The Secret City (15 page)

I wonder if Mollish could have been my real mother? I’ve heard that our people handed babies around like that more than most natives here do, though they say the Chinese used to do it. Mollish did treat me as her child but I sure didn’t treat her as my mother. Actually I didn’t treat my mother as my mother either. But that Mollish is my real mother is the only reason I can think that they wouldn’t know what kind I was. Is that another reason I shouldn’t go back to our world?

But there’s another reason that Youpas should go back. Here, he’s killed three archeologists. If they ever find out who did it, he’ll be W
ANTED
.

But wouldn’t that be nice … to have Mollish as your mother? I look like her, too.

I feel worse again—that I can’t talk to her about it. I wrap the scarf close around my neck and shoulders. I tell it I’m sorry—sorry, sorry.

But I don’t think I’ll ever figure out why I’m not the right kind. I’ve thought and thought about how the people looked there. Back at that fancy dinner, everybody looked the same, the waiters, the dancers, and yet everybody seemed to know about me right away. Did Olowpas dress me some special way? Wrong kind of clothes? Or did he make some gestures I didn’t understand?

Will they look at Youpas and know right away that he’s the right kind?

The waiter stepped on my toe surreptitiously. Spilled things on me. Well, only water. Probably ruined that blouse, but I’m not one to care much about clothes. Sitting right there, listening to that screeching, I was wishing I was back here and up in one of my trees.

But I don’t want to be any kind of a kind. How come our parents never said a word about it? They must have been ashamed that there was an underclass. Maybe nobody
ever
talked about it. But why didn’t Mollish tell me? She wasn’t afraid to say anything. I think she was the wrong kind, but up there in the Secret City she got to be the most important one of all of us. Her death is the worst thing. Lorpas thought she was the last of the old ones. Maybe she didn’t tell me about untouchables because I was one, too, and she didn’t want me to feel bad, but I wouldn’t have cared. I didn’t even care if I was the wrong kind when I was there.

My parents didn’t know how to do anything for themselves. All they did was take notes on this world so that when they got back they could give programs about it. But the way we lived—they were hardly really on this world at all—isolated up there because this world wasn’t good enough for us. I wonder what they thought they were taking notes on. Maybe just flora and fauna. Though I was the one knew all about those.

How I’m dressed now … will I look all right for the Down? For sure not my hair. Mollish’s green scarf is nice and warm and wooly, but is a handknit scarf civilized enough? And this weird suit. The shoes are part of the pants. I’d need a pair of scissors to get rid of the shoes and keep the pants. The pants have pockets all down the sides just like Olowpas’ pants did, so they make me look bowlegged. They seemed to like that look back there, but I hope Lorpas never sees me in them.

Lorpas said, as long as we went east, there was no way we wouldn’t end up on the main road. He told about which town he had to avoid because he’d been in jail there, so at least I know where he isn’t. He told about how nice the old woman he lived with was even though she was a native. He was trying to get me to like it here, but I wonder if I could have stayed if I’d tried. They were so fast. Besides, that’s how Lorpas got burned. If I’d fought they might have burned me, too. I wonder how he is. I don’t think he’s dead, though. Wouldn’t his body be there at the cliff if he was?

Before I start in any direction at all, I should wash my hair. For sure Lorpas will never recognize me with my hair this short and might not even with the stiffener and the curls and the black are washed out. How am I going to prove I’m me?

B
UT
I
DON’T START
. I
SIT THE WAY
I
DID WHEN
I was next to Mollish—to her bones that is. Only when I remind myself that I have her scarf right here, around my neck, do I think: she’s really dead.

I notice things more than usual. There’s still a lot of little creatures around. Junkos, jays…. Something keeps squawking. That’s exactly how I feel. I imitate it. It doesn’t help. I stop and just stare. The aspen rustle. Right in front of me there are leaves more golden than gold. I pick up a dead pennyroyal seed-head, crush it and hold it to my nose. I rub it on my hands. Then I decide. Nobody wants to be up there in the Secret City in the winter. Even Mollish didn’t want to spend another winter up there. All the more reason not to go there. If I don’t look too odd dressed like this I’ll go down.

Why,
why
didn’t our parents let us grow up with the natives! I hardly know anything about either world. And if my parents had lived in the Down with the natives, we’d have had telephone numbers. Maybe Lorpas has a telephone number.

But I can’t sit here and feel bad all day. I’m going Down.

LORPAS

I
WATCH
J
ACK WATCHING
E
MILY
. I
WATCH HER
watching him. Is it a rule that people have to fall in love with the most unsuitable mate? Except I didn’t. I fell in love with the very first suitable woman I met. I fell for Allush because she was my kind. Of course Jack and I grew up completely the opposite, I, surrounded by natives, and Jack, surrounded by only us. I guess it makes sense, the most rare is always the most attractive.

But Emily
is
something special—of any kind of person, theirs or ours. Looks like a pale little waif but she’s a tough and competent motherless child. She has that special smile, lips working, as if she thinks she shouldn’t smile. There’s that shy duck of her head. No wonder Jack is so taken. I wonder, though, does he really appreciate her as I do and as one of her own kind would? Or is she just intriguingly odd to him?

Whatever happens … and it better not … I’ll not let any harm come to her. Besides, I told Corwin I’d take care of things. He trusts me and I promised. He’d have gone to the police if I hadn’t.

But, for sure, if Emily is here, Corwin will be right behind. It won’t be hard for him to guess where she’s gone. And for sure, Emily knows he’ll follow. For all I know, she left clues all along the trail just to make sure he would. She knows she can count on him for anything and everything.

Emily wants to talk to me privately. Everybody seems to think I’m in charge. Ever since I was halfway grown-up they always did. Even Mother. Soon as Father died, I was the boss. That is, the boss of everything except for the decision about going home. The rule was, that she should go when they came for us and that I should go back with her whether I wanted to or not.

Emily and I hike back down the river trail to a pleasant sitting spot. You can hardly tell the sounds of blowing cottonwood leaves from the sound of the stream. Everything rustling. And on top of that, the sounds of birds. Mostly raucous jays. Emily sits with her feet hanging over the grassy bank, almost in the water, and I sit on a rock.

I’m worried though, about leaving Jack and Youpas by themselves. What are they going to think up? Of course I’d never know anyway, whether I was there or not.

I say, “You know and I know, your father’s right behind you.”

She ignores me and starts right off with, “Who are you guys? You’re not like us. And you’re not brothers. And your names—I heard you—Jack isn’t even named Jack. You know what you look like to me? Neanderthals. We studied all about you. Did your people hide out someplace and keep on existing? Did you even keep your secret Neanderthal language? I never heard of a language with sniffs. Except you don’t know how to speak it, do you, but Jack does and so does that other one.”

Better that than the reality. I’ll say, You guessed it. But before I can, she says, “But that’s not what I really, really, really think. I think you came from some other planet.”

There it is.

Is she planning to save the world? From us? But it’s us who are afraid of her kind and always have been.

If we really are from a world where some kind of Neanderthal types survived … not so dumb, by the way … then, if the natives take us over, it won’t be the first time some dexterous, fine boned version of Homo sapiens sapiens has wiped us out.

What are we supposed to do when a native discovers what we are? We haven’t faced that problem, at least that I know of. Or at least they never told me. Maybe they never told me because what they did was too vicious to contemplate. Would my people do that? And after all their talk about being better—kinder—than the natives? And who was in charge of taking care of that … that disposal? And what if said knowledgeable Homo sapiens sapiens is Emily? Take her along? Show her the Secret City?

I won’t let any harm come to her if my life depends on it. First Ruth and then this girl. I’ve seldom felt as close to natives as I have with these two. And Corwin, also. The good father.

But Emily says she did the opposite of leaving a trail. She says, “My dad can’t follow. I laid a trail off to the side. At least it’ll take him a long time to get back on track. Where are you going, anyway? There’s nothing way out here and it’s getting cold.”

“It is.”

Best not to confess anything—yet. If ever. Thank goodness she’s a kid and nobody will believe her. “Do you have your sleeping bag?”

“‘Course. And you know what? I don’t believe Jack is dumb. He’s just as smart as anybody. Maybe smarter. Look how fast he learns things. But, and you know what? He’s never even used a spoon and fork before. He’s never even eaten peas. He didn’t know what they were. And he ate the whole apple, stem and seeds and all. And how can you not like chocolate?”

“Emily, can you just keep quiet about this for awhile? Maybe not talk about it even with Corwin?”

“Maybe.”

“Please. Just for now.”

“Maybe.”

B
UT
I
’VE FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT
Y
OUPAS AND
J
ACK
. On the way back up the path, I suddenly get suspicious. I tell Emily to stay behind me and keep quiet while I creep up on our campsite.

I come upon them whispering furiously together. Looks like Jack is taking my side. But then Youpas grabs a firebrand. I rush in just as he swings it at Jack.

There it is again. I’m getting tired of always being, not only the one in charge, but the main target. Though, well, Jack has that scratch across his cheek and a not-so-good ankle. But Youpas doesn’t have a mark on him that I know of. I’d like to change that.

I sit on Youpas’ legs, catch my breath, and check on the burned arm of my jacket. That old corduroy jacket is looking worse than ever.

Nobody says a word.

Jack has found the piece of rope we’ve been tying Youpas with. Emily stands by looking worried, but not for long. Here she is, already back from the stream, with a cold wet cloth for my burns but I don’t have any.

I wave her away.

And now, just as I figured but sooner than I thought—sooner than Emily thought, too—here’s Corwin. He rides up on his little blue roan. Quiet, not even a Hello to anybody. Always quiet when he’s angry or upset.

Youpas, tied and hobbled, but still the butcher, says, “She knows, doesn’t she. You know what to do, and if you can’t do it, I can.”

I’m sure Corwin is about to say the same thing about Youpas though not quite as drastic as what Youpas wants for Emily. Just the police. I can see it on Corwin’s face as he looks at me. An: I told you so, sort of look, and: I was afraid you couldn’t keep him out of trouble.

I wish, more than ever, for Mollish and her wisdom—especially her knowledge of both worlds. Neanderthals indeed! Not paying attention when knowledge walked right beside you! Is that why they were wiped out on this world? Or because they were like Mother, wanting their own, old ways and no others?

Of course the fact that we look like this world’s Neanderthals has nothing to do with anything. Only that we come from a colder, harsher world.

Corwin takes Emily off for a private talking to while I start packing up. Jack helps. By now he knows how as well as I do.

When they come back Emily won’t look at any of us. Corwin hardly will either. He says, “So…. So…. We’ll be heading back and you’ll be keeping on … like you promised.”

I try to say I’m sorry, but he says, “It’s not your fault.” Then he says, “She has a cockamamie story.”

“I know.”

“But why…. Why in the world
are
you heading up into the mountains in this season? One thing at least, she’s right about Jack. I sure don’t believe your story about him being feebleminded. Where did he come from?”

He looks over at Jack and Youpas. Jack packing up and Youpas glowering. He stares. Then stares back at me. I can see understanding coming to his face.

“It’s not a cockamamie story is it?”

I don’t want to kill anybody, least of all my friends. Actually I don’t even want to kill Youpas. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve managed to get along so far, even in prison without killing anybody. And would it be so terrible if natives like Corwin and Emily knew where we came from?