Past Times by Poul Anderson

Author:Poul Anderson [Anderson, Poul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf, Science Fiction, Time Travel, Short stories
ISBN: 0812530810
Publisher: New York : TOR
Published: 1984-06-11T23:00:00+00:00

First light. Wind cold over skin, ruffle hair, whistle from gray-before-sun till stars go. Dew shiny on thorn wall, tree leaf; wet smell. Nest rustle soggy. Warm bodies, flesh smell, dry grass smell, mold-underneath smell.

Lion smell!

Last night lion prowl outside thorn wall. Roar. Lion alone. Hes wake, grab spears, jump around shes and cubs, scream, show teeth. Lion go. Helion; see mane under moon. Lame. Big, big, big. Come back tonight? Help, Old Father!

Get up. Cubs cry; mothers give milk. Thirsty. Hungry. Lion… Thirsty. Hungry. Go to water hole. Go hunt.

Old Father’s pole bent over outside thorn wall. Lion hit it with clawpaw. Untangle branches. Scratch. Blood on skin. Go out. Straighten pole. Reach; daub blood from scratch onto Old Father’s teeth. Howl for Old Father; dance before his hollow eyes. All hes howl, dance. Old Father, do not call lion back! We need you!

Ung-ng-n-n-n. To water hole. Hes outside band, with sharpstones and spears. Half-cubs inside hes, with rocks and clubs. Inside them, shes and cubs. Flesh smell. Breathing, chattering, shoving. Walk through tall, whispery, yellow grass to water hole.

Sunup. Sky, hills blue. Antelope herd far off by mimosa trees. Pride of lions come back from kill. Quick, make ring—spears outward, jump, bellow, bristle hair, whiskers! Lions look sleepy at us; go on. Hale lion not hunt man. Limping lion hunt man.

These lions kill last night. Leave carcass. Where? Look. Vultures coming down yonder. Quick, before hyenas. Hurry to water hole.

Khr-r-rarr. Mastodon drinking. Must wait in woods. Hear splash, slurp, belly-rumble.

Find grubs in rotten log. Sweet. Groom each other. Catch fleas; crack between teeth.

Mastodon go away; hill-high. Branches swish around flanks. Out on savannah, mastodons’ hair red under sun, tusks old-bone-white. Smell rank. Grass crushed under feet smell sweet.

To water hole. Muddy. Taste, smell like bottom ooze. Drink fast; aaaahh! Not stop to chase frogs. Carcass waiting.

Back to thorn wall. Shes, cubs, half-cubs stay near here; search for roots, worms, grasshoppers; maybe knock over hare with flung stone. Old Father, keep lame lion asleep by day!

Hes go to kill of lions. Lope over plain. Hot. Grass brush skin, rustle, ripple. Breeze bring meat smell. Vultures, flies thick ahead. Big Kill. Horse? Elk? Hold sharpstone tight. Sharpstones to rip skin, cut carcass apart. Hes to bring home bones, to cut off meat, lovely fat. To crack bones with rock, suck lovely marrow…

Vultures flap away.

Howls like laughing. Harsh smell. Shaggy, high-shouldered bodies. Hyena pack on way.

Skulk off. Man band can’t fight hyenas. Look for small game. Spear can’t break thick skins like lion claw, leopard jaw, sabertooth. Man band hunt anteater, hare, coney, snake, lizard; maybe catch young of big game.

Carcass smell lovely. Hyenas laugh. Man band go.

Hungry, hungry.

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