Дэймон Найт - Orbit 4

Andrew, hearing Paul’s dry reassuring chuckle, felt the vial grow heavy in his hand.

Carol Emshwiller studied art at the University of Michigan, met Ed Emshwiller and married him, went to France on a Fulbright, and did not even think of writing until she was almost thirty. Her stories have an enigmatic simplicity. Like walnut shells with landscapes inside, they achieve a curious, and habit-forming, inversion of perspective. Her stories have appeared recently in Cavalier, City Sampler, Transatlantic Review, and in Harlan Ellison's Dangerous Visions.

The first day of the animal the sun came up yellow over fog. A woman from the Century Arms Apartments walked her three dogs early but hurried back within ten minutes. Her breath was visible. Later on a man, carrying a cane and wearing a tan overcoat, paused at the corner of the small park where the woman had walked the dogs and buttoned up his collar. The sun of the first day of the animal had, by now, turned orange and the man’s breath was not visible. The animal, as might be expected on his first morning, slept late. At eleven he was given a bowl of shredded wheat, a glass of milk and two slices of buttered toast but he refused to eat any of it. This was expected, too. He did, however, drink 16 ounces of water from a pail left in the corner for him and this was considered a very good sign.

He was found, of course, in the deepest part of the forest.

The second day of the animal all the windows frosted over. People woke up early and even the night watchmen went home whistling. Something in the air. The barometer was rising. The man of the tan overcoat took ten deep breaths, blowing out alternately from the right and left nostril. The woman who loves dogs enjoyed the cold on this, the second morning. She has never been married and she has a history of dating unsuitable men in spite of the dignity and self-assurance of her manner.

The animal still does not eat. He has watched out the window for a long time. What is he dreaming? his keepers wonder. That confinement is a question of degree? measured less by bars than by the perspectives behind them? so the question may not be, after all: Are the doors locked? but where would they lead to once they are opened, if such a time might come? And are the answers, whatever they may be, all the freedoms he can hope for?

It was said, on the second day, that he did not look too unhappy. At lunchtime a keeper of a particular sensitivity brought him both a grilled cheese sandwich and a hamburger so that it might be seen what his preferences were, but still he ate nothing.

Some intelligence seems to shine in his eyes. The keepers all feel he may be conscious of some meaning in their words, no doubt interpreting them in his own way. The keepers say he may dimly understand the significance of his position in their midst. Perhaps he wishes for more elements from which to draw conclusions. One keeper feels that if he had a drum and a flute he might make some kind of music and these are supplied but he only taps his fingers on his chin.

There’s much to do: wash him, cut his nails, clip his mane (all those curls and underneath his head is found to be the same size as everyone’s). Also his skin, under the dirt, seems like theirs except for a ruddiness probably due to constant exposure.

There are no marks of the capture on the animal except where the ropes had rubbed into his wrists and ankles. It was said he had suffered no more than a nosebleed at the time and yet he had killed two of the hunters with his bare hands.

They had dropped him as they entered the city early that morning. He was tied, hands and feet, to a pole and supported by four of them and they had come into the city singing rounds and swinging him jauntily. This was after the last bus had gone back to the center and after the last bus driver had gone to bed and not a taxi in sight. They had stumbled as they came down the embankment and he hit the sidewalk with the back of his head and grunted. His nose began to bleed again; however, many of the hunters had had worse than that from him so not one of them thought to apologize.

On the third day the animal ate . . . scrambled eggs and bacon, toast, orange juice, and it was considered that the most important hurdles were over and, since the weather continued fair, it was felt by most of them that no one would object if the animal was allowed some fresh air in some small, nearby park, provided some pants could be put on him and kept on. Still, it was argued by a minority that this was not necessary for an animal. Others said that it wasn’t at all a philosophical question as to when and when not animals might need to wear trousers or even what might constitute animalness, but more a question of simple physiology and that anyone with eyes could answer it and, what’s more, would answer it undoubtedly in favor of pants.

Since the keepers all dress alike in gray coveralls, it was decided that one of these would be the simplest to keep on him and, with a small suitcase combination lock at the top of the zipper, there could be no danger that the animal might remove it himself at some inappropriate time.

The woman walks her dogs four times a day. She is tall and always wears black or white with a red hat. Father figures tempt her, hunters and keepers, men she can count on to give her advice and encouragement though one wouldn’t suspect this from her expressed attitudes.

The animal is graying at the temples. His eyebrows have grown bushy. There are hairs in his ears. Perhaps his hard life in die deepest part of the forest has aged him. Actually the man in the tan coat appears to be the same age and might make a proper husband for the woman who walks dogs even though he hasn’t yet been married and, at his time of life, one would suspect strange vices. Yet he could afford a wife and he has kept himself remarkably fit. He doesn’t smoke. Unfortunately he never passes the Century Arms at quite the right times for any chance meetings to occur and neither do the animal and the woman meet, on this, the third day, but if he has an odor, subtle and savage, that is certainly what makes her take off her white scarf and open the top button of her coat. What if she is conscious of some secret origins? (perhaps all the townspeople are) then she may feel some organic kinship at this smell and from it she might draw conclusions about her past and maybe even about her future. Now the dogs slink with their tails between their legs. They are black retrievers though she can have no use for their inborn talents at the Century Arms. The only water they ever see is in their bowls or rain but the weather continues fair. It grows warmer. It is thought that the animal might be permanently installed in the small park where he would see the sun and yet be out of the public’s way to some extent. It is thought an imitation cave with a heater and a cot might do well enough and a private bathroom with shower stall. Some keepers wonder if even a heavy wire mesh will be strong enough to hold him. It must cross the top of the cage for he is nimble enough to climb almost anything with a toehold. There happens to be a suitable spot there already which once housed squirrels, foxes, a raccoon and an owl. It only needs enlarging and refurnishing.

Chance encounters sometimes lead to warm friendships and at their first meeting she offers the animal a cigarette which he accepts graciously with a little nod of thanks. Unfortunately, under these circumstances, she would have to play rather the dominating role in the relationship and yet appearances are so important that his expression alone may lead her to believe in his abilities as advisor and encourager. The mesh makes things simpler in many ways. She might bring him little presents of coffee in containers to go, or ice cream or something she has baked herself and she will never need to wonder why he hasn’t brought anything to her. She can put herself in a mother role and act out a part she would prefer he played, perhaps thinking he will learn from her, yearning to tuck blankets round his chin, to rub his back, always speaking softly.