It must be remembered that the
description I have just given
of the Swift One is not the description
that would have been given by
Big-Tooth, my other self of my
dreams, my prehistoric ancestor.
It is by the medium of my dreams
that I, the modern man, look
through the eyes of Big-Tooth
and see.
And so it is with much that
I narrate of the events of that
far-off time. There is a duality
about my impressions that is
too confusing to inflict upon
my readers. I shall merely pause
here in my narrative to indicate
this duality, this perplexing
mixing of personality. It is
I, the modern, who look back
across the centuries and weigh
and analyze the emotions and
motives of Big-Tooth, my other
self. He did not bother to weigh
and analyze. He was simplicity
itself. He just lived events,
without ever pondering why he
lived them in his particular
and often erratic way.
As I, my real self, grew older,
I entered more and more into
the substance of my dreams. One
may dream, and even in the midst
of the dream be aware that he
is dreaming, and if the dream
be bad, comfort himself with
the thought that it is only a
dream. This is a common experience
with all of us. And so it was
that I, the modern, often entered
into my dreaming, and in the
consequent strange dual personality
was both actor and spectator.
And right often have I, the modern,
been perturbed and vexed by the
foolishness, illogic, obtuseness,
and general all-round stupendous
stupidity of myself, the primitive.
And one thing more, before
I end this digression. Have you
ever dreamed that you dreamed?
Dogs dream, horses dream, all
animals dream. In Big-Tooth's
day the half-men dreamed, and
when the dreams were bad they
howled in their sleep. Now I,
the modern, have lain down with
Big-Tooth and dreamed his dreams.
This is getting almost beyond
the grip of the intellect, I
know; but I do know that I have
done this thing. And let me tell
you that the flying and crawling
dreams of Big-Tooth were as vivid
to him as the falling-through-space
dream is to you.
For Big-Tooth also had an other-self,
and when he slept that other-self
dreamed back into the past, back
to the winged reptiles and the
clash and the onset of dragons,
and beyond that to the scurrying,
rodent-like life of the tiny
mammals, and far remoter still,
to the shore-slime of the primeval
sea. I cannot, I dare not, say
more. It is all too vague and
complicated and awful. I can
only hint of those vast and terrific
vistas through which I have peered
hazily at the progression of
life, not upward from the ape
to man, but upward from the worm.
And now to return to my tale.
I, Big-Tooth, knew not the Swift
One as a creature of finer facial
and bodily symmetry, with long-lashed
eyes and a bridge to her nose
and down-opening nostrils that
made toward beauty. I knew her
only as the mild-eyed young female
who made soft sounds and did
not fight. I liked to play with
her, I knew not why, to seek
food in her company, and to go
bird-nesting with her. And I
must confess she taught me things
about tree-climbing. She was
very wise, very strong, and no
clinging skirts impeded her movements.
It was about this time that
a slight defection arose on the
part of Lop-Ear. He got into
the habit of wandering off in
the direction of the tree where
my mother lived. He had taken
a liking to my vicious sister,
and the Chatterer had come to
tolerate him. Also, there were
several other young people, progeny
of the monogamic couples that
lived in the neighborhood, and
Lop-Ear played with these young
people.
I could never get the Swift
One to join with them. Whenever
I visited them she dropped behind
and disappeared. I remember once
making a strong effort to persuade
her. But she cast backward, anxious
glances, then retreated, calling
to me from a tree. So it was
that I did not make a practice
of accompanying Lop-Ear when
he went to visit his new friends.
The Swift One and I were good
comrades, but, try as I would,
I could never find her tree-shelter.
Undoubtedly, had nothing happened,
we would have soon mated, for
our liking was mutual; but the
something did happen.
One morning, the Swift One
not having put in an appearance,
Lop-Ear and I were down at the
mouth of the slough playing on
the logs. We had scarcely got
out on the water, when we were
startled by a roar of rage. It
was Red-Eye. He was crouching
on the edge of the timber jam
and glowering his hatred at us.
We were badly frightened, for
here was no narrow-mouthed cave
for refuge. But the twenty feet
of water that intervened gave
us temporary safety, and we plucked
up courage.
Red-Eye stood up erect and
began beating his hairy chest
with his fist. Our two logs were
side by side, and we sat on them
and laughed at him. At first
our laughter was half-hearted,
tinged with fear, but as we became
convinced of his impotence we
waxed uproarious. He raged and
raged at us, and ground his teeth
in helpless fury. And in our
fancied security we mocked and
mocked him. We were ever short-sighted,
we Folk.
Red-Eye abruptly ceased his
breast-beating and tooth-grinding,
and ran across the timber-jam
to the shore. And just as abruptly
our merriment gave way to consternation.
It was not Red-Eye's way to forego
revenge so easily. We waited
in fear and trembling for whatever
was to happen. It never struck
us to paddle away. He came back
with great leaps across the jam,
one huge hand filled with round,
water-washed pebbles. I am glad
that he was unable to find larger
missiles, say stones weighing
two or three pounds, for we were
no more than a score of feet
away, and he surely would have
killed us.
As it was, we were in no small
danger. Zip! A tiny pebble whirred
past with the force almost of
a bullet. Lop-Ear and I began
paddling frantically. Whiz-zip-bang
! Lop-Ear screamed with sudden
anguish. The pebble had struck
him between the shoulders. Then
I got one and yelled. The only
thing that saved us was the exhausting
of Red-Eye's ammunition. He dashed
back to the gravel-bed for more,
while Lop-Ear and I paddled away.
Gradually we drew out of range,
though Red-Eye continued making
trips for more ammunition and
the pebbles continued to whiz
about us. Out in the centre of
the slough there was a slight
current, and in our excitement
we failed to notice that it was
drifting us into the river. We
paddled, and Red-Eye kept as
close as he could to us by following
along the shore. Then he discovered
larger rocks. Such ammunition
increased his range. One fragment,
fully five pounds in weight,
crashed on the log alongside
of me, and such was its impact
that it drove a score of splinters,
like fiery needles, into my leg.
Had it struck me it would have
killed me.
And then the river current
caught us. So wildly were we
paddling that Red-Eye was the
first to notice it, and our first
warning was his yell of triumph.
Where the edge of the current
struck the slough-water was a
series of eddies or small whirlpools.
These caught our clumsy logs
and whirled them end for end,
back and forth and around. We
quit paddling and devoted our
whole energy to holding the logs
together alongside each other.
In the meanwhile Red-Eye continued
to bombard us, the rock fragments
falling about us, splashing water
on us, and menacing our lives.
At the same time he gloated over
us, wildly and vociferously.
It happened that there was
a sharp turn in the river at
the point where the slough entered,
and the whole main current of
the river was deflected to the
other bank. And toward that bank,
which was the north bank, we
drifted rapidly, at the same
time going down-stream. This
quickly took us out of range
of Red-Eye, and the last we saw
of him was far out on a point
of land, where he was jumping
up and down and chanting a paean
of victory.
Beyond holding the two logs
together, Lop-Ear and I did nothing.
We were resigned to our fate,
and we remained resigned until
we aroused to the fact that we
were drifting along the north
shore not a hundred feet away.
We began to paddle for it. Here
the main force of the current
was flung back toward the south
shore, and the result of our
paddling was that we crossed
the current where it was swiftest
and narrowest. Before we were
aware, we were out of it and
in a quiet eddy.
Our logs drifted slowly and
at last grounded gently on the
bank. Lop-Ear and I crept ashore.
The logs drifted on out of the
eddy and swept away down the
stream. We looked at each other,
but we did not laugh. We were
in a strange land, and it did
not enter our minds that we could
return to our own land in the
same manner that we had come.
We had learned how to cross
a river, though we did not know
it. And this was something that
no one else of the Folk had ever
done. We were the first of the
Folk to set foot on the north
bank of the river, and, for that
matter, I believe the last. That
they would have done so in the
time to come is undoubted; but
the migration of the Fire People,
and the consequent migration
of the survivors of the Folk,
set back our evolution for centuries.
Indeed, there is no telling
how disastrous was to be the
outcome of the Fire People's
migration. Personally, I am prone
to believe that it brought about
the destruction of the Folk;
that we, a branch of lower life
budding toward the human, were
nipped short off and perished
down by the roaring surf where
the river entered the sea. Of
course, in such an eventuality,
I remain to be accounted for;
but I outrun my story, and such
accounting will be made before
I am done.
|