Buckets of Diamonds by Clifford D. Simak

Author:Clifford D. Simak [Simak, Clifford D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504083096
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2023-06-13T00:00:00+00:00

2

The people of the village had lived a simple and a comfortable life. Much of the comfort paraphernalia had broken down, and all of it had long since ceased to operate; but it was not hard for one to figure out what each of the gadgets did, or once had been designed to do.

They had held a love of beauty, for there still were ruins of their gardens left; and here and there one found a flower, or a flowering shrub that once had been tended carefully for its color and its grace. But these things now had been long forgotten, and had lost the grandeur of their purpose—the beauty they now held was bitter-sweet and faded.

The people had been literate, for there were rows of books upon the shelves; but the books went to dust when they were touched, and one could do no more than wonder at the magic words they held.

There were buildings which, at one time, might have been theatres; there were great forums where the populace may have gathered to hear the wisdom, or the argument, that was the topic of the day.

And even yet one could sense the peace and leisure, the order and the happiness that once had held the place.

There was no greatness. There were no mighty engines, nor the shops to make them. There were no launching platforms, and no other hint that the dwellers in the village had ever dreamed of going to the stars—although they must have known about the stars since their ancestors once had come from space. There were no defenses, and there were no great roads leading from the village into the outer planet.

One felt peace when he walked along the street, but it was a haunted peace—a peace that balanced on a knife’s edge; while one wished with all his heart that he could give way to it, and live with it, one was afraid to do so for fear of what might happen.

The Human slept in the homes, clearing away the dust and the fallen debris, building tiny fires to keep him company. He sat outside, on the broken flagstones or the shattered bench, before he went to sleep, and stared up at the stars, and thought how once those stars had made familiar patterns for a happy people. He wandered in the winding paths that were narrower now than they once had been, and hunted for a clue; he did not hunt too strenuously, for there was something here which said you should not hurry, and you should not fret, for there was no purpose in it.

Here once had lain the hope of the human race, a mutant branch of that race that had been greater than the basic race. Here had been the hope of greatness—and there was no greatness. Here was peace and comfort; intelligence and leisure, but nothing else that made itself apparent to the eye.

Although there must be something else, some lesson, some message, some purpose—the Human told himself again and again that this could not be a dead end, that it was more than some blind alley.

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