By William J. Brooks

[Sun]

Brog swung his club fiercely and missed by only about ninety-three million miles.

The others didn't know he'd missed the big yellow thing in the sky by so much, but they wouldn't have commented even if they did. Brog was much stronger than any of them, and his reach, while not in the ninety-three-million-mile class, was more than enough to rattle their brains. So their shouts were all approval and encouragement.

"Well done!" yelled Pog. She was married to Brog and believed in being encouraging.

"Good shot!" shouted Shog, who always tried to agree. In a time when everyone carried clubs, this was not a bad policy.

"Yes, well done!" echoed Drog, baring his teeth in a big smile. Then, with a quick glance to be sure no one could hear him, he muttered through those same teeth, "You big blowhard."

"My toe hurts where I stubbed it yesterday!" yelled Quog. This had nothing to do with what was going on, but it was what Quog was thinking about at the moment, so it was what he said. He could never really believe that anything in the world was more important than his personal well-being.

"You almost got it that time!" Pog continued. That wasn't strictly true, but she was very proud of her husband and didn't mind stretching a point to encourage him. "It's trying to ignore you, but that one got its attention."

Then they all waited to see if the mighty swing of the club had accomplished its purpose. It hadn't.

The big yellow thing in the sky ignored them completely. Well, maybe it hesitated a moment (it really had been a good swing, and the club was especially big and gnarly), but then it pressed on toward the bank of white, puffy things.

Brog was not the type to give up. He gave an earsplitting howl. He displayed his ferocious, snarly teeth. He jumped up and down and waved his arms. He did a back flip (which could have been dangerous, but fortunately he landed on his head).

Pog joined in and then everyone else, backing him up in a gibbering chorus of shrieks and groans and chest-thumpings. Anybody with any sense would have been terrified, but heavenly bodies are obliviously self-centered. The big yellow thing showed no sign of being intimidated. Calmly and without hurry, it slid behind the big fluffy things and out of sight.

Which is to say, the sun went behind a cloud. Not just a cloud, a whole sky full of cloud. The bright glow of sunrise disappeared, and the world faded into shades of leaden gray.

Brog continued to dance in rage and wave his club. He knew it was useless, but he never let mere facts influence his actions. He was strong and brave and not particularly bright, a combination that has changed the course of human events on more than one occasion. He continued to leap and cavort at the very edge of the High Cliff, the highest spot in the Tribe's territory, leaning far out to get closer to his enemy. (Well, not really enemy. When the big yellow thing did its job properly-slid slowly up the sky and made everything nice and warm-it was regarded as a good friend. Brog would have given it a friendly punch in the arm if he could have reached that far and found an arm to punch. But the big yellow thing was often lazy, preferring to sleep the day away behind the puffy things. At least that's what the Tribe assumed it did, since that's what they would have done, given the chance.)

As long as Brog kept up his display, so did the whole Tribe. It was something like an exercise class, but with lots more hair and no showers afterward. No one wanted Brog to think they hadnŐt done their best for him. Finally, Pog tapped him and said, "Brog, it's all right, that's enough. We'll just have to hope the sun rises again tomorrow and decides to stay awake."

Now, a couple of things before we go any further. First, it may seem odd that there was doubt about the sun rising, but this was happening very long ago, even before "once upon a time." Scientists had not yet discovered much of anything, including themselves, so there was no one to say, "The sun always rises" or "E equals MC squared" or "If it tastes good, it's bad for you."

No, everyone could only go by what they saw. Sometimes the sun rose in a businesslike fashion and efficiently carried out its tasks of warming and drying and being pleasant, eventually turning red (perhaps from all the effort) and yielding to the moon or stars or whoever else might wander across the sky. At other times, the sun would send out clouds and rain and thunder and lightning, and there was no point in leaving your cave unless you particularly liked being cold and wet and electrocuted.

Did I mention before that the Tribe lived in caves? They were, in fact, what we call "cavemen." Of course, they didnŐt call themselves cavemen. Everyone lived in caves, so that would just be repeating the obvious. We don't call ourselves "housepeople" or "apartmentpersons," and they didn't call themselves "cavemen." So they were on the cliff outside their caves, and Pog tapped Brog and said, "Let's hope the sun rises tomorrow." Well, no, that's another thing. She didn't say "the sun" because they didn't have names for anything yet, including the sun. It was "the big yellow thing that rose in the sky" and . . .

Well, actually, they didn't have any words yet. No "big yellow thing," no "sky," no "no," no "nothing." So what Pog really said was sort of "grunt, grunt, grunt," with a finger pointed up to make her meaning crystal clear. Of course, she would have done the same thing to mean sky or bird or sixty-percent chance of precipitation, but she was picturing the big yellow thing in her mind while she grunted and pointed, so it seemed obvious to her.

If you liked chapter one of A is for AARRGH!, find out more about the book.

Go back to the index of first chapters of new books for Fall 1999.