The Homeward Bounders (9 page)

We went on a while, and then Helen seemed to decide to pick my brains. She said, “These signs you people with the stupid name have for one another—what are the commonest?”

“Warnings mostly,” I said. “Things like SLAVERS OPERATE HERE or POLICE TAKE BRIBES or DON'T OFFEND THE PRIESTS or UNFRIENDLY. Yours had OUCH! which just about sums it up, to my mind.”

“There's no need to be rude,” she said. “It's my Home. I shall go back there before long, you'll see.” That made me smile. It was just what I'd thought. “What's the most uncommon sign?” she said. “That one back there?”

I thought it must be, since I had never seen it before. “Not quite,” I said, so as to seem to know best. “The one I was told was most uncommon is YOU CAN TELL THEM YOU'RE A HOMEWARD BOUNDER.”

“Why?” she said.

“Because you can't,” I said. “
They
make sure people don't believe you.”

“So then the sign never happens!” she said scornfully.

“Yes it does,” I said. “It was in the list I was given. It must happen somewhere.”

“Of course it must,” Helen said pityingly. She was like that. She'd say first one thing, and then contradict it with the opposite, and make it seem that it was you who were wrong. “The wider times have every possibility in them, so there must be a traverse where you can admit to your exile. That is the logic of Uquar—”

“What kind of talk is that?” I said.

She wasn't listening. “Uquar,” she said furiously, “is an utter cheat! I don't think he exists!”

“Who is he anyway?” I was saying, when we came to the bushy edge of the jungle. There was a man standing in a bush at the side of the path, bowing and smiling at us. He didn't look uncivilized. He was clean-shaven and wearing a neat whitish shirt and trousers, and the smile on his face was a polite, social sort of smile. He looked so harmless that I turned to Helen and said loftily, “Let me handle this.” I bowed to the man. “Good afternoon, my friend.”

He answered in a language I had never heard before. “Oomera-woomera-woomera,” he went.

I think my face looked pretty funny. Snorting noises came from behind Helen's hair. “It doesn't matter,” I told her. “We make signs.”

The man made the signs. He bowed and stretched out one hand. He was saying, “Will you come this way, sir?” like the waiters in a restaurant where I once worked. So I nodded and Helen jerked her head. She always nodded in a sideways jerk that looked as if it meant No. It took some getting used to. But the man seemed to understand. He was very pleased. He ushered us politely along a road, between fields. There were more neatly clothed men and some boys working in the fields with long hoes, but they downed tools when they saw us and came hurrying along with us, beaming and going “Oomera-woomera-woomera” too. It was like being royalty, except that it was friendlier. I happened to look round, and there were more neat men hopping out of the jungle and rushing after us with glad “oomera-woomeras.”

Beyond the fields, we came to the village. That was neat and civilized too. All the houses were square and painted white, with pretty, decorated trellises up the fronts, and shiny brass pots standing by their neatly painted front doors. They were built round three sides of a square, and at the back of the square was a bigger white building with bigger trellises, which seemed to be the village hall. They led us to this hall across the square, through the friendliest welcome I've ever had in my life. The girls and women joined in here, beaming and smiling and clattering the rows and rows of turquoise beads they wore over their long whitish dresses. They were all rather gushing types, these women. One came up to Helen, with her arms stretched out, cooing “oomera-woomera,” and put her hands out to part the hair in front of Helen's face.

The piece of Helen's face I saw looked as if it were going to bite. She jumped back and shouted,
“Don't do that!”

I've been on numbers of worlds where people keep their faces hidden. I wasn't sure why Helen did, unless it was this Haras-uquara thing she was, and I'd never seen anyone use quite Helen's method before, but I always think you should respect customs. “Oomera-woomera,” I said to the surprised woman. “You mustn't do that. Her face is sacred.” The woman nodded and backed away, making
so-sorry
signs.

I thought Helen should have been grateful, but she said, “There's no need for you to be rude too!”

She was in a very bad temper after that—if you can put it that way, when she hadn't been in a good one yet. We were taken to seats on piles of cushions at one end of the hall and we were given a feast. We were guests of honor with a vengeance. I only had to look at any of the food they brought for it to be heaped into the brass pot they gave me as a plate. Everyone smiled and cheered and oomera'd and nodded, and more and more food came in: smoking brass buckets of bean hash, piles of rice, bits of stuff wrapped in leaves with hot sauce poured on top, pancakes and bread-cakes and fruity savory pies. And twenty kinds of salad. And piles of every kind of fruit I'd seen in the jungle. It was all delicious. The only drawback was that it was all vegetarian stuff. I do like a bit of meat myself.

Helen hardly touched it. She sat with her head hanging so that even the tip of her nose was invisible and behaved as if her face was too sacred to put food in. I think what had happened was that it had hit her for the first time what being a Homeward Bounder meant, but I don't know. I never knew what Helen was thinking.

“Do eat,” I said. “You'll offend them. You're guest of honor.”

“You eat for me,” she said. “You stuff. I don't want any. I don't like this place. I wish I could go Home.”

So I ate away, trying to make up for Helen. After a bit, they cleared all the food away and brought hot drinks. I was glad. I was too full to be happy by then.

You can imagine my dismay when, after the drinks, out came the brass pots again, and in came a whole lot more food. This course was a mass of things on sticks—all vegetables—and corn on the cob and suchlike. Stacks of it. And I had to have something of each. They insisted on it. That's the worst of not knowing the customs. You don't know how to pace yourself. I'd already eaten too much anyway.

“I remember my mother going on about eating for two,” I said to Helen, “before my sister Elsie was born. I'd no idea it was such hard work!”

“You're eating like a pig for the slaughter!” said the voice under the hair.

“I am not! I'm being polite,” I said.

Then they took the things on sticks away and brought in puddings. Piles of puddings. I was nearly bursting by then. But I went on doggedly. You have to respect customs. There was no pleasure in it. I was afraid I was going to be sick. I had to refuse two of the rice puddings. I've never been so glad to see a meal over as I was when that one was finished. Everyone got up at last. I got up too, feeling like a vast, fat cushion with little tiny arms and legs at the corners. I could hardly walk to the place where we were to sleep. It was a small square room at the back of the hall, filled with cushions almost as stuffed as I was. They shut the door and went away and I stood there. I couldn't sit down or even move, I was so full.

It was almost dark in there. The only light was a little blue lamp in the ceiling. Helen was stumbling about behind me, but I couldn't see what she was doing, because I daren't turn round even. Finally, she came and sat with a flounce on the cushions where I could see her.

“Well!” she said. “Well!” She put her hands up, parted the hair where her nose came through, and hooked each side behind her ears. I supposed she could do that because it was so dark, but I didn't really care. My mind was all on my overcrowded stomach. The sacred face was a fierce pointed brown face with round shiny black eyes, like observant buttons. “You've got us into a nice mess!” she said. “The door's locked. What did you say that sign on the tree meant, again?”

I couldn't speak. Things were surging inside.

“I'll tell you,” Helen said. “It came to me when I said you were stuffing like a pig for the slaughter. And I knew. That sign means CANNIBALS. Haven't you noticed that there aren't any animals here, not even hens?”

The surging turned out to be a huge gurk. I gave it. It was double-barreled. Relief! I could speak. “They're vegetarians,” I said.

“When they can't get meat,” said Helen. “When there are no stray travelers. We're the meat. There'll be an even bigger feast tomorrow, I'll bet you. Meat patties, meat balls, steak, mince and stew.”

“Oh shut up!” I said. Things were still critical inside. “Homeward Bounders can't die. You know that.”

“In that case,” said Helen, “how will it feel to go on living inside a whole village?”

“Shut
up
!” I said. “I don't think they could. There's this rule that something awful happens to people who harm Homeward Bounders. Rule Two.”

“Will that help us,” Helen said musingly, “if they decide to eat us a leg or an arm at a time?”

“Will you be quiet!” I said. “You are making me sick, and I don't need your help for that at the moment! It's not true. You're guessing.”

“Then why are you so cross?” she said.

She had me there. I had to admit it. I thought she was right. It was creepy how glad they were to see us. And now the door was locked. “All right,” I said. “I'm sorry. I didn't know what that sign meant. I'd never seen it before.”

“That's what annoys me,” she said. “I was afraid you were a fool and now I know you are. I wouldn't have bothered to bring you with me if I'd known. I'd be better off on my own.”

That took my breath away. The cheek! The cool cheek! “So you were just making use of me!” I snarled. “You and your elephant's trunk!”

“Well, yes,” she said, as cool as a cucumber. “I was trying it out. I knew that a traverse casts in all directions, so that two or more people fly outwards from one another. Those were the words they taught it to me in, but it doesn't feel like flying, does it? More like a twitch. And I thought that if two people were holding on to one another, then it was
likely
they'd go together. So I decided to hang on to you as soon as I saw you. I could see you didn't belong in our world, so that meant you'd had some experience in exile. I thought you'd make a native guide for me. Instead, you get us both eaten. I wish I'd left you alone now.”

“I swear to you,” I said, “I've never been in a fix like this before. Ever. How do you come to know so much about the Bounds anyway?”

“From being brought up in the House of Uquar,” said Helen. “Because of my gift. I told you. When I was old enough, my word was to have run throughout the world. Now I shall have to wait until I can get back. It's all
Their
fault! I shall find a way to make
Them
suffer for it too!”

“You really mustn't talk about
Them
like that,” I said nervously. “I think
They
know.”

“I'm sure
They
do,” said Helen. “And
They
're welcome to listen if
They
wish. I intend to talk about
Them
. You can put your fingers in your ears if you're scared, but I'm going to tell you all the same.”

And tell me she did. After the way she'd said it, I'd have died rather than put my fingers in my ears and, anyway, I was too interested. My stomach suddenly went thinner a little after that. I squatted opposite her on the cushions and we talked half the night.

Helen had been born with her right arm just a withered stump. Her mother was very sad about it, because in that world you don't get far if you don't have two hands. From my experience there, I'd say that if you happened to have an extra pair on top of that, you'd still only just be holding your own. It's every man—or woman—for himself there. Life is a perpetual stalking ambush. You don't go out shopping, you go out robbing—and then get robbed yourself on your way home with the robberies. And on top of that there are the dragon-things, snakes, tigers and savage great birds to peck you to death.

So Helen's father was going to sling her out of their fort. A new baby wouldn't have lasted five minutes outside, but he said it was kindest. Helen's mother wept and cried and begged, and in the end she persuaded him to keep Helen for a six month's trial as it were. And when Helen was four months old—you know, the sort of time when babies start holding up their hands and staring at them and going
goo-ga
at their fingers—Helen began holding up her left hand, because that was the only one she'd got. And she looked at it very seriously. Then she looked very seriously and carefully at her mother's hands when her mother came to play
goo-ga
with her too. And the next time her mother came, Helen had a right arm, almost like an ordinary baby, except that, not having much to compare it with, she'd got the hand wrong. It was a left hand, with the thumb where the little finger should be. Her mother thought she was dreaming at first, and didn't say anything, because there were still two months to go. And by the time Helen was six months old, she'd put the hand right and had a perfect pair of arms like an ordinary baby.