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Polaris, v. 1, issue 2, March 1940
Page 7
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THE ROOT-GATHERERS A SKETCH by R H Barlow The red sun was nearly lost behind a welter of dark trees, and night thickened about us. It was then I first noticed that my mother had a dim fear of the ancient lost place through which we must go. I did not mind seeing ruined buildings; in truth rumours of the corpse-town had fascinated my young ears. You see, I had accompanied her only a few times to hunt food-roots, and had never before gone the way lying directly through the city. Tubers grew well in the clay caverns beyond that place of ruins, and in order that no one else might find them, my mother always chose a time when she could go unobserved. This was in the brief period before nightfall, while the tribe was engaged in cooking. About us spread once cultivated fields where straggling bean and pea-vines persisted after a time past reckoning, but since man did not care for them, or fight the weeds, few plants bore anything edible. A horde of pale blossoms, hued like the summer evening, and bearing five points, overspread leagues of unused soil and crowded onto the rotten highway. This land about us, these ancient sun-covered fields, we knew had once been great and flourishing; but in a forgotten time something wrong had happened. We are the children of the old race, but no one cares now about the ancient things and the world of dead memries. Such things they say are of no use, for they cannot help us to obtain food. Only two or three of us take interest in the past. Perhaps it is a fortunate thing, because those who do are half-restive in the life about them. A last reflection from the sky spread a golden mantle over the fields as we came to the wood of black fir-trees which hinted at the nearness of the first ruin. Their foliage shut out the ending glory of the sun, and for a breathless period we hastened through premature night. I pushed my way among the bushes, following my mother, and soon the ebbing daylight sparkled rewardingly again in the leaves of summer greenery. When we were beyond the trees I looked at the small figure beside me, and felt a pang because of half-recollected stories of our ancient grandeur, when we had made cities like the dead one before us, and did not fear storms and animals. But then a glimpse of the most outlying ruin changed my thoughts, and wonder and astonishment hid me from the knowledge that we were frail and lonely and trivial amid surroundings that thought of a vanished day. Forgotten now was our humble errand and the dust of the road. Before us lay a fallen tower, very nearly complete, girt with thin pillars like fingers clasped about it. The base of this brick spire lay near us and the little wood, but what remained of the highest tier was half buried, very far away. It had been fashioned strongly, and had fallen like a chimney, intact save where a few centuried pines (lean and tortured) found root-hold in the encircling facade. Thee was nothing to show the purpose for which it had been made, and tradition only knew of it that men had drawn the lightning there in magical ways, and sent out again the glory of the skies in a throbbing halo. My regret that we have no memories is a pang more difficult than my hunger, for hunger can be satisfied, but
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THE ROOT-GATHERERS A SKETCH by R H Barlow The red sun was nearly lost behind a welter of dark trees, and night thickened about us. It was then I first noticed that my mother had a dim fear of the ancient lost place through which we must go. I did not mind seeing ruined buildings; in truth rumours of the corpse-town had fascinated my young ears. You see, I had accompanied her only a few times to hunt food-roots, and had never before gone the way lying directly through the city. Tubers grew well in the clay caverns beyond that place of ruins, and in order that no one else might find them, my mother always chose a time when she could go unobserved. This was in the brief period before nightfall, while the tribe was engaged in cooking. About us spread once cultivated fields where straggling bean and pea-vines persisted after a time past reckoning, but since man did not care for them, or fight the weeds, few plants bore anything edible. A horde of pale blossoms, hued like the summer evening, and bearing five points, overspread leagues of unused soil and crowded onto the rotten highway. This land about us, these ancient sun-covered fields, we knew had once been great and flourishing; but in a forgotten time something wrong had happened. We are the children of the old race, but no one cares now about the ancient things and the world of dead memries. Such things they say are of no use, for they cannot help us to obtain food. Only two or three of us take interest in the past. Perhaps it is a fortunate thing, because those who do are half-restive in the life about them. A last reflection from the sky spread a golden mantle over the fields as we came to the wood of black fir-trees which hinted at the nearness of the first ruin. Their foliage shut out the ending glory of the sun, and for a breathless period we hastened through premature night. I pushed my way among the bushes, following my mother, and soon the ebbing daylight sparkled rewardingly again in the leaves of summer greenery. When we were beyond the trees I looked at the small figure beside me, and felt a pang because of half-recollected stories of our ancient grandeur, when we had made cities like the dead one before us, and did not fear storms and animals. But then a glimpse of the most outlying ruin changed my thoughts, and wonder and astonishment hid me from the knowledge that we were frail and lonely and trivial amid surroundings that thought of a vanished day. Forgotten now was our humble errand and the dust of the road. Before us lay a fallen tower, very nearly complete, girt with thin pillars like fingers clasped about it. The base of this brick spire lay near us and the little wood, but what remained of the highest tier was half buried, very far away. It had been fashioned strongly, and had fallen like a chimney, intact save where a few centuried pines (lean and tortured) found root-hold in the encircling facade. Thee was nothing to show the purpose for which it had been made, and tradition only knew of it that men had drawn the lightning there in magical ways, and sent out again the glory of the skies in a throbbing halo. My regret that we have no memories is a pang more difficult than my hunger, for hunger can be satisfied, but
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