Cat Country Read Online Free PDF Page B

was . . . This was no time to hesitate. It was very difficult to handle the heavy jar, but I succeeded in getting a mouthful. It was quite cool and, of course, to me it was tastier than any nectar of the gods. It came to me, as though I had discovered some kind of truth about human life, that diligence is usually rewarded in the end. There wasn’t much water in the jar to begin with, and before long there wasn’t a single drop left.
    I cradled that precious jar in my arms like a baby. And now that I was feeling a bit better, I started indulging in fantasies again. If I could get back to Earth, I would certainly take this jar back with me. But was there really any hope of getting back to Earth? I went blank and stared idiotically, for who knows how long, at the mouth of the jar.
    The short, sharp cries of a flock of birds flying overhead snapped me from my reverie. Looking up, I saw that a strand of light-peach coloured evening cloud had appeared overhead. The natural grey of the sky wasn’t completely out-tinted by this new hue, although it did make it seem somewhat higher and clearer, and the top of the wall that surrounded me was edged with a line of fairly strong light. It will be dark before long, I thought.
    What ought I to do?
    None of the plans that I might have put into practice had I still been on Earth seemed appropriate here. Since I had absolutely no conception as to the nature of my enemy, how could I decide on a course of action? Even Robinson Crusoe hadn’t faced this kind of difficulty. At least he had been completely on his own, but I had the Cat People to deal with. I had to devise a way of escaping from them, and yet I knew nothing of their history and background. I had to do something. What should it be?
    Well, the first thing would be to get rid of the leg irons. Up to this point I had not yet looked at them to see what they were made of, because I assumed that leg irons would be made of iron. Now that I took the time to examine them, I discovered that they weren’t made of iron, but rather of some greyish-white material. Now I knew why they hadn’t confiscated my pistol: there was no iron or steel on Mars, and the overly cautious Cat People had feared some danger would descend upon them if they touched something unfamiliar. They hadn’t dared confiscate my gun. I felt the fetters with my hands. Although they weren’t of iron or steel, they were hard. I tried, without luck, to tear them apart with my bare hands. I wondered what they could be made of. A blend of curiosity and the exigency of escape were present in my mind. I rapped the fetters with the muzzle of my gun which produced a metallic sound, but it didn’t sound like iron. Silver? Lead? If it were a material softer than iron, then perhaps I could use something to grind through it. Perhaps I could smash that stone jar and use one of the splinters to . . . At this point I had completely forgotten about my plan to take the jar back to Earth with me. I picked it up, intending to smash it against the wall. But I didn’t dare. What if I were to attract the attention of someone on the other side of the wall? I thought that there certainly must be someone out there guarding me. No. That couldn’t be, for there had been no reaction to the two shots I had just fired. When I had fired the gun, I wasn’t scared. But now, in retrospect, I fearfully imagined what would have happened if a bunch of Cat People had come rushing in after I fired those shots. But since, in fact, they hadn’t come in, what was I being so timid about? I threw the jar against the wall, but only succeeded in chipping off one small splinter. But precisely because it was small, it was also sharp. I set to work.
    Perhaps it is true that you can grind a column of steel into an embroidery needle if you’re only willing to put enough work into it, but to hope to saw or grind one’s way through a pair of fetters in a very short time was, I’m afraid, a bit too