The Totems of Abydos

CHAPTER 40





From that point on, which we might signify as that of the beast’s acquisition of a mate, life was much better for Brenner. The misery and the frustration were now muchly dissipated. At an end now were numerous pains of deprivation, the torture of powerful needs left unsatisfied. There was now little point to howling on the cliffs, except, perhaps upon occasion, as Brenner was a rational being, to vent ancient griefs, to deplore the cruelties of fate, to acknowledge the mysteries, to inquire information of the stars, knowing they would give none, and to remember a friend. But perhaps even more important than the mere assuagements of certain physical requirements was his simple joy in the company of the female, his gratitude that she should exist, that there should be something such as she, that she was about, that she was near. Now when he roamed the forests, she was with him. Together they trod upon the leaves, padding softly beneath the branches. They drank at the same streams. They hunted together. They fed together, their heads side by side.

Brenner, in so far as he could, with snarls, and warnings, and by example, for he was clearly afraid of her only too natural instincts, and the ways in which she, untutored, might define her prey range, made clear to her the eccentricities of his office. Pons, the small, strange creatures who walked upright, who lived within their puzzling nest of sticks, were not to be attacked, killed, or eaten. Moreover, they were to be literally protected.

Those who might prey upon them, those who might attack them, or kill them and eat them, were to be driven off, or killed. Moreover, the track of the string, which he showed her, and the region of the platform, and the flat places where the strange grasses grew, where the small creatures often came with their tools, and the clearing, and the village, were to be guarded with particular care. These things, as far as Brenner could tell, the female accepted, or, at least, did not question. To be sure, they must have made little sense to her. In the first weeks he did follow her upon occasion, usually in the morning, when she had arisen earlier and gone out to drink. On one of these occasions she had encountered a Pon near the string, and Brenner had tensed himself to interfere, if he had time. But the Pon had fled and she had merely looked after it. She could have brought it down easily, but had not done so. Brenner then, muchly relieved, had returned to the lair. You do not have to kill her, he had thought to himself. But he wondered if he could have brought himself to do so. But what can be the nature of such reservations, he asked himself. She is only an animal, a beast. If she interferes with the discharge of the fathership, if she threatens the pact, she must die. But he wondered if he could have injured her, regardless of what she might do. But I must be strong, thought Brenner. The children come first, and the fathership. He was terrified at the thought of returning to the loneliness, like an arctic wasteland, he had known before. He was horrified at the thought of injuring what he had come to love so much. But, he said to himself, remember that she is an animal, a beast, only that. If she threatens the pact, she must die. Do not make me choose between you and the fathership, he begged her silently, in his mind. But it did not seem likely that that decision would need be made. She had not pursued the Pon. She respects my will in this matter, he speculated. How problematical, and puzzling, and even unintelligible, my wishes in this matter must seem to her, he thought. He did not expect her, of course, to share the stewardship, the guardianship, which might seem even more absurd, or meaningless, to her. All he really asked of her was that she refrain from killing and eating Pon. And it seemed that she would refrain from such things, at least at this time. He did not know, of course, really, whether this was because of him, the result, say, of deference to his wishes, or of some natural disinclination, or indifference.

There were things that puzzled him about her, such as her occasional restlessness in the night, her movings about, the stirring of her limbs, doubtless in dreaming, roars, snarls, unusual noises, such things.

He learned from her to lift fish from streams, with a scoop of a paw. This was useful. It had not been in his beast memories.

To be sure, he did not care much for water.

It interested him that Rodriguez had been mistaken about such forms of life, regarding them as not indigenous to Abydos. This did not seem the sort of mistake which Rodriguez would have made.

Yet here she was.

He was pleased that she was here.

There was, of course, a lingering loneliness in Brenner, a longing for someone, or something, which might understand him, with whom he could truly communicate. This is not to say that there was not a profound companionship between the lovely female beast and himself. This was an unspoken thing, a primitive thing, deeper and, in its way, doubtless more profound than words. There were feelings here, and interdependencies, as ancient as the beauty of pair bonding itself, a bonding, a loving and needing, and wanting and caring, more permanent than, and exceeding, the casual couplings of heedless beasts. In its way it was the fundamental reality, primeval, and basic, compared to which linguisticisms must seem almost superficial accretions, save in so far as they might point to the deeper realities, and feelings, beyond them. How trivial, and meaningless, in themselves, are the words, ‘I love you’. And yet of what moment they are when they call attention to that which is beyond words, older than words and deeper than words, which no words, in any language, can express.

One evening Brenner was lying on the height of the cliff, as was his wont. In the distance was the village of the Pons. Near him, also recumbent, was the sleek female. On this evening, for no reason he clearly understood, he felt the isolation of his being, how alone, in a way, he was. She was there, of course, but she was only an animal. Brenner looked to the village. How he longed to speak to her of what had occurred there, how he longed to tell someone, how he wanted to express so many things she could not comprehend. He wanted to share his grief, his history, the story of his office. He wanted someone to understand what he had been, and what he now was. He wanted someone to understand that he was not a mere beast. He wanted someone to whom he might tell the secrets he knew. He looked over to the female. Her jaws opened, revealing the white fangs, the long, rough tongue, and she yawned, and blinked, sleepily. Brenner turned away, angrily. I am alone, thought Brenner. I am alone! And he was angry, for a moment, selfishly, irrationally, with Rodriguez, for having left him. He might have continued to bear the burdens of that wretched body, the pain of it, its blindness, to bear me company, thought Brenner, angrily. Then he put such thoughts from him. How unworthy they were! A wave of hatred swept over him for the female, in her simplicity, that she was what she was, that she could never understand. She could never comprehend his pain, his suffering, his sorrow. She could never understand the knowledge that was his burden. To one such as she, a simple beast, a mere animal, with no thought beyond the day, he could never make clear the intent, the meaning, of thousands of years, the fates of civilizations, the hopes and fears of a race. To one such as she he could not even make clear the intent, the meaning, of the duties which were incumbent upon him. He looked toward the village. There, as in a cradle, rested a race, a declining, perishing form of being that was his own. Was it his role to be only another shepherd of its dying days, to protect it, watching over it, in his turn, as others had in their turn, while it quietly vanished in the darkness of a vast forest, not even noted? He felt great sorrow.

The female rose to a sitting position.

How Brenner then hated her!

You do not understand me, he thought. You cannot understand anything. You are stupid! You understand nothing!

He looked up at her, she sitting there, from where he lay. She had her large, broad head lifted, as though she might be regarding the stars. The wind moved gently in her fur, making tiny ripples in it.

How is it you dare to lift your head in such a way, Brenner thought, as though you were regarding the stars.

I hate “you, he thought.

But you are very beautiful, he thought.

Angrily he stood up. He looked to the village. Then, in anger, in frustration, in loneliness, in desperation, to himself, to the female, to the stars, to the forest, to the moonless sky, he cried out, “I am the father!”

“I am the mother,” she said.