. Why should it not amuse itself by trying to chirp like birds or squeak like gits? But the riddles remained, and the curiosity remained, and so, on the cliffs, and in the forests, it would, from time to time, concern itself with such things.

One day, on the cliffs, it looked out, toward the village. “What am I?” it asked. It heard that sound. It was outside, outside, and yet it was not too unlike the sound from inside, that which the ear could only seem to hear.

The success of this effort, its first in such ranges of endeavor, far from exhilarating the beast, terrified it, and it put such experiments far from itself for several days. It had no business with such nonsense. Such things were not for it. But then, of course, perhaps they were, for it was no longer confident of what it was. It was angry. In the old home it had never encountered such problems. They had not arisen.

It may have been toward the end of winter, when the small creature again approached the platform.

This time the beast, having perceived its approach, came down to the platform, and sat on the platform, awaiting it.

The small creature, so tiny, so ugly, eyeless, the face so tiny in the larger head, put the tiny bag of grain on the platform, almost at the feet of the beast.

He looked up, although he could not see. “Are you there?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the beast.