But What of Earth? by Piers Anthony & Robert Coulson

Author:Piers Anthony & Robert Coulson [Anthony, Piers & Coulson, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0373720440
Publisher: Laser Books (Harlequin Enterprises)
Published: 1976-09-30T21:00:00+00:00

“Compost’s due for turning,” Wanda announced one morning. Brother Paul had suggested the compost heap, but Wanda had assumed the job of record-keeping and reminding people of required tasks. She appeared to have a more orderly mind than any of the rest; Brother Paul once mentioned that in a more leisurely world she would have made a good librarian.

“I’ll do it,” Lucy said, exercising her compulsion to volunteer for jobs.

“You’ve got baking to do,” Wanda reminded her. When they had discovered a store of grain in an abandoned barn a couple of kilometers away, Brother Paul showed them the Indian method of grinding it into coarse flour. Fresh bread had become one of their more tasty staples.

“I don’t think there’s enough flour ground, either,” Wanda continued, “so you’ll have to grind some before you bake. I don’t think I want you grinding flour or kneading dough right after you’ve been handling compost.”

Scot chuckled. “She’s right, Lucy. No composting for you.”

“And I must do the laundry,” Wanda said. “Which leaves Scot and Brother Paul to turn the compost.”

Hie men walked out to the compost heap beside the garden. Brother Paul carried the pitchfork they had found in the same abandoned barn, while Scot had a spading fork, which he had discovered was one of their most useful tools. Since they had begun dumping all their refuse from eating, woodcutting, and weeding into it, the compost had swelled to enormous proportions; it was head high and about seven meters in diameter. Scot looked at it for a moment, hating to begin what would be a long and dirty job.

“I suppose we should turn it more often,” he said. “But we’ve had so many other things to do.”

Brother Paul merely nodded, as he removed his shirt. He was a burly man—the kind, Scot thought, who might be good at physical combat. Even while trying to be self-effacing, he had proved to be far stronger than Scot.

“I suppose we should put it here,” Scot said, indicating a spot. “That way, the wind won’t blow so much back in our faces.”

“You’re learning,” said Brother Paul approvingly. “Also, we should form it into a cup shape, so that water will collect in the center and run down through it, instead of running off as it does now.”

With Brother Paul on one side and Scot on the other, they began the task of redistributing the compost, moving it to a new location, working from the top of the stack downward to bring the oldest material to the top of the new pile.

It was a messy, difficult job. Scot soon learned that the branches from the woodcutting hadn’t been chopped up finely enough; they tangled in his fork while the smaller material dribbled through the tines.

“Never again!” he muttered, as he yanked out a long branch and got spattered with half-rotten turnip tops for his pains.

“These look like carrot tops,” Brother Paul said, looking at his own forkful. “You do not consume the leaves?”

“Not in this condition! But

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