Read Online Time of the Great Freeze by Robert Silverberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Silverberg
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he saw what the nomads were doing.
They were tossing their knives down at Carl's feet!
Carl grinned in amazement and surprise as each of the hunters, in turn, added his bone knife to the heap, then withdrew and sank to his knees in the snow. The last to pay homage was the grizzled old chief himself. He came forward almost grudgingly, flipped his knife onto the pile, and dropped in obeisance.
"I think you've just become chief of the tribe, Carl," Jim said with a laugh.
Carl turned to Dr. Barnes. "What do I do now?"
"Pick up the chief's knife. Hand it back to him."
Carl did so. The chief, still kneeling, stared blankly at the crude bone knife as Carl offered it, butt first. He did not seem to understand at all. Carl pressed the knife into his hand, and in sudden inspiration touched the old man's shoulder, as if giving a blessing. Then he stepped back.
The chief rose, sheathing the knife, and for the first time broke into a broad smile, baring the stubs of worn yellow teeth.
After that everything was simple. The gulf in communication that had existed was magically bridged. Now, Dr. Barnes's pantomiming got across, as was shown by the smiles and the excited chatter of the hunting folk. Dr. Barnes pointed to himself, to the other seven city people, and then toward the sea. The nomad chief nodded. With his knife, he drew a line in the snow, indicated their present location by tapping his chest and then the ground, and sketched out a second line running from that point to the other line. He repeated it several times.
"What's he trying to tell us?" Jim asked.
"I think he's saying that we can have safe conduct as far as his territory reaches," Dr. Barnes said. "Another few miles, at any rate."
The crisis was past. The injured hunter, still shaky but able to move around, had rejoined his comrades. Jim watched as they cut away a slab of ice and buried their dead fellow in the glacier, heaping snow to hide his body.
Then a new crisis developed-far less menacing than the last one, but just as perplexing. The man who had been wounded sought out Carl, carrying in his hands a raw gobbet of moose meat! He held the great bloody chunk of flesh out toward his savior.
Carl took the meat, but held it gingerly, looking at it with barely concealed disgust.
"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked.
"Eat it," Dr. Barnes said. "It's a friendship offering."
" Eat it? Raw ?"
"He'll take offense otherwise," Dr. Barnes said.
Carl shuddered, and Jim had to turn away, laughing at the husky ex-policeman's plight Carl took a bite of the red meat, grimaced, gulped.
A moment later, Jim was laughing out of the other side of his mouth as a slimy hunk of meat was pressed into his hands, too. The nomads were showing their friendship in the only way they knew how, by offering food, and one at a time they were coming forward to give meat to the newcomers.
The eight city men forced back their qualms and ate, for the sake of peace. Even Chet, with his famous appetite, looked uneasy. Jim took a bite, retched, gagged, and tensed every muscle to keep the meat down. The idea of eating flesh, raw flesh, sickened him. There were no meat animals in the underground city. Men got their protein in other ways. And to stand here, in thirty-degree weather, munching on the raw flesh of an animal that had been alive half an hour before…
"Eat," Dr. Barnes commanded, as they hesitated after a few bites.
Jim ate. Carl ate. They all ate, pointing at each others blood-smeared jowls, making a grim joke out of the ceremony of friendship.
Once the first queasiness was past, Jim discovered to his surprise that he rather liked the taste of the meat. Not the texture of it-it was too slick, too wet-but the gamy taste appealed to him. Probably the meat tasted quite delectable when cooked. He ate as much as he could hold, and then, when he felt he could take no more, he quietly slipped the rest into a sleeve of his parka when no hunter was looking, and stooped to wash
They were tossing their knives down at Carl's feet!
Carl grinned in amazement and surprise as each of the hunters, in turn, added his bone knife to the heap, then withdrew and sank to his knees in the snow. The last to pay homage was the grizzled old chief himself. He came forward almost grudgingly, flipped his knife onto the pile, and dropped in obeisance.
"I think you've just become chief of the tribe, Carl," Jim said with a laugh.
Carl turned to Dr. Barnes. "What do I do now?"
"Pick up the chief's knife. Hand it back to him."
Carl did so. The chief, still kneeling, stared blankly at the crude bone knife as Carl offered it, butt first. He did not seem to understand at all. Carl pressed the knife into his hand, and in sudden inspiration touched the old man's shoulder, as if giving a blessing. Then he stepped back.
The chief rose, sheathing the knife, and for the first time broke into a broad smile, baring the stubs of worn yellow teeth.
After that everything was simple. The gulf in communication that had existed was magically bridged. Now, Dr. Barnes's pantomiming got across, as was shown by the smiles and the excited chatter of the hunting folk. Dr. Barnes pointed to himself, to the other seven city people, and then toward the sea. The nomad chief nodded. With his knife, he drew a line in the snow, indicated their present location by tapping his chest and then the ground, and sketched out a second line running from that point to the other line. He repeated it several times.
"What's he trying to tell us?" Jim asked.
"I think he's saying that we can have safe conduct as far as his territory reaches," Dr. Barnes said. "Another few miles, at any rate."
The crisis was past. The injured hunter, still shaky but able to move around, had rejoined his comrades. Jim watched as they cut away a slab of ice and buried their dead fellow in the glacier, heaping snow to hide his body.
Then a new crisis developed-far less menacing than the last one, but just as perplexing. The man who had been wounded sought out Carl, carrying in his hands a raw gobbet of moose meat! He held the great bloody chunk of flesh out toward his savior.
Carl took the meat, but held it gingerly, looking at it with barely concealed disgust.
"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked.
"Eat it," Dr. Barnes said. "It's a friendship offering."
" Eat it? Raw ?"
"He'll take offense otherwise," Dr. Barnes said.
Carl shuddered, and Jim had to turn away, laughing at the husky ex-policeman's plight Carl took a bite of the red meat, grimaced, gulped.
A moment later, Jim was laughing out of the other side of his mouth as a slimy hunk of meat was pressed into his hands, too. The nomads were showing their friendship in the only way they knew how, by offering food, and one at a time they were coming forward to give meat to the newcomers.
The eight city men forced back their qualms and ate, for the sake of peace. Even Chet, with his famous appetite, looked uneasy. Jim took a bite, retched, gagged, and tensed every muscle to keep the meat down. The idea of eating flesh, raw flesh, sickened him. There were no meat animals in the underground city. Men got their protein in other ways. And to stand here, in thirty-degree weather, munching on the raw flesh of an animal that had been alive half an hour before…
"Eat," Dr. Barnes commanded, as they hesitated after a few bites.
Jim ate. Carl ate. They all ate, pointing at each others blood-smeared jowls, making a grim joke out of the ceremony of friendship.
Once the first queasiness was past, Jim discovered to his surprise that he rather liked the taste of the meat. Not the texture of it-it was too slick, too wet-but the gamy taste appealed to him. Probably the meat tasted quite delectable when cooked. He ate as much as he could hold, and then, when he felt he could take no more, he quietly slipped the rest into a sleeve of his parka when no hunter was looking, and stooped to wash
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