Homepage
Login
Profile
BookClubs
dmBox
Read Ebook: Lost Art by Hawk G K Emshwiller Ed Illustrator
Font size:
Background color:
Text color:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page
Ebook has 65 lines and 5048 words, and 2 pages
Allison's head and shoulders appeared in the opening, and in a moment he was beside Endicott. "Now what?" Allison yelled above the wind.
Endicott looked toward the clearing in which they had landed, then turned to face the trees around the disabled ship. He waded through the snow to the nearest one and reflectively took hold of a dry branch over his head, tugged it several times as though judging its resiliency, before snapping it off.
"Now, Allison, you see what I did? Well, you do the same, only gather an armload of branches. When you have them, bring them to me at the ship. And keep on gathering them until I tell you to stop."
Allison stood still in the deep snow, peering suspiciously at Endicott through the snow-swirl. "Is this something from the old--?"
"Never mind that now, Allison," Endicott said patiently. "Let's not worry about all that twaddle. You want to be warm, don't you? So, just do as I say."
Allison's eyebrows shot up and lowered instantly, and his face set in stubborn planes. "If this is from the old days I'm not sure I want any part of it." He looked furtively over his shoulders at the gloomy woods.
"There are no Conditioning Committees here, Allison," Endicott said testily. "Get on with it."
Allison took a few reluctant steps toward the nearest tree. Endicott started back to the ship with his branch, looking back over his shoulder.
"I can't see how these--branches?--are going to keep us warm. It seems like a lot of useless trouble getting them," Allison said sulkily, suspicion and fear unabated.
Endicott didn't answer. Instead, he went to the side of the ship away from the wind and began tramping the snow down into a flat, hard floor. He broke his branch into short lengths over his knee, then, in a nearly forgotten gesture, slapped at his uniform until he remembered that he had no pockets. For a moment he stood still, his eyes roving over the side of the ship until it came to one of the jagged tears. With a little self-congratulatory chuckle, he began scraping one of the lengths of wood over the torn metal, catching the splinters and shavings in the palm of one hand.
Allison dropped his armload of branches by the ship, waged an inner battle between fear of the unknown and curiosity in which curiosity won, and stood watching Endicott arrange the branches in a crib around the neatly piled shavings. Endicott, on one knee by the crib, worked steadily, laying the pieces of wood with care and a returning sense of sureness, with only brief pauses to flex his freezing fingers. Finally, with a smile of satisfaction on his face, Endicott got to his feet, and the nearly forgotten gesture at the pocketless uniform was repeated.
Slowly, Endicott's lined face altered. He looked hastily at the watchful Allison and hastily looked away; he looked at the completed crib, and his tongue licked his lips; he looked along the side of the damaged ship, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully; finally, he looked into the swirl of the icy snow, and he shivered. His hands ceased their pawing, fell slowly, to hang slack by his sides. He was not smiling as he turned away.
"What were you looking for?" Allison asked curiously.
"I just remembered something else," said Endicott, his voice was very soft in the stillness, "we used to have something called a match to start those picnic fires."
For additional contact information:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page