The Courts of Jamshyd
By ROBERT F. YOUNG
Once, Ryan knew, dogs had
run with man, not from him....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity September 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The dust-reddened sun was low in the west when the tribe filed downfrom the fissured foothills to the sea. The women spread out along thebeach to gather driftwood, while the men took over the task of settingup the rain-catch.
Ryan could tell from the haggard faces around him that there wouldbe a dance that night. He knew his own face must be haggard too,haggard and grimed with dust, the cheeks caved in, the eyes dark withhunger-shadows. The dogless days had been many this time.
The rain-catch was a crazy quiltwork pattern of dogskins laboriouslysewn together into a makeshift tarpaulin. Ryan and the other young menheld it aloft while the older men set up the poles and tied the dog-gutstrings, letting the tarp sag in the middle so that when it rained theprecious water would accumulate in the depression. When the job wasdone, the men went down to the beach and stood around the big fire thewomen had built.
Ryan's legs ached from the long trek through the hill country and hisshoulders were sore from packing the dogskin tarp over the last fivemiles. Sometimes he wished he was the oldest man in the tribe insteadof the youngest: then he would be free from the heavy work, free toshamble along in the rear on marches; free to sit on his haunchesduring stopovers while the younger men took care of the hunting and thelove-making.
He stood with his back to the fire, letting the heat penetrate hisdogskin clothing and warm his flesh. Nearby, the women were preparingthe evening meal, mashing the day's harvest of tubers into a thickpulp, adding water sparingly from their dogskin waterbags. Ryanglimpsed Merium out of the corner of his eye, but the sight of herthin young face and shapely body did not stir his blood at all, and heturned his eyes miserably away.
He remembered how he had felt about her at the time of the last dogkill—how he had lain beside her before the roaring fire, the aromaof roasted dog flesh still lingering in the night air. His belly hadbeen full and he had lain beside her half the night, and he had almostwanted her. She had seemed beautiful then, and for many days afterward;but gradually her beauty had faded away and she had become just anotherdrab face, another listless figure stumbling along with the rest of thetribe, from oasis to oasis, from ruin to ruin, in the eternal searchfor food.
Ryan shook his head. He could not understand it. But there were somany things that he could not understand. The Dance, for instance. Whyshould the mouthing of mere words to the accompaniment of rhythmicmovements give him pleasure? How could hatred make him strong?
He shook his head again. In a way, the Dance was the biggest mystery ofall....
Merium