The Classic Philip Jose Farmer 1952-1964 Page 7

  He held up his right hand. The thumb and two middle fingers were bent. The index finger and little finger were held straight out. I didn’t respond immediately, and he looked hard. I imitated his gesture, and he relaxed a little.

  “I’m bootlegging for the love of it,” I said. “And also to spread the gospel.”

  Where that last phrase came from, I had no notion. Perhaps from the reference to “worshiper” and the vaguely religious-looking sign that Polivinosel had made.

  He reached out a big hairy hand and turned the spigot on my tank. Before I could move, he had poured out enough to fill his cupped palm. He raised his hand to his lips and slurped loudly. He blew the liquid out so it sprayed all over me. “Whee-oo! That’s water!” “()f course,” I said. “After I get rid of my load of Brew, I fill the tank with ordinary water. If I’m caught by the border patrol, I tell them I’m smuggling pure water into our area.”

  “That’s not all,” I said. “I even have an agreement with some of the higher officers. They allow me to slip through if I bring them back some Brew.”

  He winked and brayed and slapped his thigh again. “Corruption, eh, brother? Even brass will rust. I tell you, it won’t be long until the Brew of the Bull spreads everywhere.”

  Again he made that sign, and I did so almost at the same time.

  He said, “I’ll walk with you a mile or so. My worshipers—the local Cult of the Ass—are holding a fertility ceremony down the path a way. Care to join us?”

  I shuddered. “No, thank you,” I said fervently.

  I had witnessed one of those orgies through a pair of fieldglasses one night. The huge bonfire had been about two hundred yards inside the forbidden boundary. Against its hellish flame, I could see the white and capering bodies of absolutely uninhibited men and women. It was a long time before I could get that scene out of my mind. I used to dream about it.

  When I declined the invitation, Polivinosel brayed again and slapped me on the back, or where my back would have been if my tank hadn’t been in the way. As it was, I fell on my hands and knees in a patch of tall grass. I was furious. I not only resented his too-high spirits, I was afraid he had bent the thin-walled tank and sprung a leak in its seams.

  But that wasn’t the main reason I didn’t get up at once. I couldn’t move because I was staring into Alice’s big blue eyes.

  Polivinosel gave a loud whoop and leaped through the air and landed beside me. He got down on his hands and knees and stuck his big ugly mule-eared face into Alice’s and bellowed, “How now, white cow! How high browse thou?”

  He grabbed Alice by the waist and lifted her up high, getting up himself at the same time. There he held her in the moonlight and turned her around and over and over, as if she were a strange-looking bug he had caught crawling in the weeds.

  She squealed and gasped, “Damn you, you big jackass, take your filthy paws off me!”

  “I’m Polivinosel, the local god of fertility!” he brayed. “It’s my duty—and privilege—to inspect your qualifications. Tell me, daughter, have you prayed recently for a son or daughter? Are your crops coming along? How are your cabbages growing? What about your onions and your parsnips? Are your hens laying enough eggs?”

  Instead of being frightened, Alice got angry. “All right, Your Asininity, would you please let me down? And quit looking at me with those big lecherous eyes. If you want what I think you do, hurry along to your own orgy. Your worshipers are waiting for you.”

  He opened his hands so she fell to the ground. Fortunately, she was quick and lithe and landed on her feet. She started to walk away, but he reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.

  “You’re going the wrong way, my pretty little daughter. The infidels are patrolling the border only a few hundred yards away.

  “I’ll take care of myself, thank you,” she said huskily. “Just leave me alone. It’s getting so a girl can’t take a snooze by herself in the grass without some minor deity or other wanting to wrestle!”

  Alice was picking up the local lingo fast.

  “Well, now, daughter, you can’t blame us godlings for that. Not when you’re built like a goddess yourself.”

  He gave that titanic bray that should have knocked us down, then grabbed both of us by the wrists and dragged us along the path.

  “Come along, little ones. I’ll introduce you around. And we’ll all have a ball at the Feast of the Ass.” Again, the loud offensive bray. I could see why Durham had metamorphosed this fellow into his present form.

  That thought brought me up short. The question was, how had he done it? I didn’t believe in supernatural powers, of course. If there were any, they weren’t possessed by man. And anything that went on in this physical universe had to obey physical laws.

  Take Polivinosel’s ears and hoofs. I had a good chance to study them more closely as I walked with him. His ears may have been changed, like Bottoms, into a donkey’s, but whoever had done it had not had an accurate picture in his mind. They were essentially human ears, elongated and covered over with tiny hairs.

  As for the legs, they were human, not equine. It was true he had no feet. But his pale, shiny hoofs, though cast into a good likeness of a horse’s, were evidently made of the same stuff as toenails. And there was still the faintest outline and curve of five toes.

  It was evident that some biological sculptor had had to rechisel and then regrow the basic human form.

  I looked at Alice to see what she thought of him. She was magnificent in her anger. As Polivinosel had been uncouth enough to mention, she had a superb figure. She was the sort of girl who is always president of her college sorority, queen of the Senior Prom, and engaged to a Senators son. The type I had never had a chance with when I was working my way through Traybell University.

  Polivinosel suddenly stopped and roared, “Look, you, what’s your name?”

  “Daniel Temper,” I said.

  “Daniel Temper? D.T.? Ah, hah, hoo, hah, hah! Listen, Old D.T., throw that tank away. It burdens you down, and you look like an ass, a veritable beast of burden, with it on your back. And I won’t have anybody going around imitating me, see? Hoohah-heehaw! Get it?”

  He punched me in the ribs with a big thumb as hard as horn. It was all I could do to keep from swinging at him. I never hated a man—or deity—so much. Durham had failed if he had thought to punish him. Polivinosel seemed to be proud of his transformation and had, if I understood him correctly, profited enough by his experience to start a cult. Of course, he wasn’t the first to make a religion of his infirmity.

  “How will I be able to bootleg the Brew out?” I asked. “Who cares?” he said. “Your piddling little operations won’t help the spread of the divine Drink much. Leave that up to the rivers of the world and to Mahrud, bull be his name.”

  I couldn’t argue with him. He’d have torn the tank off my back. Slowly, I unstrapped it. He helped me by grabbing it and throwing it off into the darkness of the woods.

  Immediately, I became so thirsty, I could hardly stand it.

  “You don’t want that filthy stuff!” Polivinosel brayed. “Come with me to the Place of the Ass! I have a nice little temple there— nothing fancy, understand, like the Flower Palace of Mahrud, may he be all bull—but it will do. And we do have a good time.”

  All this while, he was ogling Alice shamelessly and projecting more than his thoughts. Like all the degenerates in this area, he had absolutely no inhibitions. If I had had a gun, I think I would have shot him then and there. That is, if the cartridges could have exploded.

  “Look here,” I said, abandoning caution in my anger. “We’re going where we damn well please.” I grabbed the girl’s wrist. More wrist-grabbing going on lately. “Come on, Alice, let’s leave this glorified donkey.”

  Polivinosel loomed in our way. The slightly Mongolian tilt of his eyes made him look more Missouri-mulish than ever. Big and mean and powerful, with the accent on mean.

  “Don’t think for a minute,” he bellowed, “that you�
�re going to get me mad enough to harm you so you can go tell your prayerman to report me to Mahrud! You can’t tempt me into wrath! That would be a mortal sin, mortals!”

  Shouting about my not being able to disturb his Olympian aloofness, he put his arm around my neck and with the other hand reached into my mouth and yanked out my upper plate.

  “You and your mushmouthing annoy me!” he cried.

  He released his choking grip around my neck and threw the plate into the shadows of the forest. I rushed toward the bush where I thought I’d seen the white teeth land. I got down on my hands and knees and groped frantically around, but I couldn’t find them.

  Alice’s scream brought me upward. Too fast, for I bumped my head hard against a branch. Despite the pain, I turned back to see what was the trouble and charged through the brush. And I banged my shins hard against some object and fell flat on my face, knocking my breath out.

  When I rose, I saw I’d tripped over my own watertank. I didn’t stop to thank whatever gods might be for my good fortune. Instead, I picked the tank up and, running up to them, brought it crashing down against the back of his head. Soundlessly, he crumpled. I threw the container to one side and went to Alice.

  “You all right?” I asked.

  “Yes-s,” she said, sobbing, and put her head on my shoulder.

  I judged she was more frightened and mad than hurt. I patted her shoulder—she had beautifully smooth skin—and stroked her long black hair. But she wouldn’t quit weeping.

  But we were always close.” I wanted to hear more, but the immediate situation demanded my attention. I turned Polivinosel over. His heart was still beating. Blood flowed from the gash in the back of his scalp,

  not the clear ichor you expect from a god’s veins.

  “Type O,” said Alice. “Same as it was before. And don’t worry about him. He deserves to die. He’s a big stupid jerk of a Don Juan who got my sister in trouble and wouldn’t…” She stopped and gasped. I followed her stricken gaze and water had spilled into the dirt. And again I felt

  that sudden wrench of thirst. It was purely mental, of course, but that knowledge didn’t make me less dry.

  She put her hand to her throat and croaked, “All of a sudden, I’m thirsty.” “There’s nothing we can do about it unless we find a source of uncontaminated water,” I said. “And the longer we stand around talking about it, the thirstier we’ll get.”

  The tank was empty. Stopping to check this sad fact, I saw light flash on something beneath a bush. I retrieved my upper plate. With my back toward Alice, I inserted the teeth and, feeling a little more assured, told her we’d better start walking on.

  We did, but she still had the water problem on her mind. “Surely, there are wells and creeks that aren’t infected. Only the river is filled with the Brew, isn’t it?”

  “If I were sure of that I’d not have taken the watertank,” I was unkind enough to point out. She opened her mouth to reply. But just then we heard voices down the path and saw the flare of approaching torches. Quickly, we stepped into the brush and hid.

  The newcomers were singing. Their song owed its music to The Battle Hymn of the Republic, but the words were Latin. It was wretched Latin, for their accent paid allegiance to the beat of the original English meter. It didn’t bother them at all. I doubt if many even knew what they were singing.

  “Orientis partibus Adventavit Asinus, Pulcher et Fortissimus, Sarcinis aptissimus. Orientis partibus Adventavit… Eeeeek!” They had rounded the trails bend and discovered their god, bleeding and unconscious.

  Alice whispered, “Let’s get out of here. If that mob catches us, they’ll tear us apart.” I wanted to watch, to learn from their behavior how we should act when among the natives. I told her so, and she nodded. Despite our antagonism, I had to admit that she was intelligent and brave. If she was a little nervous, she had good reason to be.

  These people didn’t act at all as I’d thought they would. Instead of wailing and weeping, they stood away from him, huddled together, not quite sure what to do. I didn’t see at first what caused their attitude.

  Then I realized from their expressions and whispers that they were afraid to interfere in the affairs of a demigod—even one as demi as Polivinosel.

  Something made a loud cracking noise down the path behind us. Alice and I jumped, as did the whole group. They took off like a bunch of scared rabbits. I felt like joining them, but I stayed. I did, however, pray that this wouldn’t be another nerve-rocking monster.

  It was merely a naked native, a tall lean one with a long thin nose, who looked as if he ought to be teaching in some college. The effect was intensified by the fact that he had his nose in a book. As I’ve said, the moonlight was strong enough for reading, but I hadn’t really expected anyone to take advantage of it.

  His scholarly appearance was somewhat marred by the dead squirrel, large as a collie, which hung around his neck and over his shoulders. He had been hunting, I suppose, though I’d never heard of hunting squirrels in the dark. Moreover, he carried no weapons.

  All of this, except for the squirrel’s size, was surprising. I’d seen camera shots of the great beasts taken along the Area’s edge.

  I watched him closely to see what he’d do when he saw Polivinosel. He disappointed me. When he came to the prostrate form, he did not hesitate or give any sign that he had seen the god except to lift his feet over the outstretched legs. His nose remained dipped in the book.

  I took Alice’s hand. “Come on. We’re following him.”

  We walked behind the reader for perhaps a half-mile. When I thought it was safe to stop him, I called out to him. He halted and put his squirrel on the ground and waited for me.

  I asked him if he had noticed Polivinosel lying on the path.

  Puzzled, he shook his head.

  “I saw you step over him,” I said.

  “I stepped over nothing,” he insisted. “The path was perfectly clear.” He peered closely at me. “I can see you’re a newcomer. Perhaps you’ve had your first taste of the Brew. Sometimes, at first, it gives strange sensations and visions. Takes a little time to get adjusted to it, you know.”

  I said nothing about that, but I did argue with him about Polivinosel. Not until I mentioned the name, however, did he look enlightened. He smiled in a superior manner and looked down his long nose.

  “Ah, my good man, you mustn’t believe everything you hear, you know. Just because the majority, who have always been igno-rami and simpletons, choose to explain the new phenomena in terms of ancient superstition is no reason for an intelligent man such as yourself to put any credence in them. I suggest you discard anything you hear—with the exception of what I tell you, of course—and use the rational powers that you were lucky enough to be born with and to develop in some university, providing, that is, you didn’t go to some institution which is merely a training ground for members of the Chamber of Commerce, Rotary, Odd Fellows, Knights of Columbus, Shriners, or the Lions, Moose, Elk, and other curious beasts. I scarcely—”

  “But I saw Polivinosel!” I said, exasperated. “And if you hadn’t lifted your feet, you’d have fallen over him!”

  “What’s yours?” I challenged.

  “Dr. Durham invented some sort of machine that generates the unknown chemical with which he is now infecting the Illinois River. And eventually, we hope, the waters of the world. One of its properties is a destruction of many of the sociologically and psychologically conditioned reflexes which some term inhibitions, mores, or neuroses. And a very good thing, too. It also happens to be a universal antibiotic and tonic—such a combination!—besides a number of other things, not all of which I approve.

  “However, he has, I must admit, done away with such societal and politico-economic structurologies and agents as factories, shops, doctors, hospitals, schools—which have hitherto devoted most of their time and energy to turning out half-educated morons—bureaucracies, automobiles, churches, movies, advertising, distilleries, soap operas, arm
ies, prostitutes, and innumerable other institutions until recently considered indispensable.

  “Unfortunately, the rationalizing instinct in man is very hard to down, as is the power-drive. So you have charlatans posing as prophets and setting up all sorts of new churches and attracting the multitudes in all their moronic simplicity and pathetic eagerness to grasp at some explanation for the unknown.”

  I wanted to believe him, but I knew that the Professor had neither ability nor money enough to build such a machine.

  “What is the peasants’ explanation for the Brew?” I asked.

  “They have none except that it comes from the Bottle,” said the Rational Man. “They swear that Durham derives his powers from this Bottle, which, by description, is nothing more than a common everyday beer bottle. Some declare, however, that it bears, in stiacciato, the image of a bull.”

  Guilt brought sweat out on my forehead. So, it had been my gift! And I’d thought I was playing a harmless little hoax on my likable but daffy old Classical-Lit prof!

  “That story is probably derived from his name,” I said hastily. “After all, his students used to call him ‘Bull.’ It wasn’t only the fact that his name was Durham. His wife led him around with a ring in his nose, and—”

  “In which case, he fooled his students,” said the Rational Man. “For he was, beneath that mild and meek exterior, a prize bull, a veritable stallion, a lusty old goat. As you may or may not know, he has any number of nymphs stabled in his so-called Flower Palace, not to mention beautiful Peggy Rourke, now known as the—”

  Alice gasped. “Then she is living! And with Durham!”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Well that depends upon whether or not you listen to these charlatans. Some of them would have it that she has become transfigured in some mystical-muddled manner— multiplied, they call it—and is each and every one of those nymphs in Mahrud’s seraglio, yet is in some way none of them and exists in essence only.”