"Tell your father anything you want. Tell him everything. But not the rest of them. He'll know what to tell them. There's no use in giving the village something more to talk about."
"All right," she said. "Take care of yourself. Come back safe and sound."
"Sure," I said.
"You can get back?"
"I think I can. I hope I can."
"I'll tell Father what you said. Exactly what you said. He'll get busy on it."
"Nancy. Don't worry. It'll be all right."
"Of course I won't. I'll be seeing you."
"So long, Nancy. Thanks for calling."
I said to Tupper, "Thank you, telephone."
He lifted a hand and stretched out a finger at me, stroking it with the finger of the other hand, making the sign for shame.
"Brad has got a girl," he chanted in a sing-song voice. "Brad has got a girl."
"I thought you never listened in," I said, just a little nettled.
"Brad has got a girl! Brad has got a girl! Brad has got a girl!" He was getting excited about it and the slobber was flying all about his face.
"Cut it out," I yelled at him. "If you don't cut it out, I'll break your God damn neck." He knew I wasn't fooling, so he cut it out.
14
I woke in a blue and silver night and wondered, even as I woke, what had wakened me. I was lying on my back and above me the sky was glimmering with stars. I was not confused. I knew where I was. There was no blind groping back to an old reality. I heard the faint chuckling of the river as it ran between its banks and I smelled the wood smoke that drifted from the campfire.
Something had awakened me. I lay still, for it seemed important that whatever had wakened me, if it were close at hand, should not know that I was awake. There was a sense of fear, or perhaps of expectation. But if it were a sense of fear, it was neither deep nor sharp.
Slowly I twisted my head a bit and when I did I could see the moon, bright and seeming very near, swimming just above the line of scrubby trees that grew on the river bank.
I was lying flat upon the ground, with nothing under me but the hard-packed earth. Tupper had crawled into his hut to sleep, curling up so his feet did not stick out. And if he were still there and sleeping, he was very quiet about it, for I heard no sound from him.
Having turned my head, I lay quietly for a time, listening for a sound to tell me that something prowled the camp. But there was no sound and finally I sat up.
The slope of ground above the camp, silvered by the floodlight of the moon, ran up to touch the night-blue sky — a balanced piece of beauty hanging in the silence, so fragile that one was careful not to speak nor to make any sudden motion, for fear that one might break that beauty and that silence and bring it down, sky and slope together, in a shower of shards.
Carefully I got to my feet, standing in the midst of that fragile world, still wondering what had wakened me.
But there was nothing. The land and sky were poised, as if they stood on tiptoe in a single instant of retarded time. Here, it seemed, was the present frozen, with no past or future, a place where no clock would ever tick nor any word be spoken.
Then something moved upon the hilltop, a man or a manlike thing, running on the ridge crest, black against the sky, lithe and tall and graceful, running with abandon.
I was running, too. Without reason, without purpose, simply running up the slope. Simply knowing there was a man or a manlike thing up there and that I must stand face to face with it, hoping, perhaps, that in this land of emptiness and flowers, in this land of silence and of fragile beauty, it might make some sense, might lend to this strange dimension of space and time some sort of perspective that I could understand.
The manlike thing was still running on the hilltop and I tried to shout to it, but my throat would make no sound and so I kept on running.
The figure must have seen me, for suddenly it stopped and swung around to face me and stood there on the hilltop, looking down at me. And now I saw that while it undoubtedly was of human form, it had a crest of some sort above its head, giving it a birdlike look as if the head of a cockatoo had been grafted on a human body.
I ran, panting, toward it, and now it moved down the hill to meet me, walking slowly and deliberately and with unconscious grace.
I stopped running and stood still, fighting to regain my breath. There was no need of running any more. I need not run to catch it.
It continued walking down the hill toward me and while its body still stayed black and featureless, I could see that the crest was white, or silver. In the moonlight it was hard to tell if it were white or silver.
My breath came more easily now and I climbed up the hill to meet it. We approached one another slowly, each of us, I suppose, afraid that any other manner of approach might give the other fright.
The manlike thing stopped ten feet or so away and I stopped as well, and now I saw that indeed it was humanoid and that it was a woman, either a naked or an almost naked woman. In the moonlight, the crest upon her head was a thing of shining wonder, but I could not make out if it were a natural appendage or some sort of eccentric hairdo, or perhaps a hat.
The crest was white, but the rest of her was black, a jet black with blue highlights that glinted in the moonlight. And there was about her body an alertness and an awareness and a sense of bubbling life that took my breath away.
She spoke to me in music. It must have been a music, for there seemed to be no words.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I do not understand." She spoke again and the trilling of the voice ran across the blue and silver world like a spray of crystal thought, but there was no understanding. I wondered, in despair, if any man of my race could ever understand a language that expressed itself in music, or if, in fact, it was meant to be understood as were the words we used.
I shook my head and she laughed, the laughter making her without any doubt a human — a low and tinkling laugh that was happy and excited.
She held out her hand and took a few quick steps toward me and I took the outstretched hand. And as I took her hand, she turned and ran lightly up the hill and I went running with her. We reached the top of the ridge and continued running, hand in hand, down the other slope, a wild, ecstatic running that was sheer youth and craziness — a running into nothing, for the utter joy of being alive in that heady moonlight.
We were young and drunk with a strange happiness for which there seemed no reason or accounting — drunk with, at least for me, a wild exuberance.
Her grip upon my hand was hard, with a lithe, young strength, and we ran together as if we were one person running — and it seemed to me, indeed, that in some awesome manner I had become a part of her, and that somehow I knew where we were going and why we were going there, but my brain was so seething with this strange happiness that it could not translate the knowledge into terms I understood.
We came down to the creek and splashed across, then ran around the mound where I had found the skulls and on up the second ridge and there, at the top of it, we came upon the picnic.
There were other people there, at this midnight picnic, a half a dozen of them, all like this alien girl who had run with me. Scattered on the ground were hampers, or things that looked like hampers, and bottles, and these bottles and the hampers were arranged in a sort of circle. In the centre of the circle was a small, silvery contraption that was just slightly larger than a basketball.
We stopped at the edge of the circle and all the rest of them turned to look at us — but to look without surprise, as if it were not unusual at all for one of them to lead in an alien creature such as I.
The woman who was with me spoke in her singing voice and they answered back with music. All of them were watching me, but it was friendly watching.