The Worshippers | Page 7

please,
what to do now instead of the way they do?"
Weaver told him, "They must mate only one to one, and for life."
To his surprise, the translation of this was greeted by unmistakable
twitterings of gladness. The members of the adulterous group turned to
each other with excited gestures, and Weaver saw a pairing-off process
begin, with much discussion.
He asked Mark about it later, as they were leaving the village. "How is
it that they did this thing before--for more variety, as you say--and yet
seem so glad to stop?"
Mark's answer was: "They very glad to do whatever thing you say. You
bring them new thing, they very happy."
Weaver mused on this, contentedly on the whole, but with a small
undigested kernel of uneasiness, until they reached the next village.
Here he found a crowd of Terranovans of both sexes and all ages at a
feast of something with a fearful stench. He asked what it was; Mark's
answer had better not be revealed. Feeling genuinely sick with
revulsion, Weaver demanded, "Why do they do such an awful thing?
This is ten times worse than the other."
This time Mark answered without hesitation. "They do this like the
other, for more change. Is not easy to learn to like, but they do, so not
to make themselves have tiredness."
* * * * *
There were three more such incidents before they reached the village
where they were to sleep that night; and Weaver lay awake in his
downy bed, staring at the faint shimmer of reflected starlight on the
carved roof-beams, and meditating soberly on the unexpected, the

appalling magnitude of the task he had set himself.
From this, he came to consider that small dark kernel of doubt. It was
of course dreadful to find that his people were so wholly corrupt, but
that at least was understandable. What he did not understand was the
reason they could be so easily weaned from their wickedness. It left
him feeling a little off-balance, like a man who has hurled himself at
his enemy and found him suddenly not there. This reminded him of
ju-jitsu, and this in turn of the ancient Japanese--to whom, indeed, his
Terranovans seemed to have many resemblances. Weaver's uneasiness
increased. Savage peoples were notoriously devious--they smiled and
then thrust knives between your ribs.
He felt a sudden prickling coldness at the thought. It was improbable, it
was fantastic that they would go to such lengths to gratify his every
wish if they meant to kill him, he told himself; and then he remembered
the Dionysian rites, and a host of other, too-similar parallels. The king
for a day or a year, who ruled as an absolute monarch, and then was
sacrificed--
And, Weaver remembered with a stab of panic, usually eaten.
He had been on Terranova for a little over a month by the local
calendar. What was his term of office to be--two months? Six? A year,
ten years?
* * * * *
He slept little that night, woke late in the morning with dry, irritated
eyes and a furred mouth, and spent a silent day, inspecting each new
batch of natives without comment, and shivering inwardly at each
motion of the clawed arms of Mark, Luke or John. Toward evening he
came out of his funk at last, when it occurred to him to ask about
weapons.
He put the query slyly, wording it as if it were a matter of general
interest only, and of no great importance. Were they familiar with
machines that killed, and if so, what varieties did they have?

At first Mark did not understand the question. He replied that their
machines did not kill, that very long ago they had done so but that the
machines were much better now, very safe and not harmful to anyone.
"Then," wrote Weaver carefully, "you have no machines which are
made for the purpose of killing?"
Mark, Luke and John discussed this with every evidence of excitement.
At last Mark wrote, "This very new idea to us."
"But do you have in this world no large, dangerous animals which must
be killed? How do you kill those things which you eat?"
"No dangerous animals. We kill food things, but not use machines.
Give some things food which make them die. Give some no food, so
they die. Kill some with heat. Some eat alive."
Weaver winced with distaste when he read this last, and was about to
write, "This must stop." But he thought of oysters, and decided to
reserve judgment.
After all, it had been foolish of him to be frightened last night. He had
been carried away by a chance comparison which, calmly considered,
was superficial and absurd. These people were utterly peaceful--in fact,