“There was one thin might a been in our favor. That was, we bowled the wimmen a the Falsers over with our smell. Not that we smell good. We stink like a pig that’s been makin love to a billy goat on a manure pile. But, somehow, the wimmen folk a the Falsers was all mixed up in their chemistry, I guess you’d call it, cause they got all excited and developed roundheels when they caught a whiff a us. If we’d been left alone with em, we could a Don Juan’d them Falsers right off a the face a the earth. We would a mixed our blood with theirs so much that after a while you coun’t tell the diff runce. Specially since the kids lean to their pas side in looks, Paley blood is so much stronger.
“But that made sure there would always be war tween us. Specially after our king, Old King Paley, made love to the daughter a the Falser king, King Raw Boy, and stole her away.
“Gawd, you should a seen the fuss then! Raw Boy’s daughter flipped over Old King Paley. And it was her give him the bright idea a callin in every able-bodied Paley that was left and organizin em into one big army. Kind a puttin all our eggs in one basket, but it seemed a good idea. Every man big enough to carry a club went out in one big mob on Operation False Folk Massacre. And we ganged up on every little town a them motherworshipers we found. And kicked hell out a em. And roasted the men’s hearts and ate em. And every now and then took a snack off the wimmen and kids, too.
“Then, all of a sudden, we come to a big plain. And there’s a army a them False Folk, collected by Old King Raw Boy. They outnumber us, but we feel we kin lick the world. Specially since the magic strength a the G’yaga lies in their wimmen folk, cause they worship a woman god, The Old Woman In The Earth. And we’ve got their chief priestess, Raw Boy’s daughter.
“All our own personal power is collected in Old King Paley’s hat—his magical headpiece. All a us Paleys believed that a man’s strength and his soul was in his headpiece.
“We bed down the night before the big battle. At dawn there’s a cry that’d wake up the dead. It still sends shivers down the necks a us Paley’s fifty thousand years later. It’s King Paley roarin and cryin. We ask him why. He says that that dirty little sneakin little hoor, Raw Boy’s daughter, has stole his headpiece and run off with it to her father’s camp.
“Our knees turn weak as nearbeer. Our manhood is in the hands a our enemies. But out we go to battle, our witch doctors out in front rattlin their gourds and whirlin their bullroarers and prayin. And here comes the G’yaga medicine men doin the same. Only thing, their hearts is in their work cause they got Old King’s headpiece stuck on the end a a spear.
“And then we charge into each other. Bang! Wallop! Crash! Smash! Whack! Owwwrrroooo! And they kick hell out a us, do it to us. And we’re never again the same, done forever. They had Old King’s headpiece and with it our magic, cause we’d all put the soul a us Paleys in that hat.
“The spirit and power a us Paleys was prisoners cause that headpiece was. And life became too much for us Paleys. Them as wasn’t slaughtered and eaten was glad to settle down on the garbage heaps a the conquerin Falsers and pick for a livin with the chickens, sometimes comin out second best.
“But we knew Old King’s headpiece was hidden somewhere, and we organized a secret society and swore to keep alive his name and to search for the headpiece if it took us forever. Which it almost has, it’s been so long.
“But even though we was doomed to live in shantytowns and stay off the streets and prowl the junkpiles in the alleys, we never gave up hope. And as time went on some a the nocounts a the G’yaga came down to live with us. And we and they had kids. Soon, most a us had disappeared into the bloodstream a the low-class G’yaga. But there’s always been a Paley family that tried to keep their blood pure. No man kin do no more, kin he?”
He glared at Dorothy. “What d’ya think a that?”
Weakly, she said, “Well, I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“Gawdamighty!” snorted Old Man. “I give you a history longer’n a hoor’s dream, more’n fifty thousand years a history, the secret story a a longlost race. And all you kin say is that you never heard nothin like it before.”
He leaned toward her and clamped his huge hand over her thigh.
“Don’t flinch from me!” he said fiercely. “Or turn your head away. Sure, I stink, and I offend your dainty figurin nostrils and upset your figurin delicate little guts. But what’s a minute’s whiff a me on your part compared to a lifetime on my part a havin all the stinkin garbage in the universe shoved up my nose, and my mouth filled with what you woun’t say if your mouth was full a it? What do you say to that, huh?”
Coolly, she said, “Please take your hand off me.”
“Sure, I din’t mean nothin by it. I got carried away and forgot my place in society.”
“Now, look here,” she said earnestly. “That has nothing at all to do with your so-called social position. It’s just that I don’t allow anybody to take liberties with my body. Maybe I’m being ridiculously Victorian, but I want more than just sensuality. I want love, and—”
“OK, I get the idea.”
Dorothy stood up and said, “I’m only a block from my apartment. I think I’ll walk on home. The liquor’s given me a headache.”
“Yeah,” he growled. “You sure it’s the liquor and not me?”
She looked steadily at him. “I’m going, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Does that answer your question?” “OK,” he grunted. “See you. Maybe.”
Next morning, shortly after dawn, a sleepy-eyed Dorothy stopped her car before the Paley shanty. Deena was the only one home. Gummy had gone to the river to fish, and Old Man was in the outhouse. Dorothy took the opportunity to talk to Deena, and found her, as she had suspected, a woman of considerable education. However, although she was polite, she was reticent about her background. Dorothy, in an effort to keep the conversation going, mentioned that she had phoned her former anthropology professor and asked him about the chances of Old Man being a genuine Neanderthal. It was then that Deena broke her reserve and eagerly asked what the professor had thought.
“Well,” said Dorothy, “he just laughed. He told me it was an absolute impossibility that a small group, even an inbred group isolated in the mountains, could have kept their cultural and genetic identity for fifty thousand years.
“I argued with him. I told him Old Man insisted he and his kind had existed in the village of Paley in the mountains of the Pyrenees until Napoleon’s men found them and tried to draft them. Then they fled to America, after a stay in England. And his group was split up during the Civil War, driven out of the Great Smokies. He, as far as he knows, is the last purebreed, Gummy being a half or quarter-breed.
“The professor assured me that Gummy and Old Man were cases of glandular malfunctioning, of acromegaly. That they may have a superficial resemblance to the Neanderthal man, but a physical anthropologist could tell the difference at a glance. When I got a little angry and asked him if he wasn’t taking an unscientific and prejudiced attitude, he became rather irritated. Our talk ended somewhat frostily.
“But I went down to the university library that night and read everything on what makes Homo Neanderthalensis different from Homo sapiens.”
“You almost sound as if you believe Old Man’s private little myth is the truth,” said Deena.
“The professor taught me to be convinced only by the facts and not to say anything is impossible,” replied Dorothy. “If he’s forgotten his own teachings, I haven’t.”
“Well, Old Man is a persuasive talker,” said Deena. “He could sell the devil a harp and halo.”
Old Man, wearing only a pair of blue jeans, entered the shanty. For the first time Dorothy saw his naked chest, huge, covered with long redgold hairs so numerous they formed a matting almost as thick as an orangutan’s. However, it was not his chest but his bare feet at which she looked most intently. Yes, the big toes were widely separated from the others, and he certainly tended to walk on the outside of his feet.