The Songs of Summer

1. Kennon

I was on my way to take part in the Singing, and to claim Corilann’s promise. I was crossing the great open field when suddenly the man appeared, the man named Chester Dugan. He seemed to drop out of the sky.

I watched him stagger for a moment or two. I did not know where he had come from so suddenly, or why he was here. He was short—shorter than any of us—fat in an unpleasant way, with wrinkles on his face and an unshaven growth of beard. I was anxious to get on to the Singing, and so I allowed him to fall to the ground and kept moving. But he called to me, in a barbarous and corrupt tongue which I could recognize as our language only with difficulty.

“Hey, you,” he called to me. “Give me a hand, will you?”

He seemed to be in difficulties, so I walked over to him and helped him to his feet. He was panting, and appeared almost in a state of shock. Once I saw he was steady on his feet, and seemed to have no further need of me, I began to walk away from him, since I was anxious to get on to the Singing and did not wish to meddle with this man’s affairs. Last year was the first time I attended the Singing at Dandrin’s, and I enjoyed it very much. It was then that Corilann had promised herself. I was anxious to get on.

But he called to me. “Don’t leave me here!” he shouted. “Hey, you can’t just walk away like that! Help me!”

I turned and went back. He was dressed strangely, in ugly ill-arranged tight clothes, and he was walking in little circles, trying to adjust his equilibrium. “Where am I?” he asked me.

“Earth, of course,” I told him.

“No,” he said, harshly. “I don’t mean that, idiot. Where, on Earth?”

The concept had no meaning for me. Where, on Earth, indeed? Here, was all I knew: the great plain between my home and Dandrin’s, where the Singing is held. I began to feel uneasy. This man seemed badly sick, and I did not know how to handle him. I felt thankful that I was going to the Singing; had I been alone, I never would have been able to deal with him. I realized I was not as self-sufficient as I thought I was.

“I am going to the Singing,” I told him. “Are you?”

“I’m not going anywhere till you tell me where I am and how I got here. What’s your name?”

“My name is Kennon. You are crossing the great plain on your way to the home of Dandrin, where we are going to have the Singing, for it is summer. Come; I am anxious to get there. Walk with me, if you wish.”

I started to walk away a second time, and this time he began to follow me. We walked along silently for a while.

“Answer me, Kennon,” he said after a hundred paces or so. “Ten seconds ago I was in New York; now I’m here. How far am I from New York?”

“What is New York?” I asked. At this he showed great signs of anger and impatience, and I began to feel quite worried.

“Where’d you escape from?” he shouted. “You never heard of New York? You never heard of New York? New York,” he said, “is a city of some eight million people, located on the Atlantic Ocean, on the east coast of the United States of America. Now tell me you haven’t heard of that!”

“What is a city?” I asked, very much confused. At this he grew very angry. He threw his arms in the air wildly.

“Let us walk more quickly,” I said. I saw now that I was obviously incapable of dealing with this man, and I was anxious to get on to the Singing—where perhaps Dandrin, or the other old ones, would be able to understand him. He continued to ask me questions as we walked, but I’m afraid I was not very helpful.