To Your Scattered Bodies Go by Phillip Jose Farmer

Frigate said, “I think it’d be a good idea if we banded together. We may need protection.” “Why?” Burton said, though he knew well enough.

“You know how rotten most humans are,” Frigate said. “Once people get used to being resurrected, they’ll be fighting for women and food and anything that takes their fancy. And I think we ought to be buddies with this Neanderthal or whatever he is. Anyway, he’ll be a good man in a fight.” Kazz, as he was named later on, seemed pathetically eager to be accepted at the same time, he was suspicious of anyone who got too close.

A woman walked by then, muttering over and over in German, “My God! What have I done to offend Thee?” A man, both fists clenched and raised to shoulder height, was shouting in Yiddish, “My beard! My beard.

Another man was, pointing at his genitals and saying in Slovenian, “They’ve made a Jew of me! A Jew! Do you think that . . .? No, it couldn’t be!” Burton grinned savagely and said, “It doesn’t occur to him that maybe they have made a Mohammedan out of him or an Australian aborigine or an ancient Egyptian, all of whom practiced circumcision.”

“What did he say?” asked Frigate. Burton translated; Frigate laughed.

A woman hurried by; she was making a pathetic attempt to cover her breasts and her pubic regions with her hands. She was muttering, “What will they think, what will they think?” And she disappeared behind the trees.

A man and a woman passed them; they were talking loudly in Italian as if they were separated by a broad highway.

“We can’t be in Heaven … I know, oh my God, I know! … There was Giuseppe Zomzini and you know what a wicked man he was . . . he ought to burn in hellfire! I know, I know… he stole from the treasury, he frequented whorehouses, he drank himself to death . . . yet . . . he’s here! . . . I know, I know . .’

Another woman was running and screaming in German, “Daddy! Daddy! Where are you? It’s your own darling Hilda!”

A man scowled at them and said repeatedly, in Hungarian, “I’m as good as anyone and better than some. To hell with them” A woman said, “I wasted my whole life, my whole life. I did everything for them, and now.. ”

A man, swinging the metal cylinder before him as if it were a censer, called out, “Follow me to the mountains) Follow me! I know the truth, good people! Follow me! We’ll be safe in the bosom of the Lord! Don’t believe this illusion around you; follow me! I’ll open your eyes!” Others spoke gibberish or were silent; their lips tight as if they feared to utter what was within them.

“It’ll take some time before they straighten out,” Burton said. He felt that it would take a long time before the world became mundane for him, too.

“They may never know the truth,” Frigate said.

“What do you mean?” “They didn’t know the Truth – capital T – on Earth, so why should they here? What makes you think we’re going to get a„ revelation?”

Burton shrugged and said, “I don’t. But I do think we ought to determine just what our environment is and how we can survive in it. The fortune of a man who sits, sits also.” He pointed toward the riverbank. “See those stone mushrooms? They seem to be spaced out at intervals of a mile. I wonder what their purpose is?”

Monat said, “If you had taken a close look at that one, you would have seen that its surface contains about 700 round indentations. These are just the right size for the base of a cylinder to fit in. In fact, there is a cylinder in the center of the top surface. I think that if we examine that cylinder we may be able to determine their purpose. I suspect that it was placed there so we’d do just that.”

5

A woman approached them. She was of medium height, had a superb shape, and a face that would have been beautiful if it had been framed by hair. Her eyes were large and dark. She made no attempt to cover herself with her hands. Burton was not the least bit aroused looking at her or any of the women. He was too deeply numbed.