Battlefield Earth

Chapter 3

Chrissie was standing there, her leg being hugged as always by her younger sister.

Jo

Even its seventeenth roof was as sway-backed as an overpacked horse. There wasn't a log in the upper structure that wasn't gaping with worm holes. The windows were mainly caved in like eyeholes in a rotted skull. The stone walkway close to it was worn half a foot deep by the bare horny feet of scores of generations of villagers coming here to be tried and punished in the olden days when somebody had cared. In his lifetime Jo

“Parson Staffor is inside, “ said Chrissie. She was a slight girl, very pretty, about eighteen. She had large black eyes in strange contrast to her corn-silk hair. She had wrapped around herself a doeskin, really tight, and it showed her breasts and a lot of bare leg.

Her little sister, Pattie, a budding copy of the older girl, looked bright-eyed and interested. “Is there going to be a real funeral, Jo

Jo

“Is there going to be meat and a burying in a hole in the ground and everything?” demanded Pattie.

Jo

Parson Staffor lay sprawled on a mound of dirty grass, mouth open in snores, flies buzzing about. Jo

Parson Staffor had seen better days. Once he had been fat and inclined to pomposity. But that was before he had begun to chew locoweed-to ease his toothaches, he said. He was gaunt now, dried up, nearly toothless, seamed with inlaid grime. Some wads of weed lay on the stones beside his mouldy bed.

As the toe prodded him again, Staffor opened his eyes and rubbed some of the scum out of them in alarm. Then he saw it was Jo

“Get up,” said Jo

“That's this generation,” muttered the parson. “No respect for their elders. Rushing off to the bushes, fornicating, grabbing the best meat pieces.”

“Get up,” said Jo

“A funeral? ' moaned Staffor.

“With meat and sermons and dancing.”

“Who is dead?”

“You know quite well who's dead. You were there at the end.”

“Oh, yes. Your father. A good man. Yes, a good man. Well, maybe he was your father.”

Jo

Parson Staffor abruptly sat up. “Now don't take it wrong, Jo

“You better get up,” said Jo

Staffor clawed for the corner of an ancient, scarred bench and pulled himself upright. He began to tie the deerskin he usually wore, and obviously had worn far too long, using a frayed wovengrass rope. “My memory isn't so good these days, Jo

“When the sun is straight up,” said Jo

“Who's going to dig the hole? There has to be a hole, you know, for a proper funeral.”

"I'll dig the hole,” said Jo

Staffor had found some fresh locoweed and began to gum it. He looked relieved. “Well, I’m glad the town doesn't have to dig the hole. Horns, but this stuff is green. You said meat. Who is going to kill and cook it?”

“That's all taken care of.”

Staffor nodded and then abruptly saw more work ahead. “Who's going to assemble the people?” "I’ll ask Pattie to tell them.”

Staffor looked at him reproachfully. “Then there's nothing for me to do until straight-up. Why'd you wake me up?” He threw himself back down on the dirty grass and sourly watched Jo

Chapter 4

Jo

Chrissie lay on her stomach beside him, idly shredding the seeds from a large sunflower between her very white teeth. She looked up at Jo

Pattie had no such troubles. She had not only stuffed herself with roast meat, she had also stuffed herself with the wild strawberries that had been served by the heap. And then during the dancing she had run and run and run with two or three little boys and then come back to eat some more. She was sleeping so heavily she looked like a mound of rags.

Jo

The villagers had been quite happy with the funeral, especially since Jo

Jo

They had gathered at sun straight-up on the knoll above the village where some said the graveyard had been. The markers were all gone. Maybe it had been a graveyard. When Jo

The villagers had come slouching around and there had been a wait while Pattie tore back to the courthouse and awakened Parson Staffor again. Only twenty-five of them had assembled. The others had said they were tired and asked for any food to be brought back to them.

Then there had been an argument about the shape of the grave hole. Jo