Eye of a Needle
(Excerpts from the journal of Alexander Hartdegen)

Part II: Riddles in the Dark

September 06, 802,701
My Precious Emma,

I fear that I must begin today with sad news. Whilst we tended the windmill
-monuments this afternoon, some of the children playing by the river came
running back to us, crying in the Eloi tongue. I couldn't catch the words, but
Mara ran with some of the others to a sheltered cove of the river that the
children indicated, and I followed.

Jord lay in the mud among the reeds at the water's edge, his throat torn out. We
were soon to discover the beast that killed him, however - a Morlock, floating
face-down in shallow water a little downstream.

The Eloi have reacted strangely - rather than setting up a night watch to keep
an eye out for more straggler Morlocks, they intend to simply continue as they
always have. "Our village is as safe as we can make it," Mara told me. "Jord died
because we were beyond the village at night."

I pray that no more of those evil creatures survived. I do not know when, or if,
the Eloi will ever venture out into the dark again.

At my instruction, Jord's body was wrapped in heavy material and carried back to
the monuments. We wasted no time, lest scavengers tear him apart; we buried him
in the woods, away from the river, close to where my house once stood. Odd that
my home should become a graveyard.

Though most of the Eloi shed quiet tears for their lost brother, Needle showed
no emotion. She seems even more inured than they to grief, and I sorrow for the
torment that she must have lived with. She only lay the purple flower that Jord
gave her on the body, before we lowered it and covered it.

I thought that perhaps I should speak a few words on Jord's behalf, but Callo
spoke first. He thanked me for teaching them the way of "sending away" the dead,
as he put it. Then he said, to the others, that though Jord had not "gone away",
he would be remembered in his family's breath. I believe that they meant the
windmill-monument that Jord's family had built.

I began to suffer a headache as we walked back to the monuments, though I cannot
tell if the reason is grief or some ailment. I stumbled, and Mara held my hand to
help me the rest of the way. She's a gentle and sweet girl, my love. I know that
had either of you lived in the other's time, you would have been friends.

I heard dear little Weena, who walked along near us, quietly practicing a new story.
I think that she is creating a story to explain Death to the other children.

We built a bonfire and cremated the Morlock body as quickly as we could. It did not
die by drowning; when the men hauled it from the water, they found one of its own
darts thrust through its eye, into its brain. Dear brave Jord killed the thing with
its own dart before he died.

I think that I will write no more tonight. I wish to sleep away this hurt.

Yours faithfully,
Alexander

[The next writing is scratchy and erratic,
as though written nearly blind]
Post Script: I have been unable to sleep, waking at the least noise of birds or
bats. I thought that I heard something moving about below, and even heard Kalen
fret in his sleep, but when I looked down I saw that it was only Needle working her
fabrics. She carries them to the platform outside to work by the fragmented moonlight.
I wanted to tell her that she'll ruin her eyes that way, but I'm too tired right now.
I must try to sleep.


[Penned in an unsteady hand]
September 9th, 802,701
Beloved Emma,

I beg forgiveness for not writing for the past few days; I have been feeling
increasingly unwell. My head aches with the heat of the sun, and the nights are
suddenly quite cold. I find that the food that I've been eating here tastes a little
strange to me, as well. As none of the Eloi seem to notice, I can only assume that I
am coming down with some ailment. I wonder what strange diseases have sprung into
existence over the millennia; the thought of falling victim to some new nameless
sickness worries me.

I have stayed in our swallow's-nest dwelling for the past two days, and have mostly
slept, and watched Needle at her craft. Even now I tire and my hands shake. This
evening, I will attempt to journey to the Photonic to see if he can identify what
ails me. I have next to no knowledge of the diseases of our time, much less what might
be now.

My dreams have been troubling me of late; I awake with cold images of the Morlock
caverns in my mind's eye. I no longer see the tiny glowing fish in the caverns, only
the darkness. I will try to rest now, and pray that I do not dream.

With hope,
Alexander


[Penned with a heavy hand, with much concentration]
September 10th, 802,701
Sweet Emma,

It is terribly hot today.

I awoke before dawn to the Morlock leader's cold eyes staring at me with baleful
resentment. As the dream-image faded from my mind, it occurred to me that I may
have been hasty and uninformed in my course of action.

The Eloi seem to be able to care for themselves, but I may have been deceived by
my own wishfulness. I've found little leather in their possession, and though I have
seen Needle work her fabric, I know not where the fabric comes from - I have seen no
weavers, nor fields of any type of plant suitable to spin fibers from. They know
nothing of farming. Their food grows wild; what will happen when they gather too
much from an area? They cannot roam away to new pastures as the pygmies in Africa
do. Their structures are too permanent for the hunting and gathering culture they have.

I suspect that a great many of their amenities were provided by the Morlocks below,
the better to keep the Eloi from wandering or learning for themselves. The Lord of
the Morlocks said that there are many of their predator-prey colonies set up all
about, and he said that they bred the Eloi. Without being able to migrate, without
new blood from these other colonies, how long can my Eloi survive?

Why did I so quickly resort to violence in dealing with the Morlock Lord? It was _I_
who attacked _him_. Is man of our lost Age, after all, no more civilized than those
monsters?

I doubt myself. What right did I have to upset their horrible balance? I and one
Photonic encyclopaedia are not enough to revolutionize the world.

What hubris led me to consign these people to a slow death?

I feel his gaze upon me again
Forgive me

[The entry ends]


(September 13th, 802,701)
Deer EMMA,

This is Kalen. I DonT nOw You, but ALexanDeR askedd Mi to write To You For Him. I
askedd VOX to tell Mi the rIt Leters And He said Good, but now i think He's madd
about SomeThing And i'm writtting by MIself.

ALexanDe [scribble scribble]
Alexander askedd ME to write Because Alexander Is Not Good and He has A FeVir.
I thot [scribble] thought EvryOne got Sick when They were Litle but MayBi not Alexander.

VOX Is yelling about Prow Nowns now so i WonT write AnnyMore Today. Alexander Will
write when HeS beter.

Your Frend,
Kalen


[Penned in a slightly unsteady hand]
September 16th, 802,701
My Dearest Emma,

Yesterday evening, my fever broke. I have been too weak to write until now, this
afternoon, but even now my hands tremble a little. I am sitting up in bed just now;
I believe I will refrain from attempting to walk until tomorrow, as Mara suggests.
At least my appetite has returned.

Kalen said that dear Mara hardly left my side while I lay ill, and that when she
did, he or Needle took her place. Mara is resting peacefully now upstairs; she seemed
quite tired, and looked as though she had slept as poorly as I. I am very grateful for
her kindness and watchfulness - perhaps I can find some way to repay her.

As I read over my past letters, I am overcome with melancholy to see my most recent
fevered ravings. However, raving though it might be, there is some truth to it. I shall
endeavor to learn all I can of the Eloi ways, and hopefully improve upon them. Perhaps
in the Spring we can begin to farm in the river delta.

Also, as I read dear Kalen's letter, I can see why I'm told that Vox has suddenly
demanded to teach grammar and writing as well as literature and mathematics. Still,
I think that the boy did quite well, for what was perhaps the first English writing
in thousands of years.

Something very strange happened a little while ago. Needle sat near me, embroidering
again, with her gauze-draped back to me. I thanked her for helping to care for me,
and I reached out to lay my hand on her back. I have grown used to the familiar
closeness Mara and Kalen and the rest of the Eloi, and their friendly touches; I was
unprepared to see Needle leap away at the merest brush of my fingers. She sprang up,
crossing the room in a single bound, and hissed at me from the far side. She bared her
teeth and hissed like an animal! The sudden hate in her eyes reminded me of my fevered
dreams of the Morlock leader.

She just as suddenly seemed to regain her composure, but she still glared at me, as
angry as though I had tried to take some advantage of her. She left the dwelling in
a huff, leaving her needlework behind.

Just as she jumped away, through a gap in her wrappings, I saw again the strange
puncture marks about her throat. Seeing my hand near them made me realize that they
may have been made by some great clawed hand that clasped about her neck from behind,
and dug in.

The thought of her life's torment only strengthens my resolve. I must think of some
way to apologize to her, but for now, I am still tired. I will write more tomorrow,
my love.

Yours until the End of Time,
Alexander


September 17th, 802,701
Dearest Emma,

I must be brief today, as I am still quite drained, but I wanted to write of today's
events.

I did not see Needle all the day, until the sun was nearly down. As I gazed at the
sunset, taking in the fresh air of evening, the girl approached from below. She had
been out the entire day, and had returned with the others in their boats.

She sat next to me as darkness fell. For a while she was as silent as the Egyptian
mummy she resembled in her wrappings, but eventually, she spoke. She apologized for
reacting so violently to my touch.

"My father..." She hesitated, as though unsure of her wording. "...Loved... my back.
He kept his hand there often - a comfort," she explained. "You... reminded me. It hurt
my heart."

There is no anger in her pale blue eyes now, only a sort of... wistfulness. Perhaps
the Eloi can, after all, suffer regret. "I'm sorry," I said, uselessly.

She shook her head. "'Tis irrational," she simply said. She has indeed listened closely
to Vox's lessons, to learn such words.

The disquieting thought occurred to me that the scars on her neck might have been made
by her father's hand - but I cast off the thought as soon as it came to me. No Eloi would
do such a painful thing to one of their own, nor would one have the strength, from what
I've seen. That alone gives me hope for the integrity of man.

I looked up at the stars appearing in the sky. "It is not irrational to love one's
parents," I said, thinking of my own. "Forgive my presumption."

Rather than speaking, she suddenly extended her closed hand to me, indicating that I
should open my own hands. When I did, she dropped something into them, and withdrew.

In the fading light, I inspected the object that she had given me. It appeared to be a
lump of metal, or perhaps two stuck together -

Ah! I grasped the darker protrusion on the small bar of iron and pulled, and it came
away easily, with a little resistance. Holding it close to the iron again, it fairly
leapt from my hand, making a clacking noise as it again adhered to the metal. A magnet!

"Where did you find this?" I exclaimed, surprised and delighted.

Needle only shook her head. She refused the magnet when I tried to hand it back to
her, indicating that she meant it to be mine. After a few more minutes' silence -
during which I played with the magnet like a delighted child, I must admit - she took
my hand and, quite deliberately, lay it over the nape of her neck.

I am most pleased that she accepted not only my apology, but my presence as well. I
suppose that Kalen, Mara, and I are the only family she has now - we're Mara's strays,
as little Girda commented before.

It feels good to have a family to care for again, dear heart; it seems something that
I've been searching for, without knowing.

I must rest now; I shall continue tomorrow.

With all my Love,
Alexander


September 19th, 802,701
My Darling Emma,

I roused myself enough today to attend the children's' gathering in the
stone-gallery. Under the watchful eyes of several of the young men, Weena told
another of her tales, and the Photonic read aloud the beginning of a long story
about a young man and a magic ring. Weena seemed quite pleased, and explained to
me that the story drew on Norse Mythology, about which she knew quite a bit. She's
fast becoming quite a little expert - at least, to her mind.

The Eloi keep a careful watch over each other whenever they are out of the village
now. Having tasted freedom, they are determined to keep it, and not lose it to any
roving Morlocks that might still be about.

One of the young men approached me early in the afternoon, as I returned to the
monuments from the gallery. He pointed out, in broken (but improved) English, that
I needn't grow out my facial hair if I didn't want to; he would teach me to shave
using one of their devices, as he and the other young men did. As the Eloi men tend
to shave their heads entirely, I assented, expecting an arduous process of learning
to shave with their (relatively) dull blades.

Instead, I was introduced to a particular grey river reed, which - when peeled apart
at an angle - yields an edge as sharp as any razor. Perhaps the Eloi were not as
dependent upon the Morlocks as I thought in my fever; nature seems to have evolved
to supply them most of their wants. Even this paper upon which I write is easily made
from the broad leaves of the Dira trees, I've found.

Apparently there was some purpose to the young men's timing, as when I returned to
the monuments again, Mara was there to meet me. She wore the embroidered tunic-like
garment that Needle had created for her, and had plaited Tula flowers - now bright as
flame at the end of their season - into her ebon hair.

She seemed quite pleased to see me looking so well after my recent illness, and said
something in her own language that I did not understand. Then she presented me with a
beautiful necklace, a choker, woven of strong wood-like vines. Bound into the vines at
the necklace's center was a smooth green river-stone - I think that at one time it was
a piece of clear green glass.

I was impressed by the choker's beauty, and told her so, and accepted it. Mara broke
into a wide smile and tenderly bound the jewelry around my neck. I'd had no idea that
she could produce such fine craft, and I feel honored to display it for her - especially
since it seems to please the other Eloi so. Kalen in particular smiles every time he looks
at it.

Mara wanted to hold my hand the rest of our time at the windmill-monuments today, and
I let her. My fever must have given her an awful fright; I'm quite glad that I came out
of it all right.

In the twilight, after the boats were pulled up for the night, the Eloi did something
that I had not seen before. Rather than turning in for the night, they all stood on
their platforms and pathways, and the bridges that span the canyon, and sang until the
last light of the setting sun faded away. The sound of their echoing chorus was at once
beautiful and haunting; I wish that I could truly share it with you, my beloved.

Once inside, it turned out that Kalen made dinner for us, while Mara seemed satisfied
to only sit and talk with me. Of all things, she asked me about you. The gentle way
that she smiled as I spoke was... oddly comforting.

It has been rather a full day, for my first day out of the dwelling since my sickness,
and I am comfortably tired. I believe I shall turn in now, though it is earlier than
usual, that I might be stronger tomorrow.

Love Always,
Alexander