I scratched my head and vaguely recalled the curse I laid on the Drac about Shizumaat eating it. I held out my hands. "But, Jerry, I was mad, angry. You can't hold me accountable for what I said then."
"I do."
"Will it change anything if I apologize?"
"Not a thing."
I stopped myself from saying something nasty and thought back to that moment when Jerry and I stood ready to strangle each other. I remembered something about that meeting and screwed the corners of my mouth in place to keep from smiling. "Will you tell me Shizumaat's teachings if I forgive you ... for what you said about Mickey Mouse?" I bowed my head in an appearance of reverence, although its chief purpose was to suppress a cackle.
Jerry looked up at me, its face pained with guilt. "I have felt bad about that, Davidge. If you forgive me, I will talk about Shizumaat."
"Then I forgive you, Jerry."
"One more thing."
"What?"
"You must tell me of the teachings of Mickey Mouse."
"I'll... uh, do my best."
We talked of Zammis:
"Jerry, what do you want little Zammy to be?"
The Drac shrugged. "Zammis must live up to its own name. I want it to do that with honor. If Zammis does that, it is all I can ask."
"Zammy will pick its own trade?"
"Yes."
"Isn't there anything special you want, though?"
Jerry nodded. "Yes, there is."
"What's that?"
"That Zammis will, one day, find itself off this miserable planet."
I nodded. "Amen."
"Amen."
The winter dragged on until Jerry and I began ; wondering if we had gotten in on the beginning of an ice age. Outside the cave, everything was coated with a thick layer of ice, and the low temperature combined with the steady winds made venturing outside a temptation of death by falls or freezing.
Still, by mutual agreement, we both went outside to relieve ourselves.
There were several isolated chambers deep in the cave; but we feared polluting our water supply, not to mention the air inside the cave. The main risk outside was dropping one's drawers at a wind chill factor that froze breath vapor before it could be blown through the thin | face muffs we had made out of our flight suits. We learned not to dawdle. , One morning, Jerry was outside answering the call, while I stayed by the fire mashing up dried roots with water for griddle cakes. I heard Jerry call from the mouth of the cave. "Davidge!"
"What?"
"Davidge, come quick!"
A ship! It had to be! I put the shell bowl on the sand, put on my hat and gloves, and ran through the passage. As I came close to the door, I untied the muff from around my neck and tied it over my mouth and nose to protect my lungs. Jerry, its head bundled in a similar manner, was looking through the door, waving me on. "What is it?"
Jerry stepped away from the door to let me through. "Come, look!"
Sunlight. Blue sky and sunlight. In the distance, over the sea, new clouds were piling up; but above us the sky was clear. Neither of us could look at the sun directly, but we turned our faces to it and felt the rays of Fyrine on our skins. The light glared and sparkled off the ice-covered rocks and trees.
"Beautiful."
"Yes." Jerry grabbed my sleeve with a gloved hand. "Davidge, you know what this means?"
"What?"
"Signal fires at night. On a clear night, a large fire could be seen from orbit, ne?"
I looked at Jerry, then back at the sky. "I don't know. If the fire were big enough, and we get a clear night, and if anybody picks that moment to look . . ." I let my head hang down. "That's always supposing that there's someone in orbit up there to do the looking." I felt the pain begin in my fingers. "We better go back in."
"Davidge, it's a chance!"
"What are we going to use for wood, Jerry?" I held out an arm toward the trees above and around the cave. "Everything that can burn has at least fifteen centimeters of ice on it."
"In the cave—"
"Our firewood?" I shook my head. "How long is this winter going to last?
Can you be sure that we have enough wood to waste on signal fires?"
"It's a chance, Davidge. It's a chance!"
Our survival riding on a toss of the dice. I shrugged. "Why not?"
We spent the next few hours hauling a quarter of our carefully gathered firewood and dumping it outside the mouth of the cave. By the time we were finished and long before night came, the sky was again a solid blanket of grey. Several times each night, we would check the sky, waiting for stars to appear. During the days, we would frequently have to spend several hours beating the ice off the wood pile. Still, it gave both of us hope, until the wood in the cave ran out and we had to start borrowing from the signal pile.
That night, for the first time, the Drac looked absolutely defeated. Jerry sat at the fireplace, staring at the flames. Its hand reached inside its snakeskin jacket through the neck and pulled out a small golden cube suspended on a chain. Jerry held the cube clasped in both hands, shut its eyes, and began mumbling in Drac. I watched from my bed until Jerry finished. The Drac sighed, nodded, and replaced the object within its jacket.
"What's that thing?"
Jerry looked up at me, frowned, then touched the front of its jacket. "This?
It is my Talman— what you call a Bible."
"A Bible is a book. You know, with pages that you read."
Jerry pulled the thing from its jacket, mumbled a phrase in Drac, then worked a small catch. Another gold cube dropped from the first and the Drac held it out to me. "Be very careful with it, Davidge."
I sat up, took the object, and examined it in the light of the fire. Three hinged pieces of the golden metal formed the binding of a book two-and-a-half centimeters on an edge. I opened the book in the middle and looked over the double columns of dots, lines, and squiggles. "It's in Drac."
"Of course."
"But I can't read it."
Jerry's eyebrows went up. "You speak Drac so well, I didn't remember . . .
would you like me to teach you?"
"To read this?"
"Why not? You have an appointment you have to keep?"
I shrugged. "No." I touched my finger to the book and tried to turn one of the tiny pages. Perhaps fifty pages went at once. "I can't separate the pages."
Jerry pointed at a small bump at the top of the spine. "Pull out the pin. It's for turning the pages."
I pulled out the short needle, touched it against a page, and it slid loose of its companion and nipped. "Who wrote your Talman, Jerry?"
"Many. All great teachers."
"Shizumaat?"
Jerry nodded. "Shizumaat is one of them."
I closed the book and held it in the palm of my hand. "Jerry, why did you bring this out now?"
"I needed its comfort." The Drac held out its arms. "This place. Maybe we will grow old here and die. Maybe we will never be found. I see this today as we brought in the signal fire wood." Jerry placed its hands on its belly.
"Zammis will be born here. The Talman helps me to accept what I cannot change."
"Zammis, how much longer?"
Jerry smiled. "Soon."
I looked at the tiny book. "I would like you to teach me to read this, Jerry."
The Drac took the chain and case from around its neck and handed it to me.
"You must keep the Talman in mis."
I held it for a moment, then shook my head. "I can't keep this, Jerry. It's obviously of great value to you. What if I lost it?"
"You won't. Keep it while you learn. The student must do this."
I put the chain around my neck. "This is quite an honor you do me."
Jerry shrugged. "Much less than the honor you do me by memorizing the Jeriba line. Your recitations have been accurate, and moving." Jerry took some charcoal from the fire, stood, and walked to the wall of the chamber.