Free The Scorpion God: Three Short Novels by William Golding Page A

they’ll be away for two whole days. You can take your hair out of curlers.”
    The girl’s mouth opened. She looked blank.
    “Two days?”
    “It might be more.” She peered closely at the girl. “Angry Elephant, isn’t he?”
    “Oh no—Palm. He was Angry Elephant but now he’s Furious Lion.”
    “Before he was Angry Elephant, he was Busy Bee, I think. Of course he was much younger then. You would hardly remember.”
    The girl’s face had changed colour. She gave a wriggle and a giggle.
    “You know how they are—Palm!”
    “I do indeed. None better. Well—remember!”
    The girl’s face went solemn, and proud.
    “Now I am a woman.”
    Palm made a gesture of assent and turned to go.
    “Palm——”
    “What is it?”
    “The old Leopard Man——”
    “Which one, child? We have three here, after all.”
    The girl pointed down.
    “That one there.”
    Palm looked down, saw the bald head among the rocks, the knobs of shoulders, the thin legs splayed out. The girl spoke at her shoulder.
    “I don’t know his names. But he hasn’t moved for—oh for ever so long! And his breathing—I think he belongs to us now. He’s a baby again. Isn’t that right?”
    “You did very well to notice. I will have it seen to. So. Keep good watch!”
    She turned away and walked down; not the way she had come, but another, towards the bald head of the Leopard Man where she could see it below her. He was not far from the Lodge Of The Leopard Men. Poor thing, she thought to herself, he has got as close to it as he could! The rock was steeper above him, and she went carefully, frowning with the effort. But there was no frown on her face when she came to where he lay, his back against the rock, his legs stretched in front of him. His hands played restlessly with the scrap of worn and soiled leopard skin he held in his lap. His mouth was open and dribbling. His breathing was quick. She knelt by him and put a hand on his forehead. She peered into his eyes, where there was nothing. She smiled with infinite sweetness and murmured to the empty face.
    “Sleep?”
    She stood up quickly, crossed to the mouth of a shelter, and spoke into it.
    “That man, that poor old thing—what is his name? Fierce Eel? Oh, yes, I remember—and Flame and Wasp. He needs you. Now, this moment.”
    She stood up and made her way across to the string of pans. Businesslike, she put the thought of the old man out of her mind. She felt pleasure in this high point of the day, good thoughts and feelings came crowding in. That nice child up there on lookout, she’s so sweet, so eager—hot water—then when I’ve had my bath—we have at least two clear days—I’ll see that it’s plentiful, and good and strong——
    She spoke aloud and ruefully again.
    “I drink too much.”
    That was when she remembered what the Bee Women, the children, the lookout and the Leopard Man had pushed into a corner of her mind. The unease. It swelled out and filled her mind so that she made her sweet smile stay where it was. She thought: I smile sweetly, as a cat eats grass for distemper!
    So she stood, dallying with the bath lest it should disappoint her and not soothe away the unease. She stared up the rise of pans through the faint mist over the boiling water at the top, to the mountain beyond, that had its own vapour. It rose hugely, jets of steam vented here and there from smears of red or yellow on black. Smoke rose from the top amid a crown of snow. At once she was aware of how the mountain looked down at her. She put both hands to her mouth, but stared back; because you always stare back when you are not only Palm but also She Who Names The Women; and then the mountain was just a mountain, and her unease was with her.
    “I am still young enough to have a child. Perhaps when they get back——”
    She glanced quickly this way and that but there was no male near—not even some ancient Leopard Man able to do no more than lie in the sun—not even some man child who