When the birds fly south

by Stanton A. Coblentz

I had seen the soothsayer, and conceived a hearty dislike for him. But I thought it would be a good idea to meet Yasma's father.

Therefore I made a simple request, which seemed to please the girl. With a happy smile she led me out among the fields, and into the thick of vines mounted on trellises or sprawling over mounds of earth, where a gaunt tawny-browed man was busy plucking the purple clusters of grapes. I had already seen him several times; more than once he had visited me when I lay ill, bringing offerings of food and drink; and I had noted that the other men had greeted him with deference. But I had not known him then as the father of Yasma. Now, spurred on by my new information, I scrutinized him as never before: the tall agile form, unstooped and vigorous although he must have seen sixty summers; the sagacious lean face, dominated by long black hair crossed by steely bars, and terminating in a beard of black and gray; the glittering alert brown eyes, which shone proudly as an eagle's and yet not without a softness that reminded me of Yasma herself.

At my approach he arose with a cordial smile and reached out both hands by way of greeting (a salutation peculiar to the Ibandru). In a few words Yasma mentioned that I had a message for him; and while she started back to the village, he motioned me to be seated on the ground beside him.

"What is it that you wish to tell me?" he asked kindly, and sat staring at me with an intent, inquiring air.

In a fumbling manner, I explained that I could not return to my people at least until next year, which would force me to continue to accept his people's hospitality. But I did not wish to impose upon their kindness; and was anxious to make myself of use in the village.

With an impassive silence that gave no clue to his thoughts, Abthar heard me to the end; and then answered unhesitatingly and with dignity.

"The views you express, young man, do you great credit. But we Ibandru desire no return for our hospitality, and still less for what we do out of simple humanity. Say no more about the matter. You owe us no debt; we shall be glad to have you remain as long as you wish."

I scarcely knew how to reply, for the old man arose as if to dismiss the subject. But I would not be turned aside. After thanking him for his kindness, I reminded him that there was a long winter to come; and insisted that I did not desire to be a drain upon his people's supplies.

At mention of the winter, a peculiar light came into Abthar's eyes—a light that I thought just a little ironic, just a little pitying, and at the same time just a little wistful. I may merely have imagined this, of course; but in view of what was to come, I am persuaded that I did not imagine it. And even at the time, though still unacquainted with the ways of the Ibandru, I wondered if the winter had not some queer significance for the tribe. For not only was Abthar's expression extraordinary, but he repeated several times, slowly and as if to himself, "The winter, yes, the winter—we must remember the winter."

Unfortunately, I did not put the proper interpretation upon Abthar's words—how possibly interpret them correctly? I assumed that the cold season in Sobul must be particularly rigorous, or must be invested with superstitious or religious importance. Hence I failed to ask questions that might have proved enlightening.