The Totems of Abydos (49 page)

“Subrational, or, at best, incipiently rational, or protorational,” said Rodriguez.

“Rational enough,” said Brenner. “Do they not cage and torture their own kind?”

“Even if so, you do not know the nature of their rationality,” said Rodriguez.

“Rationality is one,” said Brenner.

“That is highly unlikely,” said Rodriguez.

“I might have been able to prevent a murder,” said Brenner.

“You might have interfered with an execution,” said Rodriguez.

The tiny female was whimpering now, and rocking back and forth.

Brenner reached out, to touch her, in sympathy, but Rodriguez held back his arm. “Put your pity aside,” said Rodriguez. “Remember that it is only an animal. Too, it is agitated. It might bite.”

Brenner looked at him, angrily.

“You have already violated the distances,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner straightened up. Rodriguez was right, of course. The distances were doubtless to be respected. He did not wish to risk, either through ignorance or inadvertence, placing the small female in jeopardy. He had just learned, this afternoon, to his dismay, that the benignity of the Pons, exhibited even in such small matters as their respect for, and benevolence toward, insects, and such, need not be invariably extended, under all circumstances, to the members of their own species. This was not unprecedented, of course. Those who flew the banners of love were commonly the first to demand the destruction of those who disagreed with them. A thousand histories were stained with the blood of heretics. Too, in all honesty he doubted that his touch would much comfort the tiny, forlorn beast.

“Look,” whispered Rodriguez.

“The git keeper, with two other Pons, was approaching. They carried pointed sticks.

“Do not interfere,” Rodriguez cautioned him.

“I have already interfered,” said Brenner.

“More are coming,” said Rodriguez. They were mostly males. That could be told from the distances, if nothing else. Females hung about the edges of what was now becoming a circle. More than one male carefully approached, avoiding them.

“There must be fifty or sixty of them,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner took a step closer, a protective step, toward the tiny female a few feet in front of him.

“I will not let them hurt her,” said Brenner under his breath.

“Do not interfere,” said Rodriguez, softly, tensely.

“I will not let them hurt her,” said Brenner.

“You will ruin the study,” said Rodriguez.

“I will not let them hurt her,” said Brenner.

“It is an animal, a monkey,” said Rodriguez. “That is what they all are. Do not interfere.”

“They are not going to hurt her,” said Brenner, determinedly.

“Look,” said Rodriguez.

Some four Pons were now carrying forth three poles, with some rope. Two more, behind them, held a cage of saplings, tiny, and conical. They came through the males gathered about and tied the poles together at one end, and fastened the cage of saplings to it, by more rope. They then set the poles up, as a tripod, the cage dangling from it. It was set up at the proper distance from the other tripod and cage. One of the Pons then opened the door of the tiny cage, and gestured to the small female to come forward and enter it.

She looked around, wildly, at Brenner.

“Do not interfere,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner put out his hand. The tiny female hurried to him, and put her hand in his. Several of the Pons about, in particular those who had not been at the amphitheater, gasped. Their eyes widened in fear.

One of the Pons at the cage angrily gestured again toward the small opening.

“No,” said Brenner, firmly. “No.”

The Pons looked at one another. Rodriguez was pleased that they were so small.

“No,” repeated Brenner, in a kindly, but firm, voice.

“No?” said one of the Pons, puzzled.

“No,” said Brenner.

The git keeper, with his pointed stick held in two hands, lifted, the point toward the tiny female, took a step forward. Brenner, with an angry scowl, released the hand of the female and stood squarely between her and the git keeper.

The git keeper, his way barred by Brenner, who to him must surely have constituted a considerable, menacing obstacle, stopped.

“Touching!” cried one of the Pons shrilly, pointing to the crumpled form in the cage and then to the small female. “Touching! Touching!”

“They must have violated the distances,” said Rodriguez. “They may even have touched.”

It may be recalled that the two central tenets of totemism, its most fundamental doctrines, so to speak, have to do with the veneration of the totem animal and exogamy, that the females of the totem group are denied to the males of the same totem.

“It does not matter,” said Brenner.

“It is the violation of a taboo,” said Rodriguez. “That is serious here.”

“It does not matter,” said Brenner.

“The violation of a taboo must be punished by the group,” said Rodriguez. “If it is permitted for the taboo to be broken, the example will be contagious. Do you not understand? It is like condoning crime. It is like saying that the bonds of the community are unimportant. It is like saying everything is permitted. It is to threaten the foundations of society. It will produce moral anarchy. Chaos will ensue. There is a reason for these things, even if you do not know it, or they. They are afraid that a taboo should be violated. They fear that the violation of the taboo, the betrayal of the totem animal, and their pledge to it, the sundering of the pact with the totem, if not punished, will being disaster upon the group. They are afraid. Understand them.”

“There is nothing to fear,” said Brenner.

“They fear the vengeance of the totem,” said Rodriguez.

“The totem is a git,” said Brenner.

“They are afraid,” said Rodriguez.

“There is nothing to fear,” said Brenner.

“It is their perceptions which are important here,” said Rodriguez. “Not yours.”

“I will not let them harm her,” said Brenner. “No!” he said angrily to the git keeper, who had inched forward. The git keeper looked about, frightened, at the others. Two of the Pons began to wail. Some looked back to the palisade, and to the forest beyond, which seemed quiet and dark. Again Rodriguez was pleased that they were so small.

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” said Brenner, softly, to the Pons about.

“You are threatening their way of life,” said Rodriguez. “You do not even know the reasons for these things. They doubtless do not know them themselves.”

“It is time they outgrew their superstitions,” said Brenner.

“I am trying to explain this to you,” said Rodriguez, quietly. “Try to understand it. If taboo is violated, and left unpunished, the pact with the totem, the very foundation of their way of life, is breached. This will call forth the wrath of the totem. It may punish them for their infidelity, for their crime. At the least it will no longer accord them its protection.”

“The totem is a git,” said Brenner.

“I am not sure of that,” said Rodriguez.

“Get back!” said Brenner, angrily, fiercely, to the git keeper. It scurried back, to stand beside the one cage, with its bloodied, crumpled occupant.

“Touched! Touched! Touched!” shrieked the git keeper. With his stick he pointed at the figure in the cage, and then at the female, again and again.

“Maybe no touch,” said Rodriguez. “Maybe mistake. Maybe no touch!”

“Saw! Saw! Saw!” shrilled the git keeper.

“It does not matter,” said Brenner to the git keeper. “It is all right to touch.”

There was then a great silence in the clearing.

“Yes,” said Brenner, quietly. “It is all right to touch.” It was strange in a way, he thought, that he, from the home world, should be saying this. The home world, for centuries, reeling in pernicious momentum, had discouraged touchings of an intersexual manner, as they were regarded as incompatible with the identity of the sexes, such touchings tending to elicit an outlawed masculinity and a forbidden femininity. It was true, of course, that they tended not to produce neuteristic identicals but, in effect, masters and slaves. Interestingly, masculinity and femininity had supposedly been disproven by science. But Brenner’s society, like many, had found it necessary to suppress with vigor what it claimed did not exist. Such inconsistencies are common amongst advanced societies, and idiots. There are, of course, numerous ways to produce offspring without touchings, available in laboratories, and such. Thus one needed have no fear as to imminent extinction on the home world. The official views tended to be accepted, at least ostensibly, by those in Brenner’s society who would seek to rise in various hierarchies. They tended also to be accepted by many moral individuals who, in virtue of their conscientious adherence to these directives, were effectively weeding themselves out of the population. It might be added that the average individual on Brenner’s home world now failed intelligence tests of the sorts which had been given several centuries ago, but, as an alarmed bureaucracy had hastened to produce new tests, it was proven, by identity of scores, that the intelligence of the population had not declined. Such touchings were not regarded as taboo on Brenner’s home world, of course, but rather as, depending on the authority, devolved, antiquated, perverse, antisocial, unprogressive, pathological or wicked.

“It is all right to touch,” repeated Brenner. He said this very softly, very gently, very soothingly.

Several of the Pons looked at one another, frightened. It was odd, thought Rodriguez. Their eyes. The look in their eyes was not like that which might have been in the eyes of home-worlders, amused, skeptical, or puzzled, that there might seem to be a reversal, perhaps local or temporary, perhaps in the interests of a party, in a policy which most of them had never genuinely internalized in the first place. No. It was quite different. This had not to do with the inanities of politics, and pressure groups, and what was thought to be in the best interest of this or that special group, and so was absurdly universalized for an entire species, but had to do with something fundamental in their lives. Some of the Pons seemed terribly uneasy, as though they might have suddenly, quite unexpectedly, found themselves standing defenseless amongst enemies. Some glanced back at the females. Their eyes were not met. Some of the females backed away. Distances widened appreciably. The eyes of others seemed frightened, as though they looked down into an abyss, or outward, into a nothingness. Several of the Pons began to wail and turn about. Some covered their faces.

The git keeper began to drive his pointed stick angrily into the ground near the one cage, stabbing again and again with it, down, into the ground.

Brenner looked at him, irritably.

The git keeper’s eyes were furious. Then, suddenly, angrily, petulantly, defiantly, he thrust his pointed stick through the bars of the small cage, hard, into the body confined there. The tiny body drew back spasmodically from the blow, whimpering.

“It’s not dead!” cried Brenner, wildly, delightedly.

He rushed toward the cage.

“You little bastards!” screamed Brenner, with tears in his eyes. “You little bastards!”

The git keeper fled away.

Brenner, with a strength he did not know he possessed, tore apart the cage. He drew forth the bloodied Pon. The small female moved toward him, timidly, putting out her hand. Brenner knelt down, holding the bloodied Pon in his arms. The female came to the thing in his arms, and pulled a little at its fur, a gesture not unlike grooming.

A ripple of horror went through the assembled Pons.

“It is all right,” wept Brenner. “It is all right.”

“Yes,” said Rodriguez, suddenly, decisively. “It is all right!”

Brenner threw him a look of gratitude.

The small female began to croon over the thing in Brenner’s arms.

“Take it,” said Brenner to Rodriguez, standing up. “We are going to finish this thing once and for all.”

Rodriguez took the Pon.

Brenner went to the tripod from which hung the bloodied cage and threw it to the ground. He then, with his boots, smashed the remaining bars. He pulled apart the ropes. He scattered the poles, the rope, the bars. He then went to the other tripod and threw it down, and crushed that cage, too, under his feet, and then, too, cast the pieces about.

“Come along!” he said to the horrified Pons. “Come with me!”

He gestured with his arm, and strode toward the small shelter in the center of the clearing. The Pons, uneasily keeping the distances, some of them wailing, followed him. Rodriguez followed him, too, the tiny Pon in his arms, the small female running beside him.

Brenner now stood beside the table, that within the open-sided, roofed structure. The tiny wire cage, housing the git, was on the table.

Brenner looked at the small Pon in Rodriguez’ arms.

Rodriguez lifted it up and put his ear to its chest. “No,” he said. “It’s still alive.”

Brenner pointed to the git in the cage.

“This is a git,” he said. “It is not a totem. It is only a small animal. It is only an animal.”