Divinity | Page 6

began to
sing, loudly and impressively, his voice orchestral in his own ears
within the confines of the helmet. "Ould Lang Shyne, she ain't what she

ushed to be, ain't what she ushed to be--" The words came easily, and
as it seemed, naturally to his lips.
After awhile, however, he tired of them. After awhile he found that his
legs had tired of them. He sat down with a thump under a spiky tree
and said solemnly, "Never felt so good in my life. Never felt so
happy--it's a lie. I don't feel good."
He didn't, not any more. He felt sick to his stomach. A touch of sober
thought had corroded the happiness of his intoxication, and he was sick
and afraid. Today their god was a hero, today they would forgive him
everything. But did they actually prefer a drunken god? No.
Drunkenness made a god human, all too human. A drunken god was a
weak god, and his hold on his worshippers was their belief in his
strength. As he valued his life, he must get drunk no more.
"Ain't gonna get drunk no more, no more," he sang sadly and solemnly
to himself, and finally he fell asleep.
* * * * *
He awoke with a hangover and a memory. He was not one of those men
who when sober forget all they have done when drunk. He remembered
everything. And he knew that he must put drunkenness away from him.
That morning they brought him only food and flowers. But at the
evening ceremony they presented him once more with a jug of liquor as
an additional reward for his destruction of the deadly beast. For the first
time, Bradley took an active part in the ceremony. He held up the jug
and said in grave tones, "In the name of Carrie Nation, I renounce thee
and all thy works."
Then he poured out the liquor and smashed the jug on the ground.
After that, the smashing of the jug was part of the ceremony of
worshipping him. It left him unhappy at first, but sober. After awhile,
the unhappiness disappeared, but the soberness remained. From now on,
he would act as a god should act.

The natives were not stupid, he saw that very clearly. The first jugs
they had offered him had been beautiful objects, of excellent
workmanship. But when they perceived that the only use he had for
them was to break them, the quality deteriorated rapidly. Now the jugs
they brought him were crude things indeed, made for the sole purpose
of being smashed. He wondered how many other tribes had tricked
their gods similarly.
No, they were not at all stupid. It struck him that with such advantages
of civilization as he himself had enjoyed, they would have gone much
further than he did. Two weeks or so after he had come down from the
sky to be their god, he saw that they had learned from him. One of the
young men appeared during the day wearing a wooden helmet. It was a
helmet obviously patterned after his own, although it had no glass or
plastic, and the openings in front of the eyes were left blank. The
mythical Earth-hero, Prometheus, had brought fire down from the skies.
He had brought the Helmet. He was Bradley, the Helmet-Bringer.
Even at that he had underestimated his worshippers. He had thought at
first that the helmets were meant merely for ornament and decoration.
He learned better one day when a swarm of creatures like flying lizards
swept down out of a group of trees in a fierce attack. He had not known
that such creatures existed here, and now that he saw them, he realized
how fortunate it was that they were not more numerous. They had sharp
teeth and sharper claws, and they tore at his head with a ferocity that
struck fear into his heart. His gun was of less use than usual against
them. He could catch one or two, but the others moved too swiftly for
him to aim.
By this time, others of the natives wore wooden helmets, and he could
see how the sharp claws ripped splinter after splinter from them. But
the birds or lizards, or whatever they were, didn't go unscathed. From a
sort of skin bellows, several of the natives blew a gray mist at them,
and where the mist made contact with the leather skin, the flying
creatures seemed to be paralyzed in mid-flight, and they fell to the
ground, where they were easily crushed to death. By the time they had
given up the fight and fled, half a dozen of them were lying dead.

They were evidently useless for food because of the poison they
contained. He was surprised to