Ivan Yefremov - The Land of Foam

“The man with the thick beard has come and has sent for you to go to the river,” announced Cavius’ messenger, proud of the task entrusted to him.

The fact that Cavius had stayed by the river and sent for him to go there worried Pandion. He hurried to the river-bank along a path that wound its way through thorn-scrub. From a distance he could see a group of his companions on the sandy river-bank, standing around a bunch of reeds on which lay a man’s body. He hopped clumsily along, trying not to step on his injured foot, and entered the circle of silent friends. He recognized the man lying on the reeds as Takel, a young Libyan who had taken part in the flight across the desert. The Hellene knelt down-and bent over the body of his comrade. Before Pandion’s eyes flashed a picture of the stiflingly hot gorge in the sandstone mountains where he plodded along half-dead from thirst. Takel was one of those followers of Akhini who had brought him water from the well. Only now that he knelt before Takel’s body did Pandion realize how near and dear to him was everyone who had taken part in the insurrection and the flight. He had grown used to them and could not imagine life without them. For weeks Pandion might not have anything to do with his companions when he knew that they were safe, each going about his own affairs; but this sudden loss crushed him. Still on his knees he turned inquiringly to Cavius.

“Takel was bitten by a snake in the undergrowth,” said Cavius sadly, “while we were wandering in search of blackwood. We didn’t know any cure — “ he sighed deeply — “so we abandoned everything and sailed back down the river. When we carried him ashore, Takel was already dying. I sent for you to say good-bye to him… it was too late…” Cavius, his head bowed, clenched his fists, and did not finish what he was saying.

Pandion stood up. Takel’s death seemed so senseless and unjust to him — not in a glorious battle, not in the struggle against wild beasts, but here, in a peaceful village where he had promise of a return home after great deeds of valour and courageous fortitude on the long journey. This death caused the young Hellene great pain; he felt the tears welling up in his eyes and to conceal them stared hard at the river. On either side of a sand-bank rose the green walls of dense thickets of reeds so that the mound of light-coloured sand seemed to stand in open green gates. At the fringe of the forest grew gnarled and twisted white trees with tiny leaves. From all the branches of these trees hung luxuriant garlands of bright red flowers (* Combretum purpureum) whose fluffy flat clusters looked like transverse bars of red threaded on thin stems, some of which hung down in garlands, while others pointed upwards to the sky. The flowers gave off a red reflection, and the white trees burned in the green gates like funeral torches at the gates of the nether world to which the spirit of the dead Takel was on its way. The dull leaden waters of the river, broken by banks of yellow sand, rolled slowly along. Hundreds of crocodiles lay on the sand-banks. On a sandy spit near where Pandion was standing, several of the huge reptiles had opened their jaws in their sleep, and in the sun they looked like black patches surrounded by the white spikes of their terrible teeth. The bodies of the crocodiles sprawled out on the sand as though they were flattened by their own weight. The long folds of the scaly skin of their bellies lapped over flat backs covered with rows of protuberances of a lighter colour than the black-green spaces between them. Paws, with their joints awkwardly turned outwards, stretched on either side in an ugly pose. Now and again one of the reptiles would flick its long ridged tail against another who, his sleep disturbed, would close his mouth with a snap that resounded loudly down the river.

The wayfarers raised the body of the dead man and carried it in silence to the village under the alarmed glances of villagers who came running up. Pandion walked behind, away from Cavius. The Etruscan considered himself guilty of the death of the Libyan since the idea of hunting for ebony had been his. Cavius walked beside the sad procession, biting his lip and running his fingers through his thick beard.

Pandion also felt qualms of conscience. He also felt himself guilty. What right had he to grow enthusiastic over the carving of the girl he loved, at a time when he should have busied himself with something in memory of the fighting friendship of people of different races who had passed through all trials together, had remained true in face of death, hunger and thirst, in the sorrowful days of their wearisome march. “Why did this idea not occur to me before?” the young Hellene asked himself. Why had he forgotten the friendship that had grown up in the fight for freedom? Not for nothing had his work been a failure — the gods had punished him for his ingratitude… Let today’s sorrow teach him to see better…

Like a herd of buffaloes, the low purple and grey clouds crawled heavily across the sky, bunching together in a solid mass. Dull rumbles of thunder filled the air. A tropical downpour was on its way, and people hurriedly took everything that had been lying about into their houses. Cavius and Pandion had only just time to take cover in their house when the huge bowl of the heavens tipped over, and the roar of the falling water drowned even the peals of thunder. As usual the rain soon stopped, the vegetation gave off an acrid smell in the fresh, humid air, and countless streams gurgled faintly as they made their way to the river and the sea. The wet trees rustled dully in the wind. The noise was grim and sad, nothing like the rapid rustle of leaves on a fine dry day. Cavius sat listening to the noises of the forest and said suddenly:

“I can’t forgive myself Takel’s death. It was my fault; we went without an experienced guide, and we are strangers in this land where carelessness means death. The result is that we have no ebony and one of our best comrades lies dead under a heap of stones on the river-bank… A high price to pay for my foolishness… I can’t make up my mind to try again, and we have nothing to pay to the Sons of the Wind.”

In silence Pandion took a handful of the sparkling stones out of his bag and laid them before the Etruscan. Cavius nodded his head in approval, but suddenly doubt showed on his face.

“If they don’t know the value of these stones, the Sons of the Wind may refuse to take them. Who has heard of such stones in our countries? Who will buy them as valuables? Although…” Cavius paused to think.

Pandion took fright. Cavius’ simple explanation of their position had not entered his head before. He had lost sight of the fact that the stones might have no value in the eyes of the merchants. The hand he stretched out towards the stones trembled in consternation and fear for the future. Seeing the alarm in Pandion’s face, Cavius spoke to him again. “I seem to have heard that transparent stones of great hardness were sometimes brought to Cyprus and Caria from the distant east and had a very high value. Perhaps the Sons of the Wind know that?…”

The morning after his talk with Cavius, Pandion set out along a path that led to the foothills where the bananas grew. It was time for Kidogo to return, and his friends were awaiting him in impatience; they wanted his advice on how to obtain something valuable for the Sons of the Wind. Cavius’ doubts had shattered Pandion’s faith in the stones from the south and the young Hellene now knew no peace. Without realizing it Pandion set out towards the mountains in the hope of meeting the expedition of his Negro friend. Apart from everything else, he wanted to be alone to think out a new work of art that was beginning to take form in his mind. Pandion walked soundlessly along the hard trampled earth of the footpath. He was no longer lame and his former easy gait had returned to him. Local people, loaded with clusters of yellow fruits, whom he met on the way, grinned at him or waved bunches of leaves to him as a sign of friendship. The path turned to the left. Pandion walked on between solid green walls of succulent vegetation, filled with the golden glow of sunlight. In the hot glare of the sun a woman whom Pandion recognized as Nyora was moving gracefully along the path. From the hanging clusters of bananas she was selecting the greenest fruits and packing them in a high basket. Pandion stood back in the shadow of the huge banana leaves and the feelings of the artist put all other thoughts out of his mind. The young woman went from one bush to another, her figure bent gracefully over the basket, and again she stretched up on tiptoes, straining her entire body to reach the higher fruits. The golden sunlight sparkled on her smooth black skin, accentuated by the bright green background of leaves. Nyora gave a little jump, her body arched into a curve as she plunged her hands into the velvety foliage. Pandion was so engrossed that he caught against a dry twig, and a loud crackle broke the silence. In an instant the young woman turned round and stood stock-still. Nyora recognized Pandion, and the body that had been tensed like the string of a musical instrument immediately became calm as she smiled at the young Hellene. Pandion, however, noticed nothing. A cry of ecstasy broke from his lips and his wide-open golden eyes stared at Nyora without seeing her, his mouth opened in a faint smile. The astounded woman stepped back from him. The stranger suddenly turned and ran away shouting something in a language she could not understand.