To Your Scattered Bodies Go by Phillip Jose Farmer

The woman spoke in a well-modulated voice and an Oxford accent. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I couldn’t help overhearing you. You’re the only English voices I’ve heard since I woke up . . . here, wherever here is. I am an Englishwoman, and I am looking for protection. I throw myself on your mercy.” “Fortunately for you, Madame,” Burton said, “you come to the right men. At least, speaking for myself, I can assure you that you will get all the protection I can afford. Though, if I were like some of the English gentlemen I’ve known, you might not have fared so well. By the way, this gentleman is not English. He’s Yankee.” It seemed strange to be speaking so formally this day of all days, with all the wailing and shouting up and down the valley and everybody birth-naked and as hairless as eels.

The woman held out her hand to Burton. “I’m Mrs. Hargreaves,” she said.

Burton took the hand, and, bowing kissed it lightly. He felt foolish, but, at the same time, the gesture strengthened his held on sanity. If the fortes of polite society could be preserved perhaps the “rightness” of things might also be restored.

“The late Captain Sir Richard Francis Burton,” he said, grinning slightly at the late. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” She snatched her hand away and then extended it again.

“Yes, I’ve heard of you, Sir Richard’

Somebody said, “It can’t be!”

Burton looked at Frigate, who had spoken in such a low tone. “And why not?” he said.

“Richard Burton!” Frigate said. “Yes. I wondered, but without any hair? . . .” “Yeas?” Burton drawled.

“Yaas” Frigate said. “Just as the books said’

“What are you talking about?” Frigate breathed in deeply and then said, Never mind now, Mr. Burton. I’ll explain later. Just take it that I’m very shaken up. Not in my right mind. You understand that, of course.” He looked intently at Mrs. Hargreaves, shook his head, and said, “Is your name Alice?”

“Why, yes” she said, smiling and becoming beautiful, hair or no hair. “How did you know? Have I met you? No, I don’t think so.”

“Alice Pleasance Liddell Hargreaves?”

“Yes!”

“I have to go sit down,” the American said. He walked under the tree and sat down with his back to the trunk. His eyes looked a little glazed.

“Aftershock,” Burton said.

He could expect such erratic behavior and speech from the others for some time. He could expect a certain amount of non-rational behavior from himself, too. The important thing was to get shelter and food and some plan for common defense.

Burton spoke in Italian and Slovenian to the others and they made the introductions. They did not protest when he suggested that they should follow him down to the river’s edge.

“I’m sure we’re all thirsty,” he said. “And we should investigate that stone mushroom.” They walked back to the plain behind them. The people were sitting on the grass or trilling about. They passed one couple arguing loudly and red-facedly. Apparently, they had been husband and wife and were continuing a life-long dispute. Suddenly, the man turned and walked away. The wife looked unbelievingly at him and then ran after him. He thrust her away so violently that she fell on the grass. He quickly lost himself in the crowd, but the woman wandered around, calling his name and threatening to make a scandal if he did not come out hiding.

Burton thought briefly of his own wife, Isabel. He had not seen her in this crowd, though that did not mean that she was not in it. But she would have been looking for him. She would not stop until she found him.

He pushed through the crowd to the river’s edge and then got down on his knees and scooped up water with his hands. It was cool and clear and refreshing. His stomach felt as if it were absolutely empty. After he had satisfied his thirst, he became hungry.

“The waters of the River of Life,” Burton said. “The Styx? Lethe? No, not Lethe. I remember everything about my Earthly existence.”

“I wish I could forget mine,” Frigate said.