Taleverna

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

from The World Below by Wright, S. Fowler (Sydney Fowler)

If those whom I had come to seek survived at all, was I not more likely
to discover them under such conditions, than among those whom I had
seen squeezing the juice from the living bodies of the Killers, as
casually as a cook stones raisins?

While I thought thus, my companion’s mind gave no sign, nor had I heard
any movement from her. With a sudden start of terror I imagined that
she were no longer beside me. It was in that panic fear that I
realized how greatly I had come to depend upon her; alike upon her body
for its vigor, and upon her mind for its counsel. And beyond this I
knew that there was a spiritual quality in our intimacy, through which
I was able to face the shadows of the unknown world of the distant
future with something of her own serenity.

It was a simple action to reach out to feel where she lay beside me,
and yet my hand delayed it.

Partly I may have been deterred by the atmosphere of aloof virginity
which always made me diffident of any physical contact, partly it was
that I dreaded to test my fear, as a man with a coward’s mind may leave
a letter unopened, knowing that it may hold the news of his ruin.

At last, I felt across the narrow space which had divided us as we lay
and watched the concluding drama of our adventure, and with a sense of
measureless relief my hand touched lightly for a moment on the
smoothness of the soft warm fur.

Her mind opened instantly, realised the mood I showed her, and crossed
it with the gaiety with which she ever faced the thought of peril.
Then–with the subtle distinction which she always drew between myself
and the body in which I lived–she asked me, “Is it more trouble than
usual? Has it no gratitude for the rest you have given it?”

I answered, “It is rested by sleep, but has gone without food long
beyond its accustomed time. It can do this while it shares your
vitality, but afterward the need re-asserts itself with increased
urgency. It is cold also, and, as you know, it has suffered recent
damage, which it needs rest to repair.”

She replied, “I can give you strength, if you need it, and if you think
it wise; but consider.

“We have resolved on an adventure of which we do not know the length or
the end. Of myself, I should continue in the ordinary course without
food for about four months, after which I should require a time of rest
and nourishment, before I should be fit for another year. If
necessary, I could continue living, and in some measure of activity,
for a much longer period. But I have been giving you of my own energy
so freely that, if we continue in this way, I shall be exhausted in a
much shorter time. Then I must return to my own place and people, as
the food on which you rely–and the Dwellers also–is of no use to me.
I ask this–is it better that we should continue to share the strength
I have, or should we find food for your body, and so regulate our
movements in future that we can make it self-supporting?”

I answered, though my body ached for the vitality on which it had
learnt to rely, “I think that it will be wiser for us to conserve the
strength you have, which we may need in days to come, when there may be
no means of renewal. But it will make important differences, for which
there must be allowance in the plans we form. I am used to sleeping at
short intervals, because my accustomed day is only about a quarter the
length of that which you now have; and even though I obtain regular and
suitable food, I shall still be incapable of the rapid and prolonged
exertions which I have endured with the stimulus of your hand to help
me.

“It appears to me that we must commence our enterprise by penetrating
one of the tunnels that open on to the opal pavement. It is true that
there must be other means of access inland, by which the Dwellers
emerge in the daytime, but there are two reasons against attempting to
use them. One is that we do not know their location, and though they
may be nearer, it is equally possible that they may be more distant.
The other is more serious. We are told that the Dwellers come up
through the inland passages, and descend by those which are on the
lower level. By choosing the latter, and following behind them when
the night has fallen, we may reasonably hope that we shall be able to
enter their abodes without encountering any who are coming in the
opposite direction. In addition to these reasons, it occurs to me that
the country inland is of an extremely forbidding and mountainous
formation, and though the Dwellers are able to traverse it, it might be
absolutely impossible for us to do so.”

My companion answered with her usual equanimity, “It is a choice which
must be made, and your decision contents me. But I notice a quality in
your reasoning which must, I suppose, introduce the adventure of your
life to many avoidable difficulties. I think the arguments which you
gave me were good, but they did not cover all the considerations which
might influence such a decision, and of which I feel sure you could
have thought, had you wished to do so.

“It appears to me that you first elect your own preference, and then
call upon your mind to furnish arguments to support it. It is not
bound to do this, and it knows that you rely upon it to suggest any
serious danger or difficulty which might impel you to alter your
decision, but, no less, it understands your wish, and that if there be
any sufficient arguments to justify your choice it is expected to find
them. Like your body, it is separate from yourself, and may even work
without your own awareness, but it is of a readier loyalty.

“I think, had you for any reason desired to adventure into the
mountains, that your mind would have been quick to suggest that you
could travel in greater security on the surface if you should avoid the
paths which you have traversed already, where the Dwellers would be
most likely to seek you. It would have used the argument of the
unknown distance in an exactly contrary way, and it would not have
failed to remind you that the tunnel which you have already explored
contained no possible hiding-place, so that an alternative passage
could not be worse, and might be better. It would have recalled that
the whole length of the opal pavement is without any possible cover:
that the bridge would be difficult for you to traverse in the darkness,
while the Frog-mouths would be dangerous in the day: and that you have
already been discovered once in the tunnel, so that it is at least
possible that a watch has been set to take you there, should you again
invade it.

“I could give you many more arguments of the same kind, but I am not
resisting your plan. I am only interested in a method of decision
which has, at least, the merit that it can operate more speedily than
mine is easily able to do.”

I had not thought her to be slow of decision when the need was urgent,
but I felt that she had more to tell me, and I kept my mind open and
receptive.

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