how unlike the old home! Why had it not killed this thing? Why did it not kill it even now, or, if this seemed impossible, back away from it, or run from it? The small creature held to the beast, sobbing. The Pons, seeing this, gasped, thrilled, and looked wildly to one another.
The beast heard, from somewhere in the vicinity of the gate, the voice of one of the small creatures:
We love you, father.
Forgive us, father, for what we have done.
This was answered, or followed, by another such voice. While this second voice was heard, calling out its phrases, enunciating them in measured tones, more, and more, of the small creatures emerged through the gate, taking their places before it. Some of these, too, carried torches.
We are contrite!
Show us forbearance!
Be kind to us!
Cherish us!
Protect us!
We will refrain from touching the soft ones!
We beg your forgiveness, father, for what we have done.
The beast, of course, understood this, at least in the sense of understanding the words. To be sure, it made little sense of it beyond that. It all seemed quite puzzling. Surely it could have nothing to do with it. Somehow, however, something in these words, like thunder from far away, like the humming, roaring sounds which had, at first, seemed so far away, like the small, moving lights, which had, at first, seemed so far away, disturbed the beast.
A third voice then called out:
Forgive us, father.
Love us!
Cherish us!
Protect us!
The beast now half crouched, its tail lashing. Obviously it was becoming agitated. The small figure which had held it so closely could not hold to it now. The head had pulled away, it was too high for it to reach.
The torches were too much like candles. Things furtive, like phantoms, flew, and shrieked, about the edges of its memory. Its huge heart began to pound. The Pons were now spread out, about the palings, in the vicinity of the gate, some lifting their torches. They did not have strange skins. They wore robes. It recalled, from somewhere, robes of snowy white, wooden walls. Claws sprang into view. Its lips drew back, baring fangs.
Once more the voice called out:
Forgive us, father.
Love us!
Cherish us!
Protect us!
The beast, crouching down, its hind legs gathered under it, tail lashing, surveyed the gathered Pons, the tiny figures, the torches.
Love us!
Cherish us!
Protect us!
It recalled the parts of a body, somehow meaningful, before a platform. Polished scarps.
Cherish us!
Protect us!
It recalled another form, somehow itself, but which could not have been itself, and a strange thing, from which had emerged, bursting forth, a blast of ringing fire, and it drew back, recoiling inadvertently, even in this memory from that sight, and it recalled a gaping, monstrous cavity appearing black, then red, and flooding, in a mighty chest.
It crept forward again.
It recalled a vat, or jar, and, within that container, odd, with no body, a head.
Cherish us!
Protect us!
It did not understand these things, but it was not pleased.
It growled with terrible menace.
It was as though something crept closer now to the corners of its dark mind. It was as though there were something quite close to it now, but behind a curtain. It was close, as if it might be just behind a door, which had not yet been opened.
“Cherish us!” called a Pon.
“Protect us!” called another.
Again the beast growled. There was no mistaking the menace in that sound.
“Stop!” cried the small figure to the Pons near the gate. “Stop!”
But the Pons continued to call out their phrases.
The beast in its agitation, in its mounting fury, looked upon the Pons.
“Cherish us!” they called.
“Protect us!” they called.
The beast then addressed itself to the small creature who stood quite near it.
“What am I?” it asked.
“You are the totem!” screamed the small figure near it.
“Who am I?” it demanded, in a voice almost unintelligible in its form, in a voice heavy with wrath, in a voice which could be native only to a beast, in the accents of a creature who lived on flesh, in sounds which might have come from a storm.
“You are the father!” cried out the small creature.
In that moment then it seemed as though the cliffs had broken open, splitting apart, and a thousand forms, violent, and hideous, uncompromising, had burst forth, howling and screaming. It was as though all the fathers, all the victims, loved and hated, revered and betrayed, had come forth, and all thirsting for blood. And now, in the person of the beast, in the person of this terrible thing, the injuries done onto all