[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
ineffective. It was a message from Bee, The
Innocent's spirit would not prevail.
"
I am Tamanawis speaking to you
. . . ."
David said: "Katsuk? Katsuk, I'm sorry."
Katsuk looked up at him. Hoquat appeared ready for flight, his eyes wide and
bright with fear. Katsuk nodded, said: "Now, you know a little of how I felt
when I took you from the hoquat camp. What a hate that must be to want to
kill an innocent for it. Did you ever think of that?"
Kill an innocent!
David thought. He said: "But you promised. . . ."
"I will keep that promise. It is the way of my people. We do not tell hoquat
lies. Do you know how it is?"
"What?"
"When we were whalers, whale had to demand the harpoon. Whale asked us to
kill him."
"But I'd never. . . ."
"Then you are safe."
Katsuk returned to his chipping.
David ventured a step closer to Katsuk. "Does it hurt?"
"Bee will not let it hurt. Be quiet. I must concentrate."
"But it's bleeding."
"The bleeding will stop."
"Shouldn't we put something on it?"
"It is a small wound. Your mouth is a bigger wound. Be quiet or I will put
something in your mouth."
David gulped, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He found it
difficult not to look at the dark scratch on Katsuk's cheek. The bleeding
stopped, but coagulation formed a ragged lower edge to the wound.
Why didn't it hurt?
It outraged David that the wound did not hurt. He had wanted it to hurt.
Cuts always hurt. But Katsuk had spirit protectors. Maybe it really didn't
hurt.
David turned his attention to the obsidian knife taking shape under Katsuk's
hands. The blade, about four inches long and sharply wedged, was held flat
against Katsuk's thigh.
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With quick, glancing blows, Katsuk broke tiny flakes from the edges.
The knife did not appear long or slim enough to stab anyone. The cutting
edges were serrated. But it could cut an artery. He thought again of the
hiker Katsuk had killed.
That hiker had not asked to be killed. But Katsuk had murdered him anyway.
David found his mouth suddenly dry. He said: "That guy . . . you know, on
the trail . .
. the guy you . . . well, he didn't ask you to. . . ."
"You hoquat always think mouth-talk is the only talk." Katsuk spoke without
looking up from his work. "Why can't you learn body-talk? When Raven made
you, did he leave that ability out of you?"
"What's body-talk?"
"It is what you do. A thing you do can say something about what you want."
"That's crazy talk about Raven."
"God made us, eh?"
"Yes!"
"It depends on what you're taught, I guess."
"Well, I don't believe that about body-talk and Raven."
"You don't believe Raven keeps you tied to me?"
David could not answer. Raven did do what Katsuk wanted. The birds went
where Katsuk ordered them to go. To know where the birds would go -- what a
power that was.
Katsuk said: "You are quiet. Did Raven take your tongue? Raven can do that.
Your stupid hoquat world does not prepare you to deal with Raven."
"You always say stupid when you talk about my people," David accused. "Isn't
there anything good about our world?"
"Our world?" Katsuk asked.
"Your world, Hoquat."
"But nothing good in it?"
"I see only death in it. The whole world dies of you."
"What about our doctors? We have better doctors than you ever had."
"Your doctors are tied to illness and death. They make as much illness and
death as they cure. An exact balance. It's called a transactional
relationship. But they are so blind, they do not see how they are tied to
what they do."
"Transactional . . . relationship? What's that?"
"A transaction is where you trade one thing for another. When you buy
something, that's a transaction."
"Ahh, that's just big words that don't mean anything."
"They are words from your world, Hoquat."
"But they don't mean anything."
"They mean doctors don't know they do it, but still they do it: They maintain
a level of illness to justify their existence. Police do the same thing with
crime. Lawyers keep up the legal confusions. Body-talk, Hoquat. No matter
what they say they want, or how hard they work to overcome their defects,
things work out in a way that keeps them busy and justifies their existence."
"That's crazy!"
"Yes, it is crazy, but it is real. It is what you see when you understand
body-talk."
"But my world does lots of good things. People don't go hungry anymore."
"But they do, Hoquat. In Asia, they --"
"I mean people in this country."
"Aren't they people in the other countries?"
"Sure, but. . . ."
"Even in this country -- in the mountains of your East, in the South, in big
cities, people are hungry. People die of hunger every year. Old people,
young people. My people die that way, too, because they try to live like
hoquat. And the world gets hungrier and
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hungrier. . . ."
"What about our houses? We build better houses than you ever saw."
"And you destroy the earth to plunge your houses into it. You build where no
house should be. You are insensitives. You live against the earth, not with
it."
"We have cars!"
"And your cars are smothering you."
David quested in his mind for something Katsuk could not strike down. Music?
He'd sneer the way adults always did. Education? He'd say it didn't prepare
you to live out here.
Science? He'd say it was killing the world with big bombs, big machines.
"Katsuk, what do you mean by body-talk?"
"What your actions say. You say with your mouth: 'That's too bad.' Then you
laugh.
That means you're really happy while you're saying you're sorry. You say: 'I
love you.'
Then you do something to hurt that person's feelings. Body-talk is what you
do.
If you say, 'I don't want that to happen,' and all the while you are making it
happen, which thing are we to believe? Do we believe the words or do we
believe the body?"
David thought about words. He thought about church and sermons, of all the
words about
"eternal life." Were the words true, or did the preacher's body say something
different? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl aikidobyd.xlx.pl
ineffective. It was a message from Bee, The
Innocent's spirit would not prevail.
"
I am Tamanawis speaking to you
. . . ."
David said: "Katsuk? Katsuk, I'm sorry."
Katsuk looked up at him. Hoquat appeared ready for flight, his eyes wide and
bright with fear. Katsuk nodded, said: "Now, you know a little of how I felt
when I took you from the hoquat camp. What a hate that must be to want to
kill an innocent for it. Did you ever think of that?"
Kill an innocent!
David thought. He said: "But you promised. . . ."
"I will keep that promise. It is the way of my people. We do not tell hoquat
lies. Do you know how it is?"
"What?"
"When we were whalers, whale had to demand the harpoon. Whale asked us to
kill him."
"But I'd never. . . ."
"Then you are safe."
Katsuk returned to his chipping.
David ventured a step closer to Katsuk. "Does it hurt?"
"Bee will not let it hurt. Be quiet. I must concentrate."
"But it's bleeding."
"The bleeding will stop."
"Shouldn't we put something on it?"
"It is a small wound. Your mouth is a bigger wound. Be quiet or I will put
something in your mouth."
David gulped, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He found it
difficult not to look at the dark scratch on Katsuk's cheek. The bleeding
stopped, but coagulation formed a ragged lower edge to the wound.
Why didn't it hurt?
It outraged David that the wound did not hurt. He had wanted it to hurt.
Cuts always hurt. But Katsuk had spirit protectors. Maybe it really didn't
hurt.
David turned his attention to the obsidian knife taking shape under Katsuk's
hands. The blade, about four inches long and sharply wedged, was held flat
against Katsuk's thigh.
Page 97
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
With quick, glancing blows, Katsuk broke tiny flakes from the edges.
The knife did not appear long or slim enough to stab anyone. The cutting
edges were serrated. But it could cut an artery. He thought again of the
hiker Katsuk had killed.
That hiker had not asked to be killed. But Katsuk had murdered him anyway.
David found his mouth suddenly dry. He said: "That guy . . . you know, on
the trail . .
. the guy you . . . well, he didn't ask you to. . . ."
"You hoquat always think mouth-talk is the only talk." Katsuk spoke without
looking up from his work. "Why can't you learn body-talk? When Raven made
you, did he leave that ability out of you?"
"What's body-talk?"
"It is what you do. A thing you do can say something about what you want."
"That's crazy talk about Raven."
"God made us, eh?"
"Yes!"
"It depends on what you're taught, I guess."
"Well, I don't believe that about body-talk and Raven."
"You don't believe Raven keeps you tied to me?"
David could not answer. Raven did do what Katsuk wanted. The birds went
where Katsuk ordered them to go. To know where the birds would go -- what a
power that was.
Katsuk said: "You are quiet. Did Raven take your tongue? Raven can do that.
Your stupid hoquat world does not prepare you to deal with Raven."
"You always say stupid when you talk about my people," David accused. "Isn't
there anything good about our world?"
"Our world?" Katsuk asked.
"Your world, Hoquat."
"But nothing good in it?"
"I see only death in it. The whole world dies of you."
"What about our doctors? We have better doctors than you ever had."
"Your doctors are tied to illness and death. They make as much illness and
death as they cure. An exact balance. It's called a transactional
relationship. But they are so blind, they do not see how they are tied to
what they do."
"Transactional . . . relationship? What's that?"
"A transaction is where you trade one thing for another. When you buy
something, that's a transaction."
"Ahh, that's just big words that don't mean anything."
"They are words from your world, Hoquat."
"But they don't mean anything."
"They mean doctors don't know they do it, but still they do it: They maintain
a level of illness to justify their existence. Police do the same thing with
crime. Lawyers keep up the legal confusions. Body-talk, Hoquat. No matter
what they say they want, or how hard they work to overcome their defects,
things work out in a way that keeps them busy and justifies their existence."
"That's crazy!"
"Yes, it is crazy, but it is real. It is what you see when you understand
body-talk."
"But my world does lots of good things. People don't go hungry anymore."
"But they do, Hoquat. In Asia, they --"
"I mean people in this country."
"Aren't they people in the other countries?"
"Sure, but. . . ."
"Even in this country -- in the mountains of your East, in the South, in big
cities, people are hungry. People die of hunger every year. Old people,
young people. My people die that way, too, because they try to live like
hoquat. And the world gets hungrier and
Page 98
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
hungrier. . . ."
"What about our houses? We build better houses than you ever saw."
"And you destroy the earth to plunge your houses into it. You build where no
house should be. You are insensitives. You live against the earth, not with
it."
"We have cars!"
"And your cars are smothering you."
David quested in his mind for something Katsuk could not strike down. Music?
He'd sneer the way adults always did. Education? He'd say it didn't prepare
you to live out here.
Science? He'd say it was killing the world with big bombs, big machines.
"Katsuk, what do you mean by body-talk?"
"What your actions say. You say with your mouth: 'That's too bad.' Then you
laugh.
That means you're really happy while you're saying you're sorry. You say: 'I
love you.'
Then you do something to hurt that person's feelings. Body-talk is what you
do.
If you say, 'I don't want that to happen,' and all the while you are making it
happen, which thing are we to believe? Do we believe the words or do we
believe the body?"
David thought about words. He thought about church and sermons, of all the
words about
"eternal life." Were the words true, or did the preacher's body say something
different? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]