It was a hog, a wild hog, he thought a young boar-hog, he could not say just then which of the two kinds, warry or peccary, it was; it had been badly torn about the hindquarters, perhaps by one of the great cats, perhaps by one of its own kind, and its wounds had festered: a marvel it was still alive, it stumbled and gave a squeal of pain; and whilst Limekiller had observed all this, in a second or two, not more, that same while the other creature had sunk down and crouched and now it leaped and the wounded swine gave a long and prolonged shriek like that of a very large rat when the right rough kind of cat or dog has it by the neck or throat: this ended so suddenly that he realized it had ended even while it still echoed. The ephialtes. " on-leap ers'. incubus. demon. nightmares, fevers, chills.
Still Limekiller crouched; flies settled in his sweat, ants made trek-tracks up his legs; he would stay and not move, never move, whilst the jumby growled and rottled and tore at its prey: the jumby did not do this.
Once, once only, it wrung its head half to one side — thus he saw the dead hog, torn, dangling from the dreadful jaws — some faint notion in his mind that some faint notice was in the jumby’s mind… of something behind and aside from it: some dim adumbration of which had caused the hideous head to turn: but which was either not important enough or perhaps somehow unpleasant enough. the jumby’s head turned again, with a sudden drip-spray of blood; the inhuman-human head slightly bowed beneath the weight of its kill. and even a young wild boar-hog being no lightweight: only slightly bowed. turned back and away and after a while it-the-jumby had failed from sight.
Still Limekiller stayed there, there, behind and beside the great silky-tree, like the shadow of a great rock in a dry land. Presently he bethought him that the jumby, as it had not eaten its kill then and there, was certainly taking it elsewhere: sundry scenes suggested them in his mind: the jumby hanging the hog-lych in a tree to (as it were) ripen: the jumby lodging or burying it in a cave for the same purpose: the jumby. ah, most horrible scene of all! the jumby carrying its kill away to feed its young!.. if it had young. and, if so, and however so, and whatever so or not so: the jumby had gone
and was not about to come again quite soon.
* * *
He had given thought to his choices: rise and flee as quickly as might be, and risk the sound of his flight reaching the small and malformed and more than merely animal-like ears of the abomination: take one’s time and make haste as slowly as possible, and as silently, and risk that, against all logic (logic! what had logic to do with what he had just seen?), the thing might yet return and leap upon him from behind.
Later, when, despite all efforts (I won’t think about it. I won’t think about it. I won’t think about it), he thought about it, he was not able to recall which had been his supposed chosen thought: perhaps neither; perhaps, in turn, both. He did remember thinking about something else — perhaps it was not after all, else —
Had poor Wee Willie Wiggins also, firstly, heard a parrot imitating those same nightmare sounds, allowing for bird-distortion; and, secondly, had he, cursed-by-birth and cursed-from-birth, Wee Willy Wiggins, heard/seen the jumby?… or perhaps the other way round? The order mattered not a bit: in either case, if so, was it any wonder that the lee mahn was fright for parrot?
No. No wonder. Not one bit.
Also he, John Limekiller, later remembered remembering something else as well.
. odd affliction, is it not so, Professor, suffering from nightmares in the day-time?. and, The ephialtes may attack at noon as well as midnight. Greek word. Literally? “On-leaperf… the demon. causes nightmares.
And he, Jack Limekiller, had asked himself, incredulous at this ancient confusion between cause and effect, “ Causes?”
And Rosita had said, and now he knew why Rosita had said. why Bathsheba, and oh Lord how many others had said, whenever some hint of it came up: No tahk aboet eet!
No. He would never talk about it. He would… if only he would. if only he could… he could.
Suddenly he was out of there. Out of the bush. In the clearing. There was his boat, safely moored. There his guests, safe aboard. Both of them.
They did not at first see him. They simply sat there calmly, and calmly talking to each other; now and then pointing with calm unhurried gestures, to something afar off: the mountain range’s nearest reach, perhaps. The faint white line of the Great Reef, perhaps. The lay of the land up or down the coast. perhaps.
So, if there was any real meaning to the advice Pull yourself together, he was able to take advantage of it. He seemed to feel that he was, literally, pulling himself together. First he pulled his shirt down… it had ridden up his belly and buck. Second, he pulled his underpants and trousers up; they had slid down, down. Then he pulled his bones and tendons and ligaments and, most of all, his thoughts and mind, those he pulled together, too. Then he went on.
“Well, John! We were almost worried about you, but I said, Nooo. John’s a nalmost native woodsman, so, no need ta worry bout him!”
And, ‘John, oh, I feel so a-shamed: I got jist so unturrested in some of those flowers? And, well. ”
The best and the worst of it was, they had not worried!
He could bring himself, at first, to say nothing. And, though they both babbled on cheerfully until he was aboard, once he was aboard: then they noticed. “Why, now, John, you don’t look a-tall well!” “Umm. No. You don’t look one bit well, John. Why, what -
Nothing like a good, simple truth in due season. “Touch of the fever,” he mumbled, coming to a slow halt, sinking down to rest. “Chills. ”
Doctor Ed, was, after all (licensed to practice down here or not), after all, Doctor Ed. “Well, we’ll take care of that,” he said, suddenly brisk, professional, and having the situation well in hand. For a moment, Limekiller, (echoing his ears the words of Professor Brolly:. The incubus. causes nightmares, fevers, chills, and.), thought that Doctor Ed was about to give him an adjustment of the subluxation of your third vertebrar; he did not know if he could either stand it, lie down for it, or resist it: nothing, of the sort: from somewhere, perhaps his small carry-all, perhaps his left ear, Dr. Duckerson produced tablets and capsules (chiropractic science has made marvelous strides, and can now polish you off, pharmaceutically, almost as well as establishmentarian medical science; only of course, neither one does that, always) — water — a cup or glass -
And the magic words, “Just take these, and you’ll be all right.”
Magic words.
By and by, Limekiller was all right.
For the most part. From time to time, though, on the way back — and they had not tarried long, no longer than it took him to raise anchor and sails — he did feel himself shaken by a spasm. Spasms. And, compared to what he had already felt and seen, what were mere spasms? Trifles. Trifles light as air. Ella urged him to put on a jacket. Ella had a small, a very small, but large enough, flask of Very Good Brandy. Ed (Doctor Ed) regretted aloud that it was impractical for John to leave the helm and lie down for a very thorough adjustment; Ed did, however, do various things to Jack’s back as he stayed crouching, over at the helm. Did they, could they, help? Could they hurt?