The north and the west and the south are good hunting ground, but it is forbidden to go east. It is forbidden to go to any of the Dead Places except to search for metal and then he who touches the metal must be a priest or the son of a priest. Afterwards, both the man and the metal must be purified. These are the rules and the laws; they are well made. It is forbidden to cross the great river and look upon the place that was the Place of the Gods -- this is most strictly forbidden. We do not even say its name though we know its name. It is there that spirits live, and demons -- it is there that there are the ashes of the Great Burning. These things are forbidden -- they have been forbidden since the beginning of time.
My father is a priest; I am the son of a priest. I have been in the Dead Places near us, with my father -- at first, I was afraid. When my father went into the house to search for the metal, I stood by the door and my heart felt small and weak. It was a dead man's house, a spirit house. It did not have the smell of man, though there were old bones in a corner. But it is not fitting that a priest's son should show fear. I looked at the bones in the shadow and kept my voice still.
Then my father came out with the metal -- good, strong piece. He looked at me with both eyes but I had not run away. He gave me the metal to hold -- I took it and did not die. So he knew that I was truly his son and would be a priest in my time. That was when I was very young -- nevertheless, my brothers would not have done it, though they are good hunters. After that, they gave me the good piece of meat and the warm corner of the fire. My father watched over me -- he was glad that I should be a priest. But when I boasted or wept without a reason, he punished me more strictly than my brothers. That was right.
After a time, I myself was allowed to go into the dead houses and search for metal. So I learned the ways of those houses -- and if I saw bones, I was no longer afraid. The bones are light and old -- sometimes they will fall into dust if you touch them. But that is a great sin.
I was taught the chants and the spells -- l was taught how to stop the running of blood from a wound and many secrets. A priest must know many secrets -- that was what my father said.
If the hunters think we do all things by chants and spells, they may believe so -- it does not hurt them. I was taught how to read in the old books and how to make the old writings -- that was hard and took a long time. My knowledge made me happy -- it was like a fire in my heart. Most of all, I liked to hear of the Old Days and the stories of the gods. I asked myself many questions that I could not answer, but it was good to ask them. At night, I would lie awake and listen to the wind -- it seemed to me that it was the voice of the gods as they flew through the air.
We are not ignorant like the Forest People -- our women spin wool on the wheel, our priests wear a white robe. We do not eat grubs from the trees, we have not forgotten the old writings, although they are hard to understand. Nevertheless, my knowledge and my lack of knowledge burned in me -- I wished to know more. When I was a man at last, I came to my father and said, "It is time for me to go on my journey. Give me your leave."
He looked at me for a long time, stroking his beard, then he said at last, "Yes. It is time." That night, in the house of the priesthood, I asked for and received purification. My body hurt but my spirit was a cool stone. It was my father himself who questioned me about my dreams.
He bade me look into the smoke of the fire and see -- I saw and told what I saw. It was what I have always seen -- a river, and, beyond it, a great Dead Place and in it the gods walking. I have always thought about that. His eyes were stern when I told him he was no longer my father but a priest. He said, "This is a strong dream."
"It is mine," I said, while the smoke waved and my head felt light. They were singing the Star song in the outer chamber and it was like the buzzing of bees in my head.
He asked me how the gods were dressed and I told him how they were dressed. We know how they were dressed from the book, but I saw them as if they were before me. When I had finished, he threw the sticks three times and studied them as they fell.
"This is a very strong dream," he said." It may eat you up."
"I am not afraid," I said and looked at him with both eyes. My voice sounded thin in my ears but that was because of the smoke.
He touched me on the breast and the forehead. He gave me the bow and the three arrows.
"Take them," he said. "It is forbidden to travel east. It is forbidden to cross the river. It is forbidden to go to the Place of the Gods. All these things are forbidden. "
"All these things are forbidden," I said, but it was my voice that spoke and not my spirit. He looked at me again.
"My son," he said. "Once I had young dreams. If your dreams do not eat you up, you may be a great priest. If they eat you, you are still my son. Now go on your journey."
I went fasting, as is the law. My body hurt but not my heart. When the dawn came, I was out of sight of the village. I prayed and purified myself, waiting for a sign. The sign was an eagle. It flew east.
Sometimes signs are sent by bad spirits. I waited again on the flat rock, fasting, taking no food. I was very still -- I could feel the sky above me and the earth beneath. I waited till the sun was beginning to sink. Then three deer passed in the valley going east -- they did not mind me or see me. There was a white fawn with them -- a very great sign.
I followed them, at a distance, waiting for what would happen. My heart was troubled about going east, yet I knew that I must go. My head hummed with my fasting -- I did not even see the panther spring upon the white fawn. But, before I knew it, the bow was in my hand. I shouted and the panther lifted his head from the fawn. It is not easy to kill a panther with one arrow but the arrow went through his eye and into his brain. He died as he tried to spring -- he rolled over, tearing at the ground. Then I knew I was meant to go east -- I knew that was my journey. When the night came, I made my fire and roasted meat.
It is eight suns' journey to the east and a man passes by many Dead Places. The Forest People are afraid of them but I am not. Once I made my fire on the edge of a Dead Place at night and, next morning, in the dead house, I found a good knife, little rusted. That was small to what came afterward but it made my heart feel big. Always when I looked for game, it was in front of my arrow, and twice I passed hunting parties of the Forest People without their knowing. So I knew my magic was strong and my journey clean, in spite of the law.
Toward the setting of the eighth sun, I came to the banks of the great river. It was half-a-day's journey after I had left the god-road -- we do not use the god-roads now for they are falling apart into great blocks of stone, and the forest is safer going. A long way off, I had seen the water through trees but the trees were thick. At last, I came out upon an open place at the top of a cliff. There was the great river below, like a giant in the sun. It is very long, very wide. It could eat all the streams we know and still be thirsty. Its name is Ou-dis-sun, the Sacred, the Long. No man of my tribe had seen it, not even my father, the priest. It was magic and I prayed.
Then I raised my eyes and looked south. It was there, the Place of the Gods.
How can I tell what it was like -- you do not know. It was there, in the red light, and they were too big to be houses. It was there with the red light upon it, mighty and ruined. I knew that in another moment the gods would see me. I covered my eyes with my hands and crept back into the forest.
Surely, that was enough to do, and live. Surely it was enough to spend the night upon the cliff. The Forest People themselves do not come near. Yet, all through the night, I knew that I should have to cross the river and walk in the places of the gods, although the gods ate me up. My magic did not help me at all and yet there was a fire in my bowels, a fire in my mind. When the sun rose, I thought, "My journey has been clean. Now I will go home from my journey." But, even as I thought so, I knew I could not. If I went to the Place of the Gods, I would surely die, but, if I did not go, I could never be at peace with my spirit again. It is better to lose one's life than one's spirit, if one is a priest and the son of a priest.
Nevertheless, as I made the raft, the tears ran out of my eyes. The Forest People could have killed me without fight, if they had come upon me then, but they did not come.
When the raft was made, I said the sayings for the dead and painted myself for death. My heart was cold as a frog and my knees like water, but the burning in my mind would not let me have peace. As I pushed the raft from the shore, I began my death song -- I had the right. It was a fine song.
"I am John, son of John," I sang. "My people are the Hill People. They are the men.
I go into the Dead Places but I am not slain.
I take the metal from the Dead Places but I am not blasted.
I travel upon the god-roads and am not afraid. E-yah! I have killed the panther, I have killed the fawn!
E-yah! I have come to the great river. No man has come there before.
It is forbidden to go east, but I have gone, forbidden to go on the great river, but I am there.
Open your hearts, you spirits, and hear my song.
Now I go to the Place of the Gods, I shall not return.
My body is painted for death and my limbs weak, but my heart is big as I go to the Place of the Gods!"
All the same, when I came to the Place of the Gods, I was afraid, afraid. The current of the great river is very strong -- it gripped my raft with its hands. That was magic, for the river itself is wide and calm. I could feel evil spirits about me, I was swept down the stream. Never have I been so much alone -- I tried to think of my knowledge, but it was a squirrel's heap of winter nuts. There was no strength in my knowledge any more and I felt small and naked as a new-hatched bird -- alone upon the great river, the servant of the gods.
Yet, after a while, my eyes were opened and I saw. I saw both banks of the river -- I saw that once there had been god-roads across it, though now they were broken and fallen like broken vines. Very great they were, and wonderful and broken -- broken in the time of the Great Burning when the fire fell out of the sky. And always the current took me nearer to the Place of the Gods, and the huge ruins rose before my eyes.
I do not know the customs of rivers -- we are the People of the Hills. I tried to guide my raft with the pole but it spun around. I thought the river meant to take me past the Place of the Gods and out into the Bitter Water of the legends. I grew angry then -- my heart felt strong. I said aloud, "I am a priest and the son of a priest!" The gods heard me -- they showed me how to paddle with the pole on one side of the raft. The current changed itself -- I drew near to the Place of the Gods.
When I was very near, my raft struck and turned over. I can swim in our lakes -- I swam to the shore. There was a great spike of rusted metal sticking out into the river -- I hauled myself up upon it and sat there, panting. I had saved my bow and two arrows and the knife I found in the Dead Place but that was all. My raft went whirling downstream toward the Bitter Water. I looked after it, and thought if it had trod me under, at least I would be safely dead. Nevertheless, when I had dried my bowstring and re-strung it, I walked forward to the Place of the Gods.
It felt like ground underfoot; it did not burn me. It is not true what some of the tales say, that the ground there burns forever, for I have been there. Here and there were the marks and stains of the Great Burning, on the ruins, that is true. But they were old marks and old stains. It is not true either, what some of our priests say, that it is an island covered with fogs and enchantments. It is not. It is a great Dead Place -- greater than any Dead Place we know. Everywhere in it there are god-roads, though most are cracked and broken. Everywhere there are the ruins of the high towers of the gods.
How shall I tell what I saw? I went carefully, my strung bow in my hand, my skin ready for danger. There should have been the wailings of spirits and the shrieks of demons, but there were not. It was very silent and sunny where I had landed -- the wind and the rain and the birds that drop seeds had done their work -- the grass grew in the cracks of the broken stone. It is a fair island -- no wonder the gods built there. If I had come there, a god, I also would have built.
How shall I tell what I saw? The towers are not all broken -- here and there one still stands, like a great tree in a forest, and the birds nest high. But the towers themselves look blind, for the gods are gone. I saw a fishhawk, catching fish in the river. I saw a little dance of white butterflies over a great heap of broken stones and columns. I went there and looked about me -- there was a carved stone with cut -- letters, broken in half. I can read letters but I could not understand these. They said UBTREAS. There was also the shattered image of a man or a god. It had been made of white stone and he wore his hair tied back like a woman's. His name was ASHING, as I read on the cracked half of a stone. I thought it wise to pray to ASHING, though I do not know that god.
How shall I tell what I saw? There was no smell of man left, on stone or metal. Nor were there many trees in that wilderness of stone. There are many pigeons, nesting and dropping in the towers -- the gods must have loved them, or, perhaps, they used them for sacrifices. There are wild cats that roam the god-roads, green-eyed, unafraid of man. At night they wail like demons but they are not demons. The wild dogs are more dangerous, for they hunt in a pack, but them I did not meet till later. Everywhere there are the carved stones, carved with magical numbers or words.
I went north -- I did not try to hide myself. When a god or a demon saw me, then I would die, but meanwhile I was no longer afraid. My hunger for knowledge burned in me -- there was so much that I could not understand. After a while, I knew that my belly was hungry. I could have hunted for my meat, but I did not hunt. It is known that the gods did not hunt as we do -- they got their food from enchanted boxes and jars. Sometimes these are still found in the Dead Places -- once, when I was a child and foolish, I opened such a jar and tasted it and found the food sweet. But my father found out and punished me for it strictly, for, often, that food is death. Now, though, I had long gone past what was forbidden, and I entered the likeliest towers, looking for the food of the gods.
I found it at last in the ruins of a great temple in the mid-city. A mighty temple it must have been, for the roof was painted like the sky at night with its stars -- that much I could see, though the colors were faint and dim. It went down into great caves and tunnels -- perhaps they kept their slaves there. But when I started to climb down, I heard the squeaking of rats, so I did not go -- rats are unclean, and there must have been many tribes of them, from the squeaking. But near there, I found food, in the heart of a ruin, behind a door that still opened. I ate only the fruits from the jars -- they had a very sweet taste. There was drink, too, in bottles of glass -- the drink of the gods was strong and made my head swim. After I had eaten and drunk, I slept on the top of a stone, my bow at my side.
When I woke, the sun was low. Looking down from where I lay, I saw a dog sitting on his haunches. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth; he looked as if he were laughing. He was a big dog, with a gray-brown coat, as big as a wolf. I sprang up and shouted at him but he did not move -- he just sat there as if he were laughing. I did not like that. When I reached for a stone to throw, he moved swiftly out of the way of the stone. He was not afraid of me; he looked at me as if I were meat. No doubt I could have killed him with an arrow, but I did not know if there were others. Moreover, night was falling.
I looked about me -- not far away there was a great, broken god-road, leading north. The towers were high enough, but not so high, and while many of the dead-houses were wrecked, there were some that stood. I went toward this god-road, keeping to the heights of the ruins, while the dog followed. When I had reached the god-road, I saw that there were others behind him. If I had slept later, they would have come upon me asleep and torn out my throat. As it was, they were sure enough of me; they did not hurry. When I went into the dead-house, they kept watch at the entrance -- doubtless they thought they would have a fine hunt. But a dog cannot open a door and I knew, from the books, that the gods did not like to live on the ground but on high.
I had just found a door I could open when the dogs decided to rush. Ha! They were surprised when I shut the door in their faces -- it was a good door, of strong metal. I could hear their foolish baying beyond it but I did not stop to answer them. I was in darkness -- I found stairs and climbed. There were many stairs, turning around till my head was dizzy. At the top was another door -- I found the knob and opened it. I was in a long small chamber -- on one side of it was a bronze door that could not be opened, for it had no handle. Perhaps there was a magic word to open it but I did not have the word. I turned to the door in the opposite side of the wall. The lock of it was broken and I opened it and went in.
Within, there was a place of great riches. The god who lived there must have been a powerful god. The first room was a small ante-room -- I waited there for some time, telling the spirits of the place that I came in peace and not as a robber. When it seemed to me that they had had time to hear me, I went on. Ah, what riches! Few, even, of the windows had been broken -- it was all as it had been. The great windows that looked over the city had not been broken at all though they were dusty and streaked with many years. There were coverings on the floors, the colors not greatly faded, and the chairs were soft and deep. There were pictures upon the walls, very strange, very wonderful -- I remember one of a bunch of flowers in a jar -- if you came close to it, you could see nothing but bits of color, but if you stood away from it, the flowers might have been picked yesterday. It made my heart feel strange to look at this picture -- and to look at the figure of a bird, in some hard clay, on a table and see it so like our birds. Everywhere there were books and writings, many in tongues that I could not read. The god who lived there must have been a wise god and full of knowledge. I felt I had a right there, as I sought knowledge also.
Nevertheless, it was strange. There was a washing-place but no water -- perhaps the gods washed in air. There was a cooking-place but no wood, and though there was a machine to cook food, there was no place to put fire in it. Nor were there candles or lamps -- there were things that looked like lamps but they had neither oil nor wick. All these things were magic, but I touched them and lived -- the magic had gone out of them. Let me tell one thing to show. In the washing-place, a thing said "Hot" but it was not hot to the touch -- another thing said "Cold" but it was not cold. This must have been a strong magic but the magic was gone. I do not understand -- they had ways -- I wish that I knew.
It was close and dry and dusty in the house of the gods. I have said the magic was gone but that is not true -- it had gone from the magic things but it had not gone from the place. I felt the spirits about me, weighing upon me. Nor had I ever slept in a Dead Place before -- and yet, tonight, I must sleep there. When I thought of it, my tongue felt dry in my throat, in spite of my wish for knowledge. Almost I would have gone down again and faced the dogs, but I did not.
I had not gone through all the rooms when the darkness fell. When it fell, I went back to the big room looking over the city and made fire. There was a place to make fire and a box with wood in it, though I do not think they cooked there. I wrapped myself in a floor-covering and slept in front of the fire -- I was very tired.
Now I tell what is very strong magic. I woke in the midst of the night. When I woke, the fire had gone out and I was cold. It seemed to me that all around me there were whisperings and voices. I closed my eyes to shut them out. Some will say that I slept again, but I do not think that I slept. I could feel the spirits drawing my spirit out of my body as a fish is drawn on a line.
Why should I lie about it? I am a priest and the son of a priest. If there are spirits, as they say, in the small Dead Places near us, what spirits must there not be in that great Place of the Gods? And would not they wish to speak? After such long years? I know that I felt myself drawn as a fish is drawn on a line. I had stepped out of my body -- I could see my body asleep in front of the cold fire, but it was not I. I was drawn to look out upon the city of the gods.
It should have been dark, for it was night, but it was not dark. Everywhere there were lights -- lines of light -- circles and blurs of light -- ten thousand torches would not have been the same. The sky itself was alight -- you could barely see the stars for the glow in the sky. I thought to myself "This is strong magic" and trembled. There was a roaring in my ears like the rushing of rivers. Then my eyes grew used to the light and my ears to the sound. I knew that I was seeing the city as it had been when the gods were alive.
That was a sight indeed -- yes, that was a sight: I could not have seen it in the body -- my body would have died. Everywhere went the gods, on foot and in chariots -- there were gods beyond number and counting and their chariots blocked the streets. They had turned night to day for their pleasure-they did not sleep with the sun. The noise of their coming and going was the noise of the many waters. It was magic what they could do -- it was magic what they did.
I looked out of another window -- the great vines of their bridges were mended and god-roads went east and west. Restless, restless, were the gods and always in motion! They burrowed tunnels under rivers -- they flew in the air. With unbelievable tools they did giant works -- no part of the earth was safe from them, for, if they wished for a thing, they summoned it from the other side of the world. And always, as they labored and rested, as they feasted and made love, there was a drum in their ears -- the pulse of the giant city, beating and beating like a man's heart.
Were they happy? What is happiness to the gods? They were great, they were mighty, they were wonderful and terrible. As I looked upon them and their magic, I felt like a child -- but a little more, it seemed to me, and they would pull down the moon from the sky. I saw them with wisdom beyond wisdom and knowledge beyond knowledge. And yet not all they did was well done -- even I could see that – and yet their wisdom could not but grow until all was peace.
Then I saw their fate come upon them and that was terrible past speech. It came upon them as they walked the streets of their city. I have been in the fights with the Forest People -- I have seen men die. But this was not like that. When gods war with gods, they use weapons we do not know. It was fire falling out of the sky and a mist that poisoned. It was the time of the Great Burning and the Destruction. They ran about like ants in the streets of their city -- poor gods, poor gods! Then the towers began to fall. A few escaped -- yes, a few. The legends tell it. But, even after the city had become a Dead Place, for many years the poison was still in the ground. I saw it happen, I saw the last of them die. It was darkness over the broken city and I wept.
All this, I saw. I saw it as I have told it, though not in the body. When I woke in the morning, I was hungry, but I did not think first of my hunger for my heart was perplexed and confused. I knew the reason for the Dead Places but I did not see why it had happened. It seemed to me it should not have happened, with all the magic they had. I went through the house looking for an answer. There was so much in the house I could not understand -- and yet I am a priest and the son of a priest. It was like being on one side of the great river, at night, with no light to show the way.
Then I saw the dead god. He was sitting in his chair, by the window, in a room I had not entered before and, for the first moment, I thought that he was alive. Then I saw the skin on the back of his hand -- it was like dry leather. The room was shut, hot and dry -- no doubt that had kept him as he was. At first I was afraid to approach him -- then the fear left me. He was sitting looking out over the city -- he was dressed in the clothes of the gods. His age was neither young nor old -- I could not tell his age. But there was wisdom in his face and great sadness. You could see that he would have not run away. He had sat at his window, watching his city die -- then he himself had died. But it is better to lose one's life than one's spirit -- and you could see from the face that his spirit had not been lost. I knew, that, if I touched him, he would fall into dust -- and yet, there was something unconquered in the face.
That is all of my story, for then I knew he was a man -- I knew then that they had been men, neither gods nor demons. It is a great knowledge, hard to tell and believe. They were men -- they went a dark road, but they were men. I had no fear after that -- I had no fear going home, though twice I fought off the dogs and once I was hunted for two days by the Forest People. When I saw my father again, I prayed and was purified. He touched my lips and my breast, he said, "You went away a boy. You come back a man and a priest." I said, "Father, they were men! I have been in the Place of the Gods and seen it! Now slay me, if it is the law -- but still I know they were men."
He looked at me out of both eyes. He said, "The law is not always the same shape -- you have done what you have done. I could not have done it my time, but you come after me. Tell!"
I told and he listened. After that, I wished to tell all the people but he showed me otherwise. He said, "Truth is a hard deer to hunt. If you eat too much truth at once, you may die of the truth. It was not idly that our fathers forbade the Dead Places." He was right -- it is better the truth should come little by little. I have learned that, being a priest. Perhaps, in the old days, they ate knowledge too fast.
Nevertheless, we make a beginning. it is not for the metal alone we go to the Dead Places now -- there are the books and the writings. They are hard to learn. And the magic tools are broken -- but we can look at them and wonder. At least, we make a beginning. And, when I am chief priest we shall go beyond the great river. We shall go to the Place of the Gods -- the place newyork -- not one man but a company. We shall look for the images of the gods and find the god ASHING and the others -- the gods Lincoln and Biltmore and Moses. But they were men who built the city, not gods or demons. They were men. I remember the dead man's face. They were men who were here before us. We must build again.
A SOUND OF THUNDER
*A SOUND OF THUNDER*^^
|
| ^^_Copyright, 1952, by The Crowell-Collier Publishing Company._
|
=The sign= on the wall seemed to quaver under a film of slid-
ing warm water. Eckels felt his eyelids blink over his stare,
and the sign burned in this momentary darkness:
=time safari, inc.
safaris to any year in the past.
you name the animal.
we take you there.
you shoot it.=
A warm phlegm gathered in Eckels'~ throat; he swallowed
and pushed it down. The muscles around his mouth formed
a smile as he put his hand slowly out upon the air, and in
that hand waved a check for ten thousand dollars to the
man behind the desk.
`Does this safari guarantee I come back alive?'
`We guarantee nothing,' said the official, `except the
dinosaurs.' He turned. `This is Mr.~ Travis, your Safari
Guide in the Past. He'll tell you what and where to shoot.
If he says no shooting, no shooting. If you disobey instruc-
tions, there's a stiff penalty of another ten thousand dollars,
plus possible government action, on your return.'
Eckels glanced across the vast office at a mass and tangle,
a snaking and humming of wires and steel boxes, at an aurora
that flickered now orange, now silver, now blue. There was
a sound like a gigantic bonfire burning all of Time, all the
years and all the parchment calendars, all the hours piled
high and set aflame.
A touch of the hand and this burning would, on the in-
stant, beautifully reverse itself. Eckels remembered the
wording in the advertisements to the letter. Out of chars and
ashes, out of dust and coals, like golden salamanders, the old
years, the green years, might leap; roses sweeten the air,
white hair turn Irish-black, wrinkles vanish; all, everything
fly back to seed, flee death, rush down to their beginnings,
suns rise in western skies and set in glorious easts, moons eat
themselves opposite to the custom, all and everything cupping
one in another like Chinese boxes, rabbits in hats, all and
everything returning to the fresh death, the seed death, the
green death, to the time before the beginning. A touch of a
hand might do it, the merest touch of a hand.
`Hell and damn,' Eckels breathed, the light of the Ma-
chine on his thin face. `A real Time Machine.' He shook
his head. `Makes you think. If the election had gone badly
yesterday, I might be here now running away from the re-
sults. Thank God Keith won. He'll make a fine President of
the United States.'
`Yes,' said the man behind the desk. `We're lucky. If
Deutscher had gotten in, we'd have the worst kind of dic-
tatorship. There's an anti-everything man for you, a mili-
tarist, anti-Christ, anti-human, anti-intellectual. People called
us up, you know, joking but not joking. Said if Deutscher
became President they wanted to go live in 1492. Of course
it's not our business to conduct Escapes, but to form Safaris.
Anyway, Keith's President now. All you got to worry about
is --'
`Shooting my dinosaur,' Eckels finished it for him.
`A _Tyrannosaurus rex._ The Thunder Lizard, the damnedest
monster in history. Sign this release. Anything happens to you,
we're not responsible. Those dinosaurs are hungry.'
Eckels flushed angrily. `Trying to scare me!'
`Frankly, yes. We don't want anyone going who'll panic
at the first shot. Six Safari leaders were killed last year, and
a dozen hunters. We're here to give you the damnedest thrill
a _real_ hunter ever asked for. Traveling you back sixty million
years to bag the biggest damned game in all Time. Your
personal check's still there. Tear it up.'
Mr.~ Eckels looked at the check for a long time. His
fingers twitched.
`Good luck,' said the man behind the desk. `Mr.~ Travis,
he's all yours.'
They moved silently across the room, taking their guns
with them, toward the Machine, toward the silver metal and
the roaring light.
First a day and then a night and then a day and then a
night, then it was day-night-day-night-day. A week, a month,
a year, a decade! =a.d.~= 2055. =a.d.~= 2019. 1999! 1957! Gone!
The Machine roared.
They put on their oxygen helmets and tested the inter-
coms.
Eckels swayed on the padded seat, his face pale, his jaw
stiff. He felt the trembling in his arms and he looked down
and found his hands tight on the new rifle. There were four
other men in the Machine. Travis, the Safari Leader, his
assistant, Lesperance, and two other hunters, Billings and
Kramer. They sat looking at each other, and the years blazed
around them.
`Can these guns get a dinosaur cold?' Eckels felt his
mouth saying.
`If you hit them right,' said Travis on the helmet radio.
`Some dinosaurs have two brains, one in the head, another
far down the spinal column. We stay away from those. That's
stretching luck. Put your first two shots into the eyes, if you
can, blind them, and go back into the brain.'
The Machine howled. Time was a film run backward.
Suns fled and ten million moons fled after them. `Good
God,' said Eckels. `Every hunter that ever lived would envy
us today. This makes Africa seem like Illinois.'
The Machine slowed; its scream fell to a murmur. The
Machine stopped.
The sun stopped in the sky.
The fog that had enveloped the Machine blew away and
they were in an old time, a very old time indeed, three
hunters and two Safari Heads with their blue metal guns
across their knees.
`Christ isn't born yet,' said Travis. `Moses has not gone
to the mountain to talk with God. The Pyramids are still
in the earth, waiting to be cut out and put up. _Remember_
that, Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, Hitler -- none of them
exists.'
The men nodded.
`That' -- Mr.~ Travis pointed -- `is the jungle of sixty mil-
lion two thousand and fifty-five years before President
Keith.'
He indicated a metal path that struck off into green
wilderness, over steaming swamp, among giant ferns and
palms.
`And that,' he said, `is the Path, laid by Time Safari for
your use. It floats six inches above the earth. Doesn't touch
so much as one grass blade, flower, or tree. It's an antigravity
metal. Its purpose is to keep you from touching this world
of the past in any way. Stay on the Path. Don't go off it.
I repeat. _Don't go off._ For _any_ reason! If you fall off, there's
a penalty. And don't shoot any animal we don't okay.'
`Why?' asked Eckels.
They sat in the ancient wilderness. Far birds'~ cries blew
on a wind, and the smell of tar and an old salt sea, moist
grasses, and flowers the color of blood.
`We don't want to change the Future. We don't belong
here in the Past. The government doesn't _like_ us here. We
have to pay big graft to keep our franchise. A Time Ma-
chine is damn finicky business. Not knowing it, we might
kill an important animal, a small bird, a roach, a flower even,
thus destroying an important link in a growing species.'
`That's not clear,' said Eckels.
`All right,' Travis continued, `say we accidentally kill one
mouse here. That means all the future families of this one
particular mouse are destroyed, right?'
`Right.'
`And all the families of the families of that one mouse!
With a stamp of your foot, you annihilate first one, then a
dozen, then a thousand, a million, a _billion_ possible mice!'
`So they're dead,' said Eckels. `So what?'
`So what?' Travis snorted quietly. `Well, what about the
foxes that'll need those mice to survive? For want of ten
mice, a fox dies. For want of ten foxes, a lion starves. For
want of a lion, all manner of insects, vultures, infinite billions
of life forms are thrown into chaos and destruction. Eventu-
ally it all boils down to this: fifty-nine million years later, a
cave man, one of a dozen on the _entire_ world, goes hunting
wild boar or saber-tooth tiger for food. But you, friend, have
_stepped_ on all the tigers in that region. By stepping on _one_
single mouse. So the cave man starves. And the cave man,
please note, is not. just _any_ expendable man, nol He is an
_entire future nation._ From his loins would have sprung ten
sons. From _their_ loins one hundred sons, and thus onward to
a civilization. Destroy this one man, and you destroy a race,
a people, an entire history of life. It is comparable to slay-
ing some of Adam's grandchildren. The stomp of your foot,
on one mouse, could start an earthquake, the effects of
which could shake our earth and destinies down through
Time, to their very foundations. With the death of that one
cave man, a billion others yet unborn are throttled in the
womb. Perhaps Rome never rises on its seven hills. Perhaps
Europe is forever a dark forest, and only Asia waxes healthy
and teeming. Step on a mouse and you crush the Pyramids.
Step on a mouse and you leave your print, like a Grand
Canyon, across Eternity. Queen Elizabeth might never be
born, Washington might not cross the Delaware, there might
never be a United States at all. So be careful. Stay on the
Path. _Never_ step off!'
`I see,' said Eckels. `Then it wouldn't pay for us even
to touch the _grass?'_
`Correct. Crushing certain plants could add up infi-
nitesimally. A little error here would multiply in sixty mil-
lion years, all out of proportion. Of course maybe our theory
is wrong. Maybe Time _can't_ be changed by us. Or maybe it
can be changed only in little subtle ways. A dead mouse here
makes an insect imbalance there, a population disproportion
later, a bad harvest further on, a depression, mass starvation,
and, finally, a change in _social_ temperament in far-flung
countries. Something much more subtle, like that. Perhaps
only a soft breath, a whisper, a hair, pollen on the air, such
a slight, slight change that unless you looked close you
wouldn't see it. Who knows? Who really can say he knows?
We don't know. We're guessing. But until we do know for
certain whether our messing around in Time _can_ make a big
roar or a little rustle in history, we're being damned careful.
This Machine, this Path, your clothing and bodies, were
sterilized, as you know, before the journey. We wear these
oxygen helmets so we can't introduce our bacteria into an
ancient atmosphere.'
`How do we know which animals to shoot?'
`They're marked with red paint,' said Travis. `Today,
before our journey, we sent Lesperance here back with the
Machine. He came to this particular era and followed cer-
tain animals.'
`Studying them?'
`Right,' said Lesperance. `I track them through their
entire existence, noting which of them lives longest. Very
few. How many times they mate. Not often. Life's short.
When I find one that's going to die when a tree falls on him,
or one that drowns in a tar pit, I note the exact hour, minute,
and second. I shoot a paint bomb. It leaves a red patch on
his hide. We can't miss it. Then I correlate our arrival in
the Past so that we meet the Monster not more than two
minutes before he would have died anyway. This way, we kill
only animals with no future, that are never going to mate
again. You see how _careful_ we are?'
`But if you came back this morning in Time,' said
Eckels eagerly, `you must've bumped into _us,_ our Safari!
How did it turn out? Was it successful? Did all of us get
through -- alive?'
Travis and Lesperance gave each other a look.
`That'd be a paradox,' said the latter. `Time doesn't
permit that sort of mess -- a man meeting himself. When such
occasions threaten, Time steps aside. Like an airplane hitting
an air pocket. You felt the Machine jump just before we
stopped? That was us passing ourselves on the way back to
the Future. We saw nothing. There's no way of telling _if_ this
expedition was a success, _if_ we got our monster, or whether
all of -- meaning _you,_ Mr.~ Eckels -- got out alive.'
Eckels smiled palely.
`Cut that,' said Travis sharply. `Everyone on his feet!'
They were ready to leave the Machine.
The jungle was high and the jungle was broad and the
jungle was the entire world forever and forever. Sounds
like music and sounds like flying tents filled the sky, and
those were pterodactyls soaring with cavernous gray wings,
gigantic bats out of a delirium and a night fever. Eckles,
balanced on the narrow Path, aimed his rifle playfully.
`Stop that!' said Travis. `Don't even aim for fun, damn
it! If your gun should go off --'
Eckels flushed. `Where's our _Tyrannosaurus?'_
Lesperance checked his wrist watch. `Up ahead. We'll
bisect his trail in sixty seconds. Look for the red paint, for
Christ's sake. Don't shoot till we give the word. Stay on the
Path. _Stay on the Path!'_
They moved forward in the wind of morning.
`Strange,' murmured Eckels. `Up ahead, sixty million
years, Election Day over. Keith made President. Everyone
celebrating. And here we are, a million years lost, and they
don't exist. The things we worried about for months, a life-
time, not even born or thought about yet.'
`Safety catches off, everyone!' ordered Travis. `You, first
shot, Eckels. Second, Billings. Third, Kramer.'
`I've hunted tiger, wild boar, buffalo, elephant, but Jesus,
this is _it,'_ said Eckels. `I'm shaking like a kid.'
`Ah,' said Travis.
Everyone stopped.
Travis raised his hand. `Ahead,' he whispered. `In the
mist. There he is. There's His Royal Majesty now.'
The jungle was wide and full of twitterings, rustlings,
murmurs, and sighs.
Suddenly it all ceased, as if someone had shut a door.
Silence.
A sound of thunder.
Out of the mist, one hundred yards away, came _Tyran-
nosaurus rex._
`Jesus God,' whispered Eckels.
`Sh!'
It came on great oiled, resilient, striding legs. It towered
thirty feet above half of the trees, a great evil god, folding its
delicate watchmaker's claws close to its oily reptilian chest.
Each lower leg was a piston, a thousand pounds of white
bone, sunk in thick ropes of muscle, sheathed over in a
gleam of pebbled skin like the mail of a terrible warrior. Each
thigh was a ton of meat, ivory, and steel mesh. And from
the great breathing cage of the upper body those two delicate
arms dangled out front, arms with hands which might pick
up and examine men like toys, while the snake neck coiled.
And the head itself, a ton of sculptured stone, lifted easily
upon the sky. Its mouth gaped, exposing a fence of teeth like
daggers. Its eyes rolled, ostrich eggs, empty of all expression
save hunger. It closed its mouth in a death grin. It ran, its
pelvic bones crushing aside trees and bushes, its taloned feet
clawing damp earth, leaving prints six inches deep wherever
it settled its weight. It ran with a gliding ballet step, far too
poised and balanced for its ten tons. It moved into a sunlit
arena warily, its beautifully reptile hands feeling the air.
`My God!' Eckels twitched his mouth. `It could reach up
and grab the moon.'
`Sh!' Travis jerked angrily. `He hasn't seen us yet.'
`It can't be killed.' Eckels pronounced this verdict quietly,
as if there could be no argument. He had weighed the
evidence and this was his considered opinion. The rifle in his
hands seemed a cap gun. `We were fools to come. This is
impossible.'
`Shut up!' hissed Travis.
`Nightmare.'
`Turn around,' commanded Travis. `Walk quietly to the
Machine. We'll remit one-half your fee.'
`I didn't realize it would be this _big,'_ said Eckels. `I
miscalculated, that's all. And now I want out.'
`It sees us!'
`There's the red paint on its chest!'
The Thunder Lizard raised itself. Its armored flesh glittered
like a thousand green coins. The coins, crusted with slime,
steamed. In the slime, tiny insects wriggled, so that the entire
body seemed to twitch and undulate, even while the monster
itself did not move. It exhaled. The stink of raw flesh blew
down the wilderness.
`Get me out of here,' said Eckels. `It was never like this
before. I was always sure I'd come through alive. I had good
guides, good safaris, and safety. This time, I figured wrong.
I've met my match and admit it. This is too much for me to
get hold of.'
`Don't run,' said Lesperance. `Turn around. Hide in the
Machine.'
`Yes.' Eckels seemed to be numb. He looked at his feet as
if trying to make them move. He gave a grunt of helplessness.
`Eckels!'
He took a few steps, blinking, shuffling.
`Not _that_ way!'
The Monster, at the first motion, lunged forward with a
terrible scream. It covered one hundred yards in four seconds.
The rifles jerked up and blazed fire. A windstorm from the
beast's mouth engulfed them in the stench of slime and old
blood. The Monster roared, teeth glittering with sun.
Eckels, not looking back, walked blindly to the edge of the
Path, his gun limp in his arms, stepped off the Path, and
walked, not knowing it, in the jungle. His feet sank into green
moss. His legs moved him, and he felt alone and remote from
the events behind.
The rifles cracked again. Their sound was lost in shriek
and lizard thunder. The great lever of the reptile's tail swung
up, lashed sideways. Trees exploded in clouds of leaf and
branch. The Monster twitched its jeweler's hands down to
fondle at the men, to twist them in half, to crush them like
berries, to cram them into its teeth and its screaming throat.
Its boulder-stone eyes leveled with the men. They saw them-
selves mirrored. They fired at the metallic eyelids and the
blazing black iris.
Like a stone idol, like a mountain avalanche, _Tyranno-
saurus_ fell. Thundering, it clutched trees, pulled them with
it. It wrenched and tore the metal Path. The men flung them-
selves back and away. The body hit, ten tons of cold flesh and
stone. The guns fired. The Monster lashed its armored tail,
twitched its snake jaws, and lay still. A fount of blood spurted
from its throat. Somewhere inside. a sac of fluids burst.
Sickening gushes drenched the hunters. They stood, red and
glistening.
The thunder faded.
The jungle was silent. After the avalanche, a green peace.
After the nightmare, morning.
Billings and Kramer sat on the pathway and threw up.
Travis and Lesperance stood with smoking rifles, cursing
steadily.
In the Time Machine, on his face, Eckels lay shivering.
He had found his way back to the Path, climbed into the
Machine.
Travis came walking, glanced at Eckels, took cotton gauze
from a metal box, and returned to the others, who were
sitting on the Path.
`Clean up.'
They wiped the blood from their helmets. They began to
curse too. The Monster lay, a hill of solid flesh. Within,
you could hear the sighs and murmurs as the furthest
chambers of it died, the organs malfunctioning, liquids
running a final instant from pocket to sac to spleen, every-
thing shutting off, closing up forever. It was like standing
by a wrecked locomotive or a steam shovel at quitting time,
all valves being released or levered tight. Bones cracked;
the tonnage of its own flesh, off balance, dead weight,
snapped the delicate forearms, caught underneath. The meat
settled, quivering.
Another cracking sound. Overhead, a gigantic tree branch
broke from its heavy mooring, fell. It crashed upon the dead
beast with finality.
`There.' Lesperance checked his watch. `Right on time.
That's the giant tree that was scheduled to fall and kill this
animal originally.' He glanced at the two hunters. `You want
the trophy picture?'
`What?'
`We can't take a trophy back to the Future. The body has
to stay right here where it would have died originally, so the
insects, birds, and bacteria can get at it, as they were intended
to. Everything in balance. The body stays. But we _can_ take a
picture of you standing near it.'
The two men tried to think, but gave up, shaking their
heads.
They let themselves be led along the metal Path. They
sank wearily into the Machine cushions. They gazed back at
the ruined Monster, the stagnating mound, where already
strange reptilian birds and golden insects were busy at the
steaming armor.
A sound on the floor of the Time Machine stiffened them.
Eckels sat there, shivering.
`I'm sorry,' he said at last.
`Get up!' cried Travis.
Eckels got up.
`Go out on that Path alone,' said Travis. He had his rifle
pointed. `You're not coming back in the Machine. We're
leaving you here!'
Lesperance seized Travis'~ arm. `Wait --'
`Stay out of this!' Travis shook his hand away. `This son
of a bitch nearly killed us. But it isn't _that_ so much. Hell, no.
It's his _shoes!_ Look at them! He ran off the Path. My God,
that _ruins_ us! Christ knows how much we'll forfeit. Tens of
thousands of dollars of insurance! We guarantee no one leaves
the Path. He left it. Oh, the damn fool! I'll have to report to
the government. They might revoke our license to travel.
God knows _what_ he's done to Time, to History!'
`Take it easy, all he did was kick up some dirt.'
`How do we _know?'_ cried Travis. `We don't know any-
thing! It's all a damn mystery! Get out there, Eckels!'
Eckels fumbled his shirt. `I'll pay anything. A hundred thou-
sand dollars!'
Travis glared at Eckels'~ checkbook and spat. `Go out
there. The Monster's next to the Path. Stick your arms up to
your elbows in his mouth. Then you can come back with us.'
`That's unreasonable!'
`The Monster's dead, you yellow bastard. The bullets! The
bullets can't be left behind. They don't belong in the Past;
they might change something. Here's my knife. Dig them
out!'
The jungle was alive again, full of the old tremorings and
bird cries. Eckels turned slowly to regard the primeval
garbage dump, that hill of nightmares and terror. After a
long time, like a sleepwalker, he shuffled out along the Path.
He returned, shuddering, five minutes later, his arms
soaked and red to the elbows. He held out his hands. Each
held a number of steel bullets. Then he fell. He lay where he
fell, not moving.
`You didn't have to make him do that,' said Lesperance.
`Didn't I? It's too early to tel!.' Travis nudged the still
body. `He'll live. Next time he won't go hunting game like
this. Okay.' He jerked his thumb wearily at Lesperance.
`Switch on. Let's go home.'
1492. 1776. 1812.
They cleaned their hands and faces. They changed their
caking shirts and pants. Eckels was up and around again, not
speaking. Travis glared at him for a full ten minutes.
`Don't look at me,' cried Eckels. `I haven't done any-
thing.'
`Who can tell?'
`Just ran off the Path, that's all, a little mud on my shoes
-- what do you want me to do -- get down and pray?'
`We might need it. I'm warning you, Eckels, I might kill
you yet. I've got my gun ready.'
`I'm innocent. I've done nothing!'
1999. 2000. 2055.
The Machine stopped.
`Get out,' said Travis.
The room was there as they had left it. But not the same
as they had left it. The same man sat behind the same desk.
But the same man did not quite sit behind the same desk.
Travis looked around swiftly. `Everything okay here?' he
snapped.
`Fine. Welcome home!'
Travis did not relax. He seemed to be looking at the very
atoms of the air itself, at the way the sun poured through
the one high window.
`Okay, Eckels, get out. Don't ever come back.'
Eckels could not move.
`You heard me,' said Travis. `What're you _staring_ at?'
Eckels stood smelling of the air, and there was a thing to
the air, a chemical taint so subtle, so slight, that only a faint
cry of his subliminal senses warned him it was there. The
colors, white, gray, blue, orange, in the wall, in the furniture,
in the sky beyond the window, were... were... And
there was a _feel._ His flesh twitched. His hands twitched. He
stood drinking the oddness with the pores of his body. Some-
where, someone must have been screaming one of those
whistles that only a dog can hear. His body screamed silence
in return. Beyond this room, beyond this wall, beyond this
man who was not quite the same man seated at this desk that
was not quite the same desk... lay an entire world of
streets and people. What sort of world it was now, there was
no telling. He could feel them moving there, beyond the
walls, almost, like so many chess pieces blown in a dry
wind...
But the immediate thing was the sign painted on the office
wall, the same sign he had read earlier today on first entering.
Somehow, the sign had changed:
=tyme sefari inc.
sefaris tu any yeer en the past.
yu naim the animall.
wee taek you thair.
yu shoot itt.=
Eckels felt himself fall into a chair. He fumbled crazily at
the thick slime on his boots. He held up a clod of dirt,
trembling. `No, it _can't_ be. Not a _little_ thing like that. No!'
Embedded in the mud, glistening green and gold and black,
was a butterfly, very beautiful, and very dead.
`Not a little thing like _that!_ Not a butterfly!' cried Eckels.
It fell to the floor, an exquisite thing, a small thing that
could upset balances and knock down a line of small
dominoes and then big dominoes and then gigantic dominoes,
all down the years across Time. Eckels'~ mind whirled. It
_couldn't_ change things. Killing one butterfly couldn't be _that_
important! Could it?
His face was cold. His mouth trembled, asking: `Who --
who won the presidential election yesterday?'
The man behind the desk laughed. `You joking? You
know damn well. Deutscher, of course! Who else? Not that
damn weakling Keith. We got an iron man now, a man with
guts, by God!' The official stopped. `What's wrong?'
Eckels moaned. He dropped to his knees. He scrabbled
at the golden butterfly with shaking fingers. `Can't we,' he
pleaded to the world, to himself, to the officials, to the Ma-
chine, `can't we take it _back,_ can't we _make_ it alive again?
Can't we start over? Can't we --'
He did not move. Eyes shut, he waited, shivering. He
heard Travis breathe loud in the room; he heard Travis shift
his rifle, click the safety catch, and raise the weapon.
There was a sound of thunder.
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