The Carpet Makers by Andreas Eschbach Page A

‘hair carpet’ mean anything to you?”
    Nargant scratched at his head and thought about it. “No,” he said. “I could only guess that it refers to a carpet made of hair or, at least, having that appearance. Why do you ask?”
    “I talked with the man a bit. He told me that he was by profession a knotter of hair carpets. Profession is maybe the wrong word; the way he described it sounded more like a social caste. Anyway, I asked to be sure, and he really did mean that he ties carpets out of hair—human hair.”
    “Out of human hair?” Nargant was still trying to wake up fully. Why was Nillian telling him all of this?
    “It must also be an enormously time-consuming business. Unless I completely misunderstood, he needs his entire lifetime to tie just one of these carpets.”
    “Sounds rather odd.”
    “I told him that, too, and he was absolutely astonished at my attitude. Making these carpets must be something like a sacred rite here. By the way, because I didn’t know what a hair carpet is, his conclusion was razor-sharp: that I must come from another planet.”
    Nargant gasped for air. “And what did you say?”
    “I admitted it. Why shouldn’t I? I find it interesting that the people here know there are other inhabited worlds. Since everything seems to be so primitive, I wouldn’t have expected that.”
    To his own amazement, Nargant noticed that his hands were shaking. Only now did he sense that he was sick—sick with fear. He was filled with anxiety that would not ease until this adventure was over and Nillian was on board again, an anxiety that was trying—against all reason—to protect the two of them from the consequences of their obvious insubordination.
    “What are you planning to do now?” he asked, and hoped his voice was not betraying any of that.
    “The hair carpets interest me,” came his untroubled reply. “I asked him to show me the carpet he is working on, but he says he can’t. No idea why—he muttered something I couldn’t understand. But we’ll visit one of his colleagues, another carpet maker, and I can see his carpet.”
    It was a physical matter. His mind knew that the rebels had a different concept of discipline, but his body didn’t understand it. His body was more prepared to die than to disobey a command.
    “When are you going there?”
    “I’ve given him an energy compound; I’ll wait until it takes effect. Maybe an hour. The man was in bad shape. But I can’t get out of him what he was doing there in the desert. A rather mysterious story, the whole thing.”
    “Are you wearing the local clothing?”
    “Of course. Incredibly uncomfortable, by the way. It makes places itch you didn’t even know you had.”
    “When will you report in again?”
    “Right after the visit to the other carpet maker. We have a two- to three-hour walk ahead of us; fortunately the sun is already rather low, and it isn’t quite so hot now. It could be that he will invite us to stay the night, which I won’t refuse, of course.”
    “You’ll have the radio with you in case of an emergency?”
    “Of course.” Nillian laughed out loud. “Hey, are you worrying about me?”
    Nargant felt a twinge at these words. He realized that, in all honesty, he wasn’t, and it made him feel shabby and vile. Actually, he was worrying about himself, about what would happen to him if something unfortunate occurred to Nillian. He didn’t deserve the friendship the young rebel was extending to him, because he was incapable of returning it. All he could do was envy Nillian’s easy attitude and inner freedom and feel like a cripple in comparison.
    “I’m dead tired,” he said, avoiding the question. “I’ll try to sleep a little. Good luck. Out.”
    “Thanks. Out,” Nillian responded. There was an audible pop, and the recorder turned itself off again.
    Nargant remained in his chair, laid his head back, and closed his eyes. He felt as though his eyeballs were vibrating. I’m sure I won’t be