content
stringlengths 10
4.9M
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// input.hpp
// A struct that has data that defines inputs
#pragma once
#include <SFML/Window/Event.hpp>
#include <functional>
namespace sf
{
class Event;
}
namespace fe
{
namespace imp
{
struct inputAlias
{
union inputButton
{
sf::Keyboard::Key m_key;
sf::Mouse::Button m_button;
sf::Mouse::Wheel m_wheel;
inputButton() {}
inputButton(sf::Keyboard::Key key) : m_key(key) {}
inputButton(sf::Mouse::Button button) : m_button(button) {}
inputButton(sf::Mouse::Wheel wheel) : m_wheel(wheel) {}
};
inputButton m_input;
enum
{
NONE,
KEY,
BUTTON,
WHEEL
} m_inputType;
inputAlias() {}
inputAlias(sf::Keyboard::Key key) : m_input(key), m_inputType(KEY) {}
inputAlias(sf::Mouse::Button button) : m_input(button), m_inputType(BUTTON) {}
inputAlias(sf::Mouse::Wheel wheel) : m_input(wheel), m_inputType(WHEEL) {}
};
}
struct input
{
std::function<void(const sf::Event&)> m_callback;
imp::inputAlias m_alias;
bool m_realTime; // trigged by event or not
bool m_frozen;
bool m_inverse;
input() : m_realTime(false), m_frozen(false), m_inverse(false), m_alias() {}
input(std::function<void(const sf::Event&)> callback, bool realTime, bool inverse) : m_callback(callback), m_realTime(realTime), m_inverse(inverse), m_frozen(false) {}
};
} |
JULIAN RANDOLPH 'MICK' STOW was born in Geraldton, Western Australia, in 1935. He attended local schools before boarding at Guildford Grammar in Perth, where the renowned author Kenneth Mackenzie had been a student.
While at university he sent his poems to a British publisher. The resulting collection, _Act One_ , won the Australian Literature Society's Gold Medal in 1957—as did the prolific young writer's third novel, _To the Islands_ , the following year. _To the Islands_ also won the 1958 Miles Franklin Literary Award. Stow reworked the novel for a second edition almost twenty-five years later, but never allowed its two predecessors to be republished.
He worked briefly as an anthropologist's assistant in New Guinea—an experience that subsequently informed _Visitants_ , one of three masterful late novels—then fell seriously ill and returned to Australia. In the 1960s he lectured at universities in Australia and England, and lived in America on a Harkness fellowship. He published his second collection of verse, _Outrider_ ; the novel _Tourmaline_ , on which critical opinion was divided; and his most popular fiction, _The Merry-Go-Round in the Sea_ and _Midnite_.
For years afterwards Stow produced mainly poetry, libretti and reviews. In 1969 he settled permanently in England: first in Suffolk, then in Essex, where he moved in 1981. He received the 1979 Patrick White Award.
Randolph Stow died in 2010, aged seventy-four. A private man, a prodigiously gifted yet intermittently silent author, he has been hailed as 'the least visible figure of that great twentieth-century triumvirate of Australian novelists whose other members are Patrick White and Christina Stead'.
BERNADETTE BRENNAN is a former senior lecturer in the Department of English at the University of Sydney. Her publications include a monograph, _Brian Castro: The Seductive Play of Language_ , and two edited collections, _Just Words?: Australian Authors Writing for Justice_ and _Ethical Investigations: Essays on Australian Literature and Poetics_. She is writing a literary biography of Helen Garner and her work.
ALSO BY RANDOLPH STOW
_A Haunted Land_
_The Bystander_
_Tourmaline_
_The Merry-Go-Round in the Sea_
_Midnite: The Story of a Wild Colonial Boy_
_Visitants_
_The Girl Green as Elderflower_
_The Suburbs of Hell_
textclassics.com.au
textpublishing.com.au
The Text Publishing Company
Swann House
22 William Street
Melbourne Victoria 3000
Australia
Copyright © Randolph Stow 1981
Introduction copyright © Bernadette Brennan 2015
The moral rights of the authors have been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book.
First published by Macdonald, London, 1958
Revised edition published by Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1981
This edition of the revised text published by The Text Publishing Company, 2015
Cover design by WH Chong
Page design by Text
Typeset by Midland Typesetters
Printed in Australia by Griffin Press, an Accredited ISO AS/NZS 14001:2004 Environmental Management System printer
Primary print ISBN: 9781925240290
Ebook ISBN: 9781922253101
Creator: Stow, Randolph, 1935–2010.
Title: To the islands / by Randolph Stow; introduced by Bernadette Brennan.
Series: Text classics.
Dewey Number: A823.3
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
[_Strange Country_
by Bernadette Brennan](introduction.xhtml#intro)
_To the Islands_
_Chapter 01_
_Chapter 02_
_Chapter 03_
_Chapter 04_
_Chapter 05_
_Chapter 06_
_Chapter 07_
_Chapter 08_
_Chapter 09_
_Chapter 10_
_Chapter 11_
Strange Country
_by Bernadette Brennan_
RANDOLPH STOW was only twenty-two when he published _To the Islands_ , the haunting tale of an aged missionary on a self-destructive, self-pitying journey towards death. The novel won the Miles Franklin Literary Award in 1958, a year after the inaugural award was given to _Voss_. You can draw a link between these two novels: not because, as some critics have mistakenly suggested, Stow was working in Patrick White's shadow, but because both books marked a dramatic shift in Australian writing. White and Stow eschewed realism, sending their protagonists on existential journeys into country that was at once the Australian interior and the tortured landscape of the mind.
_To the Islands_ opens with the old missionary, Stephen Heriot, being roused by an intensity of sound and sensation:
A child dragged a stick along the corrugated-iron wall of a hut, and Heriot woke. His eyes, not yet broken to the light, rested on the mud-brick beside his bed, drifted slowly upwards to the grass-thatched roof. From a rafter an organ-grinder lizard peered sidelong over its pulsing throat.
Oppressed by its thatch, the hot square room had a mustiness of the tropics...Outside, the crows had begun their restless crying over the settlement, tearing at his nerves. The women were coming up to the kitchen. He could hear their laughing, their rich beautiful voices.
The day's heat is bearing down. Heriot's books are disintegrating, under attack from insects and mildew. He is exhausted, depressed. His first words, declaiming Baudelaire to the lizard, announce his world-weariness: 'The sixty-seventh year of my age. _Rien n'égale en longueur les boiteuses journées_ —' (nothing's as long as the limping days). Quotations from Baudelaire's _Les fleurs du mal_ are a form of shorthand in the book to signify questions of doubt and grief, weakness and self-disgust.
Heriot has lost his faith. He rails against a sense of futility and wants to tear down the mission he has devoted his life to building. In his confusion, fury and arrogance he smashes a crucifix, announcing, Lear-like: 'I believe in nothing.' Nothingness, in its many manifestations, tolls throughout the novel.
Stow wrote _To the Islands_ after working for some months in 1957 as a ration storeman at the Anglican-run Forrest River Mission, in the far north of Western Australia. Having learned something of the culture, spirituality and language of the Umbalgari people, he sought to honour them, while also affirming what he saw as the important work being done by white Christian missionaries for Indigenous communities in remote Australia. In the 1981 revised edition of _To the Islands_ , Stow removed some of the more heavy-handed 'propaganda' that celebrated the missionaries' role, but considered the rest of the text 'salvageable'. We should be thankful for that assessment, given that he had banned the reprinting of his two earlier novels, _A Haunted Land_ (1956) and _The Bystander_ (1957). _To the Islands_ , by contrast, has almost never been out of print.
The setting and the focus on Aboriginal culture was groundbreaking in mid-twentieth-century Australian literature. While contemporary readers may baulk at some of Stow's descriptions and the way Heriot co-opts the Umbalgari language for his corroboree, Stow was one of only a handful of white writers who sought to portray Aboriginal characters with depth and complexity. Katharine Susannah Prichard's _Coonardoo_ (1929) and the books of Xavier Herbert, Vance Palmer and Eleanor Dark went some way to giving Indigenous characters a voice, but it was not until the late 1950s that Stow, White and Judith Wright brought this concern to the literary mainstream.
The Onmalmeri massacre, based on the actual Umbali massacre of 1926, haunts _To the Islands_. Heriot, who seeks to atone for the historical atrocities of colonialism, instead realises his own culpability. In a fit of rage he casts a stone at Rex, thinking him killed. Disconsolate, he sets out on a journey to 'the islands' of the Aboriginal dead. Like so many heroes of European literature, he must experience exile in order to reconcile with himself and with his place in the world.
*
_To the Islands_ is suffused with poetry. While Heriot quotes Gerard Manly Hopkins' 'Spring', it is Hopkins' great sonnet of religious doubt and despair, number forty-one, that best reflects Heriot's predicament:
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne'er hung there...
The monumental, 'rocklike' Heriot is physically and spiritually a 'crumbling cliff'. With the help of his trusted Aboriginal friend Justin, he traverses the rugged country of north Western Australia, with its lush vegetation, teeming wildlife, gushing streams and massive red cliffs. But the most difficult cliffs he must negotiate are those in his mind. Stow projects Heriot's psychic drama of pride and guilt, atonement and eventual self-discovery onto the canvas of country. The novel progresses through a series of cinematic, cross-cutting scenes. Time and space pull together, then dance apart.
Early critics of Stow's work were troubled by the way he sought to fuse the symbolic and the real, privileging thought and emotion over action. For Stow, however, spirit and land—the internal and the external environments—are indivisible. He explained in _Westerly_ in 1978:
The boundary between an individual and his environment is not his skin. It is the point where mind verges on the pure essence of him, that unchanging observer that for want of a better term we might call the soul. The external factors, geographical and sociological, are so mingled with his ways of seeing and states of mind that he may find it impossible to say what he means by his environment, except in the most personal and introspective terms...The environment of a writer is as much inside him as in what he observes.
In 2013, while researching an article about _To the Islands_ and Heriot's quest, I raised with Roger Averill, Stow's authorised biographer, the idea of Stow's extreme sensitivity, his heightened appreciation of his environment. Averill responded:
I have long thought that Stow lacked a few layers of skin, allowing him to experience landscape and nature more directly and with greater sensitivity than most of us...I do think the idea of being stripped, at least to the skin, if not deeper, does relate to Heriot and his final declaration. To reach 'the islands' and his realisation that his soul is a strange country, Heriot has to be stripped of everything, of all his cultural certainties.
Heriot is highly educated. On his journey he quotes or alludes to a raft of classics: the Bible, Dante's _Inferno_ , _Everyman_ , Marlowe's _Doctor Faustus_ , _The Pilgrim's Progress_ , Shelley's 'Ozymandias', Coleridge's _Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ , T. S. Eliot's _The Waste Land_ ; and Greek, Latin, German, French and Spanish poetry. Perhaps erudition blinds Heriot to any genuine understanding of himself and his place in the world. Only by shedding that learning, that way of seeing and thinking, can he approach true knowledge. Like David Malouf's Ovid in _An Imaginary Life_ , Heriot eventually reaches a state of mind beyond language and intellectual understanding: a state of heightened intuitive perception and openness to experience. He discovers the landscape of his soul, a horizon of possibility.
As Stow's prepositional title indicates, this novel is more concerned with the journey than the destination. There can be no doubt, however, that the Stow scholar Anthony J. Hassall was correct when he noted, in _Australian Book Review_ in 2009, that the closing scene of Heriot 'alone on a cliff above the Arafura Sea, confronting the strangeness of his soul and looking out towards the Aboriginal islands of the dead, is one of the unforgettable images of Australian literature'. Do the islands exist? Does it matter? Has Heriot found peace? Stow withholds certainty, offering open-endedness over resolution.
Earlier, Heriot and the murderer Rusty debate the possibility of an unforgiving God. When Rusty suggests that God 'pays us back for what we done', Heriot insists: 'We pay ourselves back...Because you know our crimes are like a stone, a stone again, thrown into a pool, and the ripples go on washing out until, a long time after we're gone, the whole world's rocked with them.' As his final act of will, Heriot hurls a boulder into the sea below. While one man may not be able to atone for the sins of a nation, he could set in motion ripples of thought that may reverberate after his death. The novel's true conclusion may yet lie somewhere far in the future.
I remember first reading _To the Islands_ as an undergraduate in the 1980s. I was amazed at how Stow managed to evoke such beauty and majesty in landscape and people while narrating a tale of such pain and anguish. Like so many readers, I am haunted by the final vision of Heriot and perplexed by his last utterance. Over the years I have taught this novel to hundreds of students and, therefore, had cause to reread it multiple times. Thirty years after my initial encounter with _To the Islands_ , I remain captive to its power.
Revisiting the manuscript of this novel in 1981 an older Stow remarked: 'Nowadays I should hardly dare to tackle such a _King Lear_ –like theme; but I do not regret having raised the large questions asked here, and so wisely left unanswered.' He pondered that perhaps the novel retained some interest 'because this story of an old man is really about a certain stage in the life of a sort of young man'. Today, the reverberations of Heriot's hurled stone continue long after the covers of this extraordinary novel are closed.
_To the Islands_
My cell 'tis, lady, where instead of masks,
Music, tilts, tourneys and such courtlike shows,
The hollow murmur of the checkless winds
Shall groan again; whilst the unquiet sea
Shakes the whole rock with foamy battery.
There usherless the air comes in and out:
The rheumy vault will force your eyes to weep,
Whilst you behold true desolation.
A rocky barrenness shall pierce your eyes,
Where all at once one reaches where he stands,
With brows the roof, both walls with both his hands.
Marston: _The Malcontent_
Still islands, islands, islands. After leaving Cape
Bougainville we passed at least 500, of every shape,
size, and appearance...Infinitely varied as these
islands are—wild and picturesque, grand sometimes
almost to sublimity—there is about them all an air
of dreariness and gloom. No sign of life appears on
their surface; scarcely even a sea bird hovers on their
shores. They seem abandoned by Nature to complete
and everlasting desolation.
Jefferson Stow: _Voyage of the Forlorn Hope_ , 1865
_To_
SALLY GARE AND BILL JAMISON
_with admiration_
## PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION
_To The Islands_ was first published in 1958, and completed not long after I had passed my twenty-second birthday. Understandably, it contains many faults, due partly to immaturity, but more to the fact that my technical competence was not equal to my ambition, which in retrospect makes me realise how horizons narrow in middle age. In reissuing it in this very slightly abridged version, I am conscious that it still asks for the tolerance which most reviewers were kind enough to show when it was new, on the grounds that its author (who no longer seems to be myself) was too young to know his own limitations. Nowadays I should hardly dare to tackle such a _King Lear_ -like theme; but I do not regret having raised the large questions asked here, and so wisely left unanswered. If the novel retains any interest, other than as an historical-sociological document, it may be because this story of an old man is really about a certain stage in the life of a sort of young man who has always been with us, and always will be.
In the original edition I was consciously making propaganda on behalf of Christian mission-stations for Aborigines, in particular for one Mission on which I had worked for a short time, and which seemed in danger of closing down. Australian writers before me had generally given missions and missionaries a bad press, and in earlier days some had deserved their low opinion. By 1957, however, the year in which the novel is set, it seemed to me that at least one of them was performing a valuable service to the Aboriginal community which it housed and employed, and which, indeed, it could be said to have created. Though the Government contributed largely to the lodging and education of children, medical services and the rations given to 'indigents' (nomads), it could not easily have distributed its charity without the facilities provided by the Church of England and its servants, employed at merely token salaries. It was clear that if the Church felt forced to withdraw its backing from that isolated village, one of only two settlements in a region about the size of Tasmania, the effect on the inhabitants would be disastrous.
For that reason there was in the novel a good deal of talk by the white characters about their difficulties and hopes, and even a very tepid love-interest, introduced not for its own sake but to suggest that at least two Europeans would remain committed to the Mission. Most of those passages have gone now, as the cause was lost long ago. The book did get itself mentioned in the Federal Parliament ('A brilliant story', said _Hansard_ ), but that was in connection with the alleged need for Professors of Australian Literature. Chairs were duly invented for them; and the Mission, in the late 1960s, was abandoned.
Even though I saw for myself the financial problems which confronted the Church of England there, this withdrawal strikes me as astonishingly irresponsible. The Aborigines were removed, willy-nilly, from the 'country' to which they were so deeply attached (as who would not be, for it is stunningly and majestically beautiful), and sent to live near the town of Wyndham. The result was exactly what could have been predicted: drink, prostitution, violence and gaol.
In the early 1970s a combination of white men and Aborigines managed to secure a quite substantial Government grant and went back to the Mission lands. One of those involved was my friend Daniel Evans, who is quoted extensively in Chapter 2, and who was (there seems no harm in revealing) the original of Justin. In 1974 I heard some very painful accounts of this deracinated, replanted community. Alcohol, which was never known there in the Church of England's time, was periodically taking hold of the entire population; there was violence, especially the beating-up of women by men, and the intimidation of strangers; and a visiting film-maker reported having had a conversation, at 10 a.m., with three girls of eleven or twelve who were rolling drunk, and told him about their careers as prostitutes.
I have heard no further reports, and sincerely hope that these were teething-troubles, and that the people have returned to something like their former life-style. Alcohol is certainly a great problem, and one which did not arise in the 1950s, when Aborigines had few if any civil rights and were forbidden to drink. But it need not be a problem forever. In New Mexico and Alaska I have visited Indian and Eskimo communities which were 'dry' by their own choice, and the extreme isolation of the former Mission would make such voluntary prohibition very effective.
The hostility shown by some of those people to white visitors, as reported to me in 1974, may prove a worse problem. In 1957 disagreements and even flaming rows between black and white were not unknown, but it was generally perceived that both races were necessary for the continuation of a community which all wished well. Even the Umbali massacre of 1926, described in Daniel's words in Chapter 2, had had one positive effect on race-relations: the courage and intransigence of 'Djadja' (Father) Gribble, the then Superintendent, had left, it seemed to me, a sharper memory than the atrocities of the murdering policemen. Some of the children rescued then are probably still alive. One wonders what their feelings are now, after having been abandoned by their Church and exiled to a township not noted for enlightened attitudes on racial matters. I fear that the often affectionate relations between black and white which I was lucky enough to see in that place may not be seen there again, at least for a generation or two.
I began my Note to the original edition with the curt statement: 'This is not, by intention, a realistic novel', which has been misinterpreted as a sort of manifesto. In fact, it merely expressed my irritation with the tyranny, in Australia, of social realism. In the 1950s novelists, one gathered, were supposed to concern themselves with Statistically Average Man, and he did not interest me. But in other respects I aimed, as I always have, at the most precise description I could achieve of things I had experienced with my own senses. Except in the choice of subject-matter, I have always been a fanatical realist.
The return to literature of Patrick White, after a long silence, soon made it superfluous to attack social realism in Australia. But this also led to a misapprehension about _To The Islands_ , which many academics (who have rather innocent ideas about the speed with which writers and printers work) took to have been written under the influence of _Voss_. In fact, it was in the publishers' hands before _Voss_ was available in Australia, and had been begun much earlier. Literary influences there certainly were, and the text confesses them—'The Lyke-Wake Dirge', _Everyman_ , _King Lear_ —but they had been assimilated over some years.
Though I covered on foot a great deal of the dramatic country forming the Mission's territory, my work as ration-storeman prevented me from making any very long journey. But I did, in writing of Heriot's travels, consult the accounts of several explorers of the North Kimberley, particularly C. Price Conigrave's book _Walkabout_ (Dent, 1938), and realised that I had, in effect, seen all the landscapes Heriot would have encountered. At the time I was rather haunted by a passage written by a sea-explorer of that region, a brother of my great-grandfather's; and as it was much in my mind, I have added it to this edition as an epigraph.
Daniel Evans told me much about the language and mythology of his people, and on both subjects I received further enlightenment from the work, published and unpublished, of the linguist Dr A. Capell. His manuscript notes on the language were of great assistance in my dealings, as ration-storeman, with the nomadic Aborigines. I later became, for a short time, a student of his at the University of Sydney.
The lines by Gerard Manley Hopkins on page 25 are reprinted from his _Poems_ by kind permission of the Oxford University Press.
## 1
A child dragged a stick along the corrugated-iron wall of a hut, and Heriot woke. His eyes, not yet broken to the light, rested on the mud-brick beside his bed, drifted slowly upwards to the grass-thatched roof. From a rafter an organ-grinder lizard peered sidelong over its pulsing throat.
Oppressed by its thatch, the hot square room had a mustiness of the tropics. On the shelves of the rough bookcase Heriot's learning was mouldering away, in Oxford Books of this and that, and old-fashioned dictionaries, all showing more or less the visitations of insects and mildew.
Collecting himself from sleep, returning to his life, he said to the lizard: 'The sixty-seventh year of my age. _Rien n'égale en longueur les boiteuses journees_ —'
Outside, the crows had begun their restless crying over the settlement, tearing at his nerves. The women were coming up to the kitchen. He could hear their laughing, their rich beautiful voices. Already the heat was pressing down on him, the sheet under him clung to the skin of his back, and it not yet six o'clock and a long day.
'When shall I be cool?' demanded Heriot of the lizard. 'Soon the weather must change, the Wet is over, an old man can begin to live again.' He tore aside further his sagging mosquito net, and the lizard took fright, dropped down, scurried to the doorway and froze there, waving a frantic paw.
Heriot sat up and lowered his feet to the floor, slow in all his movements under the weight of his years and tiredness. Walking to the shower, his feet brushed the ground, his head was bent and his eyes lowered from the wounding light. Yet he was a tall man, stooping there under the overhanging thatch, a big man with his wild white hair, his face carved and calm. The lizards scattered from his path, the crows cried. Under running water, coursing the furrows of his face, a little of his weariness was washed away.
Deep in fading grass the country stretched away from the hut, between the rocky ridge and the far blue ranges, dotted with white gums, yellow flowering green-trees, baobabs still clinging to their foliage. And from the grass, which harboured also goats, creepers and all rustling reptiles, rose the Mission, the ramshackle hamlet of huts and houses, iron and mud-brick and thatch, quiet below the quiet sky.
So still, so still in the early heat. Standing at the door of the shower, pulling on his shirt, he watched Mabel walking through the grass, Djimbulangari slowly following. They moved as he did, loosely and tiredly, two old women with their hair tied in kerchiefs, their dresses hanging straight on their thin bodies. Looking at Mabel he thought that he had never seen her in any clothes but these, the dirty coloured skirt sewn to a flourbag bodice on which the mill brand was still bright green and legible. Picking their way like cranes through the grass, talking occasionally, not looking at one another. Old, dried-out women, useless and unwanted.
The guitar began behind one of the huts, plunk, plunk, plunk, while he was shaving, and he accompanied it with his mumbled singing:
'There was a little nigger
And he couldn't grow no bigger
So they put him in a Wild West show—'
The boy Arthur passed outside, straight and springy, absurd in the vanity of his youth. Sitting in the dust beneath a baobab an ancient man, Garang, with grass caught in his long and filthy hair, watched him expressionlessly.
'You know, Garang,' Heriot reflected, 'and I know, how short a time this game can be played. Soon no girls will look when he goes past, soon the girls themselves will be black and dry as Djediben. Blessed,' said Heriot to his face in the shaving mirror, 'are the arrogant, for they have the gift of innocence.'
He smiled at himself in the mirror. But it was wrong, the muscles of his face were stiff, and the twist of his mouth was no smile. How long, thought Heriot, covering his mistake with lather, it must be since I have laughed.
And the mirror was broken, the wooden shutter of the window broken. Broken, broken. He saw himself as a great red cliff, rising from the rocks of his own ruin. I am an old man, an old man. _J'ai plus de souvenirs que si j'avais mille ans_. And this cursed Baudelaire whining in his head like a mosquito, preaching despair. How does a man grow old who has made no investment in the future, without wife or child, without refuge for his heart beyond the work that becomes too much for him?
Because his despair grew on the cracked face in the cracked glass he turned away and finished dressing. And hurried then—because it was six o'clock and Harris was coming out to ring the rising bell—to the office to tune in the wireless to the morning schedule.
'...Listen to medical calls,' said the voice, and the bell rang, clamorous and prolonged, under the baobab outside.
Then the early-morning static, and a woman's voice, far away and unintelligible. Heriot, seated beside the set with a pad in front of him, sketched a crumbling cliff with the profile of the Sphinx.
'...Lie up a few more days,' said the voice. 'Get him to take it easy. And keep in touch, let's know how he's getting on. All right?'
'Righto, thanks, Tom,' said the woman in the static.
'That's the lot,' said the voice. 'I'll read the traffic list. I have traffic on hand for—' But the static caught him as he read the call signs. Heriot, twiddling with the controls, listened for Don L, but there was nothing. Only further away, through worse static, another voice began: 'D J, D J, D J, good morning, Tom.'
'Nothing,' Heriot said. 'Nothing.' He crumpled the paper with the drawing in his fist and threw it away, and turned off the wireless, and sat there for a moment, his chin in his hands. Then his eyes fell on the mailbag inside the door, reminding him that in the night, while he had lain quiet in a sleep of sedatives, the boat had come back with communications from the other world.
Kneeling by the bag he ran his old hands, darkly blotched on the backs, steadily through the pile of letters, searching for the envelope with his typewritten name, his freedom. But when he found it and had torn it open and read the short message, every part of him went suddenly still, his mouth was still, only the room and the crows and the late, pestering mosquitoes seemed to echo: 'Nothing.'
Before Bob Gunn's path a snake whisked its black length into the grass.
' _Ali!_ ' shouted the children outside the church. ' _Ali, lu!_ Brother bin see _wala!_ '
'Go away,' Gunn told them as they gathered round him. ' _Bui!_ '
' _Ali!_ ' cried the girls, seized with laughter. 'He say _bui!_ Brother talk language.'
'You look out,' Gunn said. 'Might be cheeky feller, that one.' But they were all round the grass, and the snake somewhere in the middle. He poked cautiously in the thick growth between himself and the bare brown feet of the girls poised for flight at the edge.
Ruth had a stone in her hand, Amazonian, her big white teeth showing. ' _Ali!_ ' she shouted, 'there, look.' The line of girls dispersed, screaming, as she threw the rock. For a moment the shining snake appeared, then vanished with a flick into the freedom of the denser grass.
'He take off, all right,' Ruth said. 'He no monkey, that one.' And the girls, always ready to laugh, giggled and cried: ' _Ali!_ ' around and behind her.
'Well, we lost him,' Gunn said. ' _Mire badi_ , never mind.' He abandoned his stick and walked away, while behind him they screamed to one another: 'He say _mire badi_! Brother talk language.'
Behind the church, in his cassock, smoking a last cigarette before the service, Father Way gazed absently at the new sun overhanging the distant blue hills. He looked round as Gunn came up. 'One thing you have to give this country, it's colourful. Look at those hills, like a bad watercolour.'
'The trees are greener up here, too,' Gunn said. 'Leaf-green. Trees down south are going to look pretty drab after this.'
'And the cliff—see that.' Together they looked at the high cliff across the river and found it burning red with the morning light, rising above the bright green of gums and mangroves and baobabs on its banks. 'Now, and at sunset,' Way said, 'you can see that for miles.'
Gunn had rolled a cigarette and was squatting on one heel. 'Just missed a black snake,' he said. 'The girls scared it. They like their _twala_ hunts.'
'We've got everything,' Way said. 'Everything you could possibly wish elsewhere.'
'These crows—twice as big and loud as any civilized crow.'
'And the damn cockatoos. They tore up my peanuts and ate them. I thought I was going to do something for the agriculture of the Kimberleys.'
Gunn said, looking across at the cliff: 'By the time this country's ready for agriculture the rest of the world will have blown away in fine dust.'
'Things are working out,' Way said, 'I think. There are plans for opening up more country, running some more cattle. Not,' he admitted, 'that I'm any less concerned, but I'm more optimistic. Once Heriot's affairs are fixed up and the new man comes we won't feel so uncertain about everything.'
'Did the council find a new man?'
'They said in their last letter they had two candidates.'
'The mail came last night. Mr Heriot probably knows by now.'
'It'll be a relief,' Way said. 'To him as much as to anyone. He's too old.'
'Harry's older.'
'But more stable. Less to worry about.'
Picking at the grass, Gunn said slowly: 'I wonder whether, when he's dead, people won't think again about Mr Heriot.'
'I'm a charitable sort of bloke,' Way said with a faint smile, 'as a clergyman. I'll just say I prefer people who have a certain warmth about them. Especially on missions.'
'He's one of the old school, though. It was tough for them, they didn't have time for warmth. And he has achieved something, you can't take that from him. I don't see how we can sit in judgement on him, now, when it's so much easier.'
Way said dryly: 'You're young, Bob, you make me ashamed of being so old and inflexible. But I stick to this: a man who goes round spreading civilization with a stock-whip gets no admiration from me.'
Gunn, staring at the ground, pulled out his tin to roll another cigarette.
'No time for that,' Way said. 'I'm two minutes late already. My wife has a trying time waiting at the organ with the girls whispering, " _Ali_ , Mana wipe her nose, Mana scratch her neck," all round the church.'
'I'd better take off,' Gunn said. He got up and walked round by the grass half-walls to the open front of the iron church where the men stood waiting under a baobab.
Murmuring: 'Good day, brother.'
' _Nandaba grambun, abula?_ '
'You talk language, brother?'
' _Jau_ ,' Gunn said. 'Little bit.'
'Good day, _abula_.'
Good day, Michael; good day, Justin; good day, Edgar; good day, Richard; good day to all my brethren.
Kneeling on the ant-bed floor, rock-hard under her knees even through the thin hassock, Helen Bond watched Heriot at his rigid prayers near the front of the church.
Thinking: What does he say, morning after morning, kneeling up so straightly? How does he go on, with always the same day ahead? Is it the prayer itself that gives him strength?
He had raised his head now, his neck was darkly burned below the white hair. His mind is somewhere else, Helen thought. What does he think about, what has he been thinking to himself for all these years and years?
From a rafter above his head a lizard dropped to the floor, stood in the aisle waving one forepaw. She, watching it, became aware of a sort of rustle of attention among the people, and found that they too were watching, with the amusement and the tenderness they kept for the eccentricities of wild life. But Heriot had not noticed, his eyes were fixed on a distant tree showing over the half-wall of the church, and his body still had that tensity of concentration that belonged to his prayers, so that she felt suddenly ashamed that she could be so easily distracted, and covered her eyes with her hands. But could think of no prayer, having already said everything that seemed necessary.
Afterwards, standing outside with Gunn, she watched Heriot walk stiffly back to his office, and said: 'I don't know what's the matter with him. He let me examine him, and he seemed to be in wonderful condition for a man of his age. Yet sometimes he seems too tired even to say "Good morning".'
'Terry thinks he's going troppo.'
'Troppo?'
'It's not in the _Nurse's Encyclopedia._ Means going queer from being too long in the tropics.—Do you remember, in the war, the cartoons about going troppo and drinking jungle juice?'
At the end of the road, where the trees met, 'There's Djediben in her new dress,' said Helen. 'She looks ready for a garden party.'
Gunn laughed. 'Gosh, what a figure. She could be sixteen.' They watched the slim, middle-aged woman advance down the road in her almost fashionable dress. Her body with its long lines had the grace of a girl's, she walked delicately on her gross bare feet.
' _Ali!_ real pretty fellow now,' Helen called to her.
The small black face split open with a screech of laughter. 'You pretty fella, sister, yeah, you.'
'No, you, Djediben.'
' _Ali_ , sister!' screeched Djediben, convulsed with laughter, and came and embraced her with thin black arms, touching gently with her palms Helen's breasts and shoulders, circling her waist with a spider arm. 'Sister,' she sighed lovingly, hiding her face against Helen's neck.
'You old smoodger,' Helen said.
Gunn asked: 'Where's Dambena, Djediben? Still camping in the bush?'
'Eh, Nambal—that way.'
'He likes the bush, eh?'
' _Jau_ , 'im like 'im budj.'
'You'd better go and see him. He'll be getting off with another old woman pretty soon.'
' _Jau_ ,' screamed Djediben, ''nother old woman. Brother.'
As she stifled her amusement against Helen's neck a wad of chewed tobacco dropped from behind her ear and fell in the dust. With a wail she fell on her knees to search for it and having found it sat crouched in grief over her thin hand. ' _Worai, worai_ ,' she lamented, rocking slowly with desolation. ' _Mundju_ all binidj!'
'It's only dusty,' Helen said consolingly over the keening, 'and this is ration day, you'll get more this afternoon.'
'Aaaah,' crooned Djediben.
' _Mire badi_ ,' Gunn said. 'Never mind.'
Suddenly, as if a tap had been turned off, all lamentation ceased. The woman got to her feet, put the tobacco in her mouth, and walked silently away.
'Funny old thing,' Helen said. 'So many moods in one little woman. It's a wonder she didn't stay. She must have known if she kept wailing long enough I'd give her a cigarette to chew.'
'Eldritch is the only word for Djediben.'
'That sounds a bit sinister.'
'She is, I think. Intelligent and inscrutable. Lots of dark depths under the smooth manner.'
'She's Rex's mother. You know, the famous Rex.'
'Rex's mother?' Gunn asked sharply. 'I didn't know that.'
'I found it in an old file. It might explain some things about Rex.'
Looking along the baobab avenue to where, in the shade-stippled dust, Djediben had sat herself down, Gunn said slowly: 'I'm feeling a bit worried.'
'About what?'
'Rex.'
'What has he done now?'
'He's come back.'
Helen turned her head and stared, so that the light, falling through the leaves, filled her eyes and the clear, honey-coloured depths of them. 'Here?'
'Here.'
'But how?'
'Well, Stephen was coming back, that was all arranged, and somehow Rex got hold of him and persuaded him to introduce him to Terry. And of course Terry didn't know anything about Rex, and finished up by bringing him back in the boat last night.'
'Oh, Lord. What will Mr Heriot do?'
'I can't think. But he can't blame Terry—I mean, it was his first trip, and he says no one told him about picking up stray passengers. It was just his lousy luck that it had to be Rex.'
'But I can't understand why Rex should want to come back, not after everything that happened before. He knows what Mr Heriot thinks of him.'
'I think it's just that he scores off the white man by being here at all. Especially off Terry.'
'Poor Terry,' Helen murmured.
There was a kind of amusement in her voice, not for the first time when speaking to Gunn of Dixon. Oddly, Gunn found himself resenting it, on behalf of the older man, whose simplicity made him feel fraternal.
Behind her the altar cross and candlesticks glinted in the shadowy sanctuary. She was pretty; but at times so intensely serious that he found himself withdrawing a little. He could guess that she had been used to success, her schooldays probably a litter of trophies, so that her one failure, as a medical student, had hit her hard. And now, as a mission nurse on a salary of sixty pounds a year, she was determined not to fail again. She was perhaps a fanatic of sorts, like a nun.
'You're looking tired,' she said.
'I was up in the middle of the night,' he said, 'to meet the boat and unload.'
'You have a hand in everything,' she said. 'There's no need for you to do so much work, all you need do is run the school.'
'How can you not get involved?' he said. 'It grows on you.'
Sent there by the Education Department, to stay a year or two, he had never intended to be involved. But the country had taken him in. There was first of all the easy affection of the children, brought up to expect from an adult nothing else but affection. And from them his feeling had extended to their parents and older siblings, the bush nomads, the rock and waters of the land itself. The phrase ' _gre ngaianangga_ , my country', so often in their mouths, would keep recurring to his mind.
At times he chafed at his life there, the goldfish-bowl existence of a white man. It would be good, he thought on empty nights, to get drunk with a friend like Terry Dixon, to flirt, or something more, with a girl like Helen. But there was around them that fence of vocation. And he was being drawn within it. The country and Heriot, between them, were taking possession of him like a colony.
Her hair would be soft to touch. He would have liked to cup his hands around her face.
One night he dreamed that Heriot was making magic on him. And he woke rebelling. I'm too young, he was telling Heriot. I want to fool around, live the life that Terry has given up, away from blackboards and from church.
At the camp the barking of many dogs commented on some arrival or departure. A child shouted at the far end of the village. He looked at the white goats deep in pasture, beyond them the encircling blue of the hills.
'Look at Djediben,' Helen remarked. 'Asleep again.'
He pushed himself off the tree and stretched. 'I could join her, too,' through a yawn.
'Don't go to sleep near Djediben. She murdered her second husband, or helped her third husband to do it.'
'Helped Dambena?' he asked, startled.
'Dambena's the fifth, Mabel says.'
'Gosh, what a woman. No wonder Rex is no good.'
'Yes,' she said, her voice far away, 'Rex. What now, I wonder.'
'We'll find out.'
'I must go and see if Mr Heriot has any letters for me.'
'Don't tell him,' Gunn said quickly, 'if he doesn't know.'
She smiled and said: 'I no monkey, brother,' and walked away through the track in the grass, through Heriot's gate, along the path bordered with pink and white vincas. She wore sandals and her legs were tanned; her dark hair was cut short around her neck because of the heat. The watch on her wrist caught the sun and flashed it back to him in time to the swing of her bare arms.
Standing in the shadow of the baobab, feeling the bark with his thumbs, he thought: Why am I always watching them, Helen, Heriot? And where is this point of peace around which I should have my orbit?
At his desk, behind piles of letters, Heriot sat staring at nothing with a blue, veined eye. A cigarette burned away between his stained fingers, his mouth was set in a line that somehow accentuated the unexpected sensitivity of his lips. So far away he seemed that Helen, standing in the doorway shadowed by tall poinciana trees, considered leaving and returning later when he too should have returned to the house of his vacated body.
But his mind came home again, slowly, first noting the filtered sunlight suspending dust above the floor, then her feet, then quickly her face. When he looked into the light his eyes were very old, faded and blue. 'Helen,' he said, slowly. 'I was many miles away.'
'I know, I hated to disturb you.'
'You needn't have. I wanted to be woken.'
'I came,' she said, opposite him at the desk, 'to see if there was any mail for me. Also to ask if you'd slept well.'
He pushed some letters towards her and said: 'Yes, very well. That stuff is good.'
'I hoped it would be. Try it for a week or two, you'll probably feel much better.'
'Why, I'm not sick, am I?'
'No, very well—for your age. But sleep—'
'It is a blessed thing.'
'And no more dreams?'
'Nothing.'
'I'm glad,' she said. 'No need to worry.'
'It's you who worry, Helen.'
'And soon,' she said, 'you'll be free, at last.'
'No,' he said, 'not free, not yet,' looking blindly past her through the door. 'Not as easily as that.'
'How—?'
'Do I know?' he asked, slapping on the desk with his broad palm. 'From this, this effusion from the council. They regret to say they've interviewed the two applicants and found them impossible. One confesses openly he's agnostic, and the other, even worse, isn't one of us at all, he's a lapsed Methodist.'
'Oh, really,' she said, 'that smug little bunch of clerics and do-gooders by proxy—'
But he regretted already having let her see his discontent, and said nothing, only glanced at her with his bitter blue eyes from the depths of silence.
'After so many years,' she said, 'to treat your resignation so lightly—'
'Certainly not lightly. They're treating it very seriously indeed.'
'And aren't you,' she asked boldly, 'aren't you disappointed?'
'Of course. But not,' he said with a faint twist of the lips, 'scandalized.'
She smiled then, catching his eyes, and standing there in front of his table with her letters in her hand, looked suddenly much younger, like a strong-minded schoolgirl. 'You make me sound very bumptious sometimes.'
'I enjoy it. It's unusual.'
A bell rang.
'Breakfast,' he said. 'Young Gunn looks tired.'
'So I told him. He met the boat last night.'
'He's younger than you, isn't he?'
He was stone and iron, she thought, impassive, accustomed through decades to deal with wooings, marriages, disputes. There was nothing which did not concern him, no situation on which he might not be called from his remoteness to arbitrate.
'He's twenty-two,' she said, smiling stiffly. 'I'm twenty-four. And we scarcely know each other.'
'Oh, I wasn't suggesting—'
'I'm sorry then if I—'
Watching the colour deepen under her tanned skin he smiled with genuine amusement, showing the crude, ill-fitting teeth some wandering dentist years ago had made him. 'How suspicious you are, Sister Bond. Do I look like a matchmaker?'
'Anything but that.'
'Too sour, do you think?'
'Too rocklike,' she said, slightly uneasy.
'Like a crumbling cliff?'
'No, not crumbling. A foundation. Or monument. Or something. You're making me feel very bumptious now.'
'Someday I must go,' Heriot said quietly. 'When I do, I like to know—have some faint idea—what will happen after. And who will do it. And all this wretched morning my head's been full of poetry.'
A hen, half-bald, mounted the steps to the doorway, peered in and fled. The flurry of its going merged with the crying crows, the weak and unreal invasion of sound on the earth's essential silence.
'Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy—'
His voice, husky but not old, proceeded towards the still light which his eyes so intently watched; his hands, moving, burned suddenly in a pool of sun.
No, I won't, she thought, won't be his puppet, won't let him force me into his service. 'Bob Gunn doesn't belong to the mission.'
'He might be persuaded.'
'No, I don't think he would.'
'He seems a good young man. I don't know, it's hard to tell.'
'He wants to go home at the end of the year.'
'Home? What is home?'
'I don't know,' she said, strangely tried. 'I really don't know.'
The silence folded itself once more around her words.
'Am I,' he asked after a time, 'keeping you from your breakfast?'
'Perhaps I should be there. Yes.' She turned to the door and stopped, looking down from the step. 'Oh, here's someone waiting. I think I've forgotten his name.'
But though she smiled at him, the dark man outside said nothing. He waited until she had gone, through the patterned shade of poincianas and between the vincas, towards the kitchen. He thought she was pretty and strong and unhappy. Then softly he mounted to the doorway and stood there, with deference, in a patch of sunlight.
The eyes of Heriot, fixed on the floor, took in vaguely the broad black dusty feet. Then mounted to the face.
The eyes of the young man, fixed on Heriot's hand, saw it suddenly tense.
'Stephen,' said Heriot.
'Yes, brother. I come back to my country.'
## 2
In the eyes of Heriot the young man melted and disappeared and formed again as a bare child, a child with almond eyes and a small hawk nose betraying the distant legacy of an Afghan trader in the blood. But the child was a girl child, so slight, so perfectly formed. There had been a beauty there which hit his heart, now, when it was gone, with a blow of reverberating grief, calling his memory back to that worst bereavement and most bitter defeat which all that morning had been feeding his despair. 'Stephen,' he said again. 'Of course.'
'You know I was coming, brother?'
'Yes, yes, I knew. I'd forgotten. I've been sick, a little bit. You came last night.'
'With Brother Terry, brother.'
'Where are you living?'
'With Ella. She my cousin, brother.'
'Well, you'll have to work and give Ella and Justin some money to feed you. And behave yourself this time,' Heriot said wearily.
'Yes, brother.'
'It's no use saying: "Yes, brother." I've heard that before, too often. You were one I thought I could believe.'
Stephen, in his pool of gold, shifted his feet and searched with his eyes for some place in the room not accusing, not discomfiting. 'Yes, brother.' His voice was low and very calm, beautiful in its accent.
'Why did you do that, Stephen?'
The young man shook his head.
'Why steal when you had a job? You were making more money than your people here have ever seen. Who taught you to be so much of a fool?'
'I don't know, brother.'
'Well, you've finished with gaol now, you won't go back, if you're wise.'
'No.'
'I won't say anything more. But it was a great—a great sorrow to me, to hear what you'd done. Your father was my good friend, my brother. He would have been very much ashamed.'
At this reference to the dead, Stephen moved uneasily. 'Yes, brother.'
'And when he was dead I was your father, and that—that little girl's. I was ashamed. I was ashamed,' Heriot said loudly, staring with his veined eyes. 'And for that little girl, Stephen. Have you forgotten her?'
'No, brother,' Stephen murmured, husky-voiced, tense, wishing to fly finally from this accusing and terrifying old man with his constant talk of the dead. 'Brother, I go now?'
'Yes, go. Have Ella and Justin given you breakfast?'
'Yes, brother.'
'You'll be at the work parade, I'll see you there. No, wait, walk with me to Father Way's house; I haven't eaten yet.' Rising from his chair he appeared larger, broader, wilder-haired than before to Stephen, standing nervously in the doorway. 'You both went everywhere with me once,' Heriot said, coming beside him.
'Yes, brother.'
'You grew up too quickly, Stephen. Do you know how old you are?'
'No, brother.'
'Twenty-two. I remember when you were born. I was your godfather. And the little girl's. And my wife was your godmother. She thought you were handsomer than any baby she'd seen.'
'Yes, brother?'
'But she died soon, she didn't see the little girl.'
They were walking down the road, in the shadow of baobabs, both silent-footed on the soft dust. The village was still, only blue smoke moved now and then upwards from behind mud-brick houses and into the sky, the huge sky.
'Brother,' Stephen said, 'that little girl, she—'
'She's dead. I know. I won't talk about her any more.'
Leaning against a tree farther down the road a man, a black man in a scarlet shirt, waited. 'Does he want you or me?' Heriot asked.
'He want me, brother.'
Uneasy, Heriot thought, always uneasy. What is he afraid of now, why is he always afraid? 'Who is it? Justin?'
'No, brother.'
'Well?'
'That—Rex, brother.'
They had stopped, were standing looking towards the long-legged man down the road, Heriot so still that Stephen grew desperate, would have liked never to have taken the brown tide home to his country where Heriot was. 'Brother—' he said.
Heriot turned on him savagely and seized his arms. 'Who brought him here?'
'Brother Terry—'
'Who told Brother Terry he belonged here? You did. Didn't you?'
'Brother, I—'
'Who did you steal for?'
'I di'n't steal for nobody.'
'Oh yes you did,' Heriot said quietly. 'Rex told you. Didn't he, Stephen? Rex is your _djuari_ , isn't he? Your devil-devil, you do what he tells you.'
With Heriot's veined eyes boring into his, Heriot's thumbs boring into his flesh, the dark man weakened, dropped his calm, and became a frightened boy, begging: 'Brother—'
'You ought never to have seen him again, you ought to have hated him for what he did to Esther. Oh, I'm not afraid to say her name, I'll say it again, Esther, Esther, Esther, and hope her spirit comes back to curse you for a bad brother. Rex killed Esther, you know that.'
'No, no, brother—'
'He killed her. In spite of everything I could do. And God knows I tried hard enough to stop it, tried to send him away, tried to talk her into sense. But there wasn't anything I could do, was there?' demanded Heriot, suddenly pleading. 'Not when she was pregnant. I couldn't stop it then. And he took her away, and she died. From neglect and hunger and his beatings. I know that, I know it from a white man. And yet you, Stephen, her own brother, you do what he tells you, you follow him round—'
'He my brother,' Stephen protested shakily.
'The man who killed your sister. And will ruin you yet. I hear more than you think, Stephen. I've heard Rex talking about the wicked white man and the smart black man, and how to talk to the white man and how to get money from him without working. But Rex isn't clever enough for that, and nor are you. You'll end up in a filthy camp, like Rex, like Esther. Stephen,' said Heriot, with grief in his voice, 'don't forget Esther.'
Down the road the tall man came forward from the tree and stood watching them, trying to hear some words of the dispute which was indubitably about himself.
'Brother, I go now,' Stephen murmured.
'Yes, go,' Heriot said remotely. 'I'll talk to Rex.'
He stepped forward down the road to the bright-shirted man. The sun stung his eyes bitterly, but he no longer felt old, only angry and grieved, and very strong. The man's face, looking towards him, was bearded, and both beard and hair had been trimmed with moderate care. As he was tall and had features fairly fine for one of his race, and as there was arrogance in every line of his lean body, Heriot could see with his dazed eyes something of the force in him that had captured the dead Esther. _Ai lewa, walwal_ , Heriot whispered; dog, foul man.
Rex said quietly: 'Good day, brother.'
'You've come back,' Heriot said, turning away from the sun and fixing his eyes on the man's.
'Yes, brother.'
'The boat will probably go in again on Sunday night. You'll go with it.'
'I bin told I come here, brother.'
'Who told you?'
'Mr Henryson say if you don't tell me I can come after them letters I write, I better go down and ask the white man on the boat when he come next time. And Brother Terry, he say all right.'
Heriot said with contempt: 'I know you get your reputation among your people from pretending to find all the white men at one another's throats. But you're not clever enough to make mischief between the Department of Native Welfare and Brother Terry and me.'
'One time Harry and Maudie come here and you send them away, brother, and that Department Native Welfare, he real wild.'
'Listen,' Heriot said, 'Mr Henryson is my friend. He knows me. He doesn't know you. But I know you. I know you're a troublemaker and a woman-stealer and a lazy, lying blackguard. When you go back I'll write to him and ask him to keep an eye on you, for your people's sake.'
'Might be I make trouble now. All this people here, they my friends, they don't like you send me away.'
'Not many of them, Rex. Why did you come, anyway?'
'This my country, brother.'
'That's not the reason. You're looking for another wife.'
'Might be, brother.'
'Don't call me brother, you're no brother of mine. You killed my little girl, my daughter. I wish to God,' said Heriot, 'Stephen had killed you.'
The tall man, who had been standing partly stooped, hoping to placate Heriot a little with this attempt at humility, straightened and looked at him uneasily.
'I know,' Heriot said softly, 'that sounds strange from me. But I'm very bitter, I'm very bitter, Rex. And I'd see a thousand of you dead if it could bring back Esther. Yes, Esther! Why shouldn't I say her name? I gave it to her.'
In the sun they looked at one another. The light made brown glints in Rex's beard and in his black hair, laid a polish on his skin. Under lids heavy with trachoma, his always wary eyes watched Heriot darkly.
'You're very well dressed,' Heriot said, looking at the scarlet shirt open over his chest, the loose flannel trousers miraculously supported by his hipless body. 'I advise you to go to a station and concentrate on cutting a fine figure of a man on horseback. This place is too poor to keep men who can keep themselves.'
Rex said tensely: 'Thank you, Mr Heriot.'
'Irony doesn't become you,' Heriot murmured, and turned, and began to walk towards the Ways' house. He felt that if for a moment he lost the consciousness of his rocky dignity he would soften and crumble and become an object of pathos and ridicule, calling laughter from the defiant figure behind him; and therefore he kept his shoulders stiff and his stride long and sure.
But in the Ways' garden, which was a jungle of poincianas, pawpaws, frangipani, bougainvillaea, and white-flowered creepers, haunted all day by minute finches as bright as any flower, he unveiled to himself his awakened grief for Esther, his disappointment in Stephen, his fear of Rex's influence in the village. He remembered his age and his captivity. 'I could lie down like a tired child,' he said to the birds, 'and weep away the life of care—'
He laughed rustily.
'Any,' asked Djediben, 'dea, _abula?_ '
'You've got your tea,' Harris said irritably. 'Go away, now. _Bui!_ '
She whimpered at him. 'No dea. More dea, _abula_.' Holding out to him her well-filled tea bag.
'You're a greedy one, Djediben.'
'Ah, _abula_ ,' she said, grinning hugely with her few tobacco-brown teeth, 'money 'ere, _aru_ 'ere.'
From the dirty kerchief round her neck she produced a St Christopher medal, the gift of a Roman Catholic mission far away.
'That's not money.'
She became angry then, and muttered savagely to herself of the avarice of white men, her fingers meanwhile working at a knot in the corner of the kerchief. It gave at last, and two shillings fell on the concrete floor.
' _Aru!_ ' she shrieked, chasing them, and now happy again. 'I give you, _abula._ '
He took them, hot from her flesh, and weighed out more tea. 'You've got plenty this week,' he said. 'Better give some to the other people.'
'Eh, _nurumal, abula_ ,' she complained, rubbing her stomach. 'Me 'ungry fella.' But he knew she could be generous.
He looked away from her and wiped his sweating forehead on the back of his hand. 'You go now,' he said. 'You've finished, you've got everything.'
'Djob, _abula_.'
'Soap for how many fella?'
She held up her fingers and counted: 'Midjel. Old man Wunda. Old woman Ganmeri.'
'Yourself, Wunda, Ganmeri,' he muttered, wearily counting out the little blocks of soap. 'That's all now.'
'Grimadada, _abula._ You put 'im in blour.'
He wandered across to the bins and brought back a mixture of cream of tartar and bicarbonate of soda, sprinkled it over the flour in her dirty white bag, and asked hopefully: 'Now we've finished?'
' _Abula_ ,' she murmured in her throat, drawing out the last syllable blandishingly.
'Well, go away,' he shouted at her. ' _Bui!_ ' And she, without loss of dignity, gathered her bags and went.
In the tin store the heat was stifling. He leaned sweating against his ant-eaten shelves and breathed deeply, longing for a cigarette but not having time, longing for a shower but having to wait till noon. A man of seventy, lean and dry after twenty years in the country, he longed at times for death, but could not die until someone had been found to replace him.
Across the counter Mabel, tall and regal, watched him. She was as old as he and, when tired, sometimes stumbled carrying firewood on her back to the camp. ' _Abula_ ,' she said gently.
When he looked at her he smiled faintly. Her dignity was striking, and on such days, coming to her after the demanding Djediben, he loved her very dearly.
'Good day, Mabel,' he said, taking the bags from her. 'How's your old man?'
'Ah, 'im good, _abula_.'
He gave her flour, tea, sugar, tobacco, working through the list of the indigents' allowance. Potatoes, onion, a tin of milk, some jam, rice, dried peas, porridge, soap. Outside he could hear the other women coming, two dozen of them about to descend on him _en masse_. 'I'd better be quick,' he said. 'I've got something for you. You like _wana_ , eh?'
'Yeah,' she said.
So he brought her his half-bottle of honey and put it in one of her bags. 'You got matches?' he asked, knowing how much they were prized, how much labour they saved these old women.
'Madja, _abula_ ,' she said, holding out her hand.
He gave her half a box from his pocket, and she, gathering up her bags, smiled in her stately and reserved fashion. 'Dang you, _abula_ ,' she murmured. 'Good day.'
As she went out the crowd gathered at the door, the many old and pathetic, dignified or comic, grateful or parasitical women of his herd, waiting for the weekly rations. Now he would have to run from bin to bin, flat out, in a stream of sweat, for an hour or more in the sweating morning.
He must remember to give them salt to share around, it was the small things that were forgotten on the list. And he would serve the blind woman first.
'Come in, you _ngalis_ ,' he shouted at them. 'I haven't got all day.'
Outside the meathouse, under the wheeling crows, an old stork-legged man was attacking a cow's head with an axe. He hacked uncertainly at the bone below the horns, one foot on the muzzle, while the beast's eyes gazed as placidly as in life towards the old women gathering up its less edible organs from the grass.
'Here, Wandalo,' Heriot said. 'Give me the axe.'
He held out his hand, and Wandalo, ancient and hesitant, gave it to him. Deadening his senses to the thud of the axe, the feeling of bone shattering under it, Heriot opened the head.
'Now you've got him,' he said, standing back and leaning on the axe.
Wandalo pulled back the top of the head. He squatted with the brains in his cupped hands, dripping blood. The old women in the grass shouted to one another that Abula Arriet had clubbed the beast's head and got the meat.
'You 'id 'im dat bulaman longa _bandi_ ,' Djediben remarked conversationally.
'Yes,' Heriot said. 'Strong fella me.'
From the hospital rose, suddenly, the sound of singing, the song wild and high, shouted from a strong throat. The old women sat up and listened, screaming excitedly.
'Old man Galumbu,' said Djediben around her grinning teeth. ''Im djingem now.'
'What's he singing?'
'Ah,' she said, 'Derby djong.'
'About the time he was in the leprosarium?'
'Yeah,' she said, 'Derby djong. All time 'im djingem now.'
'Till he gets tired, eh?'
'Yeah,' she shrieked, ''im tired fella by-'n'-by.'
Slowly the crows circled. In the heat the stench of guts struck Heriot a blow in the stomach. 'I'm tired fella myself,' he said 'I'll go and talk to him. Talk to that old man. And sit down.'
'Ah _abula_ ,' Djediben crooned automatically.
The singing rising and falling tragically in the air, Heriot walked along a narrow path in the grass. Ahead of him a black snake, shining like brand-new pebbled leather, slid across the strip of dirt and disappeared. With each step he took, beads of sweat rolled down the crags of his face and into the damp handkerchief knotted at his throat. 'Tired fella, all right,' he told himself, standing at the gate of the hospital and watching the old man roar his songs from the bed on the veranda. 'Weary, weary fella.'
The old man stopped singing and looked towards him. He had the face of a pleasant child, happy and rather helpless, with his white hair cut by Helen in a fringe, his wide-set eyes staring innocently from below tangled brows. The innocence of the eyes was their emptiness, for he was three-quarters blind, whether from trachoma or from leprosy Heriot no longer remembered.
' _Bungundja?_ ' demanded the ancient child. ' _Gui!_ ' He was mistrustful of the still figure at the gate.
Slowly Heriot advanced to the veranda, watching the milky eyes for recognition. ' _Ngaia_ ,' he said. 'I. Abula Arriet. How are you, old man?'
Galumbu laughed, gently, a child's laugh. 'Good, bodj, yeah. Good now.'
'You always call me "Boss". You worked on a station once, eh?'
'Yeah, wargam dcidjin, bodj.'
'Long time ago?'
'Ah, long dime,' the old man mumbled, his face touched with sadness. 'Binidj now.'
'You're not finished yet. You're good fella, strong.'
The old man lay back with his cheek to the pillow and stared into the light. 'No good. No good now.'
'You're not finished. You'll live a long time with Sister Bond to look after you. Why, I,' said Heriot, with an attempt at humour, 'I'll go to the islands before you, old man.'
Galumbu was silent.
' _Mudumudu_ ,' Heriot translated. ' _Mudumudu-gu ngarambun wanggi ngaia_.'
With a sudden twist of his thin body Galumbu hid his face in the pillow and lay still.
Oh, that I am such a fool, cried Heriot inwardly, such a fool. To mention death, the islands of the dead, here, to him. Oh God, let him not die now, let me not have killed him.
'I was joking,' he protested, ' _jagun ngaram, maoba._ Joking,' he said, his voice trailing away.
But there was no persuading the white head to turn and look again at the man who spoke of death, and of his own death, with such lightness, defying the spirits to descend on him and send him on his last long journey to the far islands. Galumbu was turned to stone.
Guilty, uncertain, Heriot moved quietly away and went to the dispensary, where Helen, unexpectedly, sat rolling bandages in her brown hands. He watched her for a moment, the hands and the dark head bent over them, and said: 'Helen.'
She looked up inquiringly. 'Hullo.'
'The old man's not well.'
She stood up, absently disposing of the bandages. 'I noticed he'd stopped singing. But he seemed happy a few minutes ago.'
'I upset him, I'm afraid. I talked about dying. Perhaps you could do something with him.'
Because he seemed uneasy, even a little ashamed of the effect his joke had had on Galumbu, she was sorry for him, and glad to be, since all that morning his lofty cross-examination on the subject of Gunn had rankled, and sitting there with her bandages and with nothing to occupy her mind but Heriot she had felt herself growing steadily more resentful. So she said: 'I'll go and speak to him.'
He sat down on the chair when she had gone out, picked up a bandage and idly began to roll it, feeling useless and old. Most of the men had gone with the tractor to get more stone for the new building; Dixon and Way were superintending the roofing of the finished part, Gunn was in his schoolhouse, Harris in his store. But for Heriot there was nothing to do but wander round his village and wait for the next schedule on the wireless. But tomorrow, he thought, he would go with the tractor, he would gather stones himself, he was strong, his heart was good, there was nothing wrong with him but this tiredness of the mind, this throbbing resentment and desolation. And tonight he would write a letter demanding more staff, two youngish men. He would say it was absurd, the only young man he had was Dixon, and if they were all young the place would still be under-staffed. He would say that he had had enough of being the forgotten man in the forgotten country, he wanted attention and cooperation. He would offer even to withdraw his resignation if only he could have two new men. Then perhaps he would have a chance of getting something done about the cattle. As it was, too much of his time was taken up with paper work, he had no opportunity to think of it. Oh, he'd explain to them, he'd tell this distant council a thing or two.
Helen came back and stood at the doorway, looking brown and cool. 'Galumbu's forgiven and forgotten,' she said. 'A bit of faith curing on my part. He's shaken off his miseries.'
'I'll go back for a moment, then. Thank you, Helen.'
'Thank you for the bandage,' she said lightly, taking it from him.
'Have you—I wonder if you could lend me a cigarette? I've left my tobacco, I've nothing to give the old man.'
She pulled a packet from the pocket in her skirt and gave it to him.
Outside on the veranda Galumbu was sitting up in his bed again, and watched without expression as Heriot dimly approached, and sat down on his bed, and lit a cigarette. His cloudy eyes watched the smoke drift from the white man's lips into the sunlight.
'You want a smoke?' Heriot asked tentatively.
'Djmog? Yeah.'
Heriot lit a cigarette and pushed it between the open lips, and the old man, staring at nothing, his crooked hands on his chest, slowly puffed. Meanwhile Heriot watched the old women, across the grass at the meathouse, and thought of misery and hopelessness, of the wretched tribe of indigents. But it is their choice, their own choice...
He became conscious of the smell of burning and turned back to look at Galumbu. The old man had not moved, still lay gazing into nothingness; but the cigarette had fallen from his mouth on to his hand, and the smell was the smell of burning flesh.
'Old man,' said Heriot, very gently, 'I'll give you your smoke.'
He took the cigarette from the crooked hand, long paralysed by leprosy, and held it to Galumbu's lips. The old man took half the cigarette in his mouth and puffed. It grew sodden, and his spittle ran down Heriot's fingers.
'All right, old man,' Heriot said when the dry half of the cigarette was burned. 'Finished now.'
Galumbu, resigning it, requested, 'Bumper, bodj,' and Heriot, after stubbing it, placed the butt in the open mouth. The old man chewed it contentedly.
To himself Heriot murmured: 'You've been a fine man in your day, upright and intelligent, a fine man. And I don't know that we can produce another Galumbu. That's my fear.' Galumbu ruminated, oblivious.
'But to see you now, you and the others—blind or crippled or paralysed with leprosy—thin, covered with sores—flies and trachoma in your eyes. Living with dogs in filthy humpies and refusing anything better—reinfecting yourselves with all the diseases we cure you of...Wretched to be old in your country, old man.'
The old, dark face showed no light of interest.
'I must go,' said Heriot, rising. 'Good day, old man.' He stubbed out his cigarette and put the butt in the old man's mouth. 'Good day, old brother.'
*******
_—Keep me as the apple of thine eye._
_—Hide me under the shadow of thy wing._
The church shuffled, murmured, giggled, muttered deep responses, burst suddenly into singing. The little girls sang high, loud and raucous. The men sang deeply, harmonizing among themselves.
_The Lord Almighty—_
The boys grinned over their shoulders at their girls, their fathers.
_—grant us a quiet night, and a perfect end._
*******
Gunn was sitting reading in his house when a knock came on the door. He shouted: 'Come in,' and a guitar entered, followed by Stephen.
'Ah, you,' Gunn said. 'Whose guitar?'
'Rex, brother.'
Gunn looked away, letting it be clearly seen that he had nothing to say on the subject of Rex. 'So you still play,' he said presently.
'Yes, brother.'
'Learn any new ones—where you were?'
'I know plenty now, brother. I sing you that _Old Wagon_ , eh? Real nice one that.'
Pushing his book away, a trace of resignation in his voice: 'Yes,' said Gunn, 'sing that one.'
'I sit on you bed, brother?'
'Go ahead.'
But once seated on the bed with the guitar across his thigh, Stephen made no movement to play, only fixed his deep and shining eyes on Gunn's and searched for something there with an embarrassing intensity. Gunn looked away again. After a moment he asked casually: 'Glad to be back?'
'Yes, brother.'
Another silence struck.
'Brother—'
'Yes?'
'I don't do that again.'
'Do what?'
'Stealing, brother.'
'You'd be a fool,' Gunn said shortly. He was helpless to deal with this sly child who in the next few days would be doing the rounds of the whites who had once believed in and helped him. He could hear the same words addressed ingratiatingly to each in turn, to Helen, to Harry, to himself, and the same glance, though for Helen it would be more melting. 'I suppose by now you've forgotten all Sister Bond and I taught you?'
'No, brother.'
'Good.'
'Brother—'
'Well?'
'You ask Brother Heriot not to send me away?'
'He won't send you away,' Gunn said. 'How about singing your song?'
The dark head went down then, the dark fingers worked nimbly at the neck of the guitar. After a bar or two Stephen began to sing, mainly to himself, his hill-billy song of some white man's boyhood. He sang well, his voice clear and firm, and he was also an actor able to fill his singing with surprising nostalgia. Watching him now, Gunn remembered seeing him in camp corroborees, dancing lithely into the firelight and out again, always in the most prominent position, always the supplest and most histrionic of the group. He could be a ballet dancer, Gunn thought. All that lovely limelight...
At the end of the song Terry Dixon came and leaned, long, skinny, and red, in the doorway. 'Didn't think it could've been you, Bob,' he said. 'Knew you never went much on that stuff.'
His eyes wandered to the bed and took in Stephen, uneasily watching him.
'You scared of me, Steve?'
'No, brother.'
'Think I'd go crook at you?'
'No, brother.'
'Don't worry, Rex is the man that did me wrong. All forgotten, anyway.'
'Is it?' Gunn asked.
'My part of it. Free pardon from the old tiger because of inexperience.'
'Quiet,' said Gunn. 'Not in front of the child.'
Dixon grinned. 'I've had him. Thinks he knows the lot. Tell the child to go and stand outside his house and sing _All The Cowhands Want to Marry Heriot_ with a big cheerio from a cowhand without any cows.'
'But with pretty heavy hands,' Gunn murmured.
The electric light breathed with the panting engine across the road. Stephen, who had been watching it uncomfortably, stood up with his guitar and said: 'I go now, brother.'
'Stay and sing to Brother Terry, if you like.'
'I better go,' Stephen said, waiting for Dixon to move from the doorway. 'I better look after them little kids for Ella. He my cousins, them little kids.' He was very earnest now, wanting to show Dixon the goodness of his heart, to impress him and receive his forgiveness for having recommended Rex as a passenger on the boat.
'Let the man pass, Terry,' said Gunn.
When Stephen had gone Dixon wandered over to the bed and stretched out, yawning. ''Struth, tired fella. Thought Heriot was going to go lousy at me, but he didn't. Just sat me on his knee and told me to remember it next time.'
'He's not a bad old bloke, if you know him.'
'Not the man I'd pick for my best mate. When's he going?'
'Don't know. Not for a while.'
'Too bad. I tell you what, Bob, they need a younger bloke on this place, someone who knows how to make a spot of money out of it. Cattle's the shot, that's what I keep telling the old man. They worked it before, about twenty years ago. But all he'll say is he's been thinking about it for some time, in a nasty sort of a voice, so I shut up and keep my ideas to myself, the way he wants it.'
Propped on his elbow, staring at the floor, 'I don't know anything about it,' said Gunn. 'But I still don't dislike him as much as you and Father do. Nor does Helen. I don't know about Harry, no one ever knows what Harry thinks.'
'You're going at the end of the year, are you?'
'I think so.'
'Why's that?'
'Just that I never felt I belonged here, on a mission. I'm agnostic, to start with.'
'So was I, when I was your age,' Dixon said.
Gunn smiled faintly behind his supporting hand. 'How old are you, Terry?'
'What would you reckon?'
'Might be twenty-five, might be thirty-five.'
'Thirty-two.'
'What turned you Christian?'
Dixon rolled over on his side and said after a moment: 'That's a rare stinking hair-oil you've got on your pillow.'
'Sorry. Shouldn't ask personal questions.'
'I don't mind telling you,' Dixon said. 'You've seen my sort of bloke around, you know what we're like. Never had much time at school, wander about doing whatever's got a bit of money in it, droving or station work, whatever's going.'
'I know what you mean,' Gunn said.
'Yeah, you would. You can get sick of that by the time you're my age.'
'And that's why you came here?'
'Well, it was like this. One time I was riding up a gully and my horse fell down, broke my leg.'
'Stiff.'
'I was there by myself, just lying there, all night. Getting a bit worried too. So I said: "If I get out of this, I'll never say Jesus Christ again unless I mean it." You know the way you think sometimes. Then I said: "God, if you help me now I'll go to church if I can find one to go to." You know—?'
'Yeah, I know.'
'Well, after a bit I got to sleep and had this dream. I dreamt I went back home again to my mum's place, where we were when we were kids. It was all dark, not a candle in the la-la, as they say. But I went in anyway, and my mum, she's dead, she was standing there in the dark. She said: "Why didn't you bring the kids, Terry?" I said: "Mum, you know I haven't got any kids." She said: "Well, where's the wife, son?" I said: "Mum, I never been married." She said: "Well, what are you doing, what sort of a life are you leading?" I said: "I'm not doing anything, Mum, I haven't got a life." Then I woke up, feeling cold, and the leg yelling at me, and a dingo howling up somewhere, you know how they echo in those gullies. I said: "God, if I get out of this I'll go and do something. I'll work in a leprosarium, if you'll help me."'
Look at me, thought Gunn, listening to this and not feeling smart and cynical. I'm growing up.
'Well, they found me next day and I finished up at Darwin, in hospital. There was two kids from this place there, nice kids; they kept talking about "Mission" all the time.'
'Homesick,' Gunn said.
'Yeah. Well, I kept thinking about it after they went home, and when I got out I came over here and asked the old man if he could use me. Kept me waiting a long time, but in the end he told me to come. So I did. That's the story of it.'
He rolled on to his back and stared at the light bulb. 'I never been sorry. Well, I haven't been here long, have I?'
'I don't think you will be. Won't be sorry, I mean.'
'I like the kids. Some of the blokes are a bit hard to get on with.'
He scratched his head and yawned. A new silence was broken by a knock at the door and a voice calling: 'I come in, _wunong?_ '
Gunn raised his head. 'Come in, Justin.'
Entering suddenly into the light, feeble as it was, Justin blinked and looked down. He was of medium height, broad-shouldered, greying, a man of forty with the quiet dignity belonging to that age among his race. There might be something a little comic about the thin legs running from his loose shorts into his enormous sandshoes, Gunn thought, but nothing to laugh at in his face. From below the broad overhang of his forehead his eyes looked out with a dark shine, observing in silence, making no comment. Homely, thought Gunn, looking at the firm, thick mouth, the broad nose; homely wisdom, and strength, and pride. He said: 'Good evening, Justin.'
'Good evening,' Justin said, in his deep, quiet voice in which there was not humility but a great carefulness, as if he were afraid that by speaking abruptly he would wound the feelings of the young white man. 'Good evening, brother,' to Dixon.
'How's the world, Justin?'
Gunn pushed a chair towards him, and he sat down, stiffly, being strange to chairs, with his hands firmly on his bare knees.
'I thought you might wander in,' Gunn said, ' _wunong_.'
It was their custom to address one another as brother-in-law, since Justin had given Gunn a skin name, a classification in the tribe, which put them in this relationship. And Justin smiled suddenly with his white teeth. 'I didn't talk to you for a long time now, _wunong_ ,' he said.
'I was going to ask you something. What was it? Ah, I know, about murders. What happens when a man murders someone?'
Justin shifted uneasily. 'How do you mean?'
'Where does he go? Does he run away?'
'He goes to other country,' Justin said, 'that way,' pointing north. 'Lost man's country. He stay in that country.'
'And don't they chase him?'
'Might be _babin_ go after him. You know, _babin_ , all-round man, real clever man, he could kill him. Or might be they just leave him there, in lost man's country.'
'You're a cheerful joker, Bob,' Dixon complained from the bed. 'What do you want to ask him about that for?'
'Just interested. He doesn't mind. Do you, _wunong_?'
'No,' Justin said obligingly.
'What have you been doing tonight?'
'I been talking with Brother Heriot. He real sad tonight. He been talking with old man Galumbu about this islands, and that old man nearly crying, _wunong._ This old men, they don't like you talking about that.'
Dixon asked curiously: 'What islands?'
'Oh, islands in the sea. Where spirit goes. Spirit of dead man, you know, _bungama._ '
'Where are they, the islands?'
Justin pointed, reluctantly. 'That way, brother. They don't like you talking about it.'
'So a lost man,' Gunn said, 'might go through lost man's country and finish up at the islands.'
'Might be,' Justin said. 'If he dead.'
A small silence came down, and through it Gunn pushed back with another question. 'Ever seen a ghost, _wunong_?'
'I heard 'em,' Justin said uncomfortably.
'Where?'
'Onmalmeri. Where all the people was murdered.'
'When was that?' Dixon asked.
'Nineteen-nineteen,' said Justin promptly.
'When you were just born?' Gunn probed.
'No, I was young boy then. Just before they cut me, you know, and start me being a man.'
'Must have been about nineteen-twenty-seven or twenty-eight.'
'Might be,' Justin allowed.
'Are you going to tell us the story?'
Justin leaned forward, hands gripping his knees. 'Yes, I tell you,' he said. His voice became even quieter, he was a careful story-teller and took pride not only in his narratives but also in their delivery. He fixed his bright, dark eyes on Gunn and Dixon in turn.
'There was two stockmen,' he said, 'in fact, three white stockmen, at Jauada homestead. There was Mr George and two other stockmen. Mr George, he was boundary rider, he went out every morning to see if the cattle was running okay, went out early in the morning inspecting the cattle.
'When he done all the boundary he was heading toward home then. Then he came upon a billabong, saw two old native girls in the water. He galloped up to them and said to them: "What you doing here?"
'The two old native girls, they just look at him, they was in the water getting _gadja_ , you know, lily-roots. He ask them: "What you doing here on the cattle boundary?"
'He ask the native girls if they got a husband, he ask them in pidgin, like: "Which way you husband?"
'They pointed, telling him, like: "Under the tree, sleeping." They couldn't understand the English.
'He took the two old ladies where the husband was sleeping, and the white stockman ask him: "What you doing in the cattle run?"
'The old man just look at him, and talk in his language that he come getting _gadja._
'Then Mr George, he told him that he shouldn't be round here, so he got off his horse and flogged him with a stockwhip. I think he gave him twenty cuts or thirty, he beat him for a long time. He broke his spears up, he broke the bottle spear, and the shovel spear, he broke the bamboo, broke it half-way up the stick.
'And the old bloke looked at him, he was bleeding with the flogging he had, across his eyes, you know. And he turned around and got the shovel spear, he looked at him, and he threw it at him, you know how you throw a javelin, and Mr George got the spear in his lung.
'He galloped as far as from here to the schoolhouse with the spear stuck in his lung, and he dropped dead. It cut his lung open.
'The old bloke went over, looked in his pocket, got some tobacco and matches, got some bushes and covered the body. Then he left him in there and went away with his two old ladies.'
'Later on these stockmen missed Mr George for supper that night. They camped all that night worrying what had happened to him, and they got up early in the morning, and they found a horse with a saddle not far from the station. They walked over and examined the saddle, found blood here and there all over the saddle, drops of blood on the saddle. Then they mounted on their horse and went out searching for the body.
'They went all around the boundary searching for the stockman. Later on they came upon the billabong. When they looked across some of the distance they saw a mob of crows around the body, picking at the body. And they galloped over to have a look under the leaves.
'Couldn't even believe if it was a blackfellow's body or a white man's, couldn't tell the difference. Only one thing that put the pot away, one leaf. There was a leaf sticking on the body, with blood, you know. All the rest of the body was black, but when they pulled the leaf away, they could tell it was a white man then.
'Straightaway that night they went in with the motor-launch, made a report to the police. Then they got two good policemen, troopers from Albert Creek. Then the troopers got together, finding out who done the murder. Couldn't get the evidence who done it, so they made their way towards Dampier River.
'Then they brought the troopers to where the body was, and they buried the body and went to the station in the town. So they couldn't get the right culprit, the one who done the murder.
'So they started shooting natives from Jauada all the way up to Dampier River. So many hundred at Jauada, women, men, and children. And all along the Gulgudmeri River. At Onmalmeri there was people camping near the river. They shot the old people in the camp and threw them in the water. They got the young people on a chain, they got the men separate, shot the men only. While they was on the chain the policemen told the police boys to make a big bonfire. They threw the bodies in the flame of fire so no one would see what remained of the bodies. They were burned to bits. They took the women on a chain to a separate grave, then the police boys made a big bonfire before the shooting was. When they saw the big flame of fire getting up, then they started shooting the women.
'When they were all shot they threw them in the flame of fire to be burned to bits.
'When they finished at Gulgudmeri River they went all around Dala. They got a mob of prisoners there, Richard was there, he was a little boy then. They got up and brought them to Djimbula—you know, not far from the aerodrome strip there, under the bottle tree. They camped there, ready to send them next morning.
'Then one morning a boy went out from here—it was Michael, you know, he was horse-tailer—and he saw these troopers' camp. They sang out to him. He galloped across, and they told him: "We got more prisoners here. Keep it secret," they told him, "don't let Father Walton know troopers camping here."
'"All right," he told them.
'So he got on his horse, came back into the mission and then reported to Father Walton. Told Walton there was troopers camping down there with a mob of prisoners, native prisoners.
'He ask Michael: "What they going to do to them?" and Michael told Father Walton they were going to get up and shoot them at Gulgudmeri River.
'So Father Walton, and John Gordon, the aboriginal deacon, and Brother Heriot galloped down to the troopers' camp.
'Then Father Walton ask them: "What you going to do with those prisoners?" He knew they were going to shoot them, he told them that they were not going to do that. He told the troopers to set them free, take the right man that murdered the stockman: he was Djodjin, he was in with that mob of prisoners.
'So they brought the native prisoners into the mission compound and freed them, gave them work, and the troopers took the right murderer into the town.
'Then, a good while after, Father Walton dreamed a dream. In his dream he saw the figure of a native getting shot. He was a real holy man, God must have told him to go Onmalmeri way.
'He went up there, told the stockboys that he had a dream that natives got shot. "Up here somewhere," he told them. "I don't know where, but here."
'He had Mr Mason, a detective bloke, he came from Perth, and Thomas, he was police boy. Then they saw the old tracks where the troopers had their camp where they burned the bodies at Onmalmeri. Then they camped at the old camp where the troopers were camping.
'The boy, Thomas Mason, that was what they called him, he said: "There's a big river over here, somewhere on you right," he told them.
'They went over, and: "There's the spot, right there," he told them, "in the rock, right there."
'They couldn't find any remain of the body, it was burned to bits. It was very hard for Father Walton to believe. Then he stooped down and scratched the grave to see if any body bone remained. So he couldn't find any bones—he picked up a teeth, one teeth put the pot away.
'He put it in his pocket, held a burial service, and they left the grave. Then they went to Gulgudmeri River, to the main pool, where they dived into the pool and got some bones. Got the bones, put them in a bag.
'They ask the boy, Thomas Mason, if any more graves. He told them: "You see that bough over there, hanging? That's where the women's grave."
'And so Father Walton picked up more teeth, had the burial service, came back to Onmalmeri Station, camped there, and brought what remained of the bones back to the mission.
'Next day they held the burial service up on the hill there, where the cross is. The bones are in a big box, like this. Then after that they made a report to the headquarters in Perth, and the headquarters told them to come down. Father Walton went to Perth with a couple of boys (Albert, you know Albert, he went to Perth with them). The troopers what were shooting the natives, they was in there in the big court. They paid a heavy penalty then, they done their time or something. And Father Walton came back when the case was over to the mission again.'
Across the road the lighting plant gave a sudden roar, and faded. The light bulb flickered and dimmed, very slowly.
'Nowadays,' Justin murmured, 'now, at Onmalmeri, you can hear ghosts crying in the night, chains, babies crying, troopers' horse, chains jingling.' His eyes glowed in the shadows. 'I didn't believe it, but I went there, mustering cattle for droving to the meatworks, I heard it, too. We was camping at Onmalmeri Station couple of weeks. We were there sleeping, still. It was all silence. You could hear woman rocking her baby to sleep, " _Wawai! Wawai! Wawai!_ " like this, rocking the baby to sleep...'*
_______
* This narrative was taken down verbatim from an account by Daniel Evans of a notorious massacre. Here the names of people concerned and most place names have been altered.
## 3
Dogs barked, crows cried. ' _Bau!_ ' shouted Djediben, stock-still in the path. ' _Gadea brambun_.'
Behind her Helen, carrying liniments and ointments, awaited the evacuation of dogs into the bush for the greater safety of the white woman, the _gadea._ In the morning sun the hills, the trees, the grass glowed with blinding colours. She was aware, in the heat, of the heavy, stagnant odours of the grass and of Djediben.
Shouts came from the camp, and they moved, she and Djediben, through the grass and through the encircling trees into an arena where, outside bough humpies or in the shade of leaves, the old people waited for her, the naked and the blind, with their asking eyes. The sun glistened on dark skin warmly polished like old wood, and the eyes, the many eyes, watched her with liking, but aloofly, since she came as an intruder into their refuge from all the _gadea._ They were the old natives never quite won from the bush, never acclimatized to the huts and the food of the village.
She kneeled beside a naked old man on the ground, said: 'Good day, Nalun,' and accepting his shy grunt as a greeting in return ran her gentle hands over the dusty back. 'Is that sore now? That hurt?'
He told her with nods that it did. 'Rubbem,' he said, grinning.
With the liniment she soothed him, hardly more than a gesture, an apology for her helplessness to cure him. 'Is that good?' she asked, and he nodded, staring straight in front of him. 'You're blind,' she said, with tears unaccountably in her voice, 'blind.' But he, without a movement of the head, still stared, grinning slightly to express his thanks. 'Dear Nalun,' she said, standing.
From outside a humpy Ganmeri called to her: ' _Lala! Lala!_ ' and she went, carrying her bottles. 'Rubbem,' demanded Ganmeri, the old, old woman, dragging her flour-bag dress above her head. 'Ah, good,' as the hands stroked liniment on the black back.
'That's a new sore,' Helen said, pointing to the raw patch on the old woman's thigh. 'More rubbem there.'
She put down the liniment bottle and took some ointment to treat the sore. And as she applied it, talking with the old woman, a pale dingo pup crept around, peering at her, and upset the bottle.
'Ah!' screamed the women as the fluid drained into the ground. 'Ah!' they shouted angrily at the dog.
The little dingo from running aimlessly burst suddenly into heart-cracking flight, its tail down. The men roared and the women screeched with laughter. Terrified by the uproar behind it the dog, twisting past trees, dodging humpies, dived at last, swift as a snake, into the sanctuary of the grass.
On her knees in front of the old woman, hearing the laughter wash in waves round her: It was such a small thing, thought Helen; and they of all people should have the least laughter. But I have less. I would, if it came to it, have less.
Over Heriot's head the men perched on the frame of the new building, assured as monkeys, fixing sheets of iron to the skeleton of the roof. Their quick laconic remarks and directions to one another fell around him like leaves from the barren branches on which they clung, and he, so alone in their company, so small in their eyes from their high seats, went to find Way, where, in the shade of the baobabs, he stood supervising the laying of foundations for the other part of the building.
'They're doing well,' Way said, removing his linen hat and wiping his forehead. 'It won't be long now.'
Heriot stared at the bent brown backs. 'I hope it will be finished before I go. It would be—something.'
'You're a grudging chap,' Way complained lightly. 'It would be a great deal to everyone, I should think. Quite a handsome building, for us.'
'That was what I meant. To leave just as a new building's finished—very satisfying.'
'Your monuments are all around you,' said Way courteously.
Heriot received that with a meagre smile. 'I'm afraid to you my monuments must look pretty shabby. But when I think back to my earliest memories of the place, and when I remember what old Walton told me of the beginnings, then it does seem something great was done, at some time, by someone...But not by me.'
'That's nonsense, surely.'
'No. All my reign has been marking time. Depression, then war—very little ever achieved. And now, with the Government giving more money than we've ever had, we're still poor. Nothing seems to grow but problems.'
'Which, particularly?'
'The people,' Heriot said, with a shrug. 'As they lose simplicity they lose direction. So what are we going to do with them? Who's going to teach them trades, give them confidence in themselves? Drive them out of this inertia they fall into now their pride's grown enough to make them want above everything to have some sort of _competence._ I don't know the answers.'
'We're promised a technical school, some day, somewhere within a few hundred miles.'
'I wish it well,' said Heriot. 'And you. Because you're coming to the most heartbreaking phase in the history of this problem.'
'We'll do our best, I hope.'
'I hope,' echoed Heriot, and looked at Way, that capable midde-aged man, reflectively and approved him. 'You've time, I think, to see enormous changes, perhaps the end of physical misery among them, as the old ones die out in the way we old ones do. But in the end you'll have something else to face—misery of the mind. And that will be hardest, Way. It's come already. You know Stephen.'
'It could be the whole world you're talking about. The same's true everywhere—the same problems. The worst thing, I suppose, so far, is this long cold war in the towns between black and white.'
Watching the long motions of a man on the roof silhouetted brownly against a cloud: 'Oh yes,' said Heriot, 'oh yes. This is my microcosm.'
Never before in their uneasy, sometimes angry association had they been so much at peace with one another as at that moment in the shadow of the baobabs, watching the man's slow movements on the roof, listening to the slower ring of hammers echoing from beneath it. In Heriot's eyes Way had suddenly grown, had become a figure of hope and of foresight, fit, if he should propose himself, to take over the torch, the helm, whatever rhetorical term you liked to apply to it, of the small world so long of Heriot's governing. And Way, for his part, discovered without warning such springs of warmth and depths of seriousness in Heriot that he was left silent for a time with the awe of revelation.
'I'm very glad,' he said, when he saw Heriot did not mean to go on, 'very glad to have heard your ideas on this. Because none of us, you know, have ever had much conversation with you about the place.'
But Heriot had withdrawn again, had no more to say than: 'Well, I'm sorry for that.'
From his lethargy, brought on by peace and the heat of the day and the languid movements of the figure on the roof, he was dragged back by the sight of a man sitting on the ground inside the building and apparently asleep. 'Who's that?' he demanded abruptly.
'Where?' asked Way, too casually.
'There, sitting down.'
'That man? Rex, I think.'
'Why isn't Rex working?'
'I thought you were sending him back at the week-end. So he can't be employed—'
'I told someone, you or Dixon, he was to work this week, and his wages were to go to Gregory to pay for his keep.'
'I can swear,' Way said, flushing a little, 'you didn't tell me.'
'Why do you let him hang around like that, in any case? Didn't you give him something to do?'
'I suggested a job for him, but he refused, and I couldn't see any reason for making an issue of it.'
Now they were facing one another, the craggy face and white mane of Heriot against the smoother head and features of the clergyman, both burning suddenly in mutual defiance. 'I'd have thought it was a matter of common sense. You know someone must be feeding him,' said Heriot acidly.
'Don't you think perhaps you're too much down on Rex?' Way quietly suggested. 'It begins to look a bit like victimization.'
For a second Heriot stared widely at him, then swung away and went quickly to the building, shouting: 'Rex!'
Rex got nonchalantly to his feet and turned to face him. 'What that, brother?'
'Father Way told you you were to work. Why aren't you working?'
'I don't get no pay, brother.'
'Your pay will go to Gregory. Do you expect him to keep you for a week?'
Rex said with sweet reasonableness: 'I give Gregory my big cowboy hat, he don't want money. You ask him, brother.'
Baffled then, knowing that Gregory would support this statement under torture, Heriot's anger broke out in a shout unsteady with mortification and defeat. 'Get up there,' he ordered, pointing absurdly to the watching men on the house-frame, 'quickly, before I have you whipped.'
Across the face of Rex as he turned away, and across the faces of the men, a slow grin flickered. Twenty years ago, or even fifteen, this threat from Brother Heriot might have been dangerous; but the old man was weak now and had changed, or perhaps all white men had changed, at all events the whip was gone, and the old man's almost unheard-of weapons of expulsion and wage-stoppage were powerless against Rex. They watched him, their clever black kinsman, climb with leisurely insolence towards them, and struggled with a mounting laugh.
Absurd, impotent, Heriot turned away. Behind him, Rex settled himself comfortably on the skeleton building and fostered with a gesture the slow laughter rising in the men. Way watched, still beneath his tree. The men at work on the foundations straightened their backs and looked.
'Get on with the work,' Heriot snapped at them.
He met Way's glance fiercely with his aroused eyes. 'Well?' he demanded.
But from Way there was no protest, only in his face regret that the veteran chief of a moment ago should have shrunk so catastrophically into a petulant child. 'Hate is ruinous,' he said sadly.
From the water flagged with lily leaves, lilies flowering among them, birds rose in sudden stages with a clatter of wings. Ibis and white cranes climbed slowly, wild ducks sped low over the water with a confused whistle, and wheeled, and returned, and flew off again. Geese trailed their long cry over the plain, a single black jabiru following.
Before they had gone the children were already in the water, floundering among the lilies, crying to one another of the coolness of it and of its richness in ducks and flowers. The small children danced naked in the shallows with shining skins. The others, in brief pants, some girls in their dresses, dolphined among the lily stems.
Gunn, seated on one arm of a baobab grown after centuries to resemble a clump of gigantic bagpipes, watched them with contentment. In the rays of the low sun the petals of lilies shone almost translucent against the shadowed hill, the far bank with its leaning pandanus. In that light the lily pads and the reeds glowed green as malachite, the water glistened, rock burned redly on the hilltop. Smooth as a fish, her wet hair flattened, a brown child turned in the water with her arms full of flowers.
He had brought a book with him, meaning to read there, to show Helen that he was not letting his brain lie fallow, but he could only sit and look at the children and the water and the flowers, in a mind-draining peace.
On the lying-down tree, behind his back, he heard the whisper of bare feet on bark, but did not turn. Then two wet brown arms holding long-stemmed lilies came round his neck. 'Ah, brother,' a soft seven-year-old voice crooned lovingly.
'That's Jenny,' he said, trying to look at her.
She giggled, the water dripping from her hair on to his neck.
'Pretty flowers,' he said.
'You want one, brother? They good. You try,' she insisted, pushing a fleshy stem between his lips. 'Chew him, brother.'
Since the stem was already in his mouth, making it impossible to refuse, he bit off a piece and chewed it. It was tasteless, or perhaps faintly sour.
'That good?' she asked.
'Yes, good,' he said, with the chewed green strings in his mouth and not knowing what to do with them. He spat them out.
'You want more?' she invited generously, trying to force another stem into his mouth.
'No, no more,' he managed to say, 'thank you.'
'Ah, brother,' she murmured, and slid around his shoulder to sit down in front of him on the tree. They looked at one another with mutual amusement, he taken with her thin limbs and white teeth, she with his sunburned face and lank hair.
A boy crouching under the leaning tree tugged at her hanging leg. ' _Ali!_ ' she cried, with exaggerated alarm. 'That Normie, he pull my leg, brother.'
'Come out, Normie,' Gunn ordered.
The small boy appeared and leaned grinning against the tree. 'I don't hurt her, brother,' he protested. 'Brother, why you don't go swimming?'
'I'll swim another time.'
'There big snake in that water, brother.'
'What, now?'
'Might be. I don't know, brother. Edward, you know Edward, he were after duck one day in the water and that snake, he bite Edward leg, just here, brother. Edward reckon that old snake after them duck too.'
'Wasn't it poisonous?'
'I don't know, brother. But Edward, he come running out of water pretty quick, and he look at his leg, brother, and there that old snake teeth sticking there in Edward leg. Real big teeth, brother.'
'He must be a tough man.'
'Ah, he real tough. He real cowboy, brother.' Normie laughed, leaning against his tree, to think of the heroic toughness of Edward.
Gunn was looking absently towards the far blue hills. 'I'd like to go there,' he said, 'there, past the hills.'
'That cowboy country there, brother.'
'Everything's cowboy country to you, Normie.'
'All hill and rock there. Plenty kangaroo, brother. Only old people go there, not mission people. He real lonely, all that country.'
'I know,' Gunn said meditatively, turning his eyes back to the pool where three girls were chasing a boy through the rafts of leaves and flowers, they screaming, reaching, he laughing over his shoulder and shining with water-beads. 'No sense in being lonely, is there?'
*
Outside the store, sitting or standing in the dust in their usual after-work groups, the men and Dixon looked at one another and laughed.
'Brother,' shouted Stephen, bent in the middle with histrionic amusement, 'I go right over your head, brother!'
'Well, I went right over Gregory's head,' Dixon said, 'and landed on mine.'
Gregory laughed deeply from his fat chest. 'I thought I were going to sit on you, brother. But then I thought I pretty heavy for Brother Terry, and I don't do that then.'
'Good on you, Gregory. I'd be thinner now if you had.'
On the way to collect a load of sand the trailer had become uncoupled from the tractor, catapulting its passengers in a long arc to the ground; and part of their amusement was the thought that if the tractor had been travelling more slowly it might now be decorated with several sets of brains. 'Ah, brother,' said Michael, in a deep burst of laughter, 'you looked funny. You flying down like a duck, brother.'
Matthew, the most serious of them, looked up from tracing designs in the dust. 'Mary's husband, he was working in town and trailer tipped over. Killed him. Reckon Mary would get money, but she didn't get much. Not like white man's wife.'
Dixon moved uneasily. 'That was bad luck.'
'Like they say, brother, one law for white man and one law for black man. You reckon,' on an inquiring inflexion, 'eh, brother?'
Dixon hesitated, unhappy at the question, knowing a flat disagreement would alienate them, agreement only foster their resentments. He muttered: 'I don't know, Matthew. That was a long time ago, was it?'
'Yeah, long time.'
'It wouldn't happen now. That bloke who lost his leg got a lot of money. I forget how much, but a white man wouldn't have got any more.'
Michael said: 'Someday we all be citizens, eh, brother?'
'Yeah, some day you will. You got to work for it.' But I can't preach, he thought, no good me trying to talk to them. Nobody tries to talk to them, nobody tells them the whole thing. That's what Heriot ought to be doing, or Bob, not me, I don't know anything.
'I better go for my tucker,' he said, turning away. 'See you in church, some of you.'
They watched him silently, with expressionless faces, while every word he had said and every opinion he had betrayed was sorted and weighed and stored for the future in the tribal archives, their disoriented and searching minds.
In his office, still but for the continual flutter of moths about the light globe, Heriot sat drafting his letter. He would stay, he said with humility, he would stay, since he seemed to have no choice in the matter. But he must have, he needed, he could not go on without more staff. Please, he said, do not ignore this most serious request, or the people and the place will suffer for it; old men cannot hope to deal with all problems, not in this uneasy time.
As he sat there looking over his letter, his face glowing red-brown in the yellow light or eroded with great shadows, a knock very faintly sounded through the door, and he sighed, recognizing the timidity of a black hand and fearing some crisis in the village. He rose, trod heavily to the door, and opened it. A rough wind was punishing the trees, and a swirl of leaves and dust followed the swing of the door into the room. The light fell on dark, waiting faces.
'Gregory, is it? Michael? Richard? Something wrong?'
Gregory hitched up his shorts, a gesture of nervousness. 'Nothing wrong, brother. We want to talk with you, please.'
'I see. Well, come in,' Heriot invited, standing away from the door. 'Sit down.'
They sat, stiffly, on the chairs in front of his table, and he went, also stiffly, to his own. Eyes questioned across the littered desk.
'Well,' he said, with vitreous geniality, 'here you are, my three counsellors, my village politicians. What have you come to talk about?'
Their silence lay in front of him like a black cloud. 'Come on, now, Gregory,' he said. 'What is it?'
Gregory moved tensely in his chair. 'It Rex, brother.'
'Oh,' said Heriot softly, 'Rex.' He played with a pencil, rolling it under his broad-tipped fingers. 'Well, what about Rex?'
'We don't reckon you ought to send him away, brother.'
'And why,' asked Heriot woodenly, 'do you reckon that?'
Richard said suddenly and with released anger: 'You not fair, brother. He not a bad man, Rex. You don't give him no chance. He just want to live here, in his own country, and work for mission, get married might be. What for you want to send him away now?'
'For exactly the reason you came here tonight. He makes trouble. He's been talking to you, hasn't he? He told you to come and see me.'
Michael murmured: 'He real sad, brother, leaving his country.'
'The first time he left it, it was because he wanted to. I told him not to take that girl, his wife, away from here. I got angry with him. But he wouldn't listen, he left, and the girl, too. What does he want here—to find another girl and take her away and kill her?'
'That girl die, brother,' Gregory protested. 'No one kill her.'
'I won't argue about that.'
In the silence that fell again Heriot struggled with his anger and his uncertainty, thinking: But I am not unfair, no, I'm simply the one person who can see through Rex and has learned to distrust him. And look, here; already he has set my people against me.
'You hard man, brother,' Richard said.
Was hard, yes, when there was need for it; but not now, no, they're hard on me now.
Michael said indifferently: 'Some people in the village pretty angry.'
Oh yes, I can see them, the young ones, sitting outside the firelight discussing my sins, growing angry, and laughing, and growing angry again. And Rex playing the oracle, and Stephen playing the guitar. I can see them.
'What does Justin say?' he demanded.
'Justin?' asked Gregory uncertainly. 'He don't say nothing, brother.'
Richard said with faint contempt: 'Justin, he real old man. He don't listen to Rex.'
Good Justin, most conservative, most loyal friend, resisting change. But I am not. I'm not shutting out the future, there is no future in Rex. Rex is only anarchy. Justin knows this, but how could he side with me against all his people? He's waiting for me, he wants me to be strong. Many of them must want it, many women especially would rather see Rex away.
'Rex is leaving on Sunday,' he said.
Michael and Gregory said nothing. But Richard, with angry eyes, burst out: 'Might be all the people hate you now, brother. Might be no one working for you tomorrow.'
Still rolling the pencil under his fingers, Heriot said very quietly: 'I've heard that in other arguments, Richard, but you know nothing comes of it. You haven't a card to play against me. That's the only thing that worries me, I've every opportunity to be unjust. But I don't think I am. I pray to God,' he said, in a curious, empty voice, 'to guide me, and I couldn't go on unless I thought He did. I hope this is the last I'll hear of Rex.'
He looked down at his fingers. After a pause, 'Brother,' Gregory said, tautly and uneasily.
'Well?'
'If Rex go away, we going too, and our wives, and our little kids.'
In silence Heriot stared at them, the three of them, who for several years had met with him there, sat in the same chairs, and discussed problems of the settlement, problems of people, ideals and desires and needs and amusements of black and white, always with trust, courtesy, and keenness, always deeply serious. 'No,' he said.
'We got to go, brother, if you do this.'
'I won't be bluffed,' Heriot said. 'Do you hear that? I won't be blackmailed. I'm not a child or a fool.' From his tiredness and his indecision he was raised, burning with anger. 'I've given more than thirty years to serving you people, almost half my life. Do you think I can be discouraged so easily?'
They said nothing.
'Do you see that photograph, there, on the wall? Who is it?'
Gregory muttered: 'That you wife, brother.'
'Yes, my wife, you remember her. Sister Margaret. She had beautiful hands. You remember her hands, don't you, tying up your sores and bathing your eyes and playing with you when you were children. You haven't forgotten that. And when you were young men, you remember her getting thinner and thinner and not smiling much and going to bed and dying, and your mothers going up and down outside the house, crying and wailing all night and all day, while I sat there beside her, trying not to hear them, trying to believe I couldn't have saved her by taking her away from this country. No, you haven't forgotten that.'
He glared at them with his ancient eyes. 'You see that other photograph, those children. Who are they?'
Out of his rigid silence Michael half-whispered: 'That Stephen.'
'Stephen, and Esther. Esther Margaret, my daughter. Rex's wife. You remember her, too, how graceful she was and how much she laughed always, in that husky voice, and her singing, and that little gold chain she wore round her neck, my wife's chain, and played with when she was talking to you. And her beautiful writing, and the way she'd read stories to your children and teach them to draw. And you remember how she began to meet Rex, at night, hiding behind trees down by the river, until she was past escaping. And how he married her and took her away, and how he killed the child in her, and killed her with it. But you must have forgotten that, or you couldn't be wanting him to stay here.'
Their eyes stayed blankly on him.
'I've given half my life,' he said softly. 'My wife gave all of hers. I've lived in poverty, half-starved at times, been lonely, been overworked, been forgotten by everyone in the world except you. For twenty years the only happiness I've had has been when, for a day or a moment, you and I have come suddenly together, in friendship. You must believe, when I say that, that I wouldn't part with your friendship for anything in the world less than your own good.'
But I have done wrong, he thought, to boast of my sacrifices, bludgeon them for their gratitude. Now surely I've grown old. There was never, never before, such self-pity in me; I am ashamed.
Richard said in a hard, flat voice: 'Brother, we didn't choose you.'
But Gregory and Michael, moving uncomfortably on their chairs, dissociated themselves from him. 'You always been our friend, brother,' Gregory murmured.
Weariness, and a desire to smile, even, irrationally, to laugh at them, overcame Heriot now that his tirade was over. He pushed away the pencil.
'I think you should go,' he said. 'You know what I'm going to do. There's no point in talking about it now.'
He stood up, and they, irresolutely, followed suit. He opened the door and watched them step down to the rectangle of light on the dust, and turn there and murmur automatic good nights from the edge of darkness.
What they were thinking mattered suddenly very little to him. Standing there in his doorway he was concerned with the wind and with the lightning that from time to time cracked the dark-clouded sky. As he watched it his hands grew calm again, he found peace in its purpose, in the remote and unfathomable justice of its occasions.
## 4
In the morning lightning struck the grass behind the store, causing a small fire. The men beat it out, shouting and laughing to one another against the wind. Dust blew down the road and moved across the plain, looking white and solid in the cloudy light. The air was suddenly cool.
'There's been a cyclone warning,' Heriot said, treading grit on the office floor, 'but we should be out of it if it goes the way they think.'
'We seem to be getting the edge of it,' Way considered, looking at the dust.
'We've never been hit in the time I've been here. Hope our luck's still in. If a bad one came, I'm afraid we'd have to rebuild the whole place.'
Way said: 'Don't say that, brother,' mimicking the superstitious uneasiness of a native. 'Myself, I feel much the same as the people do when it comes to tempting providence.'
Heriot reached out after some straying papers and tucked them away, listening to the uncertain wind, hearing outside dry poinciana pods fall down rattling to the ground. 'You could,' he said, without interest, 'have a service in the church and pray for the cyclone, if it is one, to go somewhere else. Into that country out there, where it can't hurt anyone.'
'I could,' Way agreed. He watched Heriot sit down and begin to roll a cigarette. 'You don't seem very worried.'
Heriot's fingers, against the white paper, were stained darkly with nicotine, the nails black-rimmed. 'Fatalism,' he said. 'And I'm tired.'
'Would you like—?'
'No.'
'Surely today, though, you can rest.'
'It's not rest I want,' Heriot said flatly. 'I don't know what I want.'
'I can cope, you know.'
'This morning I woke up—grieved that I wasn't dead—'
'So there's really no need—'
'Ninety or a hundred years old, and very cynical, very bored—'
'Sorry, I didn't hear.'
Dust blew in. 'I was talking nonsense,' Heriot droned, 'for my own entertainment. Old as Tiresias, but very stupid. When is my spring coming?'
'Classical allusions?'
'I'm a very small fraction of a scholar,' Heriot said, rasping in his dry throat. 'Why do you stay here listening to me? I've got nothing to say. I can sit here all day happily complaining to myself about unhappiness.'
How can I deal with this? Way thought, keeping his face turned with some firmness away from the eyes of Heriot unreasonably glaring at him. At times I can believe what the children say, he's terrible. 'What's the matter with you?' he demanded, with brave sharpness.
The confronting eyes kindled with a kind of amusement. 'I'm a wicked man who wants to be dead. And hates everyone.'
'Or enjoys pretending he does.'
'There's no pretence. I discovered that last night. For years I set myself up as a philanthropist and was really a misanthrope all the time. Ironic.'
'I suppose there's no reason why a constructive misanthropy shouldn't achieve as much as philanthropy. There's a bold modern view for you.'
'What would you say,' Heriot asked softly, the sour laughter still in his eyes, 'if I said I thoroughly disliked you, and your bold modern views?'
'I shouldn't,' Way confessed, 'faint with surprise. It's been obvious for a long time.'
'I don't think it has. Not to me.'
'Perhaps the rest of us were more observant.'
'You,' Heriot accused gently, 'are beginning to be angry.'
'Not I.'
'The polite charity is peeling off in strips.'
Way's pink face had grown red, and the slight bald patch in his hair also, and his fingers were unnecessarily concerned with the papers he was carrying. But 'Nonsense,' he said, in a firm ecclesiastical voice.
'Oh, yes. I'm being very annoying, I don't know why.'
Dust lodged in Way's throat, and he coughed, and said in a choked voice: 'As a matter of fact I know—know about your outburst to the counsellors last night.'
'Do you, indeed?'
'I can't see any need to brood over it, which is obviously what you're doing. It will probably do them good to be reminded of some of the things the white man has done for them.'
'I'm glad to have your opinion,' Heriot said, smoke wreathing his wooden face, his wooden eyes.
'You're not, but perhaps you need it.'
'Does it sometimes occur to you that I'm a lonely old man who needs someone to discuss his problems with him?'
'Yes, it does.'
Heriot ground out his cigarette. 'It's like your smug impudence,' he said viciously. 'I need no one.'
Way, angry-mouthed, tightened his hands around the papers he was holding, clutching to himself his good temper, his charity.
'Will you listen,' Heriot demanded, the toneless voice suddenly broken, uneven, rising to cracked notes of spleen and weariness. 'I'm dying. When my friend, Stephen's father, was well and strong and quite young, he told me he knew he was going to die. And he died. And now I know. And after all these years of being forgotten and ignored, I suddenly find that I resent it. I don't want to pass piously to a quiet grave. I've built something nobody wanted, and now the thing I think would give my life its full meaninglessness would be to smash it down and take it with me. Let them regret it when it's not there if they won't appreciate it when it is.'
'But it's not yours to smash,' Way said evenly.
'I'm the only one of the builders left. All the others are dead. They had my ideas, they made my mistakes, they used the whip sometimes, they were Bible-bashers and humourless clods, they were forgotten while they were alive and attacked when they were dead. You don't like the work we did—very well, we'll take it back.'
'You were founders, you were like coral insects. You can't smash what you've started because you yourself belong to your successors—'
But Heriot halted him, holding up his hand. On the palm lay a small ivory crucifix which he had picked up from the table.
'Do you see this?' he asked, in his new straining voice. 'This.' The uneven teeth showed. 'A little Popish thing from the bad old days of Walton.'
His hand came down sharply on the edge of the table, and he brought it back and flung the pieces towards Way; whose eyes, torn at last from tormented, detruncated head, the outstretched arms of the fragment lying in his lap, lifted again and met his across the table with an expression of incredulous shock.
'I believe in nothing,' Heriot said softly. 'I can pull down the world.'
At the sound of wind and at the fall of the branch the girls screamed like birds, clutched one another, trembled. ' _Ali!_ Mummy Dido!'
But Dido, huge as a round boulder and in no mood to encourage them, looked placidly over her flock of orphans and growled. 'You girls, you think a bit of wind hurt you? Nothing going to hurt you in this dormitory. Real strong, these walls. You stop you shouting and stay on you own beds.'
Nothing could move her. She took the hand of a small child who was crying. 'What all you girls doing, just sitting there?' she demanded. 'You better sing some songs.'
They shivered as a bough scraped down the roof.
'Ruth,' demanded Dido, 'what wrong with you? You start singing, go on now.'
'What you want us singing, Mummy Dido?'
'You know plenty songs,' Dido said impatiently. 'Ah, you girls, you no good! I going to sing myself.' And the rich voice crooned, 'God that madest earth and heaven, darkness and light—'
At the sound of her voice they took courage, and around Ruth's bed rose a murmur of singing, growing to a raucous shout.
From this valley they say you are going,
We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile—
Under this opposition Dido faded slowly into silence and sat still, looking out towards the anguish of wind in leaves and branches. She was a Buddha, a round rock, vast and warm and immovable in the knowledge of her responsibilities.
In the swirling dust, at midday, and at the height of the wind, Heriot plodded through the village, his clothes flapping, his wild white hair on end like the crest of a crane.
The village was indoors, sheltering behind its mud walls and threatened roofs from the possible violence about to come. The road was deserted, dotted with small fallen boughs.
Being so alone and in such chaos of air he could have shouted out to the wind that he loved it and worshipped it, that overnight he had become its convert, forestalling ruin by embracing ruin. The wind at least, which knew how to tug and tease a weak branch until it slackened and cracked and fell, would understand him, who had been for a quarter of a century the sheltering tree of this small kingdom and was now, by modern ideals and modern discontent, to be brought down.
Broken. Broken. Broken. On the far shore of the world.
In the breaking of the crucifix he had confessed, at last and forever, the failed faith. Now he could admit to himself that what was once the bright fruit of a young tree had shrivelled and dried and sifted away in the late years of loneliness, and was not to be found again on the ant-bed floor of a church. He cried to himself under the thrashing trees to be taken and broken on the wheel of the wind.
All his age and all his frustrations had come suddenly upon him, he was an old, tired man, though he walked straighter than trees in the dust.
He would take this last walk around his domain, wait for the wind to die, then with all the whites assembled in Way's living room, announce his departure. He had already, soon after Way left him, transmitted his telegram of resignation to the far city. This walk in the wind was his farewell; afterwards there would only be waiting and going.
He found that he was coming to the skeleton of the half-erected building, the last work begun under his command, and made towards it automatically, according to his habit, although there were no workers to check on or progress to admire with the village behind its own walls. As he came driving forward, head down, over the road, a man moved in the shelter of a wall.
'Rex,' Heriot said, stopping sharply. 'Why aren't you inside?'
The man stared blankly at the blowing white hair. 'Why not you, brother?'
'Oh,' said Heriot softly, with his sudden shattering grin. 'So you've quarrelled with Gregory.'
'I got plenty friends, brother.'
Above, on the incomplete roof, a sheet of iron grated and rattled in the wind.
Heriot said: 'That's going to come off in a minute.'
'Might be.'
'You'd better go and tell Brother Terry. He'll give you tools to fix it.'
The eyes of Rex still surveyed him expressionlessly. 'I don't work here, brother.'
'But you'll go.'
'No.'
'Rex—I'm not boss of this mission any more. I'm not ordering you.'
The dark neck moved, the eyes fixed on his with an intenser gaze. 'You going, brother?'
'Yes.'
'I can stay, now?'
'No. You can go away and come back in a year, if you behave well.'
'That no good,' Rex said loudly. 'No good!' The eyes grew larger and burned. 'All this people going with me if I go. You know that, brother.'
He pushed himself away from the wall and came into the wind, his scarlet shirt flapping. And Heriot, flooded with strange compassion, put out his hand and seized the dark arm. 'Understand,' he said gently. 'Oh, but you're lost—'
Rex tore back his arm and stepped away, and stood stooped and fluttering in the dust. 'I don't go,' he said, in his deep broken voice. 'I don't go.'
'We'll speak about it again,' Heriot said. 'Later, later, Rex, when it's calm. I should go,' he murmured vaguely, with the curious excitement in him, turning away.
The wind was reaching its peak, filling the air not only with dust but also with leaves and grass, tearing down branches. The loose sheet of iron clattered on the roof, a continual assault on his nerves. He walked with his head down, his hair tormented into white wisps.
Then on the calf of his leg came an enormous impact, a great numbing pain. He swung round, looking down, and found what he had half-known would be there. The first stone.
The first stone. And across huge desolations towered the figure of Rex, appearing and disappearing through a curtain of dust, his teeth showing in an uncertain grin.
Heriot bent down and took the stone in his hand, heavy, lethal. He was the martyr, struck by the first instrument of execution. The air was full of faces and raised hands. Walking towards Rex he was stumbling through murdering crowds, buffeted with screaming, spat on and wounded. And before all was one face, the dark face with its frozen white grin above the bright shirt.
But he would be no martyr, not submit to these flailings as if owning himself wrong, he would strike back, godlike; not he, but the fierce crowd would die.
He sobbed in his throat. The stone flew.
With a violent gust the wind threw up a white curtain, Rex was gone, vanished in a shroud of dust. Around him Heriot believed he saw dark figures struggling towards him in a dry mist.
He went forward through the haze. Dust already lay thinly in the folds of the red shirt and on the thick flow of blood down the forehead. The man had reeled back, wounded by the stone, and fallen among rocks. There was blood also running muddily down from the back of his head.
Without bending, without touching him: 'Dead,' said Heriot, feeling in himself the thickening of blood, the stiffening and relaxing of fingers. 'Rex—'
He turned and abandoned him, half-running through the wind. With the shriek of a mad bird the flapping iron tore itself free from the roof and crashed among the trees.
When he came out of his house he was carrying his rifle and had thrust a box of cartridges into his pocket where it bulged solidly. There was no expression in his grained, carved, wooden image's face, and no uncertainty in his movements. He walked strongly into the weather and went to the yards where the collected horses shivered and trembled with the wind in their manes and their great eyes on the wind.
He dragged out bridle, saddle, and saddle-cloth from the shed and picked a quiet piebald called Albert Creek, the only horse he knew now in these sedentary days. His hands were very firm with the buckles, but Albert Creek was restless, it took time.
As he quietened the horse: 'Brother,' said someone behind him, and he turned and found Justin standing at the rails, his hair waving on end.
'What is it, Justin?' He was impatient and his eyes were strange and unfriendly.
'I seen you going past my place, brother.'
Heriot reached for the bridle and led the horse from the yard, saying nothing.
' _Nandaba grambun?_ ' Justin asked placatingly. 'Where you going?'
Slowly Heriot swung into the saddle and towered there with the rifle before him, his shirt and his hair fluttering, but himself as still as a ship's figurehead set on a flinching horse nervous at the ears. He said sadly from the sky: ' _Mudumudu-gu ngarambun, abula._ '
'Ah, brother,' Justin murmured, not smiling, 'you got those islands on you brain.'
'I want you to tell nobody, Justin. This is a secret. I need to go now, while the wind's still up.'
'How long will you be, brother?'
'A long, long time.'
'But you come back tonight?'
'I won't come back.'
'But, brother,' Justin asked anxiously, 'where you blanket, eh? Where you billy and you tucker?'
'I'd forgotten them.'
'I go and get them? They in you house, eh?'
'Yes, yes, go and get them, if you like.'
'You got plenty tucker in you little kitchen?'
'Plenty of tucker. It's all yours, as much as you like. But go now, hurry.'
'I hurry,' Justin promised, turning and running back into the gale.
When he was out of sight Heriot kicked Albert Creek into a gallop and ran with the wind towards the giant baobabs of the lagoon. Already the fringe of cyclone seemed to be passing, though the white dust still scudded ahead of him in waves, and grass blew, and the lagoon was a grey sea with all its lilies sunk. There he pulled in to a walk and sat loosely in the saddle, and watched the hills, which were no longer blue but grey and spectral, infinitely far.
He had come five miles across the plain, passing the creeks with their spare cadjiput trees and chapped water, and reached at last a place where the water ran through sand among gums and wattles, a shady forest where he was bewildered by watercourses, crossing one after another and never coming to the last, until he imagined he was on an island circled by seven creeks and could never put out again. But the hills were his aim and the cause of his vast calm, and he was not discouraged. So he reined in there and looked quietly around for a passage from the maze, and while waiting heard behind him a crashing among the fallen branches of wattle. He turned and watched, and saw presently Justin climbing his horse up the sandbank of the last creek.
Heriot's face went perfectly still, was so wooden and forbidding that Justin, coming up on his sweating horse, could only stare at him with timid eyes and was afraid to speak. Until finally Heriot, surveying with the same stunned calm the blanket roll, the old flour bag, the billy and the two spears that accompanied the brown man, asked softly: 'Why did you follow me?'
'You angry, brother?'
'I wanted to be alone. Who did you tell when you left?'
'I didn't tell nobody, brother. First I get you tucker and you blanket and go to the yard, and you gone from there. So I go to my place and get my spears and nobody see me, then I come after you. I only seen you other side of the creek, brother. I thinking you were lost.'
'Yes. You've ridden hard.'
'I take one of you blankets for myself, brother. That all right, eh?'
'Go back, Justin. I'm going on alone.'
Justin asked stubbornly: 'Where you going?'
'You know, I told you.'
'You don't really go to those islands.'
'I'm going to a place no one comes home from. You understand an order, Justin. I don't want you here.'
Justin said, with perfect deference: 'I got to come, brother.'
'Go back to Ella and your children. It's your duty, you understand that.'
'Stephen look after Ella and the little kids, brother.'
'I'm going nowhere,' Heriot said. 'Nowhere,' a desperate anger in his frozen eyes.
'You don't know that country.'
'Nor do you.'
'I been there once, with my old lady, all over up to coast.'
With the rifle weighing like rock across his thighs: 'Listen,' said Heriot in a choking voice, 'I'll get to the hills tonight and I'm going no farther. There's nothing you can do, I don't want you or need you. Or your food or blankets. I need nothing at all.'
The fading wind tossing the wattles over them, they watched one another with such curious intensity that they might have been the two last people left on earth, each hastening to impress on his memory, before it should be too late, the face of the other. Still in his anaesthetized peace of spirit: 'You've brought food,' Heriot said.
'Yes, brother. Tin food here.'
Restlessly the two horses craned their necks towards one another. 'Good,' said Heriot softly.
'Brother—'
They stared hungrily at one another. 'Yes?'
'If you go along with me, I go with you, always.'
Behind the uneasy trees rose the hills, and beyond them again the country of the lost, huge wilderness between this last haunt of civilization and the unpeopled sea.
'Welcome, my Good Deeds,' whispered Heriot. 'Now I hear thy voice, I weep for very sweetness of love.'
Late in the afternoon, under a torn sky, the village woke suddenly into wild mourning. The wailing of women broke out on the wind, mixed with the frightened cries of children. The whites came to their doors and looked out. Gunn and Dixon, emerging from their houses, met in the windy road with a simultaneously shouted question.
They saw by the hospital a little bunch of keening women, their heads bent and covered, and from the gate Helen appeared and came running up the road, her skirt flapping and her smooth hair ruffled by the wind.
As she came up: 'What's wrong?' they demanded, and she stopped, panting a little, and stiff with apprehension around the lips.
'They say Rex is killed,' she said, breathless.
That shocked them, they looked at one another. 'How? Where?' they wanted to know.
'I can't stop. Come with me. They may be wrong, they were about Dicky, remember?' She broke away again, and they ran with her. 'It's at the new building.'
'How'd it happen?' Dixon asked.
'They say a sheet of iron—blew down and—hit him. Oh—terrible if I were late...'
'He shouldn't have been out,' Gunn said.
'No,' she said. 'No.' In front of them was the building, and under a tree a group of squatting men with their heads bowed. They had not known how to take this death, whether to mourn as white men or as black. Though two older men had wounded themselves on the forehead with stones and were quietly moaning, the blood running down, the others were still and silent.
'Over there,' Dixon said. He hung back from her as she approached the body and knelt beside it. Dust lay over the clothes and had crusted thickly on the bloody forehead.
She unbuttoned the scarlet shirt and put her hand to the brown breast. As she held it there she was not looking at the man, Gunn saw, but at something far away or perhaps invisible, and with such passion that he was startled and found her unfamiliar. It was as though she were willing life to push down and pierce through her fingers into the heart beneath them, or as if by concentration she could absorb death into herself and there overcome it. He heard Dixon breathing lightly beside him, and glancing up saw his eyes were fixed on her with puzzled awe.
She said in a toneless voice and without moving: 'He's alive.'
Dixon moved back and cleared his throat. After a pause: 'Thank God for that,' he said sincerely.
She had lifted, very tenderly, the head. 'He'll have to be moved gently. It's dangerous. Would you get some men and go for the stretcher, Terry?'
'Like a shot,' he promised. He went quickly away towards the mourners, shouting: 'He's okay, boys. He's alive. We just want the stretcher.'
They got to their feet and looked at him. There was a silence. Then they began to make comments to one another, then jokes. In a minute bursts of laughter were drifting over from the trees.
Gunn said quietly: 'After a decent interval they'll begin to celebrate.'
'Yes.'
'There's the sheet of iron, over there, by the trees. It must have dropped pretty sharply and been blown along the ground.'
She was watching the quiet dark face. 'I suppose so.'
'You looked—different, just then. We both noticed it. Like a doctor. Or a mother.'
She turned to him for an instant her rapt face, and said in the same remote voice: 'Please, Bob, don't say anything. He's so nearly dead. And this is, really, my first child.'
Before dark Justin and Heriot entered the hills, passing a wide pool at the mouth of a gorge and directing the horses along the flat shelves of rock above it. Beyond the pool, glimmering greyly among spidery pandanus, the stream broke over rapids, the cliffs above grew steadily huger, until there was only a narrow echoing chasm with a strip of grey sky over it and deep shadow filled with the rush of water all around. Great boulders, cast down from the crumbling cliffs, lay across the rock platforms, and the horses slithered and snorted, sliding past chunks of stone twice as high as themselves. In the stillness that overlaid and crushed all sounds of horses and water, Heriot sang softly and interminably to himself.
Then the stream took a bend and widened into another pool between cliffs vaster and more silent than those the men had passed. There Justin pulled up, Heriot following him. A stone, kicked from Albert Creek's hoof, rolled and dropped with a sound that the cliffs threw back as a gunshot.
'We better camp here,' Justin said, half-whispering for fear of the echo, 'it going to rain pretty soon. We stay dry here.'
Very slowly Heriot dismounted, and went and sat down under the overhang of the rock. There was a flutter of sound as bats burst from some cranny behind him and skittered out across the grey water. He did not move, he sat quietly in the dirt, his arms folded round the rifle.
Justin came over and dumped his blankets and bags, went back and unsaddled. Heriot said nothing, had no direction to give, was willing to be managed by Justin for the rest of his life. He watched the broad face of the man bent over his bundles.
'I brought hopples, too,' Justin said proudly. 'Out of you office.' He held up the hobble chains and jingled them.
'Good,' Heriot murmured.
The white teeth grinned, and the man rose and went to the horses, leading them down to the edge of the water where there was a bank of silt. When he came back Heriot had not moved, still held the rifle clutched to his chest. 'You like you tucker now, brother?' he asked.
'No,' Heriot said, wearily. 'I'm not hungry.'
'I make a fire and we have a cup of tea, eh?'
'If you like.'
He watched the dark figure gathering wood and piling it, and tossed his box of matches when Justin's hands demanded. As the wood crackled, the light came like an explosion, hurting his eyes, so that he turned and looked at the flame-washed rock behind him, patterned with the ochre and charcoal drawings of natives. He saw rock wallabies, crocodiles, goannas, little priapic men. Recurrent everywhere was the symbol of _lumiri_ , the rainbow serpent.
'Is this place sacred?' he asked dully.
'No. Plenty old people camp here. Women, too.'
_'Lumiri_ can take you to the sky, is that right?'
'Might be,' Justin said noncommittally, crouched over his fire.
Heriot stood up, spread out his blanket and lay down on it, the rifle beside him, he whistled two notes, and the cliffs threw them back clear and pure. He executed a brief phrase and received it back again. With a kind of desperate concentration he applied himself, to composing a duet for his whistle and the echo, involving a pleasant use of counterpoint.
Later, when the quart-pot boiled, he sat propped on one elbow and drank tea, and then lay down again by his rifle. Justin came and spread his blanket and lay beside him, listening to the white man's slow breathing. At last he said: 'Brother?'
'Yes?'
'I take that gun away if you sleepy.'
'No. Leave it.'
'Brother—'
'Yes?'
'You going to say prayer?'
A strange tearing noise came back from the cliffs. The horses, down at the edge of the dark water, were drinking.
'I know a prayer,' Heriot said into his blanket. 'A very old prayer.' He whispered it to the ground.
'Fittingly is now my coming
Into this world with tears and cry;
Little and poor is my having,
Brittle and soon y-fallen from high;
Sharp and strong is my dying,
I ne wot whither shall I;
Foul and stinking is my rotting—
On me, Jesu, thou have mercy.'
The rain shattered on the roof with tireless tropical zeal, eager to have the job done and over, violently intent. If it could deliver three inches in an hour or two, that would be raining, it could rest then until the morning.
Dixon, rising wet and gasping from the darkness like a fish, fetched up at the hospital door and leaned in, looking for Helen, who was marooned on an island of lamplight in a dark room. In the shadow, vaguely, he could see the humped whiteness of Rex's bed. She had put out the electric light and sat removed from him, reading from a solid blue book.
'Helen,' he whispered to her.
She looked up, not seeing him at first, then came quietly out with her book to the veranda. The iron roof roared with rain.
'Is something wrong, Terry?'
'No—least, I hope not. You seen Heriot?'
'Not all day.'
'I took your telegram over there to send to the doctor, but it was too late for the sched, and the old man wasn't there. I felt the wireless and it was cold. I don't think he listened in.'
'Is it working?'
'I'll check up later. The thing is, he wasn't at church either. Ways haven't seen him, nor's anyone else, and when I went over to his house his bed had been pulled to bits and the blankets taken. Looked like he'd shot through.'
She was deeply silent. 'Well,' he asked, 'aren't you surprised?'
'Terry—I don't know anything.'
'Where would he go, on a day like this? Any day, come to that.'
'I don't know,' she said.
'Aren't you scared he might have been knocked down by something, like Rex was? I am.'
She was clutching her book unhappily to herself as Gunn came leaping and dripping on to the veranda. 'The Wet's over,' he said bitterly. 'Get an eyeful of the Dry.'
'You seen Heriot?' Dixon asked.
Gunn shook his head with a shower of drops, and the silence came down on them again. 'Come into the dispensary,' Helen said, to break it.
The yellow-lit room was airless, a feeling of damp lay on chairs and table and skin, and moths were mad with light. 'Better out there, really,' Gunn said.
Dixon wiped his face. 'Well, what are we going to do about the old man? Can't just forget about him.'
Gunn said: 'You knew he'd gone, didn't you, Helen?'
'Yes, I went to his office, and then to his house. I noticed the same things Terry noticed.'
'Anything else? You're probably more observant than we are.'
She hesitated. 'Yes,' she said finally. 'The top rifle from the rack in the office was gone. It's always been there. Always.'
Dixon's puzzled eyes went from her to Gunn, who had stiffened in his chair. 'What is all this?' he asked loudly. 'What's the secret?'
Gunn said quietly and quickly: 'Just a minute, Terry, we're working things out. You cleaned the wound, Helen. The one on the forehead.'
'Yes.'
'What was it like?'
'Ragged,' she said. 'Fairly deep.'
Dixon shifted impatiently. 'So what?'
'It wasn't the iron,' Gunn said. 'Couldn't have been. It didn't look right to begin with. If the wind was strong enough to carry it on so far after hitting him it would have carried it over his head in the first place. And the wound didn't look right either, as far as you could see it. If the iron had hit him flat on you'd expect his nose to be broken and not so much blood on the forehead. And if it had hit him with a corner or edge—well, God knows what it would have done, but it would have been worse than it was.'
'It was a stone,' Helen said flatly. 'I'm sure of it.'
Dixon said abruptly: 'I get what you mean.'
They turned to him, astonished by the change in his voice, his face. No longer an awkward, good-natured man to whom it was not necessary to pay attention, he had hardened and grown and taken on an air of sardonic decision.
Helen said: 'But we don't _know,_ Terry...'
'You've got no doubts about it. That old—he tried to kill Rex and then went out and shot himself.'
'We can't be sure,' Gunn protested. 'We could be wrong about the wound.'
'Just because he hated Rex.'
'He was a good man,' Helen said sharply.
'Ah, a good man, all right. At least he knew what he ought to get for it.'
Over the sound of rain: 'Terry,' Helen cried out, 'you must listen to us. He wasn't a bad man. If he tried to kill Rex, it wouldn't have been because he hated him, it would have been because he thought the mission was in danger from him.'
'He might have kidded himself.'
'Terry, you believe in God.'
'Yeah.'
'If you could bring people back from death, would you refuse?'
He looked at her with his farseeing eyes. 'No.'
'We've saved Rex. But I can't save Mr Heriot, you and Bob are the only ones who can do that.'
'Not if he's shot himself.'
'But he took blankets, he can't have meant to do it straightaway, if he meant it at all. There's always a chance, Terry—'
'But he tried to kill someone. He doesn't deserve being saved.'
She had the thick medical book held tightly in her lap, and her voice went on, quickly and passionately in the stifling room: 'I don't believe in heaven and hell, but I believe in sin, and sins that aren't wiped out on the earth stay on the earth forever echoing and echoing among the people left behind. We're trying to wipe out the sin of the white men who massacred these people's relations, but we can't ever quite do it, because we're not the same white men. And Mr Heriot has to come back, he's the only one who can wipe out his hatred of Rex. They'll come to see that as hating and rejecting all of them.'
She stopped then, looking down at her hands, and Gunn broke in quietly. 'We drive people to it,' he said. 'The white men at the massacre thought they were protecting property, and Mr Heriot thought he was protecting the mission. Things we asked them to protect. We can pay reparations to people we hurt in our wars, but we don't ever quite pay back the people we force to hurt them. But with Heriot we can try, Terry, or I will. All you need to do is keep quiet about it, now you know everything.'
Dixon rubbed his hands on his knees, his head bent. 'You can talk,' he said. 'Both of you.'
'Two people have killed one another,' Helen said, 'but we have this chance to bring them back and reconcile them. That's heaven. But if we fail, their hate will go on spreading and growing forever, and that's hell, Terry.'
'I believe you,' he said at last. 'What do you want me to do?'
'Don't let anyone know about Rex, let them think it was the iron. No one else will see the wound.'
'Aren't you going to get the doctor plane for him?'
'He's out of danger, and the airstrip's unserviceable. It'll be a marsh after this rain.'
'How do we stop Father Way from working out why Heriot's shot off?'
'They had a quarrel this morning, Mrs Way told me a little bit she heard of it from him. It'd be easy for me to convince him Mr Heriot was on the verge of suicide.'
'And where do we look for him?' Dixon asked.
Gunn said: 'I'd pick Onmalmeri.'
'Where the ghosts are?'
'He often said he thought it was beautiful, and how he wished he had a few days to ride out and camp there.'
Helen said softly: 'He once told me he'd like to be buried at Onmalmeri. He loathed the cemetery here.'
'I'll go there,' Dixon said. 'One last thing—what about Rex?'
'Helen will talk to him,' Gunn muttered restlessly.
Helen stood up and went to the table and laid her book down there. 'I might as well tell you,' she said, leaning over it, her back to them, 'what I'm going to do.'
'Well, tell us.'
'I don't know if you've thought of it, but Rex, when he wakes up, probably won't remember anything. Retroactive amnesia.'
She felt their faint movements of relief and surprise.
'Well,' said Dixon, 'that'd be a break. That'd be apples, that would.'
'But I'd tell him,' she said.
## 5
Way said: 'I still find it incredible. Utterly.'
'He wasn't well,' Helen said. She was tired, and sat hugging her knees on the edge of his veranda, with the drowsy scent of frangipani close above her head. 'I've been afraid of—not this, exactly, but some sort of breakdown. I think we're right to fear—well, the worst.'
In his jungle-garden finches haunted the dark green of the poincianas, the frangipanis, the creepers, fluttering restless as butterflies round the dripping leaves. 'But to take Justin...'
'I don't know why he should have done that. It's all much more puzzling now than it was last night, before we knew Justin had gone. But it's more hopeful, if there's someone with him.'
'Of course, there's not much chance of finding tracks, after this wind and rain. Why do you feel so certain he went to Onmalmeri?'
'I don't feel certain, father. But he often said he loved the place, and it had—associations. You remember?' she asked, unable to add, since he knew so little: It is where the murdered people are, the murdered.
Mrs Way, cradled by a deck-chair in the tendrilled shade of her veranda, clicked with her morning tea-cup. 'Poor Mr Heriot,' she said sadly. She was a lean, grey Englishwoman, kindly and calm.
Helen said to the garden: 'It needn't be too late, it needn't. Don't you believe Terry will find him?'
'I only hope,' Mrs Way confessed. 'This country—so vast...'
'He _must_ be at Onmalmeri. If he isn't, Terry will have wasted nearly two days. If only Justin had told someone—'
'He didn't,' Way said. 'Ella and Stephen can't remember when exactly he left the house. But he took his spears some time before going away, so it sounds as though he meant to make a long trip.'
'You didn't tell me that, dear,' said Mrs Way. 'Now I feel much more optimistic. Perhaps Mr Heriot, not being quite—stable, thought a long journey through the bush would be good for him.'
'We can't be sure of anything, of course. That's why I don't want to report his disappearance until we've done as much as we can to find him. But I'll have to, if he's not at Onmalmeri. He could hardly object, even if he chose to be lost—with two of the best of our wretched little handful of horses, incidentally.'
'I don't think you need be cross with him yet,' Helen said quietly.
'I'm sorry, Helen. I still find the whole thing hard to believe.'
Across the road Harris clanked a few notes on the bell, bringing Helen to her feet. 'Thank you, Mrs Way. I must go to the store, and then back to Rex.'
'Are you pleased with him, Helen?'
'Oh, yes, fairly. It will take time.'
'Such bad luck he has, poor man. First his wife, and now this.'
'Yes,' Helen said, 'very bad luck. But he'll survive this, with that hard head of his. I must go.'
Inside the store Harris, free of customers and glad to talk to someone, stood rolling a cigarette. He looked up and smiled at her with his old, dry face. 'Out of smokes?'
'Yes,' she said. 'Can you see me craving?'
He reached for a packet and entered it in his book. 'I reckon you smoke more than you earn. Should roll 'em.'
'I think I will from now on.'
'Three and a half inches we've had. That's raining.'
'But it seems to be over,' she said, looking through the door at the bright sunlight. 'I hate it like this, just after the sun comes out.'
'It's sticky, all right.'
'Harry,' she asked, lighting a cigarette, 'what do you think about this—about Mr Heriot? We never hear your opinion of anything.'
He had his spidery elbows on the counter and his chin in his hands, staring outside. 'I don't know. I'm just wondering, like everyone.'
'Do you think he would—well, kill himself?'
'Might. You hear of that sort of thing happening.'
'What, here?'
'Well, there was one, not on the staff, but doing a job here. Good few years ago. You take an old man like Heriot, just going to leave the place and not knowing anywhere else much—he might do it.'
'But having Justin with him—wouldn't that stop him?'
'No. If he asked Justin to come with him, that'd mean he wasn't up to anything, but if Justin went after him to bring him back he'd do what he was going to do and tell Justin to get out of the way. It'd annoy him, being followed like that.'
'You're very resigned,' she said hopelessly. 'I couldn't be.' Like him she stared out at the warm, damp sunlight towards which the smoke from their cigarettes was slowly tending, climbing up and out in peaceful ripples. 'But Terry will be at Onmalmeri late this afternoon, and he will be there, Harry, he must be.'
It was mid-afternoon when Dixon arrived at Onmalmeri. After the long day's ride over rocky hills, through man-high canegrass studded with little broad-leaved trees, the _gan_ , the wild orange, the wild kapok; after the river flowing shallowly over rock and the ascent to new hills from which one looked down on islands of dense pandanus and cliffs burning red in the light or dull in shadow; after great distances of earth bared by old fires, and sudden cool clumps of gums, and the inescapable rock in boulders and floors and cliffs, he came on a new river, and across the river the cliff of Onmalmeri thrust up from its dark pool.
There was a bird which he had never seen but which he hated savagely, it was there now in the trees or hidden in the pandanus, making its sound like a baby's crying and answering itself with a madwoman's laugh.
Stephen and Gregory were with him and followed him when he dismounted and went down to the water. He lay on his stomach over a flat rock and drank, and sat up again and looked across the pool at the cliff. Galleries ran along it at water level, but above, it was a vast crumbling wall, crazily built of square chunks of rock, coming out in sudden corners edged with red light or bending away into shadow. Pandanus grew at water level in one of its inlets, bright green against the red rock, and trees and spinifex sprouted from its high crannies, or at its top, hundreds of feet above, stretched out against the sky. From across the shadowy pool came to him the low, slow lap of water and a sudden crack of sound as two rock pigeons burst from their shelter far above.
'We'll have to go on foot,' he said, 'up and down the pool and all around, looking for them.'
'More better, brother.'
'You go that way, Gregory. It won't take you long. Fix up the horses and make us a cup of tea for when we get back, it'll take us a while.'
'I do that,' Gregory said.
Dixon stood up. He would have liked to stay longer in that green coolness under the rustling pandanus, but he said: 'Come on, Stephen,' and began rapidly walking away, pushing through the densely growing trees, tearing aside curtains of creeper. The insane bird persevered with its hysterics somewhere among leaves.
Stephen said, quietly thrusting after the white man: 'Might be you better yell out, brother.'
'You do the yelling. You blokes know how to make yourself heard.'
The brown man stopped and shouted: ' _Bau!_ ' through his cupped hands, and waited, but there was only the echo returning, muffled by trees, from the cliff. He shouted again.
'Leave it,' Dixon said, ploughing on. 'We'll go farther.'
So they continued, crawling under bowed trees, avoiding saw-toothed pandanus leaves, breaking through creepers and through low wattles, and came finally past the pool to where there were only rocks, round boulders worn by water and smooth under boot-leather, with clumps of spinifex growing between.
'Any use going on?' Dixon asked.
'There one more pool, brother.'
Dixon took off his hat and wiped his forehead. 'You lead the way,' he said.
Walking behind the native he felt, suddenly, regret at his own awkwardness, for Stephen moved over the rocks with the sureness of a bird, but he stumbled and slipped, having always to plan his next step, to tread carefully. He saw himself for the first time as a stranger, cast without preparation into a landscape of prehistory, foreign to the earth. Only the brown man belonged in this wild and towering world.
'What do you think about all this, Steve?' he asked abruptly.
'What that, brother?'
'Heriot sort of adopted you, didn't he? And isn't Justin your cousin's husband?'
'Yes.'
'You must be wondering what's happened to them.'
'They reckon they come out camping and get lost,' Stephen said.
That was Way's thin story, and he was pretending to believe it. Dixon grinned wryly, picking his way along behind.
The stones gave place to earth and canegrass and they arrived among trees again, before a little pool so sheltered by cliffs that lilies still floated delicately on its water, untouched by the late wind and rain. The cliff opposite had been split in halves by a landslide, and a huge passageway littered with boulders ran up through it, ending in a rock wall and the sky. The enormous chunks of rock thrown down in the ruin stuck up sharply at the pool's edge, or rose out of it like islands, and from among them, twisted and tortuous, a wild fig tree thrust out its branches of dark, shining leaves towards the water.
Stephen said: 'Brother—some people reckon Brother Heriot went to finish off himself.'
Dixon stared at the cliff. 'It might be true. Sorry, but you ought to know what's going on.'
The world was utterly silent. 'Brother, why he do that?'
'I don't know, Steve.'
'I thinking—I thinking might be he do it—because of me, brother.'
'Ah, come off it.'
'Because—I'm no good, I'm thief, no good. And my sister—you know? That why I think that, brother.'
'You're up the pole,' Dixon muttered uneasily. 'Just help me find him, don't worry about yourself.'
'I going to help you, brother. That old man, he just like my father to me.'
'Well, give him another shout, then.'
The man cupped his brown hands to his mouth and shouted: ' _Bau!_ ' over the water, and got it back again as a far, desolate echo. 'Nothing,' he said, in an empty voice.
'Let's go back.'
'I coming, brother.'
Returning over the stones, looking at the high rocky hillside between the two pools: 'You could climb up there,' Dixon said. 'You could look down over the whole place. You coming?'
Stephen nodded, they moved across the stones to the hill, climbing up steps of rock and up the rock bed of a vanished creek and among red boulders in canegrass. Dixon panted, swore involuntarily when he slipped on canegrass stems flattened over rock. Stephen showed tender concern.
Coming finally to the top of the hill, where meagre gums grew from rock, they stopped for breath before tramping on to the cliff. A wind had come up across country, stirring the leaves and the tall grass. Dixon opened his shirt and felt it cool on his sweating chest.
At the edge of the cliff, on an overhang above the water the country filled his eyes, beauty struck at him, and in a strange stillness of mind he recognized it. He looked at a land of rock, a broad valley between cliffs and hills, even the floor of it studded with broken stone. But the pools were bright blue under the sky, and the endless hills blue also. In some places the water was almost obliterated by lily-leaves and grass, in others fringed with dense trees and pandanus. Below him, many miles down, he thought, lay the Onmalmeri pool, shrunken by distance, dark, dark green among its thickets of wattle and pandanus, its creeper-choked gums. He picked up a stone and threw it far out, and it swerved and landed with an echoing clatter in the clump of pandanus at the cliff foot. A cry of birds broke out.
On the far bank, beside the smoke of his fire, a tiny man, Gregory, looked across at the noise. The toy horses started and stared.
What am I thinking? Dixon asked himself. But it'd be easy to give up here, to get out on an overhang and drop into the water. That'd be a death to die, you could easily do that, with the water just about calling you on. Wonder if those little crocs would eat a dead man, they don't touch live ones.
Gregory had seen them and called out, his voice rising, magnified by echo, so that it seemed impossible such sound should come from so small a figure.
' _Bau!_ ' shouted Stephen over the empty country. ' _Bau! Bau!_ '
But there was no answer beyond echo, and presently Gregory called: 'Nothing?'
'Nothing,' Dixon repeated. The lonely echo threw up in its broken voice: 'Nothing.'
In the narrow gorge, sunset firing the farther cliffs, Heriot sang to himself, under his roof of rock, songs of loneliness and silence.
Presently he himself lapsed into silence, listening to the rapids downstream, watching the shadow slowly creep up the cliffs. His blanket smelt of acrid woodsmoke, and his clothes, and his skin, an annoyance that Justin did not notice, being inured to sleeping all night in the stink of burning cadjiput branches.
'I should have gone to Onmalmeri,' he said. 'I wouldn't feel so closed in there.'
'No, brother,' Justin said automatically. He sat, idle and bored, propped against the cliff base, on a rock beside a few bream which he had speared in the pool with his prong-wire.
'We'll go on, we'll go tomorrow.'
'Yes, brother.'
' _Le silence éternel de ces espaces infinis m'effraie_.'
'Yes, brother.'
'You're not listening,' Heriot said bitterly.
'I were thinking, brother.'
'We'll go on, as soon as the sun gets up, tomorrow.'
'Yes.'
Four brolgas, attenuated and grey, crossed the sky with a long purring crake like the opening of an old door. Heriot sat up.
'What are you thinking?' he demanded.
'Nothing.'
'Damn you,' said Heriot.
'What that, brother?'
'Damn you, damn you, damn you,' whispered Heriot to the sky. 'You do me wrong, you do me wrong to take me out of the grave.'
*
When the fire had died down, Dixon in his sleep became vaguely conscious of the absence of light on his eyelids, and woke, and threw more wood on it. It crackled, then bloomed into flame. The great flame of fire, he thought, remembering Justin's voice. The light in its first blaze leaped to the edge of the water, then darkness pushed it back.
One of the blanketed sleepers stirred. 'That good, brother.'
'You awake, Gregory?'
'Little bit.'
'Not scared of the ghosts?'
'No, I not scared. But I don't like sleeping in this place, brother.'
Crawling back to his blanket: 'I don't go much on it, either,' Dixon confessed.
He lay still. Far away up the valley a dingo howled, and howled again, lonely, forsaken.
But that's not it, he thought. He drifted into sleep again and dreamed of a dark woman with her child, and he was full of grief. Don't do that, he said, don't cry. But she was bent over her child. _Wawai! wawai! wawai!_ she crooned, rocking the baby to sleep.
In the morning Heriot woke happy, light filled the gorge and reached his bones, he felt careless and at ease. Justin, at the fire, grilling his fish, looked up warily and saw the old man's face, and smiled, whitely and warmly. 'You feeling good again,' he said.
'Very good,' said Heriot, squatting beside him. 'Ah, you're a good man, Justin, you even brought salt.'
'Those horses pretty glad we going,' Justin said, jerking his head towards the impatient Albert Creek. 'Look 'im, eh, real hungry for grass.'
'I'll go for a swim,' said Heriot restlessly. 'I'll be clean.' He walked briskly down to the sand and the water, and he was upright and strong. When he had dragged off his clothes he considered his body and thought that it was younger than his mind.
Across the fire Justin watched him enter the water, balancing cautiously on the slimy sunken rocks, his body white as a tree-trunk but with dark-brown forearms and neck that did not seem to belong to it. A trace of compassion touched the dark man's thick mouth as he applied himself to his cooking.
When Heriot came out of the water his hair was flattened in strips over his forehead and drops hung in the white stubble on his face. He dried himself perfunctorily on his shirt, and dressed. His clothes stank, he discovered, but was not distressed. He went back to the fire and found Justin had finished his preparations; there was a billy full of tea and the fish was good, fine and juicy. 'Ah, you're a good man,' Heriot threw out vaguely.
When he had eaten he pulled out his tobacco tin, looked in, frowning uncertainly, then closed it again and gazed into the fire.
'I got cigarette if you wanting one,' Justin offered.
'I've got some,' said Heriot, 'but I should save it. Matches, too. Oh, what does it matter?' demanded Heriot of himself. 'When it's gone, it's gone.' He opened the tin again and rolled a cigarette.
Justin asked diffidently: 'How far we going, brother?'
Lighting his cigarette at the fire, puffing smoke: 'I don't know,' Heriot replied.
'Brother—'
'Well?'
'I know why you come out here. That why I followed you. I knew.'
'What?' asked Heriot. 'What did you know?'
Justin said softly: 'You were going to—going to kill youself, brother, with that gun.'
Heriot sat unmoving in front of the fire, his back to Justin: 'How did you know?'
'It all over you face, brother. And that gun in you hand—I knew.'
'Justin,' said Heriot harshly, 'Justin, you should have left me alone.'
'I couldn't do that, brother. Following you, that was only thing I could do. If,' Justin said, with a protest in his voice, 'if you was black fellow, I could take that gun and say: "You don't do that, go home now." But you can't say that to white man, you can't do nothing, only follow.'
'I don't want to die,' said Heriot, pleading with someone. 'Not today.'
'Come back to mission. Please, brother.'
'I can't go back.'
'You saying you don't want to die.'
'Justin,' said Heriot. 'You don't know what I've done.'
He turned, and the look on the craggy face silenced Justin.
'Rex is dead, he was dead when you left, lying outside in the wind. I killed him, Justin. Now I have to die.'
Smoke from the fire drifted between them as they watched one another.
'It's no good your following me, I can't ever go back. But I want to live now, as long as I can. I want to go on and on. And I'm afraid to—do justice to myself. I can only—give myself to the country, and let it do what it likes with me. That would be God's justice.'
'Maybe Rex not dead,' Justin said unsteadily. 'Sister Bond, she real clever, she fix him—'
'Can't you see, it doesn't matter if he's dead or not. All that matters is that I wanted him dead. But he died. I know. Sister Bond can't raise Lazarus.'
With a sudden movement of despair Justin reached for the rifle and pulled it across his knees, slipping the safety catch. 'Brother,' he said thickly, 'I sorry, but you got to come back.'
'Oh, Justin,' said Heriot, softly, smiling, 'if I believed you'd shoot me, I'd kiss your feet.'
The brown man was baffled by his sincerity, he laid the rifle down on the ground. And Heriot, reaching out, seized it.
'This is a ridiculous charade,' he said, sourly grinning, 'but I have to make you go back. I'm going nowhere. Ella and your children need you and you need them.'
'I can't go back!' Justin protested, with bewilderment and anger. 'If I go back, what they going to say? They going to say I let the man what murdered Rex go away, and they going to say I let Brother Heriot kill himself, and they going to say I was scared to know what to do. Ella and my little kids going to say the same, brother.'
'No one will blame you. They know I killed Rex, and they know I can't live in this country.'
'Might be Rex not dead. Then it would be like I kill you, brother.'
'Go home,' Heriot said.
'I never going home, brother. You can't stop me following you, only if you shoot me. I know what right, I not leaving you.'
'I see,' Heriot whispered. He began to tremble, a nerve twitched near his mouth and his tongue was stiff with nausea. 'There's only one thing I can do.'
As he stood up Justin leapt at him and seized the rifle, and they struggled for it, thigh to thigh, in absolute silence, the black man and the white, with the murmur of water drifting up from below the pool and the horses restlessly watching from the sandbank. When the shot came, the cliffs took it and threw it back and forwards between them like a sharp, close crack of thunder, and the men froze. Then Justin stepped back, holding the rifle.
Heriot swung away and went to his horse, and saddled up, Justin all the time silently watching. He led it to the rock shelves, and mounted, and rode on.
When he had gathered up blankets and bags Justin followed and overtook him. And all morning they climbed in silence through the ranges, among rocky hills capped and feathered with grey-green cypress pine, and at noon they came out on a broad tableland and a thicket of saplings through which the horses pushed and strained irritably.
Green budgerigars shrilled through the air, and there appeared briefly two blue parrots, crimson underwings glowing against the sky.
In the silence after their going Heriot sang.
Gunn was with Way in the office when Dixon came back, and both turned quickly to hear him as he appeared at the door. But he only shook his head, hot and weary after the long ride, and sat down on the step.
The room sweated in the afternoon sun. 'So it's no good.' Way said. 'He wasn't there.'
'No.'
'I'd better tell you, Terry, about the telegrams.'
'What telegrams?'
'Two came from the council today, one for Heriot, one for me. Here they are, if you can read my writing.' He passed into Dixon's reaching hand a sheet from the pad beside the wireless, and waited. Dixon's mouth formed the words as he read.
'Well,' he said finally, 'that puts us right. No doubt about it now.'
He pushed the sheet of paper back across the table and it lay there, by Gunn's hand, with its messages pencil-scrawled by Way. _Heriot. Telegram 21 March received resignation reluctantly accepted many regrets good wishes. Way. Please accept position acting superintendent as Heriot arranges._
'There you are,' Way said.
'What do we do now?'
'I think we report it. The telegrams should be enough justification. If he resigned on the morning he disappeared it's pretty clear what he meant to do.'
'And then what happens? Search plane go over?'
'Probably.'
'You beaut. Wait till the money starts rolling in. Stories in the paper. "Man lost in rugged country." Old ladies and gents remembering there's a mission here and shaking up the moneybags.'
'We mustn't be mercenary,' Way said, in a disciplined voice. 'Not yet.'
'I don't believe in it now,' Dixon confessed. His eyes were full of huge landscapes, it was hard to be concerned with the fate of one ant-like man.
'I have to remind myself now and then. It seems as though he's been gone for years.'
Gunn said: 'What good would a plane do? It wouldn't pick out men on horses, except maybe if they were moving across open plain. You'll need a land party.'
'But how're you going to know which way to go?' Dixon demanded, 'unless a plane goes over and spies out the most likely way they'd have taken.'
'I want to go and look for him. Starting tomorrow.'
'You can't go,' Way said firmly. 'You've got the school. You can't leave that.'
'Helen could take it. The Education Department needn't know.'
'You can't go,' Way said decisively.
'Have to be my job, anyway,' Dixon added. 'Forget it, Bob.'
'Ah, kick me, spit on me,' Gunn said, 'roll me in the dirt. All right, I'm no use.'
Way said: 'No insult, but leave the dirty work to your tribal elders. We'll struggle through.'
'Well, I hope Mr Heriot'll struggle through. Do you think he'll be out there waving his little white hanky when the plane goes over?'
There was a silence, and then they began to laugh, all three of them, without any reason except that they felt tired and puzzled and none of them had been quite listening to the others. 'Ah, heck,' Dixon said at last, 'it's not funny, but you've got to laugh, I don't know.'
'Aren't we cheerful?' Way remarked. 'Funny thing.'
Dixon got up slowly and stretched himself. 'Heriot not being here,' he said, 'that makes the difference.' He scratched himself and made monkey noises. 'I feel drunker than I've felt since I was drunk.'
'Could you sober up enough to take the launch in tonight?' Way wondered.
'I reckon.'
Gunn said suddenly: 'He's going to die. That old man's going to die. We make me sick.' They looked at each other in the hot little room with faces blank as stone.
Coming down the hillside, seeing, instead of rock, spreading grasslands patched here and there with blue pools and with gum trees, cadjiputs, and lonely baobabs, Heriot sighed and felt peace rise like a wind from the plain. The horses struggled down the slope, but at the bottom was a clump of pandanus, and a shock of cool air heavy with the smell of damp grass, so that they revived, nervously, and remembered that there were other things in the world beyond stones and heat.
'That pool,' said Heriot, 'that waterhole, that looks fine, that looks like a pool to bring a man back to life.'
'Yes,' Justin said.
They made towards it, the sun in their eyes, hanging low over the flat-peaked blue hills to the far west with their high diadems of rock. 'We have far to go,' Heriot said. 'But here's a pretty place for bed and a bath.'
'You stop here,' Justin said, pulling up and slipping out of the saddle. 'I going to get duck.' He made off towards the pool, bent low, looking apelike with the rifle hanging from one long arm.
Heriot sang to himself peacefully. Presently there was a shot, and a clatter of wings as cloud upon cloud of ducks rose in relays from the water and streamed overhead with a high ethereal whistling, as if some stringed instrument had been hurled with great force through the air. Heriot waited, knowing their habit, until the flock turned, far away across the plain, and came whistling back over the pool and wheeled again, and finally, with a volley of splashes, descended on the water. Then there was briefly silence, before the second shot came and the birds took to air again, whisding and wheeling distressfully over the grassland. From the pool Justin shouted.
When Heriot came to the water's edge, leading Justin's horse, the brown man was wading out of the water, and stood proud and naked among the lilies holding in each hand a limp duck. The low sunlight glowed through lily petals as if through quartz, and Justin stood in a circle of ripples ridged with light.
'Hawk-eyed hunter,' Heriot said courteously. 'That, with a rifle, is clever.'
'You get off and sit down,' Justin said. 'You looking real tired.'
But Heriot sat still in his saddle, watching the sun with red-veined eyes. His wild hair glowed with light at the edges, there were lights also in the white stubble on his face.
His back ached, he ached all over from riding. He closed his eyes.
'Old man—'
'What?'
'Don't you go to sleep, sitting up there.'
'I'm not sleepy,' Heriot said. 'I'm in love. Never say good-bye. This earth seduces me.'
'Get down, old man.'
'I grudge stopping. I'm thirsty for horizons.'
'Look 'im, eh,' Justin said, with a deep eruption of laughter. 'Real sleepy now, like little kid.'
'Are you afraid, Justin?'
'Me? No, I not afraid.'
'Come on with me. There's nothing in the past, there's nobody behind us or ahead. Doomsday will find us.'
'I coming with you,' Justin promised. He threw his ducks in the grass, reached for Albert Creek's bridle and led him away towards the single baobab that stood guard over the waterhole. 'You get down here,' he said, grinning privately, shining dark and wet in the late sun. 'You go to sleep.'
Heriot turned from the assisting arms and sank down beside the swollen tree trunk. The cool scents of damp grass and reeds and water washed over him, drowned him, he fell asleep.
'And remember Sophy,' Way prayed in the crowded church, 'in the leprosarium at Derby, and Molly and Maurice in hospital at Darwin, and Rex, here, in our own hospital. And remember especially Brother Heriot and Justin, and all others in sickness or distress of mind or body. May God in His mercy guard them, watch over them in all adversity, and bring them at the end to everlasting life.'
In the still church the amen came loud and firm. They love him, Helen thought, now, when he is in trouble. Now they can give the white man what they need most to give but are never allowed, their kindness and their pity. And now I love them, too, they are good people.
On the heels of the organ they swung into singing, and she, singing with them, found in their voices a depth and a sincerity that she had never noticed before, so that she was taken by surprise and felt a stiffness of tears in her throat. The hymn welled up and broke out over the grass half-walls to the hot night and the earth lying dead as the moon under a still sky:
'Guide me, O Thou great Redeemer,
Pilgrim through this barren land;
I am weak, but Thou art mighty,
Hold me with Thy powerful hand;
Bread of Heaven,
Bread of Heaven,
Feed me now and evermore,
Feed me now and evermore.'
At first the boat sat, white with moonlight, on mud. Then the tide began to creep in, circling through mud channels, until it reached the soft island in mid-stream and the boat listed and floated and rose on the brown water. On the mud-bank below the cliff the mangroves stood deep in the currents of the twice-a-day river.
Afterwards, a dinghy put out from the shadow of a baobab on the near bank and one of the dark figures in it boarded the boat. The lights went on, and out again, the engine roared. Presently the boat moved up the water, and turning came gradually in to the landing-stage and to silence.
Way, standing in the shadow of the baobab, pulled an envelope from his pocket and said: 'Don't let me forget this, Terry. It's the report you have to make to the police.'
'Let's have a look at it,' Dixon said, taking it out and reading it over in the light of Way's torch. '"Miss Bond, the nurse,"' he mumbled, '"confirms that Mr Heriot had been in a depressed state of mind for some time, a fact which had been obvious to many of us. We therefore think there is good reason to fear that his motive in disappearing may have been to inflict injury on himself." I couldn't say that to Bill Williams,' he protested. 'He'd bust himself laughing.'
'Well, put it in your own words and then give them the statement.'
The men were standing waiting on the lighted boat. 'Time we pushed off,' Dixon said. 'See you, padre.' He stuffed the envelope into his shirt pocket and went on board.
The boat drifted out from the landing-stage into mid-river. Then the lights went out, the engine roared, the light of Way's torch under the trees receded and disappeared. They travelled for three hours among mud-banks thicketed with mangroves, past cliffs rising sheer out of the water and rocky hills softened a little by trees. At the mouth of the river they anchored for the turning of the tide, and there the slack water mirrored the Southern Cross, and the sudden flash of a torch picked out red eyes of crocodiles among the mangroves. After sleeping briefly they took to the sea, and came in the early morning in sight of the little township cowering under its mountains, where the hawks wheeled and watched forever over their high, vertical country.
## 6
Heriot woke to the harsh outcry of crows, it was a crow his eyes saw first as they opened unwillingly on the light of day. A shining bird, it clung in the tree close above his head and broadcast its discovery to the air. Presently two more crows came planing in to join it and to perch and peer sidelong at the prone man.
'You think I'm dead,' he said. 'Damn your impudence. I'm a strong man yet.' He got to his feet energetically and waved his blanket at them, so that they flew, protesting.
Justin was in his usual post at the fire, smoke rising blue and clear into the sky. 'I'll never starve,' Heriot said, coming up behind him, 'while I have you.'
The brown man looked round with a grin. 'I thinking we better keep that tin food. Not much there, old man. You like duck?'
' _Jau, ngaia nambal_.' He took the little cooked wing Justin handed to him and chewed it.
'Good, eh?'
' _Manambara_.'
'Why you talking language now, old man? _Angundja-gu jei gram?_ '
' _Gadea gabu_ ,' Heriot said, ' _ngaia bendjin, nawuru morong nangga_. No more white man. I'm a blackfellow, son of the sun.'
Justin laughed, slow and shy, looking up glowingly from under his jutting forehead. There was grey in his hair, Heriot saw, and it showed in the incipient beard, but his smile was young. ' _Maoba_ ,' he said, 'old man, _bendjin_ don't always say _gadea_ for white man.'
'No?'
'Most of the people, they say _djuari_ or they say _bungama_ , because you all white like devil-devil or ghost.'
' _Bungama ngarang_ ,' said Heriot contentedly. 'I am a ghost.'
'Which way we going today?'
' _Gala_. That way. West. To track the sun.'
' _Gare_ ,' Justin said, 'okay. Now you have you breakfast.'
When they had packed up and were moving again a troop of hawks came and hovered over their heads and moved with them, hanging so low that Heriot, when he looked up, could see their watching eyes.
'What are they doing?' he asked, suddenly frightened and old.
'They just looking at us. They not cheeky.'
'Why are they following me?'
'They follow anyone, old man.'
'No,' Heriot said shakily, 'they're following me, they're waiting for me to die.' He screamed at the hawks: 'Get away, you filthy vultures, go on! I'm not going to die!' But they wheeled still.
'Don't look at them,' Justin advised, 'they go away soon, they got their own countries.'
'Shoot them,' Heriot commanded. 'Where's the rifle? Give it to me. Why are they watching me?'
'They all right, old man.'
'Filthy birds! Look at them,' Heriot raged, 'watching me. They're going to follow us, all the way. Why don't you shoot them, damn you?'
'They always around,' Justin said. But though the birds presently dropped back, others rose and briefly followed as the two men rode on towards the new range; and when, hours later, they stopped to rest and eat by a palm-shadowed spring at the foot of one of the sentinel hills, the hawks were above, circling the peak in restless vigilance.
'Why is the earth so hungry?' Heriot protested weakly. 'Where is God?'
Standing in the tin shade of one of the stores, bored and out of place, Dixon thought longingly of the mission. Here, in this little shanty township, he was a foreigner. He felt an urge to call out after people he had known in his unregenerate days: 'Hey, look, I'm a human, I don't go round preaching and Bible-bashing, I'm still an ordinary bloke.' But it would have been useless. His acquaintances knew that something strange had happened to Terry Dixon, and if you got too close to him he might start talking about it, and that would be intolerable. So there was unease in their manner when they spoke to him, and no conversation lasted very long.
In the shade of the same store a young English couple were forlornly waiting. Came off the boat, Dixon thought, most likely flew to Darwin and now they're going down the coast, seeing the sights. Good luck to them. The man, looking around him with tired disbelief, said gloomily: 'God, this place doesn't really exist. It's an hallucination of the underprivileged.'
Dixon wandered away and turned at the end of the street towards the foreshore where the brown sea lapped at the brown mud. The sea and the hills hemmed in the town, it could never be more than one street wide. The boat rode at anchor on the water, and he could see one of the boys asleep on the deck, but there was no sign of the others. But he guessed where they would be, and strolled on towards the citadel of empty petrol drums on the shore, and through its passages, walled higher than his head, until a whispered: ' _Djuari brambun!_ ' stopped him. White man, devil-devil coming.
They were sitting in a kind of room inside their labyrinth, and seeing a few scattered cards he knew that they had been playing their own peculiar form of poker with a few natives from the town. The cowboy hat that he remembered seeing on Arthur's head, during the trip in, now sat on a stranger, but Matthew had acquired a girl's scarf and had it knotted round his throat. Around them lay broken and empty beer bottles, relics of ancient parties. But they had not been drinking, they swore it with their defiantly innocent eyes as they watched him.
'When we go, brother?' Matthew asked eventually.
'Tonight's tide. That's what I came to tell you. Should be about ten past eleven if I've worked it out right.'
Arthur gave an exaggerated sigh. 'I happy now, brother. This country make me sick.'
Wish it made you sicker, Dixon thought. Wish it made you sick enough to stay on the boat and leave these town blokes alone. Lines from a song that Gunn sang with the children round the piano came back to him.
Tell Bill, when he leaves home,
To let them down-town coons alone.
This morning. This evening. So soon.
'This isn't our country,' he said. 'The mission's our country.'
'I feeling homesick,' Matthew complained, 'away from my country.'
Dixon grinned. He liked them, he would have preferred to stay with them, but he was more than ever foreign to them, and unwanted, here. He was foreign everywhere, and disliked it, being a friendly man and anxious to be in no way different from the rest of the human race. At such times he recognized, without congratulating or pitying himself, the extent of his sacrifice. But there was no help for it, he could only go and fix up about a few stores, then drift into the hotel and sit about somewhere waiting for the tide. It's a dog's life, he thought. I feel homesick for Matthew's country, too.
Waiting in the still room, oddly nervous: 'You don't remember anything?' Helen asked softly. 'Nothing at all?'
Below the white bandages Rex's eyes were very bright and very lost. 'I don't remember nothing, sister. What happen to me?'
'Wait, Rex, tell me—what was the last thing you remember?'
'I were walking in all that dust. It real windy then. Getting dark, too...'
'And then?'
'Nothing,' Rex said, his voice blank as his face. 'Just getting dark.'
She remembered a day in her childhood when she had gone out with a farmhand and met with an accident. It had been clear daylight when they left the house, but as they crossed the paddock darkness began to fall. It was twilight when they reached the gate, and when they passed through it, night. Later in the day she had fallen from a tree and been carried home unconscious, but though they told her afterwards all that had happened she could never remember more than that, the dimness through which she perceived the gate, and the entry into nothing. Now, since it seemed likely that Rex also had lost irrecoverably this small part of his life, she began to see why Dixon and Gunn had so vehemently cried down her proposal to tell him the truth, and was afraid they were right in calling her reckless and irrational. Yet she clung to the conviction that there could be no healing of the wounds inflicted by Heriot unless Rex knew and forgave.
Her fingers were restless, making pleats in her skirt and smoothing them away. 'You don't remember seeing anyone?' she asked hesitantly. 'You don't remember Brother Heriot?'
'No, sister. He weren't there then.'
'Rex—what do you think of Brother Heriot?'
The thick eyebrows lowered a little and the eyes looked away. 'He don't like me, sister.'
'But if he was in trouble, you'd forgive him, wouldn't you, and shake hands?'
The man said suddenly and with bitterness: 'I don't apologize to no one no more. When you apologize, they just think you beaten then. They just laugh at you. I sick of that.'
'I don't mean apologizing, Rex, I mean forgiving. Forgiving someone who has done wrong to you. Wouldn't you do that?'
'Might be, if they was sorry. Brother Heriot, he done wrong to me, but he not sorry. He never sorry, that old man.'
'Rex, listen. Brother Heriot has disappeared. He's gone bush somewhere and he might never come back. He may be dead. Don't you feel sorry for him now?'
After a moment he nodded, but bewilderedly. 'What for he done that, sister?'
Now, she thought, now I'm going to prove myself really a fool. If I left things here I'd have done quite enough. But to keep him in the dark because he doesn't remember would be as unfair as to ignore the whole thing because he's black. And there must be forgiveness, there must be reconciliation, for everyone's sake. And she said, with extreme care: 'You may as well know what happened to you that afternoon.'
'Someone hit me?' he asked listlessly.
'Why, you don't—you don't remember—do you?'
'No, sister. But plenty people,' he said with a faint grin, 'don't like me.'
'Supposing someone had hit you, and you knew—what would you do?'
'Hit him, sister. Real hard.'
'I'll explain to you. You were hit with a stone, and you fell and hurt your head on another stone.'
'Yes, sister? That was woman, eh?'
'Oh, can't you see?' she demanded impatiently. 'I'm trying to tell you that we think Brother Heriot threw the stone. And then, when he thought you were dead, he ran away, and Justin followed him.'
The dark eyes stared at her. He was stricken into silence.
'Well?' she asked. 'Haven't you anything to say?'
'I—I don't know, sister. It real hard for me to believe that.'
'I know it must be, but—'
'Justin gone, too?'
'Yes.'
'Might be Justin try to kill me, and Brother Heriot see him and chase him.'
She had never thought of that possibility, and was suddenly in terror that he might be right, that she had accused Heriot unjustly, that she had done irreparable harm to the mission and to the whole white race. 'But Justin—' she said. 'Justin?'
He began to look even a little pleased with the idea of Heriot's threatening his life. 'That old man, he must hate me a lot,' he said wonderingly.
'No,' she protested, 'not hate you, love you, all of you. It's because he loves you and you disappoint him that he's so bitter and angry. It's because he's given his life to you and you waste it. He's a good man.'
'Where you think he are now, sister?'
'I don't know. None of us knows. He may be dead.'
Rex stared at her.
'He ran away because he thought he'd hurt you. You see, he was so sorry he wanted to die.'
'Yes, sister?'
'So you must forgive him, and pray for him, and never tell anyone what I've told you. And if he comes back you must go up to him and say you're his friend, and he'll be yours, always.'
She watched his face, and in doing so could sense the emotions that were moving him. She felt his incredulity, then an odd sort of pride that hatred of him should have forced a divinity like Heriot to such an action. Then something stronger and stranger, a mixture of fear and humility.
'Sister,' he said, huskily.
'What is it?'
'I know why that old man want me dead. It because—it because he reckon I kill my wife, sister.'
'I know he thought that—'
'He always saying that. He not fair to me!'
'Perhaps not—'
'He say I give her a belting, and then she have that little dead baby and she die then.'
'I know. I've heard what he said.'
He held the sheet clenched tightly in his hands; his voice had gone higher, his mouth and brows were twisted, and she saw with astonishment that he was seized with grief. 'You reckon that true?' he demanded of her. 'Sister, _you_ reckon that true?'
They came to a valley in the foothills, the floor covered with broken rocks, the sides cliffs. Thick grass grew up through the rocks, sign of a stream, but the water was overgrown and probably foul and the source not to be seen.
'Might be pool up there,' Justin said, pointing. 'Better we go up there and camp now.'
Heriot said nothing. He was in a daze, tired to the bones, and the stillness racked him like an eternally recurring noise. So lulled, so deadened, he followed Justin without a word as the brown man turned his horse across the valley floor to the smooth shelves of rock at the base of the cliffs.
They rode in a silence relieved only by the rattle of stones from the horses' hoofs. Trees, grass, and water were still as death, and beyond them was nothing but rock. They passed a stretch of rock pitted and wrinkled like lava. How old is this country? Heriot wondered. But it's not old, it's just born, the sea has never been over it, it was created yesterday, dead as the moon. Let the sea some day come up and drown it and fish come swimming out of the rock-pigeons' holes. I will ride with my hair green and wild, through the canyons of the sea.
In the silence there came a sudden irruption of sound, the crackle of fire. They stopped, listening, horses and men frozen like statues against the carved cliffs. Then movement came into the scene with the slow drifting of smoke across the valley from the cliff top.
'There somebody,' Justin whispered. 'There, look. Cane-grass fire.'
Heriot stared blankly.
'Bush people, old man. They seen us.'
'Bless their black hearts,' Heriot said listlessly.
Justin grinned. 'They going to listen to me,' he said. 'I got gun.'
Then there was quiet again except for the fire. Someone was watching them, but who it was or where there was nothing to show. Only the smoke, slowly drifting over.
'We can't go no farther,' Justin said, pointing at the outcrop of cliff ahead of them. 'We got to walk. I fix up horses, eh, and come after you?'
Dismounting, resigning his horse, Heriot began to pick his way painfully along the rock towards the obstruction, all his years and more in the aching spine, the stiff sore legs. He sang to himself in order to forget his pains. Justin caught up with him and supported him as he edged his way round the jutting rock.
Ahead of them the valley ended in cliffs, steeper than any above them, half of the wall in deep shadow, half burning redly in the sun. There was no exit but the way they had come. At the end there was perhaps a pool, but long grass and low trees hid it. Below them the rock shelf dropped steeply down into a little pond choked with grass and lilies.
Justin put his hands to his mouth and shouted: ' _Bau!_ ' Echoes rattled. ' _Gui!_ ' he called. 'Djanama!'
The words lapsed into the same stillness. 'Djanama,' he muttered aside to Heriot, 'that my bush name.'
'What a pretty name,' Heriot said vacantly. 'My name is Arriet.'
' _Gui!_ ' Justin shouted again. 'Djanama-a-a-a!'
As they moved forward the air came suddenly to life, with the high shouts of women and the bark of dogs under the farther cliffs. Then, between trees, a woman appeared, her incredibly ancient red dress hanging in rags over her shrunken body. She stood, arms drooping crookedly down, watching their approach.
Justin went forward to meet her; and they looked at one another, nervous, distrustful, until he impatiently laid down the blanket roll, foodbag, and rifle with which he had loaded himself and reached out and touched her with both hands. Then she, reluctantly, with her bird-claw fingers did the same.
They struggled to express themselves to one another, both wishing to know the other's country and business, both speaking different languages. But finally some sort of understanding came. Justin turned and called out to Heriot: 'She say she come from that other mission, up that way, but most time all this people live here. She don't talk English. She say this people don't like white man.'
Heriot shrugged.
A man came through the bushes, a tall man wearing tattered khaki shorts, and old, with tangled white hair and beard. He surveyed Heriot suspiciously from under jutting brows, seeming to bear out all the woman had said of her people's hostility. But abruptly, in an astonishing transformation, he grinned, and came forward laughing with shy goodwill to take Heriot's hands.
'Alunggu,' Heriot said in a lost voice. 'So you're alive.'
' _Jau_ ,' Alunggu confirmed strongly. 'Likem budj; me—budj beoble; me—gamb long budj, all dime now. You—bin—go long budj, now, eh?'
'I old man,' Heriot said. 'Close up dead. I go along bush now, yes.'
'You—gamb—'ere?'
'I'm running from the hawks. Going to the islands. I camp anywhere.'
Alunggu frowned, half-comprehending. 'Beoble,' he said, 'beoble no—glogj.'
'What do I care for clothes?' Heriot asked of the air. 'I want to sleep. Anywhere.'
Justin spoke in his own language to Alunggu, and the old man reached out for Heriot's hand, leading him on. Past the bushes and the rocks, they came on a camp area, dotted with bough shelters in the shadows of which ancient women and decrepit men sat in weary peace. A small, deep pool lay below the cliffs and was shadowed greenly by pandanus and vine-strangled trees. Everything in the valley existed in a state of suspended life, the trees were still, and the old, naked people sat like water-sculptured stones.
Justin murmured to Alunggu, a small, dry sound. In answer the old man pointed towards the cliff a little back from the edge of the pool and made towards it, leading Heriot behind him. The ancient statues made no move, no sound; a few of them watched the strangers, but most stared rigidly in front of them. Under the overhanging of rock which Alunggu had indicated, the newcomers found a smoothed patch of earth, and there Justin threw down his load.
'We camp here, old man,' he said. 'That all right, eh?'
But Heriot said nothing, being stricken also with the valley's silence. He sat down on the blanket roll and stared. Beside him, Alunggu and Justin took up their murmured conversation again, and presently Justin said: 'This old man want me to go and get kangaroo with my gun. I come back pretty soon. You wait, eh?'
'Yes,' Heriot muttered. 'Yes.'
'I see you later, old man.'
'Yes,' Heriot said feebly.
They went from him then and disappeared, returning to view long afterwards on the top of the cliffs, but he did not see them. For a long time he sat in the petrified attitude of his hosts, until through his trance consciousness came of the clammy discomfort of his clothes and the grime of his body, so that he stood up and went to the pool and stripped off his clothes and swam.
When he came out he felt younger, and came plodding up from the pool naked, carrying his clothes. In his path an old woman sat outside her wurley, gazing at nothing.
'I am one of you,' he said. ' _Ngaia bendjin_.'
But she understood neither language, and did not look at him.
'I am your friend,' he said.
She reached out to touch her dog, which was growling, but did not move her head.
'Ah, you thing,' he said resentfully, 'you thing of dirt and wrinkles and pubic hair.'
He realized then that she was blind, and was filled with penitence, and went back to his camp under the rock where the foodbag was, and with his knife hacked open one of the precious tins. And he took it back to her and pushed pieces into her loose mouth. At first she struggled weakly to keep him away and turned her head from him, though she still kept her dog in order with one skinny hand. But then she tasted meat, and swallowed it, and turned to him with a grin that disclosed her great gums and the worn-down remnants of teeth just showing through them. He fed her until she was satisfied, and then she reached out and touched his shoulder with her hand, and leaned over and rested her forehead there. In that way they sat for what seemed a long time in that timeless place, naked brown woman by naked white man, and he stroked the loose skin of her back with tenderness, wanting to laugh, wanting to weep.
A man came out of the hotel and sat down with Dixon on a step. The street was dark and, except for the voices in the bar, silent. After a moment the man pulled out a mouth organ and played a sad, reedy tune.
'You work around here?' Dixon asked, when he had finished.
'Nah, not me. Queenslander.'
'Bit out of your way, aren't you?'
'I been working all up the coast here. Work the wharves a bit, get a bit of cash, and come on to the next place.'
'Like it?'
'What, the West? Jeez, I don't know how to answer you, mate.'
'Don't like it, by the sound.'
'I don't know. When you go to school you learn about these towns and you think they're real towns, like the ones we got over there. But when you come over and look at 'em—Christ, these aren't towns.'
'Give 'em a chance to grow. It's a big state.'
'I tell you what, mate, there's not a town north of Geraldton we'd call a town.'
'Looks like you'll be leaving pretty soon,' Dixon said.
'You bet your life. Darwin for me, then Isa, then Cairns. What's your lurk, mate?'
'Me? Stockman on a mission.'
'Mission? Christ. Any money in it?'
'No.'
'The wharves are good. I can pick up sixty quid, maybe, in a few days.'
'I make that in a year,' Dixon confessed, in a low voice.
'You're mad,' the man said, shocked.
'Maybe. I like it, that's all.'
'Tell you what, mate, you want someone to look after you. Come along with me for a while, pick up a bit of dough. Get a look at Australia.'
'I wouldn't mind,' Dixon said. 'I've got a job, that's all.'
'Chuck it in.'
'I can't,' Dixon said. 'No good talking about it. Give us a tune on that gadget of yours.'
The man shrugged and put the mouth organ to his lips, breaking into a cowboy melody. Nothing sounds sadder than one of those, Dixon thought, and nostalgia washed through him, the memory of nights around fires with the mouth organ for a background, and men holding forth strongly on their particular subjects, and himself no stranger.
But across the road, in the deep shadow of a store veranda, the black men were watching, waiting for the tide and for him. And he knew that he had made their country his, and their future his, and that many times in his first life he had been as lonely and as foreign as the mouth organ now made him feel. So he filled his mind with the rocky country up the river, and the thin music had no power over him.
Fires starred the darkness of the camp. Under his rock, behind his own fire, Heriot threw aside the remains of the piece of kangaroo Justin had brought him and sighed.
'That was good, eh?' Justin asked.
'Yes,' Heriot said. 'Yes.' He was weary to the point of collapse, and yet restless, unable to find any expression for his violent and disordered feelings.
From the darkness beyond the fires an old man began uncertainly to sing. A few more voices took him up, a sound weak and yet wild threaded through the valley. And Heriot, to a corroboree tune of tearing sadness, sang over them.
'This ae night, this ae night,
Every night and all,
Fire and fleet and candlelight,
And Christ receive thy soul.'
'Don't, old man,' Justin whispered, shaken inwardly by the desolation of Heriot's voice.
'When thou from hence away art past,
Every night and all,
To Whinny-muir thou com'st at last,
And Christ receive thy soul.'
'You go sleep now,' Justin pleaded. The valley was silent again, the invisible dark singers quelled. But there was no stopping the terrible voice of the naked white man.
'If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
Every night and all,
Sit thee down and put them on:
And Christ receive thy soul.'
'Don't do that, old man.'
'I've given hosen and shoon.' Heriot said. 'Haven't I? And meat and drink. And a wife. And many years of my life.'
'You done that, old man.'
'I will pass,' Heriot muttered. 'Yes, I'll pass.' He went to sleep just as he lay. It was like the dying away of flame around a log.
Heriot dreamed, under his dark rock, of a surge of light pursuing him over the plains, crests and combers of flowing light reaching for him as he fled, in astonishment and terror, over the bare earth.
Oh God, cried Heriot, running for the hills, Oh God, preserve me.
A cliff rose out of the ground in front of him, he fell against it, seizing it with his hands. My hands, cried Heriot, looking at them. My quick, malicious hands. He would have stayed to stare at them, so intricately boned and veined, so subtly meshed; but the tide was coming and there was no time to stand, he clawed at the cliffs and climbed, his hands shaking, his feet slipping, beyond the boiling light.
Against the rock the waves broke in a brilliant surf, smashed into violet, indigo, green, yellow, orange, and red. All pure light, flowing and fractious, hungry for Heriot.
Give me strength, he cried, give me strength against the ravenous light. I am old and weak, too weak to bear annihilation. But his strength was gone and there could be no more climbing, he could only cling and pray as the breakers rose towards his feet.
The sun was blinded with the spray of them, time died, there was nothing but the light and the agony of waiting.
Now I become nothing, whispered Heriot, now and forever, for ever and ever, I am no more. He closed his eyes, waiting, clinging to the rock. No more, no more.
Then the intolerable sweetness washed over him. His hands slackened as he cried out, in astonishment and joy.
I am all light, cried Heriot, I am torn, I am torn apart, all light, all glorious light.
All elements and colours in him were resolved, each to return to its source below the enormous swell. And under the surf and into annihilation sank the last of Heriot's wild white hair.
Below the dark rock the sleeping Heriot waited for the ebb. It was a dream, he remembered, half-awake; a tired dream. But when the tide goes back, will there be nothing left, nothing but the bare earth under the cliff?
The tide began slowly to turn. But because of his dread Heriot could not wait for the uncovering of the ground, he began to shout: 'No! No!' and woke, shouting 'No!' under the black rock.
'Old man,' whispered Justin in the darkness, his voice strained with fear of the spirit that cried out in Heriot's body, 'what you got?'
'Nothing,' said Heriot. He put his hands across his eyes and sobbed like a child. 'Nothing. Nothing.'
## 7
When he woke again there was the rock hanging above his head, and he remembered all his journeying past cliffs rising out of their ruins, the huge size of the boulders that strewed the valleys, and the debris of vast and ancient landslides. Because of this his eyes fastened apprehensively on the cliff overhanging his sleeping-place; he saw the cracks in it, thought he saw them widen, thought he heard the grating of moving surfaces and sharp sounds of fission. He hauled himself upright on his aching bones and ran out into the camp area, shouting: 'Justin!'
Justin appeared, looking agile and young among the derelicts surrounding him, and very important with the rifle in his hand. 'What that, old man?'
'Let's go,' Heriot begged, 'before these cliffs fall. Let's go quickly, Justin.'
'Those cliff not going to fall, old man.'
'I want to go!'
'Hey, you look now,' Justin reasoned, 'these horse properly tired out now, you let them stay there where all that grass. Then we go tomorrow.'
Suddenly old and tremulous: 'I'm afraid,' Heriot said.
'Nothing going to hurt you, old man.'
'Justin,' Heriot pleaded, 'listen to me. Don't forget me now because I'm old and dying.'
'I listen to you all the time, old man. But I reckon better we stay here now and I go away getting tucker with my gun for this old people. You not dying, old man. You better go put your clothes on now, eh?' Embarrassment at the absurd appearance of the white man broke through the tolerant voice. 'It not right you walking round like that. You lie down sleeping all day, you feel good then.'
'I won't be one of these people,' Heriot protested hoarsely. 'I won't be so wretched. I'm not dead yet, I'm still strong, I can't—I can't—stop—now.' He turned away, shaking his head, and tears rolled down the cracks of his face. 'Ah, God—'
'You go and be down now,' Justin said gently.
'Yes,' Heriot sobbed, 'yes.' He went back to his place under the rock and lay there and wept to himself at intervals through the whole day. At other times he slept, or lay stiff and still, his head swirling with meaningless and unconnected memories. Occasionally the silence of the valley would be broken by a shot in the hills above it, and once an aeroplane flew low over, heading west, and filled the whole place with its roar. Then there were a few shouts of alarm from the natives, but Heriot was neither startled nor curious. He registered only sounds outside and feelings inside himself. He was as simple as a child first come to light, and as bare.
The two stout women stopped by the hospital and leaned over the fence. On the veranda Rex sat propped up on a bed, reading a comic book. The women looked at him and at each other. Then one shouted: ' _Gari!_ '
He raised his head and considered them, unhappily.
' _Gari! Na gari!_ ' screamed the other woman.
' _Bui!_ ' he returned to them. ' _Walea! Lewa!_ ' They were whores, they were bitches, in his opinion; he invited them to retire. ' _Bui! Na gari, na!_ '
When the women became abruptly silent he thought he had vanquished them, but in fact Helen had come out on the veranda and was watching the scene. 'What are they shouting?' she asked him. 'I keep hearing women screaming at you all morning. What does _gari_ mean?'
He kept his eyes down and muttered after a moment: 'It mean: "You no-good."'
'That's unkind of them,' she said lightly.
'They say—' he began, and broke off.
'Well, what do they say?'
'They say Brother Heriot go away because I here. They reckon I make him sad and make him hate mission and he not coming back.'
'Oh,' she said softly. 'That's very hard.'
'And, sister, they reckon God hit me on the head that day because what I done to brother.'
'Oh,' she said.
'Might be that true, sister. Nobody know what hit me then.'
'No. Nobody knows.'
'Sister—i'n't somebody going looking for brother?'
'Yes, soon. The plane's looking for him now.'
'I go, sister?' He searched her eyes, pleadingly. 'I go?'
'No, Rex. You're not well enough.'
'I good now, sister. I got hard head on me, I not sick now.'
'You can't go,' she said, and turned her eyes away from the desperate resentment in his.
When she came into the room she was struck by the pallor of their faces, as she always was coming suddenly upon her fellow-Europeans. What a loathsome colour we are, she thought. All pink and disgusting. Why weren't we all made black?
She looked them over. Harris, wizened and balding, desperately thin, with his sudden, warm grin. Mrs Way, who might have been a grey-haired mistress in a girls' school, there was something so firm and widowlike about her. Way, rather shorter, rather heavier, with his sensible, dutiful face and tight mouth. Dixon, long, thin, and a little bent, with his sandy hair and narrow sunburned nose, his eyes that were abstracted or nervous. And the darker, finer, more compact Gunn, uneasy in his movements but stubborn in his expressions, eternally watchful.
'Well,' Way said, 'as we're all here, let's begin. I haven't much to say, I thought this would be more an opportunity for you to advise me. You all know the situation. Mr Heriot and Justin have gone, and we have to assume they went west through the hills; it's the most likely way. There aren't any tracks and we don't even know exactly when they left; only that it was on the day of the wind. The search plane went over this morning and may go again tomorrow. And the police have told me to send out a land party. That's the lot.'
'Who takes the land party?' Gunn asked.
'Looks like me,' said Dixon. 'Who else would it be?'
'Me.'
'Cut it out, Bob. We talked this over before.'
Harris said: 'We haven't heard. Talk it over again.'
Way tapped the table thoughtfully with a pencil. 'Since we had this out two weeks ago,' he said, 'I've been wondering more and more about it. I think I'm coming round to your point of view, Bob. Fact is that with things as they are I don't think I could carry on without Terry.'
'I'm afraid I've influenced him,' Mrs Way said. 'But you know, don't you, that I'm quite capable of coping with the school? I had two years with a small church school in India before we came to this country. So there's really no reason why Bob shouldn't go, if he'll trust me with his children.'
'But Bob's no bushman,' Dixon pointed out. 'What if you have to send me out to find him?'
'You're going too far,' Gunn said. 'Cut out these underhand gibes.'
Harris said: 'He doesn't need to be a bushman. All he needs to do is take Naldia with him and he'd be safe to go to Melbourne.'
'Who's Naldia?' Dixon asked.
'He's a bloke about fifty, one of the first children we ever took in here. But he went bush again when he was older. He knows that country better than anyone else his age. Talks a bit of English as well. You couldn't go wrong with him. He's up at the camp now.'
Gunn was beaming. 'Well,' said Dixon, 'that was short and sweet. Good luck, Bob.'
'Thanks.'
'Who're you taking with you?'
'Well, Naldia. I don't know about the rest. Paul might be a good man.'
'Take Stephen. He's busting to go. Seems to think it's partly his fault Heriot went off.'
'Rex thinks the same,' Helen said. 'Funny, isn't it? I think it's the first time they've seen a white man in bad trouble and they're all rallying round like anything.'
'I can't take Rex,' Gunn said, 'but Stephen's okay. We could go in the morning, if Harry'll fix us up with stores and Terry'll work out about the horses.'
Harris and Dixon murmured assurances, and a silence fell on the Ways' bare little living-room, to be broken at last by the hostess. 'Well,' she said, with pleasure, 'everything seems to have worked out very comfortably. And I must say I'm looking forward to having the school for a little while. I've often envied you, Bob, such dear children you have. Shall we have supper now?'
'I think we may,' Way said. 'Nobody wants to say anything else?'
'Yes,' Harris said, 'I want to wish you good luck with this superintendent job. I've seen them come and go and I can pick a good one.'
'Second that,' Dixon said, and the others murmured.
'Well, I wasn't fishing for it,' Way said, with embarrassment, 'but thank you very much. It's only temporary, of course.'
'Heriot was only temporary,' Harris said. 'He had the job ten years.'
'Speech,' requested Gunn.
'I'm not used to making speeches—'
'Sermon, then.'
'Well, you know, I pledge myself to do the usual things as far as I possibly can. And I hope that in my time and in my successor's time we'll see some development in—well, in the relations between ourselves and the people. I hope we'll come closer and have the time and the staff eventually to make ourselves understood to them, teach them something of their own position in society, and their obligations, and their future. We're coming to a very bad time in the history of their development, and if we don't succeed in making contact with them and giving them some—orientation, the results could be unhappy for everyone. But with faith in them I think we'll come through. I ought to say that these ideas are as much Heriot's as mine, and when he spoke to me he was more or less handing over the problem to us. So if we succeed, we can feel that we're carrying out the plans that he hadn't the—opportunity of putting into action. That's really all I have to say.'
Now we feel happy, Helen thought, watching the faces. And hopeful. We know what we're doing. Is this very unkind of us, to feel so—relieved, now that Mr Heriot has gone?
Dixon grinned at her. Why is he watching me? she thought. And why have I been watching him, all through Father's speech?
There was Rex, lying awake on a dark veranda, crying in his mind: 'Ah, brother, where you now, eh? Where you now?'
And there was Heriot, asleep below his rock. 'Oh no, no, I couldn't take a life. An old, weak man like me? And such a strong young life, Rex's.'
And between them plain and hill, rock and grass and tree, mildly shining in the warm dark.
'I did wrong, the worst wrong a man can do. Who could have foreseen this, who could have thought this of _me?_ '
'And might be I done wrong. Might be that girl dead 'cause of me. Ah, brother. Might be I ought to be dead.'
At Onmalmeri a dingo slunk out of shadow, hungry, scanning the valley with eye and ear and nostril for a hint of prey. And if it should kill, or, more conveniently, if it should come upon the putrid victim of a rival and steal it, what morality was infringed? How should that impede an easy sleep among the warm rocks?
'Ah, brother—They hating me now—'
'Oh, Rex, Rex, Rex. You will never go out of my mind.'
The sky was still grey when Heriot woke on the next morning, and he lay and watched the trees on the cliff top grow gradually sharper in outline against it, and the pool turn from gunmetal to deep green, and the sun stretch out its light along the valley to set the cliffs burning red and to waken glints of gold in the stems of canegrass. Nothing moved in the camp, and for once Justin had not wakened, but lay in a grey sheath of blanket at his side. Heriot reached out and touched him.
The figure shivered, waking. Then the head turned and the eyes were open, looking out from under the broad forehead. He had a beard now, with spikes of grey in it, and his hair was tangled. 'Good day, old man,' he said, yawning.
'Let's go soon. Now. Please.'
'Pretty soon we be going. You want tucker first.'
Heriot pushed away his blanket. 'Come with me,' he said, in his drained voice. His eyes were curiously empty, like those of the blind woman in the camp, and his mouth loose in the new beard. 'Come with me.'
Justin stood up, sighing resignedly. 'All right, old man. First I going to wash myself. You come down to pool.' He stepped out of the rock shelter and went down to the water's edge, Heriot slowly following like a stupid dog, and they stood in the pool and washed, while the birds woke in the leaves around them and the sun swelled red at the end of the valley.
They had come back and were dressed, and Justin was rolling the blankets, when he grew suddenly still and said in a voice of hopelessness: 'Old man, they pinch our tucker-bag.'
'Ah,' murmured Heriot.
'What we going to do now? We got no flour for damper and no tea and no sugar, old man. We going to starve.' His voice shook a little with self-pity, since damper and tea were the basis of his diet. 'Going to starve.'
The mad voice of Heriot broke into its wild keening.
'If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
Every night and all,
The fire shall never make thee shrink;
And Christ receive thy soul.'
'Don't,' Justin shouted. He picked up the rifle and turned away, walking with angry determination into the camp. Then the bushes hid him.
Heriot sat down on the blankets and wailed to the echoing valley:
'If meat and drink thou ne'er gav'st nane,
Every night and all,
The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
And Christ receive thy soul.'
Across the valley came sounds of argument, Justin's voice raised in accusation, and Alunggu's angry and protesting. Silence followed, then a dog barked and a woman burst into a flood of invective or denial. Later Justin reappeared, a few tins piled in the crook of his arm and a scowl on his face, the outraged voices pursuing him like wasps.
'I get these tins,' he said curtly. 'That all they give me. Come on now. You carry them blanket, old man. I sick of carrying things all the time.'
They made their way back in silence along the valley, skirting the camp, Heriot stumbling a little on the rocks, for the rest of a day had worsened the stiffness in his body, though he was no longer as tired as he had been, filled instead with a restive and undirected energy. As he was dealing with the horses Justin let out a sudden shout and ran towards a cranny in the rock. When he returned he was grinning broadly, all his depression lost in the pride of a hunter. A long, yellow lizard with intricate brown marking hung limp from his raised hand, the red tongue curling out of the tapered snout.
'Beautiful, heraldic beast,' said Heriot, with deep sadness, reaching out to touch it.
They rode out of the valley and found a place where the horses could climb into the hills and pick their way clumsily and nervously over the rocks. Justin was now cheerful and talkative, with the sun lying clear but not yet burning on the surfaces of rocks and leaves, and the backward view of green plains and blue hills. 'They say there 'nother white man in this country,' he said. 'Might be we meet him.'
But Heriot's silence was unbreakable. They pushed on past the head of the valley and looked down on the bough-shelters of the natives, barely distinguishable from that height. And as they pulled up there to look for some sign of life, Justin said, weighing the rifle: 'Old man, this my gun, eh?'
They were horse by horse, and Heriot put out his hand and tore the rifle from the dark man, and threw it. It should have gone over the cliff, but it landed far short of the edge and lay on a clump of spinifex.
Justin jumped down to retrieve it, and stood on the ground with it in his hands, and stared widely at the wooden face of the white man.
'What for you do that, old man?'
'I want nothing,' Heriot said. 'When we all have nothing, then we can be equal.'
Weary after long travelling over the rocky tableland, Justin and Heriot came in mid-afternoon on a watercourse flowing shallowly over solid rock, and followed it, with the roar of water growing in their ears, until they reached a deep fold where the widened creek became a cataract and crashed over strata of rock to feed a larger stream below. The place was a horseshoe of stone, with crannied walls on either side, but the head of it was a vast, blackened staircase, each step flat and separate, over which the white water tore down to a boulder-dammed pool below.
Seeing this Heriot wakened a little from the dream which had enveloped him all day, and dismounted, and walked into the stream. Justin shouted: 'Old man, where you going?' but he did not answer. He took off his clothes and walked down the broad steps and lay under the white water, letting it beat and bludgeon his aching bones and drench his hair until in defence his strength came back and he grew hard under the assault. Reaching out, he could touch dry rock, and it was hot, but under the water he was cooled and renewed, and its sound and force shut out his aimless thoughts.
He did not hear Justin shout to him, and when at last he left the waterfall the man was gone. So he lay down on hot flat rock to dry and was half-asleep when Justin returned, wide-eyed with discovery.
'Old man,' he said urgently, 'there 'nother white man there.'
'He can't stop us,' said Heriot dreamily. 'I won't have it.'
'He camping down there in the creek. He got three horse, old man. We going down there, eh?'
'He can't stop me,' Heriot muttered defiantly. 'How did he find me? I wanted to be alone now. Tell him to go back.'
'You coming, old man?'
'No. Send him away.'
'I going,' Justin said, with a flash of irritation. 'You get you clothes on and come, too.' He went back to his horse and mounted, knowing that he had only to act decisively and Heriot would follow like a child. Presently the old man pulled on boots and trousers and came after him.
From the edge of the fold they could see three horses beside the creek, and as their own horses crashed and rattled down the slope a man got up from the shadow of a baobab and stood watching. A short man whose red hair showed clearly in the afternoon light.
He did not move, and they came up to him without a greeting, and he stared, a man of about forty, weatherbeaten, with a tangled red beard and shy at the eyes.
When their silence was becoming absurd: 'Didn't expect to meet anyone here,' he said diffidently to Heriot. 'Where you heading?'
Heriot said nothing. 'We going to coast,' Justin offered at last.
'Name's Rusty,' the man said, still to Heriot.
'His name Mr Heriot.'
'What's up with him? He dumb or something?'
'He sick in his head.'
'Too old for this country,' Rusty considered. 'You camping here?'
'You don't mind, eh?'
'No, go ahead. Better put your boss to bed, he looks buggered.'
'He all right,' Justin said, dismounting. 'Get down now, old man. We stay here now.'
With the stranger's eyes curiously and apprehensively on him Heriot slid off, still silent, his eyes, after a brief glance at the new face, returning to their state of far-sighted emptiness. Justin led him to the tree and sat him down there, and soon he turned on his side and went to sleep.
'Christ,' said the stranger, 'that's a queer boss you got, Jacky.'
He was quite a small man; wiry, hairy. And he was undisguisably furtive and uneasy in all his movements, even to the false casualness and muted tones of his voice, so that Justin was drawn into his mood and could think of no loyal denial to make. And they stood in silence, in a mutual retreat, and looked remotely down on the old man who lay fondling the earth in his wooden sleep.
The sun drifted behind rock hills, and the sky grew green. Later Justin lit a fire and cooked his goanna on it, filling the air with the stench of grilling fat.
'You ain't going to eat that,' Rusty said.
'He good, this.'
'You going to give it to the old bloke?'
'He like bush tucker,' Justin said defensively. 'You watch him.'
But when Heriot was wakened and a goanna leg thrust in his hand he could only take a few mouthfuls of it, then the fatty, faintly crablike taste disgusted him and he threw it away and lay down again and began softly to weep.
'Ah, cut it out,' said Rusty, shocked. 'Have a bit of tinned dog.' He pushed an open can into Heriot's hand. 'Jesus, don't bawl about it.'
The old man picked out pieces of meat with his fingers and ate slowly. Then he pushed the tin away.
'Where d'you come from?' Rusty asked.
Heriot stared through the fingered baobab leaves at the sky, which was deepening from green to aquamarine. The rush of the waterfall came clearly down from the hills. 'I come from Annalup,' he said, 'in the timber country.'
'Jesus,' said the man, startled.
The uncollected memories broke up in the old man's mind, became separate, fell into place. Old pictures returned to him, clearer than photographs, superimposed on the wild country of his wanderings. He saw an attainable peace at his fingers' end, reached for it, grief springing in him like a delicate green thing among the rocks.
'My father was a doctor. We had a house near the town. One of those grey, wooden houses. And some land. There was a creek and the arum lilies grew wild in it. It had high banks near the house and a log in the middle and you could sit there and no one knew you were there. They told me to sit and watch for the trout, but there weren't any trout. I was deceived,' said Heriot bitterly.
'Stiff,' said Rusty.
'You could go walking through the forests, through the karri. Huge trees, miles high, smooth, pale, no branches except at the top. When they cut them down, they tore the branches off other trees falling. When they hit the ground it jolted up through your shoes. It made a noise like a cannon.'
'Never seen that sort of country myself,' Rusty said.
'There were gullies full of ferns and blackberries.'
'I heard about blackberries,' the man said. 'Real weed, they say.'
'We'd go to the sea sometimes. It's green, then it's blue. In summer clouds pile up on the horizon and stay there. I said to my father: "What is that country?" and he said: "That is Antarctica." I was deceived.'
'They do that to kids.'
He saw rising out of the sea the white mountains, the crags, the fires.
'"Oh whaten a mountain is yon," she said,
"Sae dreary wi' frost and snae?"
"O yon is the mountain o' Hell," he said,
"Where you and I will gae."'
'You know a bit of poetry,' Rusty said, with distrust.
'I was a clever man,' said Heriot strongly. 'I knew a good deal. But I lost it all, looking after my huts and houses. And now they've ruined me. Ah,' said Heriot, laughing, ' _to fei giubetto a me delle mie case_.'
'What's the joke, mate?'
'My wit,' said Heriot weakly. 'My erudition. I knew French, too. _De nostre mal personne ne s'en rie, Mais priez Dieu que tous nous veuille absouldre_.'
'Go on.'
'I knew Spanish,' Heriot boasted, ' _y se yo bien que muero por solo aquello que morir espero_.'
'You knew a lot,' the stranger granted.
'I knew German. _Owe war sint verswunden alliu miniu jar! Ist mir min leben getroumet, oder ist ez war?_ '
Rusty shook his head, baffled.
' _Quod nunc es fueram, famosus in orbe, viator, et quod nunc ego sum, tuque futuris eris_. That's Latin,' explained Heriot, laughing feebly. 'I've forgotten my Greek. _Thalassa! Thalassa!_ That will be useful soon.'
'What d'you do?' Rusty asked curiously. 'Schoolteacher?'
'Missionary.'
'Jesus, why?'
'I don't know. I had nothing to do and I was restless.'
'Funny sort of life for a man.'
'Once I was sick in hospital, one summer, and there was a sunset, one of those gaudy southern sunsets, and I looked out and saw a nun watching it, quite still, with a bedpan in her hand. I thought if I were a nun I'd feel like that, as if I'd earned the sunsets for myself.'
'You need a shave,' Rusty said, 'if you're going to be a nun.'
'Then I met a woman who had—that goodness. And I married her.'
'Happy ending, eh?'
'We weren't young. No. And she died after a few years. That was twenty-one years ago. But,' said Heriot with surprise, 'she was young, young to die.'
'You have stiff luck,' Rusty said.
'No,' Heriot protested. 'I didn't say that. I'm not sorry for myself, not now.' He fixed his awakened eyes on the man. 'You're wrong.'
'Okay, okay,' said the stranger irritably. 'I wasn't getting at you, mate.'
'No. No, I'm sorry,' said Heriot with remorse, 'forgive me.'
'She's right,' Rusty said. He had rolled a cigarette and lighted it from the fire, puffing smoke towards the old man, whose craving for tobacco woke at the smell. In the last days his miseries had lain on him like a heavy cloud, but now they began to separate out into fatigue and stiffness and homesickness, and hunger for such things as tea and tobacco. He held out his hand and asked humbly: 'Please, would you—would you give me some of your makings?'
'Go ahead,' Rusty invited, handing the tin. And as he watched the old man's fingers fumbling with the paper his thick mouth was touched with compassion. 'Tell us,' he said, 'where you're really going. Dinkum, now. What's the idea?'
But Heriot could not remember where he was going. He lit his cigarette and left it hanging from his mouth while he ran his fingers slowly through the tangle of white hair. It came back to him then, smokily.
'I'm exploring,' he said.
'What d'you want to explore this country for?'
'Not the country. No, not the country. I've found out—too much,' said Heriot sadly. 'Too much.'
'You got a real queer way of talking, mate.'
'Found weakness I didn't know of. And despair. And worse than that. But I'm beginning to come out of it, it's like waking, but I can't tell myself it was a dream. Oh, God, that's hard.'
'Listen,' said Rusty tentatively, 'what's the trouble? If I can give you a hand, you just got to ask.'
'What did Cain use against Abel?' Heriot demanded softly. 'Was it a stone?'
He began to notice for the first time the face of the man opposite, how the eyes gazed and shifted, how the mouth moved with a faint throb of the cheek below the beard.
'I wouldn't know, mate,' Rusty said warily. 'Don't go much on the Bible.'
'But the first murder was done with a stone. The first tool, the first weapon—'
'There was hands,' said Rusty quietly, and his own hands, bony and red-haired on the backs, tightened. 'Listen, what d'you want to talk about murder for?'
'It's a terrible thing. A terrible responsibility.'
'Cut it out,' Rusty said sharply.
Their eyes met, his red-brown eyes and Heriot's faded blue ones, in a strange and listening stillness. Then: 'They'll send a revenge party after me,' Heriot said. 'That is always done.'
'Shut up now!' Rusty shouted, breaking free of the old man's eyes and standing. 'What the hell are you talking about?'
'If I had strength,' Heriot said, 'I could go to those cliffs and break them. Then there'd be boulders, and I'd break them, and break them into smaller stones, and break them into pebbles.'
'Go ahead, if it'll shut your mouth while you're doing it.'
'Then I'd break the pebbles until there were molecules, and break the molecules into atoms.'
'Jesus, you're mad.'
'Then I'd break the atoms. They all have their moons, did you know, spinning round their own sun. I'd take that sun and break it into its protons and neutrons, and take the innermost of them and break it—'
'Well, go on, finish your bloody breaking.'
'And what if that should be God?'
The man came back and sat down hopelessly.
'The stone I killed him with,' said Heriot, 'was full of God.'
'Yes,' said the man in an empty voice.
'God was an accessory. He always is.'
'No,' said Rusty violently. 'God forgives you.'
'Your fingers forgive you, before you've used them. God is like that.'
'No. He pays us back for what we done.'
'We pay ourselves back. You know that. Because you know our crimes are like a stone, a stone again, thrown into a pool, and the ripples go on washing out until, a long time after we're gone, the whole world's rocked with them. Nothing's the same again after we've passed through.'
'I don't believe that,' Rusty said. 'No.'
'But you must. Why are you here?'
The man's hands were scaly on the backs, reddened with sun, never quite at rest. His eyes rose quickly to Heriot's, then, as quickly, hid under their sandy lashes.
'I come looking about the country. You never know, there might be something you could make a go of.'
'You must have money.'
'I've got a bit. What's it got to do with you?'
'I'm remembering,' said Heriot. 'Don't be afraid.'
'What are you getting at? What do you remember?'
'Something that happened a few years ago.'
'Well?'
'The Wet uncovered the skeleton of a white man buried in a creekbed.'
In the light of Justin's fire the man's eyes flicked up to meet Heriot's, and stayed there, burning a little with reflected light. Into them there came a curious expression, the expression perhaps of an escaped convict rescued by his own warders from country infested with tigersnakes and hostile blacks. Yet fear was dominant. He licked his lips, and swallowed, without intending it. 'You're mad,' he said flatly.
'No. Tell me.'
Behind their voices there was unvaryingly the roar of the waterfall, the quiet stirrings of horses. A faint wind coming up the gully touched the red beard.
'Listen,' Rusty said, 'listen. It wouldn't have been the money.'
'No, it wouldn't be. Not completely.'
'Supposing two blokes was camped out week after week in the Wet. They could drive each other crazy after a while.'
'Yes, they could.'
'Supposing one of them had a dog, say, and it kept coming into the tent.'
'And you said: "I'll shoot that dog if it comes again." And it came.'
'He went for me. What else could I do?'
'Your hands,' said Heriot, 'your wicked hands—'
'But I didn't mean to do it,' said Rusty harshly. 'I didn't mean it. Oh, Jesus, what do you want to know all this for?'
'And you buried him in the dry sand. But in another season the water came higher. He was there.'
'Three years, it was. Three years, waiting.'
'And you went on, working and wandering, as if nothing had happened.'
'But I kept wanting to go bush.'
'Why?'
'I don't know,' Rusty said vacantly. 'Don't know.'
'What do you do, out here, all alone? What do you think about?'
'I don't do nothing. I don't think, I just—I just wait for something to happen to me.'
'What?'
'I don't know. I just wait.'
'And nothing happens?'
'No, nothing.'
Heriot leaned back in the shadow. 'Nothing ever happens,' he said.
And truly nothing happened, though their strange, watchful understanding seemed to expect it. Only a sigh came from Justin in his sleep and a pebble rattled from the hoof of a horse.
'You ought,' said the man with the nervous hands, 'you ought to be scared of me. Yeah. You ought to be careful.'
Heriot put his hand over the clenched red one. 'You're not scared of me,' he said. 'No. We're all lost here.'
## 8
'What are you looking at, Paul?' Gunn asked.
The long-legged man shaded his eyes against the morning sun. 'Someone come up, brother,' he said, pointing back. 'Blackfellow, riding.'
After a moment Gunn picked out, among the low trees, the figure of the horseman. 'That's an old man, isn't it?' he said. 'He's got his hair tied up in a rag, like Naldia's.'
'Old man got no horse, brother.'
'Well, keep watching him,' Gunn said, and in a little time, while the rider was still to Gunn a shape of indistinguishable age, Paul murmured, with a painstaking concealment of surprise: 'That Rex, brother.'
'What?'
'It Rex, all right. I know him.'
'Well,' Gunn said quietly. 'Well.' And waited for Rex with a scowl growing on his face.
Rex also, when he came up, was frowning, uncertainly, and could not face Gunn and his disciplined anger. There was sweat on his face, below the bandage, and stubborn determination in his thick mouth.
'Well,' Gunn said again. 'You followed us.'
'Yes, brother.'
'Didn't bother to say good-bye to Sister Bond, I suppose?'
'He don't know, brother.'
'And where do you think you're going?'
'I—I want to go with you, brother. I want to help you looking for Brother Heriot.'
'You clot,' Gunn said viciously. 'You idiot. Do you think it's going to help us to have you tagging along, likely to get a haemorrhage at any minute?'
'I better now,' Rex protested. 'Sister Bond, he say that himself.'
'Did she say you could go riding round? In this country?'
Rex said defiantly: 'I want to go with you. You can't send me back now, brother.'
That was true, and Gunn's face admitted it. Ahead of them lay the untracked country, hiding somewhere among its blue bluffs and green pools two solitary men, and already it had been openly confessed that hope of finding them was on the ebb. And what is it to me, asked Gunn of himself, what is it to me if he chooses to put himself in danger? The old man's done more to earn his life.
'Well, you've messed us up properly. Hope you realize that.'
'I know. I sorry, brother.'
'Doesn't matter,' Gunn said sourly. 'Doesn't matter at all.' He turned away and left Rex to the curious attentions of Stephen.
'You ain't going,' Rusty said. 'Now?'
'It's a long way,' Heriot said. 'I don't even know how far.'
The red man looked up at him with the eyes of a lonely dog. 'Thought you was going to stay with me. After all we talked about—'
'No,' said Heriot remotely. 'That wouldn't be possible.'
'All I told you—'
'I know. I know it wasn't easy.'
'You listened to me. You knew what I was talking about.'
'Yes, I understood you.'
'Listen,' Rusty said, pleading with him, 'listen, I told you things no other bloke in the world knows. I felt good after that, I thought you was going to stick with me and—teach me things, about—God and all that. But you ain't the same bloke as what you was last night. Jesus,' said Rusty, 'you ask me what I feel like, and when I tell you, you don't care no more. What sort of a snooping bastard are you?'
'There's nothing I can do,' said Heriot, 'no way I can help you. All we could do for one another we did.'
'How's that?'
'We showed each other we weren't alone.'
'Just so we could be alone again?'
'I must go on. There might be—something, ahead of me.'
'I'll go with you,' Rusty offered. 'I got nowhere to go. Yeah, I'll come.'
'No one can,' said Heriot.
'What about the black? You're taking him, ain't you?'
'He'll come back,' Heriot said, 'in time.'
The other man sat down dejectedly on a rock and bit his thumbnail. 'Well, I can't stop you,' he said. 'This is mad. Every bloody thing's mad. I don't know.'
'It has happened before,' said Heriot, 'often, in this country. Hundreds of...outlaws, like you and me, in lost man's country.'
Rusty's forehead wrinkled under the red forelock. 'What are you running away from? What was it you done?'
'I wanted to kill someone,' Heriot said quietly. He stood woodenly by the rock with his stiff hands hanging down, and the wind moved in his white hair, and his eyes were empty as the sky. 'That was my—that brought me here.'
The other's eyes moved up his face, puzzled, looking for deceptions. 'Wanted to? Didn't you do it?'
'But that isn't important,' said Heriot, with faint surprise. 'It makes no difference at all.'
'Except to the bloke.'
Then new thoughts moved behind Heriot's eyes like yachts on an empty sea, and for the first time he remembered Rex alive, and what it must have been to be Rex, to take pleasure in clothes and women, to be sullen and rebellious and know the causes, to suffer injustices and to invent injustices in order to resent them. He thought of Rex dancing by canegrass fire and delighting in the rhythms of his body, or subsiding into sleep under shade at midday, or swimming, or hunting, or sitting round a fire at night talking or singing to a guitar. Rex's life presented itself whole to him, the struggle against sordor, and then the defiant return to sordor, and the bitter pride underlying it; the old tribal grievances, real or inflated by legend; the fights and the humiliations, the quick gestures of generosity and the twists of cruelty; all the ugly, aspiring, perverse passions of a living man.
'Now I know,' he said from a great distance, 'I know why I'm going on.'
'Why's that?' asked the man, soft as canegrass in the wind.
'Because all this time I've been deceiving myself. Telling myself I was old and weak, and I'm not. Telling myself I wanted to die, but I don't, no, and I never will. All this has been self-pity, nothing else.'
He scrubbed his forehead with a brown fist. 'Now I remember—the things I used to know.'
'What?' asked the man, still intently watching. 'What did you know?'
'About crimes. About being born out of crimes. It was because of murders that I was ever born in this country. It was because of murders my first amoebic ancestor ever survived to be my ancestor. Every day in my life murders are done to protect me. People are taught how to murder because of me. Oh, God,' said Heriot savagely, 'if there was a God this filthy Australian, British, human blood would have been dried up in me with a thunderbolt when I was born.'
'You can't help being born, mate.'
'I'm glad to have been born now. This is a good time for it, with the world dying. The crimes have mounted up now, we can sit and enjoy the stink of our own rot.'
He turned away, his eyes full of the farther hills. 'I know life comes out of crimes,' he said, 'and we go on from one crime to another, and only death ever quite stops us. I could go back and they could hang me, and that would put an end to it. But all my life I've stopped off, here and there, to try to do some good on my way. I've tried to atone for being a man, and now it's a habit. So I have to go on, this way, where there might be something to do besides die. The other way there's nothing, only dying. But on this way I've already given—not much, but a little, a little food, a little cold comfort. There may still be things to do, and things to find.'
The other man looked down at the rocks between his feet. 'Well,' he said, 'it's been nice seeing you.' His voice was lonely.
'Yes,' said Heriot. 'This has been—this has been an oasis to me. But we say good-bye to everything.' He held out his hand and the other man took it, glancing up moodily from his rock.
On the wire screen, bellies to the interior light, little pale geckos and green frogs clung and slowly breathed, twitching occasionally to engulf a mosquito.
'Ah,' said Dido, mountainously stirring, 'he was a good man. Too good for natives. Maybe he was hard, but they got to be hard some time.'
Helen said: 'But was he so hard? I think he was only—well, just a bit bitter.'
'In the old days they was hard. They had to be like that, not soft like now.'
'Do you think we're too soft?'
Dido looked down at her locked fingers, distress spreading over the moon face. 'There lot of no-good people here now. Lot of men, just lazy, gambling all the time, bad husbands. Lot of no-good women, too, not looking after their babies right.'
'There are no-good people everywhere, Dido.'
'He was example,' Dido said passionately, 'example to us all.'
'I know. If you mean hardness in the way he had it, towards himself, I can see you're right. We haven't that.'
'Because you young, sister.'
'I'm not so terribly young, you know. You think I'm younger than I am because I'm not married and haven't any children.'
'When you married, sister, you be good example to all the women. I know that, sister.'
Helen smiled faintly. 'Thank you, Dido.'
'But we never see him again,' said Dido sadly. 'Never.'
'But can't we ever replace him? We'll be softer, and our example will be softer, too, but isn't it time for that now? We don't want to be your bosses, we only want to show you things.'
'Too many no-goods,' Dido said. 'You got to be hard some time.'
'But they aren't all no-goods. What about Michael, and Gregory, and Paul, and Justin, and Ella, and you, Dido? You're the ones who know what you live for and have something to be proud of. Michael's a good man because he knows he's the best mechanic of all you people. And Gregory's good because he's the best gardener, and Paul's the best stockman, and Justin's the sacristan of the church, and Ella loves Justin and her children, and you love your orphans and have all the responsibilities of a white woman. And in time I think everyone will be good at something—why not? And who'll need to be hard then?'
Dido shook her head slowly. 'That not going to be easy, sister.'
'I know,' said Helen, looking at the peering creatures on the screen. 'It's certainly not going to be easy for us, the white people. Living in a goldfish bowl is the last thing we'd do for fun. And as long as we live here we can never be ourselves, unless our selves—break out, like Mr Heriot's. But that won't happen. No,' she said, with profound resignation, 'that can't happen, Dido.'
The sun stings, thought Heriot. Yes, it stings. He remembered from long ago a banana plantation he had seen, the great leaves closing out the light, a trickle of water in the sweet earth between the stems. That would be a place for an old man to work, a cool place, with the fruit hanging in green chandeliers over his head, fresh and fragrant. He would never go out in the sun if he had such a place to hide in.
But he had nowhere to hide, there was no shelter in the country of rocks, and no movement, nothing to rest or entertain the eye. He thought of cattle breaking away across a creek, the splashing and the bellows, the shouts of the bright-shirted men pursuing on shining horses. There was no action here.
And it was silent, too, so silent that again and again he had this urge to sing and drown out the silence, although the sound of his voice was hardly less disturbing. If there were music, he thought; but why should I care for music, how many years is it since I have heard music? Only the people's voices shouting hymns or cowboy songs, and sometimes, in the firelight and the moonlight, the didgeridoo. But that was uplifting, there was a ranting throb to it, it compelled you to sing with it in its own style. But he would not hear that again.
He remembered Stephen dancing in front of the fire, and Rex, too, supple and quick. Strange how Rex's face haunted him now, how it hurt him to remember, almost as much as the face of the dead girl, Esther, whom Rex had taken from him. There were expressions of Rex's, quick movements of the head, twists of the mouth, that touched him now very deeply. He remembered the last afternoon when he had found Rex alone at the deserted building, and even then had thought him pathetic, even then had wished to help him.
'I didn't hate Rex,' he said. 'Remember that.'
'I remember,' said Justin.
He, too, was reaching back in his mind, thinking of Ella, his wife, and the quiet affectionate children. I go back, he thought, soon, soon. But he could not bring himself to speak of it to the old man, who was now changed again, had regained strength, and yet still seemed so much in need of help, so far from knowing the ends of his journey.
'What can we do about Stephen?' Heriot said. 'He must be helped.'
'Might be I help him, brother.'
'You could, Justin. Perhaps you're the only one who could. I don't know anyone who's raised better children than you and Ella.'
'He Ella's cousin, you know. Maybe I talk to him when we get back. Maybe.'
'You're a good man,' said Heriot. 'You'll know what to do, when you get back.'
'I try, brother,' Justin said modestly.
'And help Way and the other white people, too. They'll need your help.'
'Might be.'
'I'm afraid I've never made the best use of you. But I do know your value, I do know that.'
Justin scowled. 'Brother—'
'Yes?'
'I don't want to talk so much. I too hungry for talking.'
'I'm sorry,' said Heriot humbly.
'White man always talking and never listening.'
'That's true,' Heriot admitted. 'Very true.'
'Whatever you say to white man, he always got something else to say. Always got to be the last one.'
'We call it conversation,' Heriot said, and bit his lip as soon as the words were out.
So they rode in silence over miles of the broken hills, and came in the afternoon to a place where the land dropped sharply down to a pocket of plain dotted with white gums, and a broad river flowing beside a cliff.
'Beautiful,' whispered Heriot. 'How cool—' The horses bashed and strained down the hillside, and stopped, sweating and trembling, in the shade, knee-deep in grass. The water ran with a rippling monotone over a bed of rock. 'How cool, how calm.'
'We camp here?' asked Justin.
But Heriot, having arrived at such comfort, felt half-afraid to accept it, to indulge his tired body. 'It's early to camp,' he said. 'We'll have to cross the river some time. Why not now?'
Justin shrugged. 'If you want that.'
'Why put it off?' asked Heriot, urging his horse forward. 'We postpone too much. I haven't much time.'
'The horses tired. You don't want to kill them, brother.'
'I'm tired, too,' said Heriot.
'All right,' Justin said resignedly. 'We cross over.'
They moved to the river's edge and dismounted to drink. The water was full of islands of pandanus, scraping a little in a light breeze, and below the cliff it was dark, bottomless. 'I could catch little croc there,' Justin said.
'When we cross,' Heriot said impatiently. He was in the saddle again, scanning the river at the end of the cliff where the water was shallower. 'There's the place.'
Under the horses' hoofs the river-rock was slimy and treacherous, they slipped like skaters, and Heriot sat tense in the saddle, willing Albert Creek to stay upright. And yet he had no nervousness, no doubt that the horse would come safely over. He went ahead of Justin to the middle of the stream, where it squeezed itself out in strong currents from between the palm islands. And there the rock went down a sudden step, the horse slithered, wildly threw up his head, and sank.
The old man, floundering in the water, his hair in his eyes, struck out against the current towards Justin. The sharp edge of the rock step struck him on the shin, tearing deep through his flesh. But he scarcely noticed it. For he was terribly afraid of death.
Justin was edging his horse towards him, uncertain whether to abandon it for Heriot. 'Old man!' he shouted harshly. 'This way, this way!' And the old man rose trembling and dripping from the water, reached out for him and fell against the horse, gripping Justin's leg. 'Dear God,' he whispered, panting against the warm wet side of the beast.
'Ah,' said Justin, sighing, 'you safe now.'
Heriot looked along the river. But of his quiet and weary horse, his first companion on his journey, there was no trace. 'He gone floating down to deep water,' Justin said. 'He gone now.'
'He was a good horse,' Heriot said, eager to speak well of the dead. 'Poor Albert Creek.' He shook his head.
'No good being sad,' Justin said. 'You keep holding me and we get across this time.'
Sliding and stumbling on the precarious riverbed, they did at last reach the farther bank, beyond the cliff, and came to a stop behind a thicket of pandanus.
Justin was seized with laughter, looking down at the old man with his bedraggled hair and dripping clothes. 'You look real funny,' he said. 'Real funny,' his shoulders shaking.
'This is a great misfortune,' Heriot said gravely. 'I can't see anything funny in it.' He quivered, and dissolved into weak laughter. 'Nothing funny at all. Stop that, Justin.'
'You stop,' Justin protested. 'You making me laugh.'
'How stupid,' said Heriot, rocking helplessly. 'Idiotic. Quiet, man.' Tears came into his eyes and his upper teeth fell out. He picked them up and with dignity replaced them, while Justin heaved hysterically on the back of the startled horse.
'For God's sake,' said Heriot, sitting on the ground, 'stop this cackling and think of the future.'
'You mean supper, brother?'
'Well, that would be a start.'
'I go looking for little croc, eh?'
'I could eat a horse,' said Heriot.
'All right, I get that horse for you.'
'No. I fancy a crocodile tail more.'
' _Gare_ ,' said Justin obligingly. He dismounted and unsaddled his own horse. 'Poor old horse, he real tired now. Going to be lonely now, got no brother any more. Look 'im, eh, he crying out of his eyes.'
'Yes,' said Heriot. 'He's all alone.'
'I go now, brother,' Justin said, his spear in his hand. 'I bring you tucker pretty quick. Real good tucker, just you wait,' he promised, disappearing among the pandanus.
'Yes,' said Heriot vaguely. He pulled up his trouser leg and looked at the cut on his shin. Clean, he thought; leave it. He pulled off his shirt and spread it in the sun. Soon be dry, soon be hot again.
All alone now. It's a very desolate sound, pandanus leaves. Funny to have been laughing like that, it was almost like being with Esther, she made one laugh. Clever, satirical girl. She would leave me helpless, imitating Dido in a quarrel. Stephen's not like her.
He had said to Justin, not seriously, to think of the future. But himself he was absorbed in the past, remembering Esther, with her slim grace, her natural charity. It had been tempting providence, surely, to have been so proud of her; but it was I who should have suffered for my pride, not Esther, not my daughter.
His mind grew vacant, soothed by the hush of water, the rattling leaves. The sky took on the faint green tinge of sunset. Later Justin returned, proudly carrying the young freshwater crocodile he had ambushed below the cliff.
'Handsome beast,' Heriot said. 'Clear-cut delicate features. Had a happy life until we came.'
'There plenty eggs,' Justin said. 'You want one?'
'No,' said Heriot. He lay back and closed his eyes. The reptile cooked on the fire. The old man's hunger died, and he fell asleep.
## 9
The river bent, disclosing a stretch of plain running to farther hills, an ocean of knee-high grass sweetly green in the early light. From the horse's hoofs a bundle of quail rose and whirred away. And the old man drew rein and slipped from the saddle, his weariness reaching out towards all that was green and soft, and said: 'You ride, Justin, I want to walk now.' He stretched in the sun and smiled with his ill-fitting teeth, while the white hair flapped on his forehead. 'This is a glorious day,' he said, 'isn't this a glorious day?'
'It real good, brother,' the dark man said, and he, too, was happy, with the smell of warm and deep grass rising to him and a clear pool with a few lilies ahead.
'Look at the birds,' Heriot said. 'Brolgas.' He pointed to where, not far from them, a great flock of grey-blue birds was gathered, and three or four of them were dancing, measured and graceful, with a flowing interplay of wide wing and thin leg. 'They're happy,' said Heriot.
'They always happy, those brolga.'
'Why aren't we like them, Justin? It shouldn't take so much to content us.'
'I happy, brother,' Justin said, with a wide grin. 'I just a bit hungry, that all.'
'Everything's hungry,' said Heriot sadly. 'But look at those ducks, they're happy, just pushing among the lilies, getting what they can. So pretty, and so stupid. Wouldn't you like to be a duck, Justin?'
'I like to eat a duck, brother.'
'No, don't kill anything. Not this morning. Just for one morning let's not prey on anything.'
'People got to eat, brother.'
'Why?' asked Heriot, glancing up at him dejectedly. 'God, what malice must have gone into creating a world where people have to eat. I renounce it.'
They came to the edge of the pool, and with a great splash and a clap of wings the ducks fled from their coming, and circled above and above the disturbed waterhole, brown ducks and black ones, and the small delicate teal, in a high outcry of whistling. By the water, between low cadjiputs, Heriot paused, watching the flitting of a dragonfly with a gleaming crimson body, and became suddenly aware of four pelicans, undisturbed on the far bank, regarding him sedately with their absurd eyes of black-and-yellow felt. 'Ah, you beauties,' he said, 'you bench of uncorruptible judges.'
A shot cracked the air. The pelicans flapped heavily and flew off.
Turning, slow with shock: 'You didn't,' Heriot said desolately, 'you didn't shoot at a pelican. Justin—'
'It were a geese, brother,' said the brown man, already at the pool's edge and tearing off his clothes. 'I got him. You wait, good tucker.' He burst into laughter, wading and swimming across the pool, and in the water by the other bank picked up the limp black-and-white body and held it up to be admired. 'Fat one, brother, young fella.'
But Heriot's eyes had moved to the lone black jabiru which had risen from somewhere when the man entered the water and was now gliding, long and calm, across the sky. When the goose plumped at his feet he started, and saw with ineffable sadness the claws of the brilliant yellow legs bent like dying hands, the perfect and ingenious groovings on the edges of the beak. 'That was pretty,' he said, 'and happy.'
Justin fondled it, tender and proud. 'Good little geese,' he said with affection. 'You was pretty fella, eh? Poor old geese.'
'You love the things you kill,' Heriot said, 'but you never regret killing them. I've noticed that always about you people, how you love your prey. There's some wisdom there.'
'They pretty,' Justin said.
'Let's go and look at them,' Heriot said, 'all these pretty things. I want to watch them all day. They're very dear.' He walked on down the pool, followed presently by Justin, who shouted from the saddle: ' _Dor!_ '
'What?' asked Heriot vaguely.
'You look in water there. There, look.' And close beside him he saw the body of a python, great pale coils and small head floating among the lilies.
'Bin drown himself,' Justin said, laughing.
But to Heriot this death was too sad for comment, and he walked all day in a mist of love and grief, pausing to peer at a peering blanket lizard on a tree trunk, pausing to point out two grotesque, loose-bustled emus to Justin, who roared with laughter. ' _Wieri!_ ' he said, with ridicule and tenderness, loving them for their absurdity. 'Like fat old woman, bum too big to carry.'
And in the late afternoon Justin called softly: ' _Banar_ , there look,' and slipped from the saddle with the rifle under his arm. And Heriot, straining his eyes, saw above the grass the long necks and flat heads of a pair of turkeys. 'Don't,' he said, but the dark man was already intent on them and only answered with a shot which sent one bird to the sky and the other leaping and flapping about the grass. He plunged after it and wrung its neck, and came back to show it proudly to Heriot. 'We have feed tonight, brother,' he promised.
'Yes,' said Heriot. 'Yes.' He reached out and touched the pale-brown feathers, felt their crêpey texture and smelt the bitter body. 'We're very dangerous to the world,' he said sadly.
Coming towards the foothills where they camped that night their ears were attacked by the harsh throb of a kookaburra, and the light flashed on the brilliant blue of its wings. Simultaneously a flock of ibis crossed the dim sky, sharply and perfectly angled as in a Chinese painting, and one of them was white, but was washed rose in the light of the fallen sun. 'My beauty,' whispered Heriot, 'my perfect one.'
That night, lying by the fire, his eyes and ears were strained to overhear and interpret every sound and movement of the earth, so that the brief appearance of flying-foxes in the firelight was as beautiful as the soaring of a flock of parrots at dawn, and the howling of dingoes, that once had tugged at his nerves, was no longer predatory but wistful, and moved pity in him, for he thought they lamented.
All the next day they climbed in the hills, but now there was no water, only the bare rock and the stunted trees, and all day, walking or riding, Heriot withered in the heat. After a time he could not find strength to talk, with his tongue dry and the breath short in the lungs, and Justin also was silent, perhaps afraid. In Heriot's mind rock and tree, to which with eye and flesh he clung, needing their solidity to convince him of his own, wavered and faded, and he saw his bleak room at the mission and everything that was in it. He read the labels on bottles. He saw the room in the Ways' house that had been their bedroom, his and Margaret's, and he saw her, with the sheet thrust back in a movement of fever from her frail body, and her hair across the pillow. No one but himself had ever noticed the few threads of grey.
'In these last years,' he had said, holding her hand, 'I've never felt there was any need to tell you—because I knew you'd know—that I love you, Margaret.' His voice was shaking then, and it never had before. 'My dear, my dear.'
But she had only moved her head on the pillow and he had not been able to tell whether she was impatient with him or whether she was simply past hearing.
And he had gone on in a rambling murmur, protesting his love, daring even to mention the child, consoling her as he had not once attempted before for the agony of her miscarriage and the rough ignorant hands of the black midwife and the kind, ignorant voices of the women year after year questioning her about her childlessness. But it was too late then to waken her to him, even with reminders of that ancient grief, and she wanted no sympathy or consolation, only relief from pain. So he had knelt by her and prayed, still holding her hand, but how could he pray with the pain twisting in her body, moving through her fingers and crying to him, how could he address God unless as an enemy?
And when she was dead he had rested his cheek for a moment against her hand, and gone out blindly into the sunlight where Mark and Emily were waiting, he carrying the child on his shoulder, she leaning against a tree with the curve of her pregnancy showing under the grimy dress. They had no word to say to him, but they could speak without speaking. And Mark had held out the child to him, and said: 'Stephen here, _abula_ , look 'im, eh'; and he had taken Stephen, and when the terrible keening of the women began, the child's wails of alarm had drowned it, drowned everything but the will to give comfort.
All through that day he carried, as nagging as his thirst, the memory of Margaret and the futility of his love, and the memory of Stephen, and the dearer memory of Esther, waiting then in the dark womb of her mother to be his consolation and his despair.
At night they were still in the hills and still without water. And Justin, in the brief dusk, went prowling among rocks in search of game, and came back at last, reliable as ever but unsmiling, with a dead euro slung over his shoulder. 'You better drink that blood,' he said curtly.
Pity and love stirred in the old man for the delicate ears of the dead kangaroo, the deep soft eyes. He touched the fine fur, ran his fingers through it, and felt a tick under his hand. 'What is there that isn't preyed upon?' he said, all his sadness wakened to find such filth feeding on such beauty.
In the night they lay uneasily, sleepless, their fears colliding and rebounding in darkness.
'Are you asleep, Justin?'
'No, brother.'
'I think—tomorrow—'
'You go sleep now, brother.'
'Promise you'll leave me—take care of yourself—'
'Nothing going to happen to you—'
'Justin?'
'Yeah?'
'Promise me. Don't let me prey on you.'
'I sleepy now, brother.'
'Yes, but promise.'
'I promise. Brother—'
'Yes?'
'There only two more bullets left.'
'Keep them. For when you go back.'
'Yes. Yes. Go sleep now, please.'
In the morning they were driven by thirst and insects to rise and wander on before the sun was up. And at dawn they crossed a steep ridge, and below them was a river, and on the river a town.
'No,' said Heriot. 'This is not real.'
And yet it was solid, its handful of shacks flanking a dusty, grass-grown road, its roofs shining a little redly with rust in the sun. There were two larger houses and a building with wide verandas. 'That is the hotel,' said Heriot.
The river swept around it, between the hills and the short stretch of plain, and, shaded by baobabs, the piles of a small ruined landing-stage reached out of the brown water. Brown water. 'That river salt water,' Justin exclaimed.
'No,' said Heriot. 'It's not real.'
'Come down, brother, quick,' urged the dark man. He began picking his way down the rocky hill, leading the horse, impatient, driven on by thirst and a sudden rebellion against the futility of their wandering.
And the old man, stumbling after him, had the same consciousness of futility hardening in him. He was weak, and sick, and tired, and here was an end to the journey for which he had planned no end, here was an unchosen goal. He said: 'Justin.'
'What, brother?'
'I'll finish here. I'll go into the hotel and say who I am. They'll know what to do with me.'
There was silence from Justin until they reached the plain. Then: 'You know best, brother,' he said diffidently.
'I do, Justin. This has been useless, all of it. I'll be peaceful now.'
They pushed on through the grass towards the road, and the grass was knee-high and drying, but in one patch it was tall and green. 'There water there,' Justin said, stepping towards it. But it was only a sort of crater that had held water for a time and lost it. 'No good,' he said, in the flat and stoical voice that had become habitual to him.
Heriot had reached the road and was walking down it, straighter now and stronger in his resolution. Here and there, withdrawn from the track, decrepit shanties stood deep in grass and silence. 'Native houses,' he said, 'and all asleep. Everyone sleeping,' a strange and gentle envy in his voice.
But he was intent on the larger building, and when he came to it, with Justin slowly following, he stopped still in the road and his hands began to tremble. Two of its veranda posts were broken, floor-boards were missing, the wooden steps lay in the grass. He turned suddenly to Justin for reassurance. 'Suppose nobody's at home?'
'You write them a letter then,' Justin suggested, weakly attempting his grin.
'Wait,' said Heriot, 'wait here.' He stepped up on to the veranda, and an ant-eaten board gave way, so that he stumbled, dragging back his foot, against the door, and it opened on a long room. Dust lay over the holed floor and on a couple of wooden benches and on a collapsed table. But beyond that there was nothing, only a little dust that danced, stirred by the door's opening, in sunlight falling obliquely through the steel-meshed window.
Until that moment it had hardly occurred to him, weary and sun-drugged as he was, to wonder what this town might be and why it was there. But there was a familiarity about the scene that troubled him, and slowly, through his early morning torpor, memory returned. He said: 'But it's a dining-room—' And at the same time Justin called out: 'Brother! Brother, this not a town. This Gurandja, brother.'
Not a town, no, an abandoned mission. A ghost mission. Gurandja, fifteen years dead.
He turned and crossed the veranda, stepped down to the grass and came blindly back to Justin. 'Nothing,' he said. 'Nothing. Nothing.'
He had never looked so old, standing there in the road with his white hair falling down and the dust caked in the ruts of his face and on his stiff, white beard. His hands hung down crooked as driftwood against the torn trousers, and his eyes were equally still, empty and unblinking, though the light stung them like smoke. 'But this must be the end,' he said, in wonder. 'Must be.'
Justin's face above the black beard was a stoic mask. But beneath the jutting forehead his eyes, deeply glowing as always, deeply watchful, rested on the old man's with a helpless compassion, and a quiet despair. In the dead town they were still as the dead. Only the horse twitched and stamped a little with tired, restless life.
'Well,' said Heriot with his wooden lips, 'it may be all. Yes, it may. I'm very weary, Justin.'
'We go look for water, eh? There be water somewhere here, I reckon.'
'Water?' said Heriot. 'Yes. Yes, there'll be water.' He moved forward down the road, slow as a sleepwalker. 'We'll look.'
Justin, following, leading the horse, searched with his eyes the long grass, the abandoned houses, but saw no sign of water, only the brown salt river in the distance. Yet there was luxuriance all around, young baobabs springing up even out of the road, giant greentrees pushing against houses, and here and there a sprawling oleander in full bloom. And the largest of the houses, the mission house, was being slowly torn down by a vast bougainvillaea smothered in purple bracts. Beyond, over a house at the edge of the village, the blue air stirred, distorting the hills behind it, so that they seemed to shimmer through a column of clear water. The brown man's eyes widened.
'Brother,' he said, softly, it being now very important to him not to excite Heriot, 'brother, you look there.'
The old man followed the line of the dark finger, and found nothing. 'What?' he said. 'Look at what?'
'That smoke, brother.'
'Smoke?' said Heriot dully. 'I don't see it. Your eyes are tired.'
'You come with me,' Justin said, 'you come.' He turned off the road, the horse and Heriot behind him; and as they came towards the house the old man saw the smoke, and saw the green tangle of a vegetable garden around a fenced-off spring, and a mob of goats deep in grass farther away, and he sighed.
'Don't be sad,' Justin said. 'We all right now.'
There was a fence around the shanty, and they climbed over it, as there was no gate to be seen. 'Now,' said Justin, half-whispering, 'you go, brother. I reckon that white man there.' He hung back, waiting for the old man to approach.
Very slowly Heriot walked towards the hut. It was a one-roomed structure with a veranda shading the bare ground outside it, and had a blind look, with its closed shutters and door of warped packing-case boards. He reached out and knocked, hesitantly, with his blotched hand.
The door swung inward with a long, weary sigh. There was a goat standing there, watching him with long, yellow eyes and an expression of uncritical pleasure.
Crows were crying around the spring, but otherwise there was no sound, the world lay asleep in the still light and the goat stood as if carved out of some pale stone. Oh, God, thought Heriot, for a sound, someone chopping wood, a native singing. As if to answer him there was a sudden flap and crow of a cock somewhere near at hand. His nerves jumped.
'Nothing?' said Justin, coming behind him. His face was wet, he had been at the spring.
'No,' said Heriot. He burned in sudden anger, his dignity affronted. 'What trick is this? The goat didn't open the door. Not a goat. I am deceived,' he said bitterly, turning and looking through the light towards the spring, green with lank cabbages and pumpkin vines. He yearned for the cool smell of leaves, the cooler run of water over his face. 'Someone lives here,' he said, 'and doesn't want us. Well, I'll wash in his spring, let him come out then if he wants to stop me.'
'Piss in his spring,' said Justin. He was grinning. Then his eyes came back from the garden and rested on the door, and the grin dwindled. 'Brother,' he whispered tensely.
'What is it?' asked Heriot, the imagined water already on his face, his skin sucking it in, his body relaxing in almost forgotten comfort. 'What are you staring at?'
The goat stretched its throat and bleated.
'Someone eye watching us,' Justin whispered.
'What? Where?'
'In the door. There, look.'
Heriot, turning, followed the pointer of the brown finger and found the crack in the door; through which, as the sunblind lifted from his sight, an eye became visible.
'You come away,' Justin said. 'Quick. Might be he kill you, brother.'
'Hush,' said Heriot. He watched the eye with anger and dislike and said nothing. And the eye, faded blue and veined, was non-committal.
'Man,' said Heriot, 'if you are a man, come out. I've come a great many miles and this is discourteous.' He grinned with his crooked teeth. 'If you're mad, come out, we'll be mad together.'
Silence returned. The goat had retreated into the shack and was waiting, also motionless.
'I'll give you ten seconds,' said Heriot savagely, 'then I'll come and put my fist in your disgusting eye.'
Slowly, from behind the door, an old man appeared, shambling in bare feet, a length of rusty iron in his hand. He was the colour of dirt from the ragged bottoms of his trousers to the straggles of his hair. Above his dusty beard was a face marked like dry creek country, with deep and gritty lines. Only the pale eyes seemed made of living tissue.
'Good morning,' said Heriot.
'You'll black my eye, will you?' the old man said venomously. 'Call me mad? I could take the scalp off you.'
'Put down that weapon,' Heriot ordered.
'Fists'll do,' said the old man, dropping the iron. 'You try it, mate.' He spread his feet and raised two bony fists, the aggressive stance making more obvious the emaciation of his body and its tremulous weakness. Heriot, moving away without loss of dignity, said gravely: 'Please, be calm. Now that I see you _in toto_ , I'm truly sorry.'
They looked at one another, then slid their eyes away. Through the blazing light the spring showed cool and green, so that to look at it was, for both of them, peaceful. The old man, backing a few steps to lean against the mud-wall of the shack, said with sudden friendliness: 'Ain't me that's mad. You're the one.'
Heriot bowed his head.
'What's your name?' the old man demanded.
'Heriot.'
'What Heriot?'
'Just Heriot.'
The old man grunted. At the side of the shack the rooster crowed and flapped again. What sleepier sound could there be, thought Heriot, in the hot sun, when you're tired to the point of dying? He came over to the old man and propped himself on the wall beside him. Justin was squatting ten yards away, watching them. 'Cheeky bastard,' muttered the old man, catching his eye.
Heriot yawned. As if by arrangement he and the old man let their backs slide down the wall until they were sitting on the ground.
'Have you lived here long,' Heriot asked, 'Mr—?'
'Sam,' said the old man.
'Sam,' said Heriot. Silence fell again.
After a long lapse Sam inquired drowsily: 'You wouldn't—no, you wouldn't have a smoke, would you?'
'No,' said Heriot with regret. 'I'm trying to give it up.'
'Haven't had one for two years.'
'Ah,' said Heriot, 'you have will-power.'
'Come a long way?'
'It's seemed so.'
'Been out a long time, by the look of you. Them clothes of yours—'
'Yours,' said Heriot, 'aren't elegant either, Sam.'
The old man rattled two pebbles in his hand and rested his head against the wall, staring into the sky. 'Who cares?' he said, half-asleep.
Justin rose and came cautiously towards the shade. He edged up to Heriot. 'Ah, I tired now,' he said, and lay down with his head across Heriot's knees.
Heriot yawned again. And from far away, Sam asked: 'Where you going?'
'God knows.'
'Stock?'
'Here?' said Heriot, smiling. 'No. Two men and one horse.'
'Used to be a bit of stock here one time. No good though. Everything shut down. No one around any more. It was a hell of a long time ago.' His voice faded away into remembering.
'You weren't a missionary?' Heriot said.
'No, not me. Gardener, that was the last thing I was.'
'I was a missionary,' Heriot said.
'What for?' asked Sam, his voice increasingly somnolent. He edged away from Heriot and lay down, his knees up. 'Keep on talking, you'll know when I'm asleep.'
'Expiation,' said Heriot. 'Yes. This is my third life. My third expiation.'
'What was the others?' asked Sam incuriously.
'I suppose it was my birth, as a human being, that drove me to charity. Yes, that was the first. And then there was the massacre, done by my race at Onmalmeri.'
'I heard of it,' said Sam.
'That was the second. It drove me to the mission. And then at the end there was my—my hatred.'
'What'd that drive you to?' murmured Sam.
'That?' said Heriot pensively. 'That has made a lost man of me.'
The old man scratched himself. 'Haven't you ever been happy?' he demanded, with disapproval.
'Happy? Yes, sometimes. But in all my—expiations, there's never been a reconciliation. And what less,' asked Heriot, 'what less could I hope for now?'
A sighing snore came from Sam. Heriot smiled. He lifted Justin's head and moved his knees away.
Three goats followed him as he made his way to the spring. He climbed the fence that enclosed it and stepped through the jungle of cabbage and pumpkin vines towards the brushwood shelter under which the water lay in its cup of built-up stones. He took off his shirt and plunged his torso in the water, and drank deeply, too. But it was warmer than he had hoped, and less refreshing, and he rose spluttering and more tired than before. The sun on his back as he kneeled there seemed to be drawing the blood from his body, and the sick, revolting smell of rotting cabbage was in his nostrils. His stomach moved.
He rose then, shakily, to his feet, and went to the fence, and leaning there vomited, the goats scampering up to watch him. He felt that his body was being torn inside, but at last the retching stopped, he went back with his legs shaking to wash again at the spring.
The two men still lay supine outside the shanty. Pulling on his shirt, Heriot watched the goats nose tentatively round his vomit.
'I am vile,' he told the goats humbly. 'I am vile.'
He climbed the fence and went back to the shack, his legs so weak that he seemed to himself to be fainting as he sank down by Justin, catching the sleeping man's elbow in the crook of his arm.
Screaming, a flock of white cockatoos passed over the shanty and descended on the spring. But their storm of cries could not even suggest a dream to the three sleepers in the shade.
So long, thought Gunn dejectedly, and no sign of them. Is it time to go back? How am I to judge when we should give up?
'Nothing yet,' Rex said. 'Nothing.'
'No.'
'Reckon we'll find him, brother?'
'I don't know. This is a long way to come without seeing a track.'
'Might be they went through gorge, brother.'
'Even if they did, we should have cut their tracks somewhere.'
Stephen said: 'Might be they...dead, now.'
'No,' Rex said loudly. 'They not dead.'
'You'd better get used to the idea,' Gunn said. 'Sorry, Rex. But don't count on seeing him again.'
'I got to see him,' Rex said. 'I got to talk to him. We never talk before.'
'It might be too late,' Gunn said. And he was thinking: So would I like to talk to him, clear up some things he wondered about me, whether I'd come back to the mission, for instance. I could tell him now, I could promise him. That'd mean a lot to the old man. So would Rex, much more. So would Stephen. But what chance have we got? Too late now.
Rex stared sullenly ahead. 'You giving up, brother? You not caring about that old man now, eh?'
'That's not true—'
'I never giving up.'
'We must, sometime,' said Gunn. 'Sometime.' Thinking: It's hopeless, already. What's the point of it now? They feel humiliated that he ran away to escape from them, but perhaps they'll get over it, perhaps we'll be able to help them forget it. What's the use of all this stumbling through the wilderness?
The bush man, Naldia, far ahead, stopped, watching the ground, and dismounted, and squatted in the grass, peering.
The sullenness died out of Rex's face and he came alive, kicking his horse forward, shouting to the older man: ' _Angundja? Angundja?_ '
And Naldia stood up and turned, grinning, proud. ''Ere,' he called, ''ere. Track 'ere.'
## 10
'And so,' said Heriot, 'there's no way I can help you. I'm reduced to accepting charity at last.'
He looked around the wretched room, taking in the dirt floor, the sagging hessian of the bed, the rusted stove spilling out the old man's only light. On the table lay a cooked haunch of goat, killed in Heriot's honour, and now cold. 'Though your charity's very acceptable,' he said.
'You can't help me,' said Sam. 'I don't want no help. Plenty of people worse off than me. Well, plenty of natives, anyhow.'
'How long,' asked Heriot, 'have you been out?'
'Out? How d'you mean?'
'Out of the world. Civilization. Out of touch, in fact.'
'It'd be two years,' said Sam. 'Yeah, two years ago it was, last time I went down to the town. Hundred and fifty mile it is. I had horses then, but they died on me. Didn't worry me, I was getting too old for it.'
'Yes,' said Heriot. 'We do get old. Quite suddenly.'
'I been here fifteen years. Raising me own tucker and all that. The goats was left here, lot of them gone wild, but I raise up a few. And I got me garden. Don't look too good now,' Sam said apologetically, 'been going off for years. Need some new seed, that's what it is. Same with them scraggy old chickens, but I like the sound of them. Live on nothing at all, they do.'
'You too, Sam,' said Heriot.
'I keep alive,' Sam said. 'God knows why.'
'It's hard to die,' Heriot said.
'You're right there.' The wizened face peered through the firelight, suspicious, curious. 'You're a queer sort of bloke, rolling up like this.'
'I am,' said Heriot, 'a queer sort of bloke.'
'What went wrong with your place?'
'Nothing,' said Heriot, glancing sidelong at him. 'What went wrong here?'
The old man shifted in his chair, sour-mouthed, his eyes full of resentments. 'You know the story,' he said. 'Don't have me on.'
'I don't know it, Sam. Or if I did, I've forgotten.'
'It was—that trouble. Nothing but trouble we ever had with them natives. Didn't like the whitefellow, see, weren't going to take nothing from him—excepting clothes and tucker and tobacco and the like of that, of course. Take any amount of that.'
'I know. We make the best or the worst of them. But why did they hate you?'
'Never had no idea,' Sam said. 'Never could see it myself. Ah, the missionaries, they was a bit hard, maybe—you know, holy, not what you'd call laughing men. And some of the natives went off on stations and come back again hating the white men there. They was too clever, you see, too big for their boots, not right for stations.'
'What were they right for?' Heriot said.
'Couldn't tell you, mate. I know this, but—they wasn't right for here. Just one blow-up after another, all the time I worked here. Then we got the real blow-up that finished it off.'
Tenderly feeling the welt on his shin: 'What was that?' asked Heriot.
The old man looked at him disbelievingly. 'You heard about that, mate. Don't tell me.'
'I can't remember. My memory's not good now.'
'The bomb,' Sam said patiently. 'You know, the bomb the Japs dropped here. Fell in a trench, killed three of the only four white blokes we had here.'
'And that was the end,' said Heriot. 'I remember. But we were busy ourselves then, I suppose I forgot soon after. I remember the planes, of course, and the people running out of the village into the hills, but they didn't bomb us. And there was Broome and Darwin and the _Koolama_ to think of.'
From a dark corner: 'I could see their face,' said Justin.
'Whose face?' Sam demanded.
'Them Jap. One time I hiding in the hills and they went over, and I could see these little men looking down out of plane with big goggle on their eyes. I thought I going to die then. I reckon they see, but they just went on, they didn't even bomb me. I real scared that time.'
'Imagine it,' said Heriot dreamily, 'setting out with a load of bombs for a country you'd never seen and wanted to conquer, and when you got there—nothing. Nothing at all for hundreds of miles. And then a few little houses that no one would want to destroy. They must have felt lonely at first.'
'That old man Wandalo,' said Justin, 'he made real good corroboree about when they bombing Broome.'
'Cyclones have done more damage,' Heriot said. ' _O imitatores_ ,' he said scornfully, ' _servum pecus_.'
'Voo parlay fronsay,' Sam said. 'Ooay l'estaminay silver play?'
Heriot peered at him through the flickering light. 'You're an old soldier,' he said. Their eyes met and slid away, distrustfully.
'That's right,' said Sam.
'I am, too,' Heriot said. 'I am, too.'
'All right,' said Sam harshly. 'What do you want us to do? Sing songs together?'
'No. Anything but that.'
'Took a lot of time to forget those days,' Sam said. 'A lot of time.'
'I know that, Sam.'
'You say it ain't easy to die. It ain't easy to kill, neither.'
'No, harder, much harder.'
'And when you get to want to do it—'
Heriot said sharply: 'Don't say that, Sam.'
He had broken something then. A stillness fell over them, and they were wrapped in memories; Sam, on his chair at the table, head bent over his hands, scrawny profile outlined by firelight; Heriot on the sagging bed, his face turned to the dark floor. Outside, the silence of the moon.
'What are you thinking, Sam?'
The old man licked his lips. 'Thinking we was all animals, that's all. Just animals. No, worse.'
'And suffer more for it. We have pity, and conscience, and reason. Those things hurt.'
'I made a muck of my life,' Sam said.
'That's something animals don't do,' said Heriot.
'Nothing ever turned out right. I never _done_ nothing. And these days—'
'You sit and rot,' said Heriot, 'like an old buggy in a shed.'
'What did you do?' asked Sam. 'Anything?'
'I did a little,' Heriot said, 'but what a little when you think what was to be done. Whatever you try to build they knock down with their wars and debates. Sometimes I wonder if there'll ever be a revolt against picking up the pieces.'
Sam turned on his chair, his back to the fire, searching Heriot's face. 'Where you going?' he asked quietly.
'Nowhere,' Heriot said, trying to see the old man's eyes in the shadow. 'Why, Sam?'
'I don't know.'
'Sam—?'
'Yeah?'
'Can I stay with you?' Heriot asked, almost eagerly. 'I could, couldn't I? There's nowhere to go, nothing to do. We could talk, Sam, and wait.'
'Yeah, we could do that.'
'Two old men—it's fitting enough.'
'Time goes slow,' said Sam.
'I want that.'
'You get sick of it—waiting.'
'But there are always new things to think of. Not new to the world, but new to us. Nothing's true until you feel it. That's why we have poets.'
'I don't know,' Sam said. 'Don't know what to say.' He stood up and shuffled across to his stove, his grasshopper-body black against the glow.
'Say what you think,' said Heriot. 'Don't deceive me.'
Sam bent and pushed more wood into the stove, and stood stooped in front of it.
'Be honest, Sam.'
'What would you be doing?' asked Sam privately. And turning back from the fire said, in his cracked voice, 'You'd be mad, mad as I am. What do you think I do here? What's the good of my kind of living? Nothing to live for except eating, and nothing except eating to keep you from dying. And the food hard to come by at that. You'd need to be mad, I tell you.'
'Yes,' said Heriot softly, staring at the fragile body of the old man, the bird-claw hands. 'Yes, you're right.'
'I ain't mean,' Sam insisted. 'I don't mind having you, I'm just thinking of you—'
'I know,' said Heriot gently. He leaned back in deep shadow, hiding his face from the anxious eyes. 'We'll go in the morning, Sam.'
*
'I must go,' Way said, 'but I thought you two should know about the new men coming and everything. It's cheering news.'
'Yes,' Helen said. 'And you look cheered.'
'More than that,' Dixon said. 'Joyful.'
Way smiled, flushing a little. 'Why shouldn't I? This is a happy day. More staff, more money. Nothing can hold us back now.' He pushed open the screen door and shut himself out. 'Good night,' he called from the darkness. 'God bless us all.'
'Amen,' Helen said. She turned back to Dixon, laughing. 'He really is in a blissful mood. I've never seen him so happy.'
'Well, aren't you?'
'Of course,' she said. 'I could make a speech. This is a great day, a new era is dawning—'
'Scrub it,' he said. 'I don't want to marry a politician. Do you reckon we should have told the padre while he was here?'
'Told him what?'
'About wanting to get hitched.'
'That was the wrong answer,' she said. 'You should have said coyly: "About us."'
'Don't talk smart,' he said. 'I don't want to start beating you before we're married.'
'It's the last chance you'll have, Terry, because Mabel's promised me her fighting stick. What's more, Mabel and the whole village already know about us, and if you don't marry me pretty soon there's going to be some ugly talk.'
'You've got no hope,' he said, laughing, 'of keeping a secret in this place. Arthur asked me this morning if I'd have him for my best man.'
'Ruth wants to be my bridesmaid, too. I promised her.'
'Have I got to marry you with one of those brass rings Father keeps for weddings?'
'I won't mind. Brass lasts well.'
He was looking at her, and held out his hand palm upwards on the table, and she put hers in it. 'I feel funny about all this,' he said. 'Doesn't seem like the sort of thing that'd happen to me, somehow.'
'I feel a bit odd, too.'
'Gee, eh, fancy me being married.' He shook his head, looking into her clear eyes, and felt his foreignness leaving him. No need ever again to wander in Darwin, lost as if in a great city, or idle like a gangling waif in Perth or Adelaide. He had his home here, she was his home. Her hand was cool and dry.
She was smiling, intent on him. 'What's funny?' he asked.
'You look like a little boy sometimes,' she said. 'I'll have a little boy like you, running round naked with the other children.'
'Ah,' he said, embarrassed, 'have as many as you like.'
'Everyone's so happy now,' she said. 'Not only us. If only Bob and Rex and Stephen were back—'
He dropped his eyes, his hand slackening. 'Listen—' he said. 'What about Bob?'
'Bob doesn't want anyone,' she said gently. 'Not yet. He's a lonely man, like Mr Heriot. Don't think about Bob, Terry. You'd be wrong.'
'Would I?' he said, looking up again. 'That's good. I wanted to be honest...'
He put out his other hand and she took it. 'You are honest,' she said, and because he was poor in words they sat silent, and looked at one another across the table.
In the early morning they crossed the little plain and came once again into the hills. Pigeons with delicate antennae scattered from the rocks, but Heriot no longer noticed such things, deeply weary as he was, and sick, and full of valedictions. The country before him was an endless recurrence of rock and grass and tree; all that could be seen had been seen, all that could be learned would never be learned, never now. He sat like wood in the saddle and loved nothing but the constant sky.
Before nightfall they crossed and camped at a small freshwater river in a valley filled with tall gumtrees and cadjiputs, and dense ferns and pandanus and tropic shrubs draped with wild passion-fruit vines and the laced and furred white flowers of the wild cucumber. Clear water ran shallowly over the stones and in the broad pools appeared the fleeting shadows of fish. It was a calm and gentle place, yet Heriot slept brokenly, and woke in the morning surprised by the sun. For death was his one thought and destination, and he saw himself now as a minute lizard in the grass, over which death hovered and hung like a hawk, delaying the strike out of delight in its own power.
Climbing the hills again in the morning he shivered, and cried out to Justin for reassurance. 'We're very small,' he said.
'You big bloke, brother,' Justin said kindly.
'No, no, you don't understand. Think of it. This world. A little molten pebble spinning in air. This rock we walk on, a thin skin, changing every second. And the trees, what are they?'
'They just trees, brother.'
'A little fur, less than the bloom on a peach. But we creep under them. And in the split seconds between the heaving of the earth millions of generations of us are born and grow and die.'
'Might be, brother,' Justin allowed.
'I'm a philosopher,' said Heriot, in self-derision. 'I'll be silent now.'
And indeed he was silent almost all that day, and though they camped once again without water, and nausea welled up in him as he chewed the chunks of cold, cooked goat that Sam had given them, he had no complaint or comment. But he slept uneasily, tormented by the cries of dingoes, and on the next day he was weaker, and more tremulous of the hands.
'I'll walk now,' he said. 'I've had enough riding.'
'No,' said Justin, 'you stay on horse, brother. You tired.'
'I'll walk,' said Heriot firmly.
But at midday, in the full heat of the sun, he stumbled among the rocks, and fell, and was unable to rise.
Justin, kneeling over him, sweating into his beard, pleaded: 'Brother, brother, don't you lie there. Get up now, brother.'
'I can't,' Heriot said. 'Not again. No, Justin, leave me here.'
'You got to get up. There no water here, nothing. Come away, brother.'
'There's no help for it,' said Heriot. 'Leave me.' The rocks burned him through his clothes and he closed his eyes. The sun glowed and then darkened through his lids, and he felt sleep coming.
But Justin, stooping, lifted the old man in his arms, and set him on his feet and supported him. There was not now any urgency in Justin, only a hopeless calm. 'We go on,' he said flatly. 'I get you up on the horse and you sit there and I look after you.'
'No,' said Heriot feebly. 'No.'
But he was bundled, unresisting, into the saddle, and sat limp and tired while the world passed in a blur of sunlight, and the sweat streamed from his back, and his tongue grew dry as canegrass with thirst, making it hard to speak. Yet he muttered to himself from time to time. 'Why try to save me?' he demanded. 'Who cares? This world—this world's a grain of salt. A grain of salt in an ocean. No microscope is strong enough to see me. No camera is fast enough to catch me between birth and dying.'
He looked down at the tangled hair of Justin and felt pity for him. 'This earth hates us,' he said gently. 'It heaves and strains under our feet. Go home, Justin. You haven't had your share of time.'
'No,' said Justin. 'I not leaving you.'
'The world wants us to prey. But I won't prey on you, no, I'll go against the world. Soon I won't prey on anything. Not even the insects this horse crushes carrying me.'
'That right, brother.'
Heriot shook his head, gasping in his dry throat. 'Why do we have thirst? Because the world hates us.'
'Might be.'
'And hunger? Oh, God. Suppose you had an open wound. The maggots would be in it now, eating you up. That's hunger.'
'Yes,' said Justin. 'Yes.'
'There's some wasp that lays its eggs inside caterpillars. The grubs eat the caterpillar, but it doesn't die. No, they keep it alive so that they can eat it longer.'
'Yes,' said Justin.
'They keep it alive until it makes its cocoon. Then they finish eating it, they use the cocoon themselves. That's hunger,' said Heriot, 'that's what I mean by preying.'
'Yes, brother.'
'But I'll escape it,' Heriot vowed. 'I won't be party to it. No. Now I'm only the prey.'
And then he was silent again, choked by thirst, and sat and swayed in the saddle as brown man and brown horse plodded on over the hot rock. His smallness and his futility could not hurt him now, for he had no pride, had nothing, only his feeble body, and his thirst.
He was almost asleep when they came, after hours, to the country of caves, where bluffs and cliffs of rock were split with dark holes, and where, green and luxuriant, a _gle_ tree reached out from among the boulders.
'There water there,' Justin said, on a long sigh. 'Water, brother.'
'Ah, _benigna natura,_ ' said Heriot wryly.
They paused for a moment to rest their eyes on the dark foliage, so fresh among so much rock; and as they stood there, a small sound came from among the leaves, and Justin, stepping back, reached for the rifle, and loaded stealthily, and began to creep forward.
On a shelf of rock a wallaby sat, so soft in its grey fur that it might have been a toy, so innocent, with its big foolish ears and dark eyes, that nothing in all its life could have threatened it, thought Heriot, feeling with his eyes the tranquil heart beating in the side and the claws gripping stone. 'Oh, my beauty,' he said softly, 'my handsome one.' And the wallaby, turning its head towards him, started. And Justin fired. The perfect creature leaped and fell back, and died quivering on the flat rock.
Heriot closed his eyes.
'Come here, brother,' Justin shouted. But he shook his head and said nothing.
'Water,' Justin said. 'Plenty here. Quick, brother.'
He moved wearily in the saddle, stirring the horse forward and allowing it to carry him on to the little rock pond beneath the wild fig tree. There was grass growing in the water, and a continual slow drip from the overhanging cliff far above. A drop fell stingingly on the back of his neck as he lay down over the rocks to drink.
Long afterwards he got to his feet again and walked towards the mouth of the cave close by the pond. And under hanging rock he saw the first of the paintings, the crude figure of a man without a mouth, his head outlined with a horseshoe shape like that of the rainbow serpent.
'I know you,' he said. 'You are Wolaro. God. What does it matter what you're named?'
He called to Justin: 'Look, here is God.' But when he turned towards Justin, the man's eyes were wide and frightened, his lips were dry and he licked them.
'Why,' said Heriot, 'you're not afraid? Justin—'
Justin said hoarsely: 'Brother—brother, don't you go in there. Come back, brother.'
'This is my house now,' said Heriot. 'Don't be afraid.'
He stepped into the cave, and from all the walls the mouthless god looked down on him.
'Hail,' he said. ' _Ali_.'
He moved, and something rolled from his feet. It was a skull. The floor of the cave was littered with human bones.
He was very tired. He lay down against the cave-wall and closed his eyes, quiet and cool. 'I have come home now,' he said. 'This is home.'
## 11
Long afterwards Justin overcame his fear a little and came into the cave. But there was terror still in his eyes, and he, who more than any of his people had denied the old beliefs, had at last to acknowledge the powers of the dark upon his blood, and the strength of the dead.
The light of their fire washed the rough walls, illuminating the staring god, dancing in the sockets of the staring skulls. They could feel no hunger there, though the meat of the wallaby burned sweetly on the coals. Crouching close by Heriot, Justin piled on the fire more of the wood he had dragged in to keep back the darkness; and all night lay sleepless and afraid, the spirits haunting in and out of his brain.
'What will become of me?' asked Heriot, deeply and softly in shadow. 'Where will I go, Justin?'
The brown man stirred beside him. 'How you mean, brother?'
'This is the end. You know that. And when I'm dead, what then?'
'Don't say that.'
'But I must now, there's need for it. Justin,' said Heriot rebelliously, 'I don't want to die. No. Now why is that?'
'You won't die, brother, not now.' But the man was struggling, and his voice showed it, against Heriot's conviction. 'Go sleep, brother.'
'Will my spirit go back and wait to be born? I'd like that. Wait at Onmalmeri, in the water deep under the lilies, and when some woman came, enter her body and be a child again. Would that happen, Justin?'
'No,' said Justin sadly. 'That don't happen.'
'Where will I go, then? Only to the islands? And wait there forever, and be nothing? And never,' asked Heriot, pleading, 'never come again?'
'No,' said Justin, 'you never come again. Never, brother.' He was touched with grief.
'What will you do with me? Put me high in a tree, and when I'm dry carry my bones away?'
'No,' Justin protested, 'I bury you under cross and say prayer for you, and you go right to heaven, brother.'
' _Alunggur njarianangga_ ,' prayed Heriot. ' _Arung ada bram. Manambara balngi_ —'
'Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done. On earth, as it is in heaven—'
'That's hell where His will is done as on earth.'
'Don't say that, brother.'
'What reason not to say it now? Justin—I want my bones to be buried at Onmalmeri. Or left here. Yes, here will do, this old burying ground.'
'Please,' Justin begged, 'please, go sleep now.'
'My spirit can come back, for a little time. Can't it? I can visit someone I love?'
'They say—' said Justin. 'They say spirit come back to his brother, if he a man, or to his wife. Or might be hang around the bush and come if someone say his name.'
'But you don't believe that. You say dead people's names, you're the only one who does. You don't believe in spirits.'
The light flickering over his face, with its dark lines running across the forehead and from nostril to mouth: 'Yes,' Justin said, 'I believe.'
'After so long—'
'My old man was real clever old man. He could send his spirit from mission to town, brother, and sit in tree like a bird, and talk to the people there. They didn't see him, but they heard him all right, talking to them.'
'Say my name, Justin. When I'm dead, go out some night in the dark and say my name.'
'One time his spirit bring tobacco for my brother from the town. Might be you don't believe that—'
'Promise you'll say my name.'
'I can't say you name,' Justin said. 'And I don't know all you name.'
'My name is Stephen.'
'Stephen,' said Justin. 'Real nice name, that.'
'Call me that. Say: "I'll call your name, Stephen."'
Hesitating unhappily: 'I can't say that, brother,' said Justin. 'It don't sound right.'
'No,' said Heriot wistfully. 'After so long—but we're always foreign. That never ends.'
The fire leaped in his regarding eyes. 'I'm not so small as I was. No, I'm growing now. There are powers in me. I have love, and courage, a little of it, and reason of a sort, and compassion. And I'm a very beautiful machine, Justin, and so are you, although we're so fragile. And if I'm going to die—well, my life has been pretty long by the standards of moths. Why, if I were as big as a tree and lived as long, I'd be proud, sinfully proud. But I'm not proud now, not with the eyes of all these skulls on me...'
'Brother—Stephen—' pleaded Justin. 'You go sleep now.'
'In the morning you must go,' said Heriot.
'I not going. Not yet.'
'Think of Ella, Justin.'
'I been thinking of her. And my little kids. Ah, my little kids,' said Justin, 'they be real glad when their daddy come home.'
'Then go,' said Heriot violently. 'Why have you come so far with me when your children need you? That was selfish of you. Of you, not of me.'
'You need me, brother—Stephen.'
'I don't need you now. Why, man, do you think I want you standing round when I'm dying? Go, tomorrow.'
His skin shining in the red light, the brown man turned his face away from the eyes of Heriot, and from the eyes of the painted god and from the holes of the skulls. He hid from them, pulling up the blanket over his tangled hair.
'I going,' he said, 'Stephen.'
When Heriot woke Justin was gone, and he felt a sudden panic at the thought that there would be no chance to say farewell to him and thank him and send back messages with him to the world. But when he came out of the cave-mouth Justin was below, squatting by the water, and at the sight of the familiar profile, the heavy, wrinkled brow, flattened nose and black beard, Heriot sighed.
'Justin,' he said, 'don't go—don't go without telling me.'
The dark man rose and came towards the cave, his face earnest and sad. 'I don't go yet,' he said.
'It would be futile, wouldn't it, to try to tell you how much your companionship has meant to me. And how deeply it's touched me to think that I—had a hand in turning out a man like you.'
'You don't have to say nothing.'
'No. Because you know everything now, don't you. We've become—close enough.'
'I never forget you.'
'Nor will I forget you,' said Heriot. And they held each other by the eyes, words being of no use to them at the time of farewells.
'There's something,' Heriot said, 'something I wanted to tell you. Look after Stephen. Watch him, Justin. Teach him. Make him like you. He's a good boy, I want him to be like you.'
'I do that,' Justin said. 'I watch him.'
'And there's something more,' said Heriot, fumbling in his pockets. 'There's Rex. I'll give you these things, you see, my knife and this watch. There's not much, but take them, and say they're for Rex, and the rifle, too. I know you'd like them, and you've earned them, and you'll have them, too, but say they're for Rex.'
'I say that all right,' Justin promised. 'But why you doing this?'
'I want them to know I didn't hate him. I didn't, Justin. It was because I loved him—loved all your people—that I did—that thing I did. They'll understand that. They'll know there was never one of them I hated. They'll remember, some of them, loving a woman and finding she was no good and wanting to kill her. And if they realized then it was love, not hate, that drove them, they'll understand me and forgive me. Tell them all of that.'
'I tell them,' Justin said softly.
'It's my only defence. It's the world's only defence, that we hurt out of love, not out of hate.'
'Yes, brother.'
'It's a feeble defence,' said Heriot, with sadness, 'and a poor reconciliation. But we've nothing better.'
'No.'
'Well—you must go, Justin.'
The brown man turned his face towards Heriot, and his mouth was stiff with grief. 'I can't do that,' he said. 'I can't leave you.'
'No,' said Heriot, 'don't say that again. Think of Ella and the children. You'd be doing me wrong if you made me responsible for taking you from them.'
'Leave you here, all hungry, and let you die?'
'Hush,' said Heriot. 'You have the rifle.'
'Yes, it down there.'
'And how many bullets?'
'Just one,' said Justin, with an unhappy laugh, 'just one little fella.'
'I'm sorry. But you'll find something. There's always been something to kill.'
'Yes. Yes.'
'Go now.'
'You go inside,' Justin said, 'just a minute, brother. Please.'
'Why?' asked Heriot.
But the man's eyes pleaded with him, and he went into the cave and waited. And when the shot came, he knew why it was, and he groaned in his throat. A long time afterwards he came out again, knowing he would find the horse well dead and past all pain.
Justin was hacking at the carcass with Heriot's knife, his face tense and still.
'You loved that horse,' Heriot said.
'I don't know.'
'This is the last death I'll cause. The last, I promise you.'
'I know that, brother.'
'I didn't want food. There was nothing I wanted now.'
'You got to eat.'
'No, I don't, now. That's the beauty of it.'
'Hush,' said Justin, 'you be quiet now.' He came up to the cave with chunks of meat in his hands and laid them on a ledge inside. 'Everything ready now, brother.'
'Stephen.'
'Stephen.'
Slowly Heriot stretched out his hands and laid them on Justin's chest. 'This is how to say good-bye,' he said, 'among your people.'
'I can't touch you, Stephen. My hands all bloody.'
'All our hands are bloody,' said Heriot bitterly. 'Say good-bye.'
Then Justin laid his hands lightly on the old man's breast, and they looked at one another, dark sunken eyes into strained blue ones. The air was full of farewells, but they stood in silence.
'Ah, Justin,' said Heriot, turning away, 'you're my good deeds, my salvation from myself...'
'I never forget you, Stephen.'
'Look after your children, for my sake.'
'I do that, always.'
'You must go.'
'Yes,' said Justin. 'I go now.' He walked away past the pool, stooping to pick up his spears and the rifle, and vanished finally behind an outcrop of rock. A little wind stirred sadly in the leaves of the _gle_ tree; and Heriot, at the mouth of his cave, turned, and hid his face against the body of the painted god.
In the dimness of the cave, days ran together and lost themselves, so that Heriot, sleeping, eating, or disjointedly thinking, felt time confounded, a twilight without divisions, and himself a simple plant of the sea's floor, waving and dying.
He had thought there would be much to think about in this last solitude, but his mind was placid and empty. Justin faded in memory even on the first day, and on the second the features of his face became impossible to recall. Only faces of the past, Margaret's face, and Esther's, drifted now and then across the screen of his eyelids.
And on the third day, late in the afternoon, with the flies humming drowsily around the rank meat, the cave became at last insupportable to him. He got slowly to his feet and went out into the failing light.
There was nausea in his stomach, and his legs shook. But he made his way carefully over the rocks to the nearest hill, and then down, and on again. The light grew fainter, but the moon rose early and was close to full, and he went on.
Far away a dingo cried out. But he was not afraid.
But after hours, it seemed, of this clambering and stumbling his weakness struck him down, and he lay among the rocks and with one hand hid his eyes from the yellow moon. His hair was whiter than moonlight, and his face dark. The dingo howled again, but he was too feeble to build a fire, and had no fear.
Over his head a stunted tree waved, its leaves outlined with silver light. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful, and could have lain and stared at it all night; but his eyes clouded and he dropped suddenly into a black sleep.
Long and thin up the gully: ' _Bau!_ ' shouted a voice. And the riders on the hillside halted and turned, searching the rocks, the bushes.
The cry came again.
'Ah,' said Rex, deep in his throat. He turned his horse down a hillside and rode from his companions; who, watching him recede down the gully, became aware also of a dark, moving figure, a tired man urging himself on through the boulders.
It was the end, Gunn knew; and he had not expected this sense of bereavement which descended on him so belatedly.
Now the two figures were close, and Rex had dismounted; but Justin had stopped, his face turned to the other man, and would not approach him. It was left to Rex to advance over the last few yards between them, and even when they were face to face Justin would make no movement, but stood stooped and frozen, his eyes intent.
Then Rex reached out and touched his shoulder. And slowly the older man's hand went to his pocket, and he brought it out again and laid it in Rex's, and held out the rifle for Rex to take. Yet there was still a strange dream quality in their movements, neither moving his eyes by a fraction from the other's. Until Rex, gently and humbly, bent his head and touched Justin's shoulder with his forehead; and the other man's hand appeared and lay lightly across his back.
On the hillside, sweating in the heat: 'This is all,' Gunn said softly. 'You can go home now, Stephen.'
Stephen, his eyes fixed on the two dwarfs in the valley, nodded, his mouth taut and sad.
'Hard to believe it's over,' Gunn said. 'Hard to believe. Nothing will be the same again.'
High on the hill, overlooking the reconciliation of Heriot, his foster-father, Stephen bent his head. 'No,' he said quietly. 'Nothing going to be the same,' he promised.
The old man's eyes came slowly open, and he saw the sun sitting half below the next rise. He was hot and choked with thirst, could not remember when the rocks had exuded such heat or when he had sweated so. It was intolerable. He rose shakily to his feet and stepped forward towards the sunrise. The hill grew tall in front of him, reaching up to hide the sun.
'Who am I?' he asked, dazed, half-blinded. 'My name was Heriot. A son of the sun.'
He began to sing, in the midst of his stumbling, a wild corroboree song about himself.
' _Ali! Bungundja bugurga, nandaba brambun?_
_Worai! Heriot ngarang, nawuru morong nangga_.'
And he asked: 'Where are you going, old ghost? Going to the islands, are you? Going to Bundalmeri? He is your lord. His country is outside—outside.'
' _Worai! mudumudu-gu ngarambun,_
_Gre-gu Bundalmeri nangga._
_Bungama ngaia, beni brara._
_Walawa gre beninangga,_
_Walawa ada bram._
_Worai! Worai!_ '
An eaglehawk hung over him, great ragged wings curved around air.
' _Worai!_ ' said Heriot. 'Alas. The earth's hungry.'
He was staggering then to the top of a rocky rise, and when he came there he stood suddenly still, his white hair blowing against the sky, his eyes dazzled with the sea.
It was the sea's shine, and the sea's noise, shattered against rock cliffs. Ultimate indeed, at last found. And the sun that had led him hung close over the sea, not rising but setting, not lighting but blinding.
He came forward to the edge of the cliffs, where they dropped, vast red walls, to the faraway sea below. And the sea, where the light was not on it, was the blue-green of opals and endlessly rearing, smashed into white at the foot of the rock.
There was a break in the cliffs, and he climbed unsteadily down a few yards to a red ledge with a shallow cave behind it. The skulls were there again, and the eyes of the mouthless god, turned forever towards the islands. But the islands—the islands. He stared out to sea and saw nothing but the sun on the water; his dreams and his fears all true, and there were no islands.
He turned, blinded, away, and saw on the ledge beside him a block of stone fallen from the cliff. And he stooped, straining, and lifted it in his arms. He knew suddenly the momentousness of his strength, his power to alter the world at will, to give to the sea what the sea through an eternity of destruction was working to engulf, this broken rock. Truly, he would work a change on the world before it blinded him.
Poised on the ledge, he threw the stone, and it floated slowly, slowly down the huge cliff face, and crashed against it; and slower and slower entered the sea, in a tiny circle of spray.
And watching it, he staggered, and stepped back towards the cave, shaking in the legs, and in his head following the enormous fall into the waves.
High overhead the eagle patrolled the cliff. But suddenly, passing under it, a gull flew out from the rock and planed towards the sun until it was hidden in light. And when the sun sank lower, there, in the heart of the blaze, might appear the islands.
The old man kneeled among the bones and stared into the light. His carved lips were firm in the white beard, his hands were steady, his ancient blue eyes, neither hoping nor fearing, searched sun and sea for the least dark hint of a landfall.
'My soul,' he whispered, over the sea-surge, 'my soul is a strange country.'
Dancing on Coral
Glenda Adams
Introduced by Susan Wyndham
The True Story of Spit MacPhee
James Aldridge
Introduced by Phillip Gwynne
The Commandant
Jessica Anderson
Introduced by Carmen Callil
Homesickness
Murray Bail
Introduced by Peter Conrad
Sydney Bridge Upside Down
David Ballantyne
Introduced by Kate De Goldi
Bush Studies
Barbara Baynton
Introduced by Helen Garner
The Cardboard Crown
Martin Boyd
Introduced by Brenda Niall
A Difficult Young Man
Martin Boyd
Introduced by Sonya Hartnett
Outbreak of Love
Martin Boyd
Introduced by Chris Womersley
When Blackbirds Sing
Martin Boyd
Introduced by Chris Wallace-Crabbe
The Australian Ugliness
Robin Boyd
Introduced by Christos Tsiolkas
All the Green Year
Don Charlwood
Introduced by Michael McGirr
They Found a Cave
Nan Chauncy
Introduced by John Marsden
The Even More Complete
Book of Australian Verse
John Clarke
Diary of a Bad Year
J. M. Coetzee
Introduced by Peter Goldsworthy
Wake in Fright
Kenneth Cook
Introduced by Peter Temple
The Dying Trade
Peter Corris
Introduced by Charles Waterstreet
They're a Weird Mob
Nino Culotta
Introduced by Jacinta Tynan
The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke
C. J. Dennis
Introduced by Jack Thompson
Careful, He Might Hear You
Sumner Locke Elliott
Introduced by Robyn Nevin
Fairyland
Sumner Locke Elliott
Introduced by Dennis Altman
The Explorers
Edited and introduced by
Tim Flannery
Terra Australis
Matthew Flinders
Introduced by Tim Flannery
Owls Do Cry
Janet Frame
Introduced by Margaret Drabble
In the Memorial Room
Janet Frame
Introduced by Simon Van Booy
My Brilliant Career
Miles Franklin
Introduced by Jennifer Byrne
Such is Life
Joseph Furphy
Introduced by David Malouf
The Fringe Dwellers
Nene Gare
Introduced by Melissa Lucashenko
Cosmo Cosmolino
Helen Garner
Introduced by Ramona Koval
Wish
Peter Goldsworthy
Introduced by James Bradley
Dark Places
Kate Grenville
Introduced by Louise Adler
The Idea of Perfection
Kate Grenville
Introduced by Neil Armfield
I Saw a Strange Land
Arthur Groom
Introduced by Robyn Davidson
The Quiet Earth
Craig Harrison
Introduced by Bernard Beckett
Down in the City
Elizabeth Harrower
Introduced by Delia Falconer
The Long Prospect
Elizabeth Harrower
Introduced by Fiona McGregor
The Catherine Wheel
Elizabeth Harrower
Introduced by Ramona Koval
The Watch Tower
Elizabeth Harrower
Introduced by Joan London
Out of the Line of Fire
Mark Henshaw
Introduced by Stephen Romei
The Long Green Shore
John Hepworth
Introduced by Lloyd Jones
The Mystery of a Hansom Cab
Fergus Hume
Introduced by Simon Caterson
The Chantic Bird
David Ireland
Introduced by Geordie Williamson
The Unknown Industrial Prisoner
David Ireland
Introduced by Peter Pierce
The Glass Canoe
David Ireland
Introduced by Nicolas Rothwell
A Woman of the Future
David Ireland
Introduced by Kate Jennings
Eat Me
Linda Jaivin
Introduced by Krissy Kneen
Julia Paradise
Rod Jones
Introduced by Emily Maguire
The Jerilderie Letter
Ned Kelly
Introduced by Alex McDermott
Bring Larks and Heroes
Thomas Keneally
Introduced by Geordie Williamson
Strine
Afferbeck Lauder
Introduced by John Clarke
The Young Desire It
Kenneth Mackenzie
Introduced by David Malouf
The Refuge
Kenneth Mackenzie
Introduced by Nicolas Rothwell
Stiff
Shane Maloney
Introduced by Lindsay Tanner
The Middle Parts of Fortune
Frederic Manning
Introduced by Simon Caterson
Selected Stories
Katherine Mansfield
Introduced by Emily Perkins
The Home Girls
Olga Masters
Introduced by Geordie Williamson
Amy's Children
Olga Masters
Introduced by Eva Hornung
The Scarecrow
Ronald Hugh Morrieson
Introduced by Craig Sherborne
The Dig Tree
Sarah Murgatroyd
Introduced by Geoffrey Blainey
A Lifetime on Clouds
Gerald Murnane
Introduced by Andy Griffiths
The Plains
Gerald Murnane
Introduced by Wayne Macauley
The Odd Angry Shot
William Nagle
Introduced by Paul Ham
Life and Adventures 1776–1801
John Nicol
Introduced by Tim Flannery
Death in Brunswick
Boyd Oxlade
Introduced by Shane Maloney
Swords and Crowns and Rings
Ruth Park
Introduced by Alice Pung
The Watcher in the Garden
Joan Phipson
Introduced by Margo Lanagan
Maurice Guest
Henry Handel Richardson
Introduced by Carmen Callil
The Getting of Wisdom
Henry Handel Richardson
Introduced by Germaine Greer
The Fortunes of Richard Mahony
Henry Handel Richardson
Introduced by Peter Craven
The Delinquents
Criena Rohan
Introduced by Nick Earls
Rose Boys
Peter Rose
Introduced by Brian Matthews
Fear Drive My Feet
Peter Ryan
Introduced by Peter Pierce
Hills End
Ivan Southall
Introduced by James Moloney
Ash Road
Ivan Southall
Introduced by Maurice Saxby
To the Wild Sky
Ivan Southall
Introduced by Kirsty Murray
Lillipilly Hill
Eleanor Spence
Introduced by Ursula Dubosarsky
The Women in Black
Madeleine St John
Introduced by Bruce Beresford
The Essence of the Thing
Madeleine St John
Introduced by Helen Trinca
Jonah
Louis Stone
Introduced by Frank Moorhouse
To the Islands
Randolph Stow
Introduced by Bernadette Brennan
Tourmaline
Randolph Stow
Introduced by Gabrielle Carey
Visitants
Randolph Stow
Introduced by Drusilla Modjeska
The Girl Green as Elderflower
Randolph Stow
Introduced by Kerryn Goldsworthy
The Suburbs of Hell
Randolph Stow
Afterword by Michelle de Kretser
An Iron Rose
Peter Temple
Introduced by Les Carlyon
1788
Watkin Tench
Introduced by Tim Flannery
The House that Was Eureka
Nadia Wheatley
Introduced by Toni Jordan
Happy Valley
Patrick White
Introduced by Peter Craven
I for Isobel
Amy Witting
Introduced by Charlotte Wood
Isobel on the Way to the Corner Shop
Amy Witting
Introduced by Maria Takolander
I Own the Racecourse!
Patricia Wrightson
Introduced by Kate Constable
**textclassics.com.au**
|
/*
* If all children have the same value, one of the children is
* returned to get the value from that. Otherwise NULL is returned.
*/
CParameter * CMultiParameter::GetValue()
{
if (HaveChildrenMultipleValues())
return NULL;
if (m_Children[0]->GetType() == TYPE_MULTI)
{
return ((CMultiParameter*)m_Children[0])->GetValue();
}
return m_Children[0];
} |
def format_esm_time(esm_time):
_esm_out_time_fmt = "%m/%d/%Y %H:%M:%S"
_esm_in_time_fmt = "%Y-%m-%dT%H:%M:%S.000Z"
if isinstance(esm_time, str):
esm_time = convert_to_time_obj(esm_time)
return datetime.strftime(esm_time, _esm_in_time_fmt) |
import fileinput
for index, line in enumerate(fileinput.input()):
if index == 0:
continue
m = len(line) - 1
if m > 10:
print (line[0] + str(len(line[1:m-1])) + line[m-1])
else:
print (line[0:m])
|
// if necessary, users can use onFiles() to reload on jar change
public HotReloader onClassFiles()
{
Path[] classDirs = findDirsInClasspath();
addCompiler(VoidCompiler.of("class", "glob:**.class"), true, classDirs);
msgOut.accept("class dir");
for(Path dir : classDirs)
msgOut.accept(" " + dir.toAbsolutePath());
return this;
} |
def parseToDepGraph(self, sentence):
delimiter=" "
if isinstance(sentence,list):
s = delimiter.join(sentence)
elif isinstance(sentence,basestring):
s = sentence
else:
assert True, "Sentence input is not a list or string"
nlpos = s.find('\n')
assert (nlpos==-1 or nlpos==len(s)-1), "Newline present in sentence"
if ( nlpos > 0 ): s = s[:nlpos]
try:
parserOutput = self._cache[key(s)]
if (Debug.PRT_Parsers>1): print "StanfordDependencyParser Retrieved from cache"
except (KeyError):
if (Debug.PRT_Parsers>2): print "StanfordDependencyParser processing ", s
filename=_writeTempFile([s])
cmd = _commandTemplate.substitute(
what='edu.stanford.nlp.parser.lexparser.LexicalizedParser',
format='typedDependenciesCollapsed',
formatOptions='',
file=filename)
pipe = _runStanfordParser(cmd)
parserOutput=[]
textIt = TextIterator(pipe)
for line in textIt.readlines():
if ( len(line) < 2 ):
continue
parserOutput.append(line)
pipe.close()
os.remove(filename)
self._cache[key(s)]=parserOutput
if (Debug.PRT_Parsers>2): print "Parser output: ",parserOutput
dp = NltkUtils.DependencyGraph(None)
try:
dp.parseDeps(parserOutput)
except (ValueError), e:
self._cache.pop(key(s))
raise e
return dp |
def handle_input(input: str, pgs: pages.Pages):
rc = ''
if input.strip().lower() == 'n':
pgs = pages.get_news_pages_by_num([1])
elif input.strip().lower() == 's':
rc = 's'
elif input.strip().lower() == 'b':
rc = 'b'
elif input.strip().lower() == 'b-a':
rc = 'b-a'
elif input.strip().lower() == 'q':
rc = QUIT_RC
elif input.startswith('n') and len(input.split('-')) > 1:
pg_nums = []
values = input.split('-')[1]
values = [int(v) for v in values.split(',')]
pg_nums.extend(values)
pgs = pages.get_news_pages_by_num(pg_nums)
elif input.startswith('r') and len(input.split('-')) > 1:
item_rank = int(input.split('-')[1])
post_id, _ = pages.get_post_by_rank(item_rank)
pgs = pages.get_post_pages_by_id(post_id)
elif input.startswith('i') and len(input.split('-')) > 1:
item_id = int(input.split('-')[1])
pgs = pages.get_post_pages_by_id(item_id)
else:
rc = ERROR_RC
return pgs, rc |
class ReactionDrivingForce:
"""
Calculated driving force of a inorganic synthesis reaction.
"""
reaction_string: str
driving_force: float
reactants: List[Tuple[Comp, float]]
gases: List[Tuple[Comp, float]] |
<reponame>Relicjamin-jv/LearningCpp
#include <iostream>
/**
* For a func. to be constexpr it must be simple and only use information passed to it, it can not modify non local variables, but it
* can have it's own variables. constexpr are used when immunitbiliy and performance is needed, or it's needed for a lang rule.
*
*/
constexpr int evalAtCompileTime = 50; //looked at when compiling, puts in readonly memory. Faster. Safer.
const double constVar = 5.4; //it wont change, therefore can use pointers and references without fear of it being changed.
/**
* @brief return the square of x
*
* @param x what is going to be doubled
* @return constexpr double
*/
constexpr double square(double x){
return x*x;
}
int main(){
double var = 7.5;
constexpr double max1 = 1.4*square(7); //OK
//constexpr double max2 = 1.4*square(var); //error: var isnt a const exp., therefore cant be used as data, cause it isn't there
const double max3 = 1.4*square(var); //OK, evaled at runtime
std::cout << "Compiled with no errors, look at file for more information" << std::endl;
} |
/// Send a signal to the parent process' group
pub fn send_signal_group(&mut self, group: PID, source_pid: PID, signal: POSIXSignal) -> Result<(), ()>
{
kdebugln!(Signals, "Sending Signal {:?} to Group {}", signal.sig_type, group);
let mut pids = Vec::new();
for proc in self.processes.values_mut()
{
if proc.pid != source_pid && proc.data.process_group_id == group
{
pids.push(proc.pid);
}
}
for pid in pids
{
let mut s = signal.clone();
s.dest_pid = pid;
self.send_signal(pid, s)?;
}
Ok(())
} |
/*
* Copyright 2003 The Apache Software Foundation
*
* Licensed under the Apache License, Version 2.0 (the "License");
* you may not use this file except in compliance with the License.
* You may obtain a copy of the License at
*
* http://www.apache.org/licenses/LICENSE-2.0
*
* Unless required by applicable law or agreed to in writing, software
* distributed under the License is distributed on an "AS IS" BASIS,
* WITHOUT WARRANTIES OR CONDITIONS OF ANY KIND, either express or implied.
* See the License for the specific language governing permissions and
* limitations under the License.
*/
package net.sf.cglib.transform.impl;
import net.sf.cglib.transform.*;
import java.util.*;
import net.sf.cglib.core.*;
import org.objectweb.asm.Attribute;
import org.objectweb.asm.Label;
import org.objectweb.asm.Type;
public class FieldProviderTransformer extends ClassEmitterTransformer {
private static final String FIELD_NAMES = "CGLIB$FIELD_NAMES";
private static final String FIELD_TYPES = "CGLIB$FIELD_TYPES";
private static final Type FIELD_PROVIDER =
TypeUtils.parseType("net.sf.cglib.transform.impl.FieldProvider");
private static final Type ILLEGAL_ARGUMENT_EXCEPTION =
TypeUtils.parseType("IllegalArgumentException");
private static final Signature PROVIDER_GET =
TypeUtils.parseSignature("Object getField(String)");
private static final Signature PROVIDER_SET =
TypeUtils.parseSignature("void setField(String, Object)");
private static final Signature PROVIDER_SET_BY_INDEX =
TypeUtils.parseSignature("void setField(int, Object)");
private static final Signature PROVIDER_GET_BY_INDEX =
TypeUtils.parseSignature("Object getField(int)");
private static final Signature PROVIDER_GET_TYPES =
TypeUtils.parseSignature("Class[] getFieldTypes()");
private static final Signature PROVIDER_GET_NAMES =
TypeUtils.parseSignature("String[] getFieldNames()");
private int access;
private Map fields;
public void begin_class(int version, int access, String className, Type superType, Type[] interfaces, String sourceFile) {
if (!TypeUtils.isAbstract(access)) {
interfaces = TypeUtils.add(interfaces, FIELD_PROVIDER);
}
this.access = access;
fields = new HashMap();
super.begin_class(version, access, className, superType, interfaces, sourceFile);
}
public void declare_field(int access, String name, Type type, Object value) {
super.declare_field(access, name, type, value);
if (!TypeUtils.isStatic(access)) {
fields.put(name, type);
}
}
public void end_class() {
if (!TypeUtils.isInterface(access)) {
try {
generate();
} catch (RuntimeException e) {
throw e;
} catch (Exception e) {
throw new CodeGenerationException(e);
}
}
super.end_class();
}
private void generate() throws Exception {
final String[] names = (String[])fields.keySet().toArray(new String[fields.size()]);
int indexes[] = new int[names.length];
for (int i = 0; i < indexes.length; i++) {
indexes[i] = i;
}
super.declare_field(Constants.PRIVATE_FINAL_STATIC, FIELD_NAMES, Constants.TYPE_STRING_ARRAY, null);
super.declare_field(Constants.PRIVATE_FINAL_STATIC, FIELD_TYPES, Constants.TYPE_CLASS_ARRAY, null);
// use separate methods here because each process switch inner class needs a final CodeEmitter
initFieldProvider(names);
getNames();
getTypes();
getField(names);
setField(names);
setByIndex(names, indexes);
getByIndex(names, indexes);
}
private void initFieldProvider(String[] names) {
CodeEmitter e = getStaticHook();
EmitUtils.push_object(e, names);
e.putstatic(getClassType(), FIELD_NAMES, Constants.TYPE_STRING_ARRAY);
e.push(names.length);
e.newarray(Constants.TYPE_CLASS);
e.dup();
for(int i = 0; i < names.length; i++ ){
e.dup();
e.push(i);
Type type = (Type)fields.get(names[i]);
EmitUtils.load_class(e, type);
e.aastore();
}
e.putstatic(getClassType(), FIELD_TYPES, Constants.TYPE_CLASS_ARRAY);
}
private void getNames() {
CodeEmitter e = super.begin_method(Constants.ACC_PUBLIC, PROVIDER_GET_NAMES, null);
e.getstatic(getClassType(), FIELD_NAMES, Constants.TYPE_STRING_ARRAY);
e.return_value();
e.end_method();
}
private void getTypes() {
CodeEmitter e = super.begin_method(Constants.ACC_PUBLIC, PROVIDER_GET_TYPES, null);
e.getstatic(getClassType(), FIELD_TYPES, Constants.TYPE_CLASS_ARRAY);
e.return_value();
e.end_method();
}
private void setByIndex(final String[] names, final int[] indexes) throws Exception {
final CodeEmitter e = super.begin_method(Constants.ACC_PUBLIC, PROVIDER_SET_BY_INDEX, null);
e.load_this();
e.load_arg(1);
e.load_arg(0);
e.process_switch(indexes, new ProcessSwitchCallback() {
public void processCase(int key, Label end) throws Exception {
Type type = (Type)fields.get(names[key]);
e.unbox(type);
e.putfield(names[key]);
e.return_value();
}
public void processDefault() throws Exception {
e.throw_exception(ILLEGAL_ARGUMENT_EXCEPTION, "Unknown field index");
}
});
e.end_method();
}
private void getByIndex(final String[] names, final int[] indexes) throws Exception {
final CodeEmitter e = super.begin_method(Constants.ACC_PUBLIC, PROVIDER_GET_BY_INDEX, null);
e.load_this();
e.load_arg(0);
e.process_switch(indexes, new ProcessSwitchCallback() {
public void processCase(int key, Label end) throws Exception {
Type type = (Type)fields.get(names[key]);
e.getfield(names[key]);
e.box(type);
e.return_value();
}
public void processDefault() throws Exception {
e.throw_exception(ILLEGAL_ARGUMENT_EXCEPTION, "Unknown field index");
}
});
e.end_method();
}
// TODO: if this is used to enhance class files SWITCH_STYLE_TRIE should be used
// to avoid JVM hashcode implementation incompatibilities
private void getField(String[] names) throws Exception {
final CodeEmitter e = begin_method(Constants.ACC_PUBLIC, PROVIDER_GET, null);
e.load_this();
e.load_arg(0);
EmitUtils.string_switch(e, names, Constants.SWITCH_STYLE_HASH, new ObjectSwitchCallback() {
public void processCase(Object key, Label end) {
Type type = (Type)fields.get(key);
e.getfield((String)key);
e.box(type);
e.return_value();
}
public void processDefault() {
e.throw_exception(ILLEGAL_ARGUMENT_EXCEPTION, "Unknown field name");
}
});
e.end_method();
}
private void setField(String[] names) throws Exception {
final CodeEmitter e = begin_method(Constants.ACC_PUBLIC, PROVIDER_SET, null);
e.load_this();
e.load_arg(1);
e.load_arg(0);
EmitUtils.string_switch(e, names, Constants.SWITCH_STYLE_HASH, new ObjectSwitchCallback() {
public void processCase(Object key, Label end) {
Type type = (Type)fields.get(key);
e.unbox(type);
e.putfield((String)key);
e.return_value();
}
public void processDefault() {
e.throw_exception(ILLEGAL_ARGUMENT_EXCEPTION, "Unknown field name");
}
});
e.end_method();
}
}
|
#include <stdio.h>
int main(){
char K;
printf("Digite uma caracter qualquer: ");
scanf("%c", &K);
printf("O caracter digitado foi %c", K);
return 0;
}
|
// Used to scan an SQL query into a user object, the assumption is that this query is from the admin table
func (user *User) ScanSQLIntoAdmin(rows *sql.Rows) {
var perms []byte
rows.Scan(&user.ID, &user.Name, &user.Password, &perms)
json.Unmarshal(perms, &user.Permissions)
} |
<gh_stars>0
import { html } from "@polymer/polymer/lib/utils/html-tag";
import { PolymerElement } from "@polymer/polymer/polymer-element";
import "../components/demo-cards";
import { provideOpp } from "../../../src/fake_data/provide_opp";
import { getEntity } from "../../../src/fake_data/entity";
const ENTITIES = [
getEntity("light", "kitchen_lights", "on", {
friendly_name: "Kitchen Lights",
}),
getEntity("light", "bed_light", "off", {
friendly_name: "Bed Light",
}),
];
const CONFIGS = [
{
heading: "State on",
config: `
- type: picture-entity
image: /images/kitchen.png
entity: light.kitchen_lights
tap_action:
action: toggle
`,
},
{
heading: "State off",
config: `
- type: picture-entity
image: /images/bed.png
entity: light.bed_light
tap_action:
action: toggle
`,
},
{
heading: "Entity unavailable",
config: `
- type: picture-entity
image: /images/living_room.png
entity: light.non_existing
`,
},
{
heading: "Camera entity",
config: `
- type: picture-entity
entity: camera.demo_camera
`,
},
{
heading: "Hidden name",
config: `
- type: picture-entity
image: /images/kitchen.png
entity: light.kitchen_lights
show_name: false
`,
},
{
heading: "Hidden state",
config: `
- type: picture-entity
image: /images/kitchen.png
entity: light.kitchen_lights
show_state: false
`,
},
{
heading: "Both hidden",
config: `
- type: picture-entity
image: /images/kitchen.png
entity: light.kitchen_lights
show_name: false
show_state: false
`,
},
];
class DemoPicEntity extends PolymerElement {
static get template() {
return html`
<demo-cards id="demos" configs="[[_configs]]"></demo-cards>
`;
}
static get properties() {
return {
_configs: {
type: Object,
value: CONFIGS,
},
};
}
public ready() {
super.ready();
const opp = provideOpp(this.$.demos);
opp.addEntities(ENTITIES);
}
}
customElements.define("demo-hui-picture-entity-card", DemoPicEntity);
|
Baskets the Clown lives to pantomime another day.
FX announced Tuesday that the Zach Galifianakis-starring Baskets has been renewed for a second season.
The dark comedy, co-created by Galifianakis alongside Louis C.K. and Jonathan Krisel, “delivered the most-watched basic cable primetime comedy series premiere since 2014,” reads a network release.
WANT MORE EW? Subscribe now to keep up with the latest in movies, television, and music.
The series follows Galifianakis as Chip Baskets, a rodeo clown whose dreams of becoming a French clown are dashed after language barriers and financial difficulties send him back to his decidedly un-French home of Bakersfield, California.
Baskets was met with positive reviews upon its launch, with Louie Anderson receiving much of the praise for his delightfully strange performance as Christine, Chip’s passive-aggressive, Costco-obsessed mom.
The second season of Baskets is expected to debut in early 2017. |
// reconcileStatefulSet reconciles apps.StatefulSet
func (c *Controller) ReconcileStatefulSet(newStatefulSet *apps.StatefulSet, host *chop.ChiHost) error {
if curStatefulSet, err := c.getStatefulSet(&newStatefulSet.ObjectMeta, true); curStatefulSet != nil {
err := c.updateStatefulSet(curStatefulSet, newStatefulSet)
host.Chi.Status.UpdatedHostsCount++
_ = c.updateChiObjectStatus(host.Chi, false)
return err
} else if apierrors.IsNotFound(err) {
err := c.createStatefulSet(newStatefulSet, host)
host.Chi.Status.AddedHostsCount++
_ = c.updateChiObjectStatus(host.Chi, false)
return err
} else {
return err
}
return fmt.Errorf("unexpected flow")
} |
package helpers
import (
"crypto/hmac"
"crypto/md5"
"crypto/sha1"
"encoding/hex"
"fmt"
"golang.org/x/crypto/bcrypt"
"math"
"math/rand"
"reflect"
"regexp"
)
func Hash(password string) ([]byte, error) {
return bcrypt.GenerateFromPassword([]byte(password), bcrypt.DefaultCost)
}
func RandomString(n int) string {
var letter = []rune("abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ0123456789")
b := make([]rune, n)
for i := range b {
b[i] = letter[rand.Intn(len(letter))]
}
return string(b)
}
func NextPageCal(page int, totalPage int) int {
if page == totalPage {
return page
}
return page + 1
}
func PrevPageCal(page int) int {
if page > 1 {
return page - 1
}
return page
}
func TotalPage(count int64, limit int) int {
return int(math.Ceil(float64(count) / float64(limit)))
}
func OffsetCal(page int, limit int) int {
return (page - 1) * limit
}
func GetMD5Hash(text string) string {
hasher := md5.New()
hasher.Write([]byte(text))
return hex.EncodeToString(hasher.Sum(nil))
}
func InArray(val interface{}, array interface{}) (exists bool) {
exists = false
switch reflect.TypeOf(array).Kind() {
case reflect.Slice:
s := reflect.ValueOf(array)
for i := 0; i < s.Len(); i++ {
if reflect.DeepEqual(val, s.Index(i).Interface()) == true {
exists = true
return
}
}
}
return
}
func RemoveDuplicateValues(intSlice []uint) []uint {
keys := make(map[uint]bool)
list := []uint{}
for _, entry := range intSlice {
if _, value := keys[entry]; !value {
keys[entry] = true
list = append(list, entry)
}
}
return list
}
func ComputeHmacSha1(message string, secret string) string {
key := []byte(secret)
h := hmac.New(sha1.New, key)
h.Write([]byte(message))
return hex.EncodeToString(h.Sum(nil))
}
func ClearNonAlphanumericalCharacters(val string) (string, error) {
reg, err := regexp.Compile("[^a-zA-Z0-9]+")
if err != nil {
return "", err
}
return reg.ReplaceAllString(val, ""), nil
}
func RandomInt(min, max int) int {
return rand.Intn(max-min) + min
}
func ByteCountDecimal(b int64) string {
const unit = 1000
if b < unit {
return fmt.Sprintf("%d B", b)
}
div, exp := int64(unit), 0
for n := b / unit; n >= unit; n /= unit {
div *= unit
exp++
}
return fmt.Sprintf("%.1f %cB", float64(b)/float64(div), "kMGTPE"[exp])
} |
n=int(input())
xy=[]
dx,dy = [1,-1,0,0],[0,0,1,-1]
for i in range(1,n+1):
xy.append((i,i))
s = set(xy)
for i in xy:
x,y=i
for j in range(4):
s.add((x+dx[j],y+dy[j]))
s.add((0,0))
s.add((n+1,n+1))
print(len(s))
for i in list(s):
print(*i)
|
/**
* Initialize the contents of the frame.
*/
private void initialize() {
frame = new JFrame();
frame.setBounds(100, 100, 566, 672);
frame.setDefaultCloseOperation(JFrame.HIDE_ON_CLOSE);
textPane = new JTextPane();
frame.getContentPane().add(textPane, BorderLayout.CENTER);
} |
package Chris.Chapter07.Method;
public class Hw0703 {
public static int cub(int x) {
return x*x*x;
}
public static void main(String[] args) {
//Hw0703.cub(2);
System.out.print(Hw0703.cub(2));
}
}
|
public class BeanWithEnumProperty {
public void setEnumClass(EnumClass en) {}
public void setEnumClassFields(EnumClassWithStaticFields en) {}
public void setMap(java.util.Map<EnumClass, java.lang.Boolean> map) {}
public void setList(java.util.List<EnumClass> map) {}
} |
/**
* Select filed from users table.
*
* @param filed filed
* @param condition condition
* @param lowerCase lowerCase
*/
@SuppressWarnings({"SqlNoDataSourceInspection", "SqlResolve", "MalformedFormatString"})
void selectFromUsers(String filed, String condition, boolean lowerCase) {
Statement statement = null;
ResultSet rs = null;
String sql;
String name;
try {
statement = connection.createStatement();
if (lowerCase) {
sql = String.format("SELECT * FROM USERS AS i WHERE LOWER(i.%s) %s;", filed, condition);
} else {
sql = String.format("SELECT * FROM USERS AS i WHERE i.%s %s;", filed, condition);
}
statement.executeQuery(sql);
rs = statement.executeQuery(sql);
while (rs.next()) {
name = rs.getString("name");
System.out.println(String.format("ID=%s, Name=%s",
rs.getInt("id"), name.substring(0, name.indexOf(32))));
}
} catch (SQLException e) {
e.printStackTrace();
} finally {
try {
if (rs != null) {
rs.close();
}
} catch (SQLException e) {
/*Ignore*/
}
try {
if (statement != null) {
statement.close();
}
} catch (Exception e) {
/*Ignore*/
}
}
} |
import java.util.*;
public class Main {
public static void main(String[] args){
Scanner sc = new Scanner(System.in);
int t = sc.nextInt();
for ( int zzz=0; zzz<t; zzz++ ) {
int n = sc.nextInt();
int[] r = new int[n];
int rsum = 0;
for ( int i=0; i<n; i++ ) {
int r1 = sc.nextInt();
rsum += r1;
r[i] = rsum;
}
Arrays.sort(r);
int rmax = Math.max(0, r[n-1]);
int m = sc.nextInt();
int[] b = new int[m];
int bsum = 0;
for ( int i=0; i<m; i++ ) {
int b1 = sc.nextInt();
bsum += b1;
b[i] = bsum;
}
Arrays.sort(b);
int bmax = Math.max(0, b[m-1]);
System.out.println(rmax+bmax);
}
}
}
|
Samuel Eto'o is close to signing with Everton as a free agent while Leicester City are targeting at least three more additions, including former Inter midfielder Esteban Cambiasso.
Everton
Everton are closing in on a deal for veteran Cameroon striker Samuel Eto’o.
Press Association Sport understands the club are in advanced talks with Eto’o, 33, who became a free agent at the end of last season after he was released by Chelsea.
Everton held detailed negotiations with the former Barcelona and Inter Milan forward last week but after those initial discussions the chances of a move to Goodison Park appeared to cool.
However, talks have re-started over a potential two-year deal as manager Roberto Martinez looks to add more firepower to his side with Arouna Kone, back-up to main striker Romelu Lukaku, still to return from a knee injury sustained in October.
Eto’o scored nine times in 21 English Premier League games for Chelsea last season.
He would bring plenty of experience at the highest level, having won the Champions League twice with Barcelona and again with Inter.
Everton have drawn their opening two league games 2-2.
Leicester City
Nigel Pearson vowed Leicester will not be held to ransom as he plots a triple transfer raid.
The manager wants up to three new players and is closing in on signing former Inter Milan midfielder Esteban Cambiasso on a free transfer.
Leicester lost to Chelsea and drew with Everton in their opening two Premier League games since promotion ahead of Sunday’s home clash against Arsenal.
And Pearson knows he must add to his squad before next Monday’s transfer deadline but admitted he would not pay over the odds.
Ahead of Tuesday’s League Cup visit of Shrewsbury, he said: “It’s proven to be more difficult this window. There is a possibility of inflating prices because there is a need for it but my recommendation on it is ‘don’t do it’.
“We’ve had our fingers burnt in the past with doing deals late in the window.
“I recognise we need one or two extra players but I’m certainly not going to be held to ransom. My advice to the football club is if we can’t get the people we want, I don’t want to pad it out with players who are not the right fit or not good enough.
“There are more hoops to jump through this year but I’m not involved at that level.
“I’m very happy with the players here – the numbers are the issue. We have an interest in a midfield player (Cambiasso) and if we can add another defender and a forward I’d be happy.”
Pearson will turn to youth for their League Cup showdown at the King Power Stadium against the League Two side and his son James is expected to be in the squad.
Danny Drinkwater, Jamie Vardy and Matty James are all out with right-back Pearson, 21, primed for his Leicester bow, although the manager refused to talk up his son.
He said: “We might see younger players, yes, and a few did well in pre-season. There will be a number of changes.
“Is my son in consideration? I don’t know. You’ll have to wait and see. I don’t see why I will make an allowance to talk about him. He had a very good pre-season.”
The elder Pearson started his professional career at Shrewsbury in 1981 and made 181 appearances for Town before moving to Sheffield Wednesday in 1987 and believes the Shropshire side helped him to become the player and man he is now.
He added: “I learnt an awful lot in a short period of time. You pick good habits from the senior players you played with.”
MLS
United States World Cup midfielder Jermaine Jones has signed for Major League Soccer’s New England Revolution.
The 32-year-old Frankfurt-born midfielder has played the bulk of his career in the Bundesliga where he featured for Schalke before moving to Turkey’s Besiktas in January.
“Playing with the US national team has given me a great connection with American fans and I’m looking forward to playing in front of them every weekend. I’m ready to get started with the Revs,” said Jones in a statement issued by the club.
Jones played in three friendly games for Germany before switching his allegiance to the United States in 2010 and he has played 46 times for the Yanks.
“We thought Jermaine was the best player for the US in the World Cup and we are excited to welcome him to New England. He is a dynamic player and certain to have a tremendous impact on our team and in our community,” said Revolution investor/operator Jonathan Kraft.
Jones signs for New England under the ‘Beckham Rule’ as a ‘Designated Player’ with a salary mostly outside of the salary cap.
Chicago Fire also tried to sign Jones and under MLS rules a blind draw was held for the player’s rights which was won by New England, the club said.
Follow us on Twitter @SprtNationalUAE |
#include "gvSpeexSpu.h"
#include <speex.h>
#include "gvCodec.h"
#define GVI_SPEEX_ENCODED_BUFFER 128 //dma has trouble when smaller than
struct SpursSpeexTaskOutput gSpeexTaskOutput;
char *gviSpeexEncoderStateBuffer;
static GVBool gviSpeexEncoderInitialized;
static int gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize;
static int gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame;
char *gviSpeexEncodedBuffer;
short *gviSpeexDecodedBuffer;
// used for decoding if SPU decoding isn't used
#if defined(GVI_NOT_USING_SPURS_DECODE_TASK)
static float * gviSpeexBuffer;
static SpeexBits gviSpeexBits;
#endif
GVBool gviSpeexInitialize(int quality, GVRate sampleRate)
{
// we shouldn't already be initialized
if(gviSpeexEncoderInitialized)
return GVFalse;
// align on a 128 byte boundary to make DMA in spurs task easier
gviSpeexEncoderStateBuffer = (char *)gsimemalign(128,SPEEX_ENCODER_STATE_BUFFER_SIZE);
gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode = -1;
// initialize the bits struct
#if defined(GVI_NOT_USING_SPURS_DECODE_TASK)
speex_bits_init(&gviSpeexBits);
#endif
if (initializeSpursSampleTask() != 0)
return GVFalse;
// initialize the encoder given the the buffer used to keep track of state
if (issueSampleTaskEncodeInit(quality, sampleRate, &gSpeexTaskOutput,gviSpeexEncoderStateBuffer,SPEEX_ENCODER_STATE_BUFFER_SIZE) != 0)
return GVFalse;
assert(gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode == 0);
if (gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexInitialized != GVTrue)
{
return GVFalse;
}
gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame = gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexSamplesPerFrame;
gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize = gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexEncodedFrameSize;
#if defined(GVI_NOT_USING_SPURS_DECODE_TASK)
gviSpeexBuffer = (float *)gsimalloc(gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame * sizeof(float));
#endif
gviSpeexEncodedBuffer = (char *)gsimemalign(128, GVI_SPEEX_ENCODED_BUFFER);
gviSpeexDecodedBuffer = (short *)gsimemalign(128, gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame*sizeof(short));
// we're now initialized
gviSpeexEncoderInitialized = GVTrue;
return GVTrue;
}
void gviSpeexCleanup(void)
{
// make sure there is something to cleanup
if(!gviSpeexEncoderInitialized)
return;
#ifdef GVI_NOT_USING_SPURS_DECODE_TASK
// free up encoding and decoding buffer.
gsifree(gviSpeexBuffer);
// destroy the bits struct
speex_bits_destroy(&gviSpeexBits);
#endif
// destroy speex state buffer
gsifree(gviSpeexEncoderStateBuffer);
gsifree(gviSpeexEncodedBuffer);
gsifree(gviSpeexDecodedBuffer);
// cleanup spu
shutdownSpursTask();
// no longer initialized
gviSpeexEncoderInitialized = GVFalse;
}
int gviSpeexGetSamplesPerFrame(void)
{
return gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame;
}
int gviSpeexGetEncodedFrameSize(void)
{
return gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize;
}
GVBool gviSpeexNewDecoder(GVDecoderData * data)
{
#ifdef GVI_NOT_USING_SPURS_DECODE_TASK
void * decoder;
int perceptualEnhancement = 1;
// create a new decoder state
if (gviGetSampleRate() == GVRate_8KHz)
decoder = speex_decoder_init(&speex_nb_mode);
else if (gviGetSampleRate() == GVRate_16KHz)
decoder = speex_decoder_init(&speex_wb_mode);
else
return GVFalse;
if(!decoder)
return GVFalse;
// turn on the perceptual enhancement
speex_decoder_ctl(decoder, SPEEX_SET_ENH, &perceptualEnhancement);
*data = decoder;
return GVTrue;
#else
char *decoder = (char *)gsimemalign(128, SPEEX_DECODER_STATE_BUFFER_SIZE);
gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode = -1;
if (issueSampleTaskDecodeInit(decoder, SPEEX_DECODER_STATE_BUFFER_SIZE, gviGetSampleRate(), &gSpeexTaskOutput) != 0)
return GVFalse;
if (gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode != 0)
return GVFalse;
*data = decoder;
return GVTrue;
#endif // USE SPU ENCODING
}
void gviSpeexFreeDecoder(GVDecoderData data)
{
#ifdef GVI_NOT_USING_SPURS_DECODE_TASK
// destroy the decoder state
speex_decoder_destroy((void *)data);
#else
gsifree(data);
#endif
}
void gviSpeexEncode(GVByte * out, const GVSample * in)
{
int immediateReturn = 0;
gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexInitialized = 1;
gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode = -1;
memset(gviSpeexEncodedBuffer, 0, GVI_SPEEX_ENCODED_BUFFER);
immediateReturn = issueSampleTaskEncode((short *)in, gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame, gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize, (char *)gviSpeexEncodedBuffer,
GVI_SPEEX_ENCODED_BUFFER, &gSpeexTaskOutput,gviSpeexEncoderStateBuffer,SPEEX_ENCODER_STATE_BUFFER_SIZE);
assert(immediateReturn == 0);
assert(gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode == 0);
memcpy(out, gviSpeexEncodedBuffer, gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize);
assert(gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexOutBufferSize == gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize);
}
void gviSpeexDecodeAdd(GVSample * out, const GVByte * in, GVDecoderData data)
{
#ifdef GVI_NOT_USING_SPURS_DECODE_TASK
int rcode;
int i;
// read the data into the bits
speex_bits_read_from(&gviSpeexBits, (char *)in, gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize);
// decode it
rcode = speex_decode((void *)data, &gviSpeexBits, gviSpeexBuffer);
assert(rcode == 0);
// convert the output from floats
for(i = 0 ; i < gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame ; i++)
// Expanded to remove warnings in VS2K5
out[i] = out[i] + (GVSample)gviSpeexBuffer[i];
#else
int immediateReturn = 0, i;
gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexInitialized = 1;
gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode = -1;
memset(gviSpeexEncodedBuffer, 0, GVI_SPEEX_ENCODED_BUFFER);
memcpy(gviSpeexEncodedBuffer, in, gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize);
immediateReturn = issueSampleTaskDecodeAdd(data, SPEEX_DECODER_STATE_BUFFER_SIZE, gviSpeexEncodedBuffer, GVI_SPEEX_ENCODED_BUFFER,
gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize, gviSpeexDecodedBuffer, gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame, &gSpeexTaskOutput);
for (i = 0; i < gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame; i++)
out[i] = out[i] + (GVSample)gviSpeexDecodedBuffer[i];
assert(immediateReturn == 0);
assert(gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode == 0);
#endif
}
void gviSpeexDecodeSet(GVSample * out, const GVByte * in, GVDecoderData data)
{
#ifdef GVI_USE_SPURS_DECODE_TASK
int rcode;
int i;
// read the data into the bits
speex_bits_read_from(&gviSpeexBits, (char *)in, gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize);
// decode it
rcode = speex_decode((void *)data, &gviSpeexBits, gviSpeexBuffer);
assert(rcode == 0);
// convert the output from floats
for(i = 0 ; i < gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame ; i++)
out[i] = (GVSample)gviSpeexBuffer[i];
#else
int immediateReturn = 0;
gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexInitialized = 1;
gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode = -1;
memset(gviSpeexEncodedBuffer, 0, GVI_SPEEX_ENCODED_BUFFER);
memcpy(gviSpeexEncodedBuffer, in, gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize);
immediateReturn = issueSampleTaskDecodeSet(data, SPEEX_DECODER_STATE_BUFFER_SIZE, gviSpeexEncodedBuffer, GVI_SPEEX_ENCODED_BUFFER,
gviSpeexEncodedFrameSize, out, gviSpeexSamplesPerFrame, &gSpeexTaskOutput);
assert(immediateReturn == 0);
assert(gSpeexTaskOutput.mSpeexReturnCode == 0);
#endif
}
void gviSpeexResetEncoder(void)
{
speex_encoder_ctl((void *)gviSpeexEncoderStateBuffer, SPEEX_RESET_STATE, NULL);
}
|
/* Similar, but take a GNU expression and always return a result. */
static tree
elaborate_expression_1 (tree gnu_expr, Entity_Id gnat_entity, const char *s,
bool definition, bool need_debug)
{
const bool expr_public_p = Is_Public (gnat_entity);
const bool expr_global_p = expr_public_p || global_bindings_p ();
bool expr_variable_p, use_variable;
if (CONTAINS_PLACEHOLDER_P (gnu_expr))
return gnu_expr;
if (TREE_CONSTANT (gnu_expr))
expr_variable_p = false;
else
{
tree inner = remove_conversions (gnu_expr, true);
inner = skip_simple_constant_arithmetic (inner);
if (handled_component_p (inner))
inner = get_inner_constant_reference (inner);
expr_variable_p
= !(inner
&& TREE_CODE (inner) == VAR_DECL
&& (TREE_READONLY (inner) || DECL_READONLY_ONCE_ELAB (inner)));
}
use_variable = expr_variable_p
&& (expr_global_p
|| (!optimize
&& definition
&& Is_Itype (gnat_entity)
&& Nkind (Associated_Node_For_Itype (gnat_entity))
== N_Loop_Parameter_Specification));
if (need_debug
&& gnat_encodings == DWARF_GNAT_ENCODINGS_MINIMAL
&& (TREE_CONSTANT (gnu_expr)
|| (!expr_public_p
&& DECL_P (gnu_expr)
&& !DECL_IGNORED_P (gnu_expr))))
need_debug = false;
if (use_variable || need_debug)
{
tree gnu_decl
= create_var_decl (create_concat_name (gnat_entity, s), NULL_TREE,
TREE_TYPE (gnu_expr), gnu_expr, true,
expr_public_p, !definition && expr_global_p,
expr_global_p, false, true, need_debug,
NULL, gnat_entity);
if (use_variable || (need_debug && !TREE_CONSTANT (gnu_expr)))
return gnu_decl;
}
return expr_variable_p ? gnat_save_expr (gnu_expr) : gnu_expr;
} |
Comparison of transthecal digit block and single injection volar subcutaneous digit block.
UNLABELLED
Background. A study was designed to compare the efficacy of anesthesia between transthecal digit block (TDB) and single injection volar subcutaneous block.
METHODS
A 36-patient, randomized, controlled, prospective investigation was undertaken. The parameters included the onset of time to achieve anesthesia, visual analog scale pain score during the infiltration, and anesthesia duration.
RESULTS
The mean time of the onset of anesthesia was 120 ± 8.9 seconds for transthecal blocks compared with 140 ± 7.8 seconds for the single injection volar subcutaneous digit blocks, and the mean time to loss of anesthesia was 3 ± 0.12 hours versus 4.3 ± 0.21 hours, respectively. The pain score was 3.1 ± 0.12 versus 2.4 ± 0.17. The difference among the three parameters between the two groups was statistically significant (P <0.05).
CONCLUSION
These results confirm the efficacy of the transthecal block and the single injection volar subcutaneous digit block for achieving anesthesia of the finger, but the author prefers single injection volar digit block since it causes less pain during injection and the anesthesia lasts longer. . |
/// This function finds and parses block definitions, which take the follwing
/// form:
///
/// ```
/// {{< id="..." src="..." >}}
/// ```
///
/// where `id` is a unique label for the particular block and `src` is the file
/// that contains the source code.
pub fn compile(src: &Path, dst: &str, pat: &Regex, languages: &HashMap<&OsStr, &str>) {
let display = src.display();
let mut file = match File::open(src) {
Err(why) => panic!("couldn't open {}: {}", display, why),
Ok(file) => file,
};
let mut source = String::new();
file.read_to_string(&mut source).unwrap();
let mut compiled = source.clone();
for cap in pat.captures_iter(&source.to_owned()) {
let definition = &cap[0];
let path = Path::new(&cap[3]);
let padding = cap[1].chars().count();
let content = block::extract(&path, &cap[2], padding, languages);
let spaced = str::replace(content.as_str(), "\t", " ");
compiled = compiled.replace(definition, spaced.trim_right());
}
write_file(&compiled, dst);
} |
from itertools import accumulate
x0,y0,ax,ay,bx,by = map(int,input().split())
xs,ys,t0 = map(int,input().split())
pnt = []
x,y = x0,y0
while True:
if x >= 10**17 or y >= 10**17:
break
pnt.append((x,y))
x,y = (x*ax+bx,y*ay+by)
n = len(pnt)
dist = []
for i in range(1,n):
xi,yi = pnt[i]
xp,yp = pnt[i-1]
dist.append(xi-xp+yi-yp)
ansls = []
for i in range(n):
t = t0
xf,yf = pnt[i]
anstmp = 0
if abs(xf-xs)+abs(yf-ys) > t:
ansls.append(anstmp)
continue
t -= abs(xf-xs)+abs(yf-ys)
anstmp += 1
j = i
while j > 0 and t >= dist[j-1]:
anstmp += 1
t -= dist[j-1]
j -= 1
if t >= sum(dist[:i]):
t -= sum(dist[:i])
i += 1
while i < n and t >= dist[i-1]:
anstmp += 1
t -= dist[i-1]
i += 1
ansls.append(anstmp)
print(max(ansls)) |
#ifndef KinematicState_H
#define KinematicState_H
#include "RecoVertex/KinematicFitPrimitives/interface/KinematicParameters.h"
#include "RecoVertex/KinematicFitPrimitives/interface/KinematicParametersError.h"
#include "RecoVertex/KinematicFitPrimitives/interface/ParticleMass.h"
#include "TrackingTools/TrajectoryState/interface/FreeTrajectoryState.h"
#include "MagneticField/Engine/interface/MagneticField.h"
/**
* Class providing a state of particle needed
* for Kinematic Fit.
*
* Kirill Prokofiev, March 2003
*/
class KinematicState {
public:
/**
* Default constructor for internal
* KinematicFitPrimitives library needs
* only
*/
KinematicState() { vl = false; }
/**
* Constructor taking directly KinematicParameters
* KinematicError and Charge. To be used with
* proper KinematicStateBuilder.
*/
KinematicState(const KinematicParameters& parameters,
const KinematicParametersError& error,
const TrackCharge& charge,
const MagneticField* field);
KinematicState(const FreeTrajectoryState& state, const ParticleMass& mass, float m_sigma)
: fts(state),
param(state.position().x(),
state.position().y(),
state.position().z(),
state.momentum().x(),
state.momentum().y(),
state.momentum().z(),
mass),
err(state.cartesianError(), m_sigma),
vl(true) {}
bool operator==(const KinematicState& other) const;
/**
* The mass of the particle
*/
ParticleMass mass() const { return param.vector()[6]; }
/**
* Access methods to parameters
* and private data
*/
KinematicParameters const& kinematicParameters() const { return param; }
KinematicParametersError const& kinematicParametersError() const { return err; }
GlobalTrajectoryParameters const& trajectoryParameters() const { return fts.parameters(); }
GlobalVector globalMomentum() const { return fts.momentum(); }
GlobalPoint globalPosition() const { return fts.position(); }
TrackCharge particleCharge() const { return fts.charge(); }
/**
* KinematicState -> FreeTrajectoryState
* converter
*/
FreeTrajectoryState freeTrajectoryState() const { return fts; }
bool isValid() const { return vl; }
GlobalVector magneticFieldInInverseGeV(const GlobalPoint& x) const {
return trajectoryParameters().magneticFieldInInverseGeV(x);
}
GlobalVector magneticFieldInInverseGeV() const { return trajectoryParameters().magneticFieldInInverseGeV(); }
const MagneticField* magneticField() const { return &trajectoryParameters().magneticField(); }
private:
FreeTrajectoryState fts;
KinematicParameters param;
KinematicParametersError err;
bool vl;
};
#endif
|
<reponame>ramtingh/vmtk
## Program: VMTK
## Language: Python
## Date: January 10, 2018
## Version: 1.4
## Copyright (c) <NAME>, <NAME>, All rights reserved.
## See LICENSE file for details.
## This software is distributed WITHOUT ANY WARRANTY; without even
## the implied warranty of MERCHANTABILITY or FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR
## PURPOSE. See the above copyright notices for more information.
## Note: this code was contributed by
## <NAME> (Github @rlizzo)
## University at Buffalo
import pytest
import os
from hashlib import sha1
import vmtk.vmtkimagetonumpy as wrap
import vmtk.vmtknumpytoimage as wrap2
import vmtk.vmtkimagecompare as comp
import vmtk.vmtkimagereader as r
def test_compare_same_image(aorta_image):
comparer = comp.vmtkImageCompare()
comparer.Method = 'subtraction'
comparer.Image = aorta_image
comparer.ReferenceImage = aorta_image
comparer.Execute()
assert comparer.Result is True
def test_compare_not_same_image(aorta_image):
wraper = wrap.vmtkImageToNumpy()
wraper.Image = aorta_image
wraper.Execute()
multiplied = wraper.ArrayDict
multiplied['PointData']['ImageScalars'] = multiplied['PointData']['ImageScalars'] * 2
back = wrap2.vmtkNumpyToImage()
back.ArrayDict = multiplied
back.Execute()
comparer = comp.vmtkImageCompare()
comparer.Method = 'subtraction'
comparer.Image = aorta_image
comparer.ReferenceImage = back.Image
comparer.Execute()
assert comparer.Result is False
#TODO: See why subtraction fails
|
<reponame>fr3shw3b/dripcalc
import { createContext } from "react";
export type Config = {
hydrateTax: number;
depositTax: number;
claimTax: number;
maxPayoutCap: number;
dailyCompound: number;
depositMultiplier: number;
claimWhaleTaxThresholds: Record<string, number>;
totalDripSupply: number;
maxDepositBalance: number;
minWalletStartDate: string;
maxWalletStartDate: string;
cexFeePercentage: number;
depositBufferFees: number;
defaultDripValue: number;
defaultReinvest: number;
defaultGardenReinvest: number;
defaultDripBUSDLPValue: number;
defaultMaxPlantDripBUSDLPFraction: number;
minPlantDripBUSDLPFraction: number;
defaultAverageGardenYieldPercentage: number;
maxGardenDailyYieldPercentage: number;
seedsPerPlant: number;
nativeDexPriceApiBaseUrl: string;
priceRefreshInterval: number;
dripcalcApiBaseUrl: string;
refreshExchangeRatesInterval: number;
pancakeSwapApiBaseUrl: string;
bscDataSeedUrl: string;
};
const MAX_PAYOUT_CAP = 100000;
const DEPOSIT_MULTIPLIER = 3.65;
export function config(): Config {
return {
hydrateTax: 0.05,
depositTax: 0.1,
claimTax: 0.1,
maxPayoutCap: MAX_PAYOUT_CAP,
dailyCompound: 0.01,
depositMultiplier: DEPOSIT_MULTIPLIER,
claimWhaleTaxThresholds: {
"0.00": 0,
"0.01": 0.05,
"0.02": 0.1,
"0.03": 0.15,
"0.04": 0.2,
"0.05": 0.25,
"0.06": 0.3,
"0.07": 0.35,
"0.08": 0.4,
"0.09": 0.45,
"0.10": 0.5,
},
totalDripSupply: 1000000,
maxDepositBalance: MAX_PAYOUT_CAP / DEPOSIT_MULTIPLIER,
minWalletStartDate: "01/12/2021",
maxWalletStartDate: "12/31/2032",
depositBufferFees: 3,
// Binance fee.
cexFeePercentage: 0.018,
// £50, $50 or €50 depending on the user's configured currency.
defaultDripValue: 50,
// 60% reinvest is the default value users can adjust.
defaultReinvest: 0.6,
// 60% reinvest is the default value users can adjust.
defaultGardenReinvest: 0.6,
// £30, $30 or €30 depending on the user's configured currency.
defaultDripBUSDLPValue: 25,
// Have a max default to a plant (2592000 seeds) being 15% of the value of a DRIP/BUSD LP token.
// Unless a user overrides the value of plant:LP ratio, this is the ceiling!
// This is a conservative limit, a plant can be worth more than 10% of an LP token.
defaultMaxPlantDripBUSDLPFraction: 0.15,
// A plant:LP ratio can go as low as 0.0000001(Plant):1(LP) or 0.00001%.
minPlantDripBUSDLPFraction: 0.0000001,
// Default to 2% for the garden daily yield to be cautious.
// It tends to fluctuate between 1-3% based on activity of
// gardeners as well as personal habits.
// This is a bit on the lenient side assuming the user is close to keeping
// up with compounding rate of the average user in the system.
defaultAverageGardenYieldPercentage: 0.02,
// It's possible this can go higher for some people, to be on the cautious
// side let's set a limit of 3.33% as that is ~86400 daily seed rate
// that seems to be consistent when only compounding.
maxGardenDailyYieldPercentage: 0.03333,
// As per the smart contract!
seedsPerPlant: 2592000,
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
// API configuration and other values worth configuring outside of source code.
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
nativeDexPriceApiBaseUrl:
process.env.REACT_APP_NATIVE_DEX_PRICE_API_BASE_URL ?? "",
priceRefreshInterval: Number.parseInt(
process.env.REACT_APP_PRICE_REFRESH_INTERVAL_MILLISECONDS ?? "0"
),
dripcalcApiBaseUrl: process.env.REACT_APP_DRIPCALC_API_BASE_URL ?? "",
refreshExchangeRatesInterval: Number.parseInt(
process.env.REACT_APP_EXCHANGE_RATES_REFRESH_INTERVAL_MILLISECONDS ?? "0"
),
pancakeSwapApiBaseUrl:
process.env.REACT_APP_PANCAKE_SWAP_API_BASE_URL ?? "",
bscDataSeedUrl: process.env.REACT_APP_BSC_DATA_SEED_URL ?? "",
};
}
export default createContext(config());
|
def dropColumns(df_wide, df_flags,cut_value, condition, args):
if not(re.search(r'[a-zA-Z]+', cut_value)):
cut_value = float(cut_value)
if condition == '>':
to_keep = df_flags.index[df_flags[args.flagDrop]<cut_value]
elif condition == '<':
to_keep = df_flags.index[df_flags[args.flagDrop]>cut_value]
elif condition == '==':
to_keep = df_flags.index[df_flags[args.flagDrop]!=cut_value]
else:
logger.error(u'The {0} is not supported by the program, please use <,== or >'.format(condition))
quit()
else:
cut_value = str(cut_value)
if condition == '==':
to_keep = df_flags.index[df_flags[args.flagDrop]!=cut_value]
else:
logger.error(u'The {0} conditional is not supported for string flags, please use =='.format(condition))
quit()
dropped_flags = df_flags.T[to_keep].T
df_wide = df_wide[to_keep]
return df_wide,dropped_flags |
One of Tennessee’s newcomers shed his helmet stripe Wednesday morning after the Vols’ first practice of the day on Haslam Field.
Freshman cornerback Baylen Buchanan — the son of longtime former NFL star defensive back Ray Buchanan — became the first Tennessee newcomer this season to have his black helmet stripe removed.
Tennessee’s newcomers start their careers with black stripes down the center of their practice helmets, and those stripes are removed only after teammates decide a player has earned that right.
Buchanan’s stripe removal was first reported by Tennessee’s official Twitter account, which tweeted a pic of Buchanan taking a selfie with his stripe-less helmet.
The first black stripe is gone! Selfies for @TrueBuchanan with his new, clean lid ???? pic.twitter.com/0Hih8ecUJa — Tennessee Football (@Vol_Football) August 10, 2016
The 5-foot-11, 190-pound Buchanan certainly wasn’t the most highly touted prospect among Tennessee’s crop of newcomers — he was the nation’s No. 687 overall prospect and No. 60 cornerback prospect in the 2016 industry-generated 247Sports Composite — but he became the first to earn an honor that’s taken seriously within the Vols’ locker room.
———————————————
(What's next for the Vols? Make sure you're in the loop — take five seconds to sign up for our FREE Vols newsletter now!)
Contact Wes Rucker by email at [email protected] or ON TWITTER, or FOLLOW GOVOLS247 ON FACEBOOK. |
import { isEnvironment, isValid } from './is';
const download = (
name: string,
data: any,
type = 'application/json'
): void => {
if (isEnvironment('browser')) {
const a = document.createElement('a');
a.download = name;
a.href = isValid('data-uri', data) ? data : `data:${type};charset=utf-8,${encodeURIComponent(data)}`;
document.body.appendChild(a);
// Trigger data download
a.click();
// Clean up
a.remove();
}
};
export default download;
|
The interactive effects of K+ and Cl− on force generation in skeletal muscles: impact at the onset of exercise
It is now established that interstitial ( int) increases to 12–14 mM even during moderate exercise. Although it is known that such increases in int contribute to the decrease in force during fatigue, recent studies suggest that at the onset of exercise small increases in int actually potentiates force and K+‐induced force depression is prevented by decreases in Cl− conductance (GCl). However, most studies were carried out at temperatures ranging from 25°–30°C or under very specific stimulation frequencies. The objective of this study was to document how the int – force relationship is modulated at 37°C, at different frequencies and under different GCl in order to better understand how muscle performance can be maximized at the onset of muscle activity. |
/**
* Implements a <tt>VideoFormat</tt> with format parameters (like {@link VideoMediaFormatImpl})
* (some of) which (could) distinguish payload types.
*
* @author Lyubomir Marinov
*/
public class ParameterizedVideoFormat extends VideoFormat
{
/**
* Serial version UID.
*/
private static final long serialVersionUID = 0L;
/**
* The format parameters of this <tt>ParameterizedVideoFormat</tt> instance.
*/
private Map<String, String> fmtps;
/**
* Constructs a new <tt>ParameterizedVideoFormat</tt>.
*
* @param encoding encoding
* @param size video size
* @param maxDataLength maximum data length
* @param dataType data type
* @param frameRate frame rate
* @param fmtps format parameters.
*/
public ParameterizedVideoFormat(String encoding, Dimension size, int maxDataLength,
Class<?> dataType, float frameRate, Map<String, String> fmtps)
{
super(encoding, size, maxDataLength, dataType, frameRate);
this.fmtps = ((fmtps == null) || fmtps.isEmpty())
? MediaFormatImpl.EMPTY_FORMAT_PARAMETERS
: new HashMap<>(fmtps);
}
/**
* Initializes a new <tt>ParameterizedVideoFormat</tt> with a specific , and a specific
* set of format parameters.
*
* @param encoding the encoding of the new instance
* @param fmtps the format parameters of the new instance
*/
public ParameterizedVideoFormat(String encoding, Map<String, String> fmtps)
{
super(encoding);
this.fmtps = ((fmtps == null) || fmtps.isEmpty())
? MediaFormatImpl.EMPTY_FORMAT_PARAMETERS
: new HashMap<>(fmtps);
}
/**
* Initializes a new <tt>ParameterizedVideoFormat</tt> with a specific encoding, and a specific
* set of format parameters.
*
* @param encoding the encoding of the new instance
* @param fmtps the format parameters of the new instance in the form of an array of <tt>String</tt>s
* in which the key and the value of an association are expressed as consecutive elements.
*/
public ParameterizedVideoFormat(String encoding, String... fmtps)
{
this(encoding, toMap(fmtps));
}
/**
* Initializes a new <tt>ParameterizedVideoFormat</tt> instance which has the same properties as this instance.
*
* @return a new <tt>ParameterizedVideoFormat</tt> instance which has the same properties as this instance.
*/
@Override
public Object clone()
{
ParameterizedVideoFormat f = new ParameterizedVideoFormat(
getEncoding(),
getSize(),
getMaxDataLength(),
getDataType(),
getFrameRate(),
/*
* The formatParameters will be copied by ParameterizedVideoFormat#copy(Format) bellow.
*/
null);
f.copy(this);
return f;
}
/**
* Copies the properties of the specified <tt>Format</tt> into this instance.
*
* @param f the <tt>Format</tt> the properties of which are to be copied into this instance.
*/
@Override
protected void copy(Format f)
{
super.copy(f);
if (f instanceof ParameterizedVideoFormat) {
ParameterizedVideoFormat pvf = (ParameterizedVideoFormat) f;
Map<String, String> pvfFmtps = pvf.getFormatParameters();
fmtps = ((pvfFmtps == null) || pvfFmtps.isEmpty())
? MediaFormatImpl.EMPTY_FORMAT_PARAMETERS
: new HashMap<>(pvfFmtps);
}
}
/**
* Determines whether a specific <tt>Object</tt> represents a value that is equal to the value
* represented by this instance.
*
* @param obj the <tt>Object</tt> to be determined whether it represents a value that is equal to
* the value represented by this instance
* @return <tt>true</tt> if the specified <tt>obj</tt> represents a value that is equal to the
* value represented by this instance; otherwise, <tt>false</tt>
*/
@Override
public boolean equals(Object obj)
{
if (!super.equals(obj))
return false;
Map<String, String> objFmtps = null;
if (obj instanceof ParameterizedVideoFormat)
objFmtps = ((ParameterizedVideoFormat) obj).getFormatParameters();
return VideoMediaFormatImpl.formatParametersAreEqual(getEncoding(), getFormatParameters(), objFmtps);
}
/**
* Returns true if the format parameters matched.
*
* @param format format to test
* @return true if the format parameters match.
*/
public boolean formatParametersMatch(Format format)
{
Map<String, String> formatFmtps = null;
if (format instanceof ParameterizedVideoFormat)
formatFmtps = ((ParameterizedVideoFormat) format).getFormatParameters();
return VideoMediaFormatImpl.formatParametersMatch(getEncoding(), getFormatParameters(), formatFmtps);
}
/**
* Returns the format parameters value for the specified name.
*
* @param name format parameters name
* @return value for the specified format parameters name.
*/
public String getFormatParameter(String name)
{
return fmtps.get(name);
}
/**
* Returns the format parameters <tt>Map</tt>.
*
* @return the format parameters <tt>Map</tt>.
*/
public Map<String, String> getFormatParameters()
{
return new HashMap<>(fmtps);
}
/**
* Finds the attributes shared by two matching <tt>Format</tt>s. If the specified
* <tt>Format</tt> does not match this one, the result is undefined.
*
* @param format the matching <tt>Format</tt> to intersect with this one
* @return a <tt>Format</tt> with its attributes set to the attributes common to this instance
* and the specified <tt>format</tt>
*/
@Override
public Format intersects(Format format)
{
Format intersection = super.intersects(format);
if (intersection == null)
return null;
((ParameterizedVideoFormat) intersection).fmtps = fmtps.isEmpty()
? MediaFormatImpl.EMPTY_FORMAT_PARAMETERS
: getFormatParameters();
return intersection;
}
/**
* Determines whether a specific format matches this instance i.e. whether their attributes
* match according to the definition of "match" given by {@link Format#matches(Format)}.
*
* @param format the <tt>Format</tt> to compare to this instance
* @return <tt>true</tt> if the specified <tt>format</tt> matches this one; otherwise, <tt>false</tt>
*/
@Override
public boolean matches(Format format)
{
return super.matches(format) && formatParametersMatch(format);
}
/**
* Initializes a new <tt>Map</tt> from an array in which the key, and the value of an
* association are expressed as consecutive elements.
*
* @param <T> the very type of the keys and the values to be associated in the new <tt>Map</tt>
* @param entries the associations to be created in the new <tt>Map</tt> where the key and value of an
* association are expressed as consecutive elements
* @return a new <tt>Map</tt> with the associations specified by <tt>entries</tt>
*/
public static <T> Map<T, T> toMap(T... entries)
{
Map<T, T> map;
if ((entries == null) || (entries.length == 0))
map = null;
else {
map = new HashMap<T, T>();
for (int i = 0; i < entries.length; i++)
map.put(entries[i++], entries[i]);
}
return map;
}
@Override
public String toString()
{
StringBuilder s = new StringBuilder();
s.append(super.toString());
// fmtps
{
s.append(", fmtps={");
for (Map.Entry<String, String> fmtp : fmtps.entrySet()) {
s.append(fmtp.getKey());
s.append('=');
s.append(fmtp.getValue());
s.append(',');
}
int lastIndex = s.length() - 1;
if (s.charAt(lastIndex) == ',')
s.setCharAt(lastIndex, '}');
else
s.append('}');
}
return s.toString();
}
} |
Phase diagram of asymmetric Fermi gas across Feshbach resonance
We study the phase diagram of the dilute two-component Fermi gas at zero temperature as a function of the polarization and coupling strength. We map out the detailed phase separations between superfluid and normal states near the Feshbach resonance. We show that there are three different coexistence of superfluid and normal phases corresponding to phase separated states between: (I) the partially polarized superfluid and the fully polarized normal phases, (II) the unpolarized superfluid and the fully polarized normal phases and (III) the unpolarized superfluid and the partially polarized normal phases from strong-coupling BEC side to weak-coupling BCS side. For pairing between two species, we found this phase separation regime gets wider and moves toward the BEC side for the majority species are heavier but shifts to BCS side and becomes narrow if they are lighter.
Introduction:
Recently experiments in the ultracold Fermi gases have raised strong interest in studying the crossover problem from Bose-Einstein condensation (BEC) to the condensation of weak-coupling Cooper pairs. The experiments on 6 Li atoms with imbalance spin populations further provide an opportunity to study the superfluid properties with mismatched Fermi surface. The phase diagram of this polarized Fermi system has been studied near the Feshbach resonance for both of the pairing with equal masses and different species . The homogeneous superfluid is stable only at the large positive coupling strengths. There are two possible scenarios to replace the unstable phases, namely phase separation and FFLO states . Determining phase separation is relatively straight-forward. On the other hand, calculations for the FFLO states are highly non-trivial due to the complex spatial dependences of the order parameter . However, the instability of the normal state towards the FFLO state is relatively easy to determine if one assumes a second order transition, for then one only needs to examine the Cooperon at finite q. In this paper, we shall then construct the phase diagram for phase separation using a Maxwell construction , but then terminating the procedure whenever the corresponding normal state has a finite-q Cooperon instability. The latter regions are presumably in the FFLO state.
For the same species, we found that there are three different coexistence of superfluid and normal phases corresponding to the phase separation between (I) the partially polarized superfluid (SF P ) and the fully polarized normal (N FP ) phases, (II) the unpolarized superfluid (SF 0 ) and the fully polarized normal phases, and (III) the fully polarized superfluid and the partially polarized normal (N PP ) states.
For the pairing between different species, this phase separation region becomes wider compared to the pairing of equal masses for the case of the majority species are heavier but narrower if the majority species are lighter. For the case with γ ≡ m majority /m minority = 6.67 (between 40 K and 6 Li), the instability of the finite-q Cooperon occurs earlier than the instability of the phase separation for almost all couplings so that there are effectively only two kinds of phase separation (SF P + N FP and SF 0 + N FP ). For the other case with γ = 0.15, the phase separation region shifts to BCS side and all of three kinds of phase separated states still exist.
Formalism:
We start from the two-component fermion system across a wide Feshbach resonance which may be described by an effective one-channel Hamiltonian as follows: where ξ σ (k) = 2 k 2 /2m σ − µ σ , g is the bare coupling strength, and the index σ runs over the two species (h and l), where −h ≡ l. m h (m l ) to represent the mass of the heavier (lighter) component. Within the BCS mean field approximation, the excitation spectrum in a homogeneous system for each species is with the reduced mass m r , the chemical potential difference h ≡ (µ h − µ l )/2 and the average chemical potential µ ≡ (µ h + µ l )/2. It is convenient to re-scale the energy in unit of the chemical potential difference h, then the equation for pairing field ∆ reads wherek = k/ m r |h|,ã = a m r |h|, and = 1. The total density (N ) and the polarization (P ) of the system are withμ = µ/|h|. For a givenμ, the scaled scattering lengthã can be evaluated as a function of the pairing field ∆/|h| through equation (3). When there are multiple solutions at the same µ and h, the physical solution is then determined by the condition of minimum free energy which can be found via the same procedure as the usual Maxwell construction .
Results and Discussions
In Fig. 1, we plot the phase diagram of the polarization as a function of the coupling strength for the pairing with equal masses. The Fermi momentum (k F = (3π 2 N ) 1/3 ) is the usual definition for the unpolarized non-interacting Fermi gas. In a polarized system, the homogeneous state is stable only at large positive and negative coupling strengths corresponding to the partially polarized superfluid (BEC side) and the partially polarized normal state (BCS side). The shaded area near the resonance (|a| → ∞) represents the phase separation between superfluid fluid and normal gas . Furthermore, this shaded area is divided into three regions: , and 0 ≤ x ≤ 1. As increasingμ, we will reach the BCS regime, the instabilities of the phase separation and finite q Cooperon intersect near P ∼ 0.5 and (k F a) −1 ∼ −0.49. The FFLO phase probably exists on the right of this point .
For the pairing between different species, the story is quite different. For the case of the majority species are heavier, the phase separation region moves toward the BEC side and becomes much wider than the case of equal masses pairing. In figure 2, we plot the phase diagram for γ = 6.67. The instability of the finite-q Cooperon occurs earlier compared to the instability of the phase separation for almost entire polarization such that the phase separation between SF 0 and N PP effectively does not exist in this case.
When the majority species are lighter, the phase separation region gets narrow and shifts toward the BCS side. In figure 3, we plot the phase diagram for γ = 0.15. As increasing the coupling strengths from BCS limit, the system prefers entering FFLO state first for P 0.36 but the phase separated states between the SF 0 and N PP for P 0.36. All of the three phase separated states exist in this case.
Conclusion
We have studied the phase diagram for the pairing between two species in a dilute Fermi gas at zero temperature. Near the Feshbach resonance, we map out the detailed phase separations between superfluid and normal state. There are three different phase separated states for the paring of equal masses. For the majority species are lighter, the phase separation region becomes narrow and shifts to BCS side compared to the case of equal masses. On the other hand, this region gets wider and only the phase separated states of SF p + N FP and SF 0 + N FP exist for γ = 6.67. |
def _state_replaced(self, want, have):
requests = []
requests.extend(self._state_deleted(want, have))
requests.extend(self._state_merged(want, have))
return requests |
/**
* Performs matching logic for Principal Investigator derived role.
*/
public class ProposalLogPiDerivedRoleTypeServiceImpl extends DerivedRoleTypeServiceBase implements RoleTypeService {
@Override
public boolean hasDerivedRole(String principalId, List<String> groupIds, String namespaceCode, String roleName, Map<String,String> qualification) {
String piId = qualification.get("piId");
return piId != null && piId.equals(principalId);
}
@Override
public List<RoleMembership> getRoleMembersFromDerivedRole( String namespaceCode, String roleName, Map<String,String> qualification ) {
DocumentService docService = KcServiceLocator.getService(DocumentService.class);
List<RoleMembership> roleMembers = new ArrayList<RoleMembership>();
try {
MaintenanceDocument doc = (MaintenanceDocument) docService.getByDocumentHeaderId(qualification.get("documentNumber"));
ProposalLog pLog = (ProposalLog) doc.getNoteTarget();
RoleMembership rmi = RoleMembership.Builder.create(null, null, pLog.getPerson().getPersonId(), MemberType.PRINCIPAL, null).build();
roleMembers.add(rmi);
} catch (WorkflowException ex) {
}
return roleMembers;
}
@Override
public boolean dynamicRoleMembership(String namespaceCode, String roleName) {
return true;
}
} |
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This Week in Poverty: the impact of stress and early intervention on poor kids, the state of children in America, and the GOP breaks out some Golden Oldie myths about poor people, black people and a lack of work ethic… But first: Ad Policy
The Vital Statistics
US poverty (less than $22,300 for a family of four): 46 million people, 15.1 percent.
Kids in poverty: 16.4 million, 22 percent of all kids.
Deep poverty (less than $11,157 for a family of four): 20.5 million people, 6.7 percent of population.
Impact of public policy, 2010: without government assistance, poverty twice as high—nearly 30 percent.
Impact of public policy, 1964–1973: poverty rate fell by 43 percent.
Number of Americans “deep poor,” “poor” or “near poor”: 100 million, or 1 in 3.
GOP: Welcome to South Carolina
Kids 8 and younger living in poverty: 28 percent, tied for fifth worst in the US (including DC).
People living in poverty: 18.2 percent, eighth worst.
High school graduation rate (2008): 61.9 percent, third worst.
Unemployment rate (avg. month, 2010): 11.2 percent, sixth worst.
On Children and Poverty
New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof has an outstanding op-ed on the link between “toxic stress” in young children and their educational, health and social outcomes later in life.
Research shows how pliable the brain is in the prenatal and early years—how brain architecture can be changed for better or worse and then is increasingly difficult to modify over time. (For more info, check out these three videos from Harvard’s Center on the Developing Child.)
Kristof writes that parental affection and presence are key since “the stress emerges when a child senses persistent threats but no protector.” Early intervention programs also make a huge difference. The Nurse-Family Partnership does home visits with poor women who are pregnant for the first time, until the child reaches age 2. Studies show that at age 6 participating kids are one-third as likely to have behavioral or intellectual problems as kids who weren’t enrolled, and half as likely to be arrested at age 15.
The American Academy of Pediatrics concludes, “Protecting young children from adversity is a promising, science-based strategy to address many of the most persistent and costly problems facing contemporary society.”
Kristof’s article made this reader wonder how we as a society help parents “protect young people from adversity.” One important question: where will the good jobs come from considering our decimated manufacturing sector? It’s tough to be a constant, protective presence for your children—especially as a single parent—when you’re working two or even three low-wage jobs that don’t pay enough to lift your family out of poverty. It’s also tough to provide adequate childcare when only one in seven families that qualifies for childcare assistance actually receives it. Finally, we don’t help parents on welfare when job-training and education aren’t allowed to count toward their work requirement, making it even more difficult for them to obtain better jobs to support their families.
Children’s Economic Well-Being Deteriorating
A recent report from Brookings Institution Fellow Julia Isaacs—commissioned by First Focus—suggests that the recession continues to take a heavy toll on children and families, including an increase in 2011 in both child poverty (the official stats don’t come out until September) and the number of children receiving food stamps.
More than 1 in 4 American children now receive food stamps (SNAP)—that’s nearly 21 million kids, and 2 million more than last year. The program is open to individuals with incomes of less than 130 percent of poverty—about $2000 per month for a family of three.
Using state-specific data on unemployment rates and SNAP caseloads, Isaacs also predicts that child poverty increased in 2011 by 340,000 children, which would raise the child poverty rate by about a half percentage point. (Isaac writes that her prediction might be a conservative one—her colleagues have estimated a rise of as much as 2 percentage points to 24 percent child poverty.)
Finally, 6.5 million children were living with unemployed parents during an average month in 2011, 3 million with a parent looking for work six months or longer. The report observes that poverty and a parent being unemployed both affect a child’s development in the short-term—including psychological stress and academic performance, and increased incidences of abuse and neglect—and in diminished career opportunities and earnings as an adult over the long-term.
A Little Help From Obama
When President Obama proposed his American Jobs Act back in September, he included $1.5 billion toward summer jobs and year-round employment for low-income youth ages 16–24. That was important, considering that just 49 percent of that age group was employed in July, the month when youth employment usually peaks, including only 34.6 percent of African-American youth and 42.9 percent of Hispanic youth.
The bill was dead-on-arrival given a GOP majority in the House and a filibustering Senate. So now President Obama is trying to use the bully pulpit to secure commitments from government, businesses and non-profits to hire “Opportunity Youth”—the 6.7 million young people ages 16-24 who are unemployed, not enrolled in school, and do not have a college degree. (They comprise 17 percent of the 39 million 16–24 year olds in the nation.) So far, employers have responded with 70,000 paid summer jobs and 110,000 unpaid summer or year-round work opportunities. The administration’s goal is to reach 250,000 jobs by summer, including 100,000 paid jobs and internships.
“It’s a good start in terms of focusing some attention on an issue that desperately needs it—before we get into the summer,” says Desmond Brown, consultant to Half in Ten, a national campaign to reduce poverty by 50 percent over the next ten years. “We still need a lot more job training and work opportunities for low-income and less educated workers, but given the political landscape, this is a good kick-off.”
The White House is making the case that investing in these jobs saves money over the long-term. It estimates $93 billion in lost tax revenue and higher government spending to support these 6.7 million disconnected youth in 2011 alone. Without intervention, over their lifetime there will be “a $1.6 trillion burden to meet the increased needs and lost revenue from this group.”
An additional note on how job opportunities like these can reduce poverty: last year, Half in Ten made a significant finding that only 4 percent of households with more than one earner are in poverty as compared to 24 percent with a single earner. While conservatives seize on that data to say that marriage is the way out of poverty—it isn’t the only path. Summer and year-round programs aimed at connecting disadvantaged youth to education and work experience are critical in this regard.
GOP Would-Be Presidents Peddling Myths
“The African-American community should demand pay checks and not be satisfied with food stamps,” said Newt Gingrich; “I don’t want to make black people’s lives better by giving them somebody else’s money,” declared Rick Santorum; and “We are…dragged down by a resentment of success,” offered Mitt Romney.
New York Times columnist Charles Blow does a superb job debunking myths—explaining that, for example, “the largest group of SNAP beneficiaries is by far non-Hispanic whites” and “most SNAP participants are either too old or too young to work”—and also lays out the GOP’s use over the years of a “historical mythology which evokes the black bogyman, who saps the money from the whites who earn it.”
Joy Moses, a senior policy analyst at the Center for American Progress, brings a dose of reality to Santorum’s rhetoric as well. She points out that “most people receiving public benefits aren’t collecting somebody else’s money, but their own” in the form of Social Security, Medicare and Unemployment Insurance—programs that beneficiaries and their employers have paid for with taxes taken out of their paychecks. Also, unemployment insurance and TANF (cash welfare for families)—which represent just 4 percent of federal spending—pay such small amounts and are time-limited so that people couldn’t live off of them even if they wanted to. (TANF benefits don’t raise a family’s income above 50 percent of the poverty line in any state!)
As for Romney, he seems to be onto something: the cause of the economic collapse, a shrinking middle-class and rising poverty is that we simply drag ourselves down due to success envy. It’s got nothing to do with economic mobility, low wages, lack of access to higher education, unequal public schools, a deteriorating safety net, gutted financial regulation, etc. In fact, at bedtime tonight I told my children that some day they too can sell toxic securities that they themselves bet against, watch people’s lifetime savings go down the tubes and be rewarded with mega-bonuses for doing it—and be proud!
Quote of the Week
“Race is usually less about facts than historical mythology, which evokes the black bogyman, who saps the money from the whites who earn it. Ever since blacks first arrived on these shores in chains, they have been perceived as lazy and dependent on whites—first as slaves, and then as ‘entitled’ citizens.” —Charles Blow
Get Involved
Half In Ten
Coalition on Human Needs
First Focus
Children’s Defense Fund
More Reading
Harder for Americans to Rise From Lower Rungs
No Longer the Land of Opportunity
SC Senate Panel Approves Unemployment Bills
Legal Momentum: Women and Poverty
Center on Budget and Policy Priorities: Poverty and Income
This Week in Poverty posts every Friday Morning. Your constructive comments—agree or disagree—are appreciated. Please follow me on Twitter as well. |
/// Convert the given value @p V to a value of the given @p EquivalentTy.
///
/// @return @p V when @p V's type is @p newType.
/// @return an equivalent pointer when both @p V and @p newType are pointers.
/// @return an equivalent vector when @p V is an aggregate.
/// @return an equivalent aggregate when @p V is a vector.
Value *convertEquivalentValue(IRBuilder<> &B, Value *V, Type *EquivalentTy) {
if (V->getType() == EquivalentTy) {
return V;
}
if (EquivalentTy->isPointerTy()) {
assert(V->getType()->isPointerTy());
return B.CreateBitCast(V, EquivalentTy);
}
assert(EquivalentTy->isVectorTy() || EquivalentTy->isStructTy());
Value *NewValue = UndefValue::get(EquivalentTy);
if (EquivalentTy->isVectorTy()) {
assert(V->getType()->isStructTy());
unsigned Arity = V->getType()->getNumContainedTypes();
for (unsigned i = 0; i < Arity; ++i) {
Value *Scalar = B.CreateExtractValue(V, i);
NewValue = B.CreateInsertElement(NewValue, Scalar, i);
}
} else {
assert(EquivalentTy->isStructTy());
assert(V->getType()->isVectorTy());
unsigned Arity = EquivalentTy->getNumContainedTypes();
for (unsigned i = 0; i < Arity; ++i) {
Value *Scalar = B.CreateExtractElement(V, i);
NewValue = B.CreateInsertValue(NewValue, Scalar, i);
}
}
return NewValue;
} |
// Package installs an operator package with parameters into a namespace.
// Instance name, namespace and operator parameters are applied to the
// operator package resources. These rendered resources are then created
// on the Kubernetes cluster.
// Packages can have dependencies on other packages. In that case,
// dependent packages are resolved and their Operator and
// Operatorversion resources created on the Kubernetes cluster.
func Package(
client *kudo.Client,
instanceName string,
namespace string,
resources packages.Resources,
parameters map[string]string,
resolver resolver.Resolver,
options Options) error {
clog.V(3).Printf(
"Preparing %s/%s:%s for installation",
namespace,
resources.Operator.Name,
resources.OperatorVersion.Spec.Version)
applyOverrides(&resources, instanceName, namespace, parameters)
if err := validateParameters(
*resources.Instance,
resources.OperatorVersion.Spec.Parameters); err != nil {
return err
}
if err := client.ValidateServerForOperator(resources.Operator); err != nil {
return err
}
if options.CreateNamespace {
if err := installNamespace(client, resources, parameters); err != nil {
return err
}
}
dependencies, err := ResolveDependencies(resources, resolver)
if err != nil {
return err
}
updateKudoOperatorTaskPackageNames(dependencies, resources.OperatorVersion)
for _, dependency := range dependencies {
dependency.Operator.SetNamespace(namespace)
dependency.OperatorVersion.SetNamespace(namespace)
updateKudoOperatorTaskPackageNames(dependencies, dependency.OperatorVersion)
if err := installOperatorAndOperatorVersion(client, dependency.Resources); err != nil {
return err
}
}
if err := installOperatorAndOperatorVersion(client, resources); err != nil {
return err
}
if options.SkipInstance {
return nil
}
if err := installInstance(client, resources.Instance); err != nil {
return err
}
if options.Wait != nil {
if err := waitForInstance(client, resources.Instance, *options.Wait); err != nil {
return err
}
}
return nil
} |
In this post we will show why Gridcoin is insecure and probably will never achieve better security. Therefore, we are going to explain two critical implementation vulnerabilities and our experience with the core developer in the process of the responsible disclosure.
Update (16.08.2017):
We are currently in touch with the whole dev team of Gridcoin and it seems that they are going to fix the vulnerabilities with the next release.
Gridcoin is an altcoin, which is in active development since 2013 . It claims to provide a high sustainability, as it has very low energy requirements in comparison to Bitcoin. It rewards users for contributing computation power to scientific projects, published on the BOINC project platform. Although Gridcoin is not as widespread as Bitcoin, its draft is very appealing as it attempts to eliminate Bitcoin’s core problems. It possesses a market capitalization of $
as of August the 4th 2017 and its users contributed approximately 5% of the total scientific BOINC work done before October 2016.
The Issues
Currently there are 2 implementation vulnerabilities in the source code, and we can mount the following attacks against Gridcoin:
We can steal the block creation reward from many Gridcoin minters We can efficiently prevent many Gridcoin minters from claiming their block creation reward (DoS attack)
Stealing the BOINC block reward
In the figure the called-by-graph can be seen for the function VerifyCPIDSignature .
CheckBlock → DeserializeBoincBlock [Source]
Here we deserialize the BOINC data structure from the first transaction
CheckBlock → IsCPIDValidv2 [Source]
Then we call a function to verify the CPID used in the block. Due to the massive changes over the last years, there are 3 possible verify functions. We are interested in the last one (VerifyCPIDSignature), for the reason that it is the current verification function.
IsCPIDValidv2 → VerifyCPIDSignature [Source]
VerifyCPIDSignature → CheckMessageSignature [Source, Source]
std::string sMsg) and the signature (std::string sSig) variables, which are checked. But where does this values come from? In the last function the real signature verification is conducted [ Source ]. When we closely take a look at the function parameter, we see the message () and the signature () variables, which are checked. But where does this values come from?
Lock out Gridcoin researcher
In the figure the called-by-graph can be seen for the function GetBeaconPublicKey .
ProcessBlock → CheckBlock [Source]
CheckBlock → LoadAdminMessages [Source]
LoadAdminMessages → MemorizeMessages [Source]
MemorizeMessages → GetBeaconPublicKey [Source]
First public key for a CPID received [Source]
The initial situation, when pubK_A was sent and bind to CPID A (4 months ago)
Existing public key for a CPID was sent [Source]
The case that pubK_A was resent for a CPID A, before the 5 months are passed by
Other public key for a CPID was sent [Source]
The case, if a different public key pubK_B for the CPID A was sent via beacon.
The existing public key for the CPID is expired
After 5 months a refresh for the association between A and pubK_A is required.
If no public key exists (case 1) the new public key is bound to the CPID.
If a public key exists, but it was not refreshed directly 12.960.000 seconds (5 months [
Thus, case 1 and 4 are treated identical, if the public key is expired, allowing an attacker to register his public key for an arbitrary CPID with expired public key. In practice this allows an attacker to lock out a Gridcoin user from the minting process of new blocks and further allows the attacker to claim reward for BOINC work he never did.
When an incoming beacon is processed, a look up is made, if there already exists a public key for the CPID used in the beacon. If yes, it is compared to the public key used in the beacon (case 2 and 3).If no public key exists (case 1) the new public key is bound to the CPID.If a public key exists, but it was not refreshed directly 12.960.000 seconds (5 months [ Source ]) after the last beacon advertisement of the public key and CPID, it is handled as no public key would exist [ Source ].Thus, case 1 and 4 are treated identical, if the public key is expired, allowing an attacker to register his public key for an arbitrary CPID with expired public key. In practice this allows an attacker to lock out a Gridcoin user from the minting process of new blocks and further allows the attacker to claim reward for BOINC work he never did.
SAuJGrxn724SVmpYNxb8gsi3tDgnFhTES9) from an GRC address associated to this CPID [ There is a countermeasure, which allows a user to delete his last beacon (identified by the CPID) . Therefore, the user sends 1 GRC to a special address () from an GRC address associated to this CPID [ Source ]. We did not look into this mechanism in more detail, because it only can be used to remove our attack beacon, but does not prevent the attack.
The responsible disclosure process
So why do we not just open up an issue online explaining the problems?Because we already fixed a critical design issue in Gridcoin last year and tried to help them to fix the new issues. Unfortunately, they do not seem to have an interest in securing Gridcoin and thus leave us no other choice than fully disclosing the findings.In order to explain the vulnerabilities we will take a look at the current Gridcoin source code (version 3.5.9.8 ).Due to the high number of source code lines in the source files, it can take a while until your browser shows the right line.The developer implemented our countermeasures in order to prevent our attack from the last blog post. Unfortunately, they did not look at their implementation from an attacker's perspective. Otherwise, they would have found out that they conduct not check, if the signature over the last block hash really is done over the last block hash. But we come to that in a minute. First lets take a look at the code flow:If we go backwards in the function call graph we see that intheis the stringwhich is a concatenation of the sand theWe are interested where thevalue comes from, due to the fact that this one is the only changing value in the signature generation.When we go backwards, we see that the value originate from the deserialization of the BOINC structure () and is the variable Source ]. But wait a second, is this value ever checked whether it contains the real last block hash?No, it is not....So they just look if the stored values there end up in a valid signature.Thus, we just need to wait for one valid block from a researcher and copy the signature, the last block hash value, the CPID and adjust every other dynamic value, like theConsequently, we are able to claim the reward of other BOINC users. This simple bug allows us again to steal the reward of every Gridcoin researcher, like there was never a countermeasure.The following vulnerability allows an attacker under specific circumstances to register a key pair for a CPID, even if the CPID was previously tied to another key pair. Thus, the attacker locks out a legit researcher and prevent him from claiming BOINC reward in his minted blocks.A beacon is valid for 5 months, afterwards a new beacon must be sent with the same public key and CPID.Therefore, we need to take a look at the functions, which process the beacon information. Every time there is a block, which contains beacon information, it is processed the following way (click image for higher resolution):We now show the source code path:In the last functionthere are different paths to process a beacon depending on the public key, the CPID, and the time since both were associated to each other.For the following explanation we assume that we have an existing association (bound) between a CPIDand a public keyfor 4 months.As part of our work as researchers we all have had the pleasure to responsible disclose the findings to developer or companies.For the reasons that we wanted to give the developer some time to fix the design vulnerabilities, described in the last blog post, we did not issue a ticket at the Gridcoin Github project . Instead we contacted the developer at September the 14th 2016 via email and got a response one day later (2016/09/15). They proposed a variation of our countermeasure and dropped the signature in the advertising beacon, which would result in further security issues. We sent another email (2016/09/15) explained to them, why it is not wise to change our countermeasures and drop the signature in the advertising beacon.Unfortunately, we did not receive a response. We tried it again on October the 31th 2016. They again did not respond, but we saw in the source code that they made some promising changes. Due to some other projects we did not look into the code until May 2017. At this point we found the two implementation vulnerabilities. We contacted the developer twice via email (5th and 16th of May 2017) again, but never received a response. Thus, we decided to wait for the WOOT notification to pass by and then fully disclose the findings. We thus have no other choice then to say that: |
Best known for the Commodore 64, the best selling single model in the history of computing, Commodore International was one of the first companies to enter the personal computing market and the first with a million-selling computer. Its first model was the Commodore PET.
Before the PET
Commodore got its start long before personal computers arrived. It was founded in Toronto, Ontario, Canada in 1954 as the Commodore Portable Typewriter Company by Polish immigrant Jack Tramiel. The company incorporated as Commodore Business Machines in 1955. In 1962, it was listed on the New York Stock Exchange as Commodore International.
When Japanese imports forced most North American typewriter manufacturers out of business in the late 1950s, Tramiel moved to adding machines. Then in the late 1960s, Japanese adding machines hit the North American market, once again threatening Commodore’s existence.
Tramiel went to Japan to figure out how to compete and came back with the idea of producing electronic calculators instead of mechanical adding machines. Once again, Commodore had a successful product on its hands – until in 1975 Texas Instruments (TI) entered the market with calculators that cost less than Commodore was paying for parts (TI was one of Commodore’s important suppliers).
Tramiel decided to head in another direction, took out a $3 million loan, and acquired chip manufacturer MOS Technology, Inc. to assure a steady supply of chips for his gear. Part of the agreement was that Chuck Peddle, MOS Tech’s chip designer, would join Commodore.
Commodore’s First Computer
Before home computers, there were hobbyist computers. The KIM-1 was one of the first, developed as a way for MOS Technology to demonstrate its 6502 CPU. The KIM-1 was the world’s first single-board computer when it was released in 1976. It had 1 KB of memory, a 6-digit LED display, a cassette interface, and 15 input/output ports. It sold for $245 and only required a power supply and some sort of enclosure for the 9″ x 10″ board.
This became the basis for many different projects and laid the foundation for Commodore’s first personal computer, which was released in 1977.
The Commodore PET
Peddle convinced Tramiel that calculators were a dead end, so Commodore should turn its attention to the fledgling personal computer market (often called home computers back then). Peddle designed a machine with a metal case, a keyboard, a built-in monitor, and a built-in cassette tape drive for loading and saving software and files. This was the Commodore PET 2001, which came to market in October 1977.
The PET was named in part for the pet rock fad, which lasted about six months during 1975. Silly as it sounds, 1.5 million pet rocks were sold during that period for $4.00 each, making their creator a millionaire. Officially, P.E.T. stood for Personal Electronic Transactor.
There were only two other home computers at that time: The Apple II, also built around the MOS 6502 CPU, had arrived in June 1977, replacing the Apple 1, which had been more of a do-it-yourself project. The Apple II sold for $1,298 with 4 KB of memory and could be used with a composite monitor or with a color or black-and-white TV (with an RF modulator) and cassette tape recorder, which many homes already had.
The other was the TRS-80 Model I, on sale at Radio Shack stores across the US since August 1977. It was based on the Zilog Z-80 CPU, and the 4 KB version retailed at $599, which included a screen and tape recorder.
The PET sold for $495 with the same 4 KB as its competitors. Commodore could only produce 30 units per day at that time, and orders came in so quickly that Tramiel decided to raise the price to $595. Next Commodore started pushing the 8 KB version at $795, since the 4 KB model left only 3 KB available for the user. In all, Commodore sold 500 PETs in 1977.
A Better BASIC
Commodore acquired a BASIC license from Microsoft, allowing it to install Commodore BASIC on as many machines as it could produce for a single, one-time fee. Over the years, it was installed on tens of millions of Commodore computers. Microsoft BASIC included floating point operations; the BASIC used in the TRS-80 and Apple II at that time only worked with integers.
The Datasette
The Datasette tape drive reads and writes data at 1500 bits per second, but the computer reads and writes data twice to verify integrity as well as using a parity bit. Unlike the cassette tape units used with other personal computers, the Datasette is a digital device, not analog.
It would take over 2 minutes to load an 8 KB program from tape, something developers addressed starting in 1980. The PET Rabbit for 16 KB and 32 KB PET and CBM computers used routines that made saving and loading data 4x as fast. At $30, it was a lot less expensive than a disk drive. (The January 1985 issue of Compute! magazine included TurboTape as a free type-it-in program for the Commodore 64 and a VIC-20 with at least 8 KB of memory expansion. TurboSaved programs did not require TurboTape to load. Like The PET Rabbit, it speeded up tape operations four-fold.)
The Display
The original PET has a 9″ display showing 25 lines of text with up to 40 characters per line (this uses just 1000 Bytes of memory). When Commodore introduced the PET 4000 series, it displayed the same amount of text on a 12″ screen, and the CBM 8000 family provides 80 columns of text, twice as much as earlier Commodores (also using twice as much system memory, 2000 Bytes).
The Keyboard and Character Set
One clever feature of the PET and later Commodore computers was the PETSCII character set, also known as CBM ASCII. In addition to the standard characters found on a keyboard, Commodore computers had a whole range of graphical symbols that could be accessed from the keyboard – and these characters were even printed on the keycaps for easy access.
The biggest complain about the original PET was its keyboard, which was laid out in a grid (see above keyboard layout) and not like a typewriter keyboard. Within a year Commodore introduced the PET 2001-N (right), which removed the tape drive and added a standard keyboard along with a numeric keypad (something the TRS-80 had but the Apple II did not).
In 1978, Commodore also expanded into Europe, where it sold its computers for twice as much as in the States – and it found ready buyers. European models were called CBM models, since Philips had a trademark on the PET name. The first models were the CBM 3008 (8 KB), 3016 (16 KB), and 3032 (32 KB).
Floppy Drives
In 1979, Commodore introduced its first floppy drive, the CBM 2040 dual drive with DOS 1.0 built into it. Like later Commodore floppy drives, it is an intelligent device with its own CPUs (two of them) and RAM that connected to the PET’s IEEE-422 parallel port. Each disk could store 170 KB of data on a single-sided 5-1/4″ floppy. Single drive mechanisms came later.
Because Commodore DOS was built into the floppy drive, you had to buy a new drive to get the latest version of DOS. The 2040 had DOS 1.0, the 4040 used 2.0 and later 2.1, the 8050 included DOS 2.5 and support for 500 KB high-density disks, and the 8250 had DOS 2.7 and could store 1 MB on a double-sided 5.25″ high-density floppy.
Improving PET
By 1980, the PET had moved from its original 9″ display to a 12″ screen, and along the way the metal case had been replaced by a plastic one. The European versions were the called the CBM 4016 and 4032.
Commodore also introduced the 8000 series, which featured 80 characters per row instead of 40 and was geared more toward business use.
VIC-20: The Wonder Computer of the 1980s
About three years after it announced the PET 2001, Commodore introduced the VIC-20, a low cost home computer.
PETs were monochrome computers, but Apple had been selling color computers since 1976. Commodore jumped on the color bandwagon with a new model designed for the home market and intended to be hooked up to your TV or a color monitor. The Commodore VIC-20 was a price breakthrough at US$299.99 when it was released in 1980.
It was first introduced in Japan in 1980, where it was called the VIC-1001 and included Japanese character support. It proved such a hit that some Japanese companies cancelled their plans for lower-cost computers. The VIC-20 became available in the rest of the world in 1981. Commodore sold 800,000 units in 1982 and was able to build up to 9,000 a day.
VIC stands for Video Interface Chip, the component that lets the VIC-20 display color. As for the 20, nobody knows for sure. The VIC-20 displays 22 characters of text per line and 23 lines of text (506 Bytes, just over half as much memory at the PET and 40-column CBM models used), and with a 16 KB memory cartridge it has a total 21 KB of RAM, but Michael Tomczyk, Commodore’s VIC Czar, says the number just sounded friendly.
The VIC-20 uses the same 1 MHz 6502 CPU found in the PET and Apple II, but it is equipped with far less memory than other 1980 machines – just 5 KB, of which 3.5 KB is available for programs. It uses the PETSCII character set, has 4 function keys on the right, works with any DE-9 Atari compatible joystick, and has a cartridge slot for games, programs, and memory expansion to a maximum of 40 KB (BASIC can only access 27.5 KB of memory).
Commodore pushed VIC-20 to the masses, including an ad campaign featuring William Shatner, Captain Kirk from Star Trek. And where PETs had been sold exclusively by computer dealers, VICs were sold in stores such as K-mart. The VIC-20 was the first computer to sell 1 million units.
Perhaps the most popular accessory was the Commodore 1530 C2N-B Datasette, which was much less expensive than a floppy drive – besides which the 1540 floppy drive, the model designed to work with the VIC-20’s disk drive port, wasn’t available until 1982.
Text adventures from Adventure International were put on cartridges and generated over $1.5 million in sales for Commodore.
Commodore developed the first modem to retail for under US$100 for the VIC-20, and the 300 bps VICModem became the first modem to sell 1 million units. A later version, the 15670, supports 1200 bps operation.
Commodore sold over 1 million VIC-20s, and in 1982 it was the best selling computer on the market. But it was about to be eclipsed by a more expensive upstart, and Commodore ended up dropping VIC’s price below $100 in April 1983. Production of the VIC-20 ended in 1984.
Commodore 64: The Upstart
Rather than wait for the VIC-20 to peak before introducing its successor, Commodore chose to strike while the iron was hot and get the Commodore 64 to market as quickly as it could at the price point it wanted to reach. 64 KB of RAM cost over $100 in 1981, yet Commodore aimed at a US$595 retail price. Because Commodore owned MOS Technology and made most of its own chips, and because memory prices kept falling, it knew $595 was an attainable target.
In January 1982, the very year that the VIC-20 was the best selling personal computer, Commodore previewed the Commodore 64 (C-64) at the Consumer Electronics Show. It would go on to become the best selling single computer model of all time, as attested by Guinness World Records, although the exact number sold is unknown (at least 10 million and possibly as many as 17 million, although a figure of 12.7 million seems the most credible).
Where the VIC-20 had 5 KB of RAM, the C-64 had 64 KB. Where the VIC-20 had 23 lines of 22 characters, the C-64 had 24 lines of 40 characters. Commodore had a new version of the VIC chip, a new sound chip, and an enhanced version of the 6502 CPU known as the 6510 that let the computer access a full 64 KB of memory alongside 20 KB of ROM.
The VIC-1540 floppy drive had introduced for the VIC-20 in 1982. It includes DOS 2.6 and connects to the VIC-20 via a serial port. (Previous Commodore drives used the parallel port found in PETs and CBM models. The VIC-20 and its descendants do not have parallel ports.) Its 170 KB disk format is “mostly compatible” with earlier PET/CBM floppy drives.
The VIC-20 was the first personal computer to sell for under US$1,000 with a floppy drive.
The Commodore 64 was officially introduced in August 1982. Despite serious competition at home from Atari’s 8-bit computers and the Apple IIe, the $595 C-64 was the value champion at half the price of the Apple IIe with no need to add cards for floppy drives, printers, modems, and so on. (In the UK, the competition came from the BBC Micro and Sinclair ZX Spectrum.)
For VIC-20 owners, it was easy to move the Datasette and a printer to the C-64. The VIC-1540 floppy drive was not compatible with the C-64, so Commodore released the 1541 floppy drive for the C-64, which originally retailed at US$399.95. The 1541 also uses DOS 2.6.
The success of the VIC-20 and C-64 helped drive the Timex Sinclair 1000 and Texas Instruments 99/4A out of the market during the 1983 home computer price war. Commodore dropped the C-64 to $300 in June 1983, which TI countered by selling for TI 99/4A for $99 – losing money on every sale.
The Commodore 64 remained on the market until 1994, 12 years after its introduction. Commodore had hoped to keep the C-64 going for another year but ended up filing for bankruptcy in April 1994.
Commodore Bombs
Despite the success of the VIC-20 and C-64, Commodore made some poor moves while trying to grow its market.
Max – or Not
Commodore tried to sell a game console in 1982. It was called Max Machine in Japan, Ultimax in the US, and VC-10 in Germany. With just 2 KB of RAM, the same 6510 CPU as the C-64, and a target price of US$200, it couldn’t compete with the VIC-20 for value. It was discontinued within a few months due to dismal sales in Japan.
A C-64 to Go
In 1983, Commodore introduced the SX-64 executive computer, a portable C-64 along the lines of Osborne (5″ display, 24.5 lb.), Kaypro (9″ display, 29 lb.), Compaq (28 lb.), Zenith (Z-138 left, 24.2 lb., 2,600 cubic inches. I used one for a brief time while working at a Heath/Zenith store), and other luggable CRT-based portables larger than a big briefcase. The SX-64 has a built-in 1541 floppy drive (with storage space above the drive for a stack of floppies) and a 5″ CRT display. It sold for US$995 and was the first of these portables to include a color display.
The SX-64 weighed just 23 lb. (10.5 kg), and measured approximately 16.9″ x 14.6″ x 5.3″ (430 x 370 x 135 mm) – just over 1,300 cubic inches.
The SX-64 was a thing of beauty, as you can see by enlarging its image on the CBM Museum website (in German). We’ve reduced it significantly for use here. The attention to detail tells you Commodore really did intend the SX-64 as an executive machine.
The SX-64 did not sell well (estimated at about 85,000 units based on serial number data), even as Commodore discounted its retail price to move inventory. Commodore had announced a dual-drive DX-64, and a few of these appear to have reached the market, but it never went into full production because of low SX-64 sales – driven lower by people waiting for the DX-64.
Commodore 16
Trying to replace the entry-level VIC-20, Commodore introduced the Commodore 16 in 1984. It had just 16 KB of memory, used a 7501 or 8501 CPU, and was intended to compete with sub-$100 computers. By the time the C-16 shipped, Timex Sinclair, Mattel, and Texas Instruments had left the home computer market.
Visually, it was quite attractive with its dark grey case and VIC-20/C-64 styling.
But the C-16 had an inferior graphics chip vs. the C-64, had no modem port, could not connect to the existing Datasette, and had no game port, making it in many ways inferior to the VIC-20. Commodore did produce a C-16 compatible Datasette and joysticks for the C-16, but this model never caught on in the US market.
An even cheaper machine, the Commodore 116, was sold in Europe. Although functionally identical to the C-16, it had a smaller case and a rubber chiclet keyboard.
Commodore Plus/4
Released in June 1984, the Plus/4 was similar to the C-64 and also had four built-in applications, an office suite with a word processor, database, spreadsheet, and graphics program. It is more compatible with the C-16 than with the C-64 – however, that wasn’t a good thing. The C-64 was selling for US$199 when the Plus/4 came to market at US$299.
Although Commodore considered the Plus/4 its flagship model, it never sold well and was finally phased out in 1988.
Finally, Something Better
The Commodore 64 would not die. Commodore’s newer models were doing nothing to cut into its market. The C-64 was joined by the Commodore 128 in January 1985. The new model has two 64 KB banks of memory, supports 80-column text, includes an extended keyboard with a numeric keypad, and also contains a Zilog Z-80 CPU, enabling it to run CP/M software from the business world – although both processors cannot run at the same time.
The C-128’s primary CPU is an 8502 running at 2 MHz, twice the speed of the VIC-20 and C-64. The C-128 has three operating modes: native C-128 mode, CP/M mode, and 1 MHz C-64 mode that is nearly 100% compatible with the older machine’s software.
Commodore sold 4 million C-128s before it was discontinued in 1989. The C-64 remained on the market until 1994.
Commodore introduced two new floppy drives for the C-128, both running CBM DOS 3.0. The single-sided 1570 floppy drive uses the same 170 KB format as previous Commodore computers, can also read CP/M formatted floppies, and supports MS-DOS disks with additional software. The 1571 is a double-sided floppy drive with twice the storage. Commodore was unable to keep up with demand for the US$300 double-sided 1571.
Commodore 128D
Later in 1985, Commodore released the Commodore 128D, which follows the styling of the Amiga 1000 and DOS PCs with a separate keyboard. The 128D was the first 8-bit Commodore desktop computer with a built-in floppy drive – the 1571 mentioned above. It even had a handle on the left side to facilitate transporting the computer.
In late 1986, Commodore introduced a “cost reduced” version of the 128D in North America and parts of Europe. The 128DCR had a metal chassis in place of the plastic one in the original and eliminated the carrying handle.
C-64, the Next Generation
In 1986, Commodore introduced a refreshed version of the C-64 called the Commodore 64C. It is functionally identical to the earlier model but takes its styling cues from the Commodore 128.
Another Bomb
In 1990, Commodore repackaged the C-64 as a gaming console to compete with the Nintendo Entertainment Systems (NES) and the Sega Master System. Commodore went after the gaming market but never got any traction, as the C-64 was only a little more expensive and included a keyboard. The C64GS was another commercial failure for Commodore.
The Big Step Forward: Amiga
The future of 8-bit home computers was drawing to a close by the mid 1980s. The IBM PC had established the Intel 8088, a 16-bit CPU with an 8-bit data bus, as the business standard, and Apple introduced its Lisa business computer in 1983, followed by the first Macintosh in 1984. These were the first commercial computers with a graphical user interface and a mouse, something Microsoft quickly copied in developing Windows for the IBM PC and compatible clones.
Lisa and Macintosh used the Motorola 68000 CPU, a 32-bit chip with 24-bit addressing on a 16-bit data bus. Commodore chose the same CPU for its next computer family, the Amiga, which we cover in a separate article.
Further Reading
Keywords: #commodore #commodorepet #commodorevic20 #commodore64 #commodore128 #commodorecomputers #commodoreinternational #6502 #6510 #mostech6502 #6502cpu #6510cpu
Short link: http://goo.gl/Z9atZm
searchword: commodorehistory
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<reponame>satadriver/LiunuxOS_C_t
#pragma once
void mppx(char * str, int len); |
def today(self):
if self.display_date == arrow.now().date():
return
else:
self.display_date = arrow.now().date()
self.full_games = self.todays_games
self.size = len(self.full_games)
self._update_in_place() |
//! Easy file downloading
#![deny(rust_2018_idioms)]
use std::path::Path;
use anyhow::Context;
pub use anyhow::Result;
use url::Url;
mod errors;
pub use crate::errors::*;
#[derive(Debug, Copy, Clone)]
pub enum Backend {
Curl,
Reqwest(TlsBackend),
}
#[derive(Debug, Copy, Clone)]
pub enum TlsBackend {
Rustls,
Default,
}
#[derive(Debug, Copy, Clone)]
pub enum Event<'a> {
ResumingPartialDownload,
/// Received the Content-Length of the to-be downloaded data.
DownloadContentLengthReceived(u64),
/// Received some data.
DownloadDataReceived(&'a [u8]),
}
fn download_with_backend(
backend: Backend,
url: &Url,
resume_from: u64,
callback: &dyn Fn(Event<'_>) -> Result<()>,
) -> Result<()> {
match backend {
Backend::Curl => curl::download(url, resume_from, callback),
Backend::Reqwest(tls) => reqwest_be::download(url, resume_from, callback, tls),
}
}
pub fn download_to_path_with_backend(
backend: Backend,
url: &Url,
path: &Path,
resume_from_partial: bool,
callback: Option<&dyn Fn(Event<'_>) -> Result<()>>,
) -> Result<()> {
use std::cell::RefCell;
use std::fs::remove_file;
use std::fs::OpenOptions;
use std::io::{Read, Seek, SeekFrom, Write};
|| -> Result<()> {
let (file, resume_from) = if resume_from_partial {
let possible_partial = OpenOptions::new().read(true).open(&path);
let downloaded_so_far = if let Ok(mut partial) = possible_partial {
if let Some(cb) = callback {
cb(Event::ResumingPartialDownload)?;
let mut buf = vec![0; 32768];
let mut downloaded_so_far = 0;
loop {
let n = partial.read(&mut buf)?;
downloaded_so_far += n as u64;
if n == 0 {
break;
}
cb(Event::DownloadDataReceived(&buf[..n]))?;
}
downloaded_so_far
} else {
let file_info = partial.metadata()?;
file_info.len()
}
} else {
0
};
let mut possible_partial = OpenOptions::new()
.write(true)
.create(true)
.open(&path)
.context("error opening file for download")?;
possible_partial.seek(SeekFrom::End(0))?;
(possible_partial, downloaded_so_far)
} else {
(
OpenOptions::new()
.write(true)
.create(true)
.open(&path)
.context("error creating file for download")?,
0,
)
};
let file = RefCell::new(file);
download_with_backend(backend, url, resume_from, &|event| {
if let Event::DownloadDataReceived(data) = event {
file.borrow_mut()
.write_all(data)
.context("unable to write download to disk")?;
}
match callback {
Some(cb) => cb(event),
None => Ok(()),
}
})?;
file.borrow_mut()
.sync_data()
.context("unable to sync download to disk")?;
Ok(())
}()
.map_err(|e| {
// TODO: We currently clear up the cached download on any error, should we restrict it to a subset?
remove_file(path)
.context("cleaning up cached downloads")
.unwrap();
e
})
}
/// Download via libcurl; encrypt with the native (or OpenSSl) TLS
/// stack via libcurl
#[cfg(feature = "curl-backend")]
pub mod curl {
use std::cell::RefCell;
use std::str;
use std::time::Duration;
use anyhow::{Context, Result};
use curl::easy::Easy;
use url::Url;
use super::Event;
use crate::errors::*;
pub fn download(
url: &Url,
resume_from: u64,
callback: &dyn Fn(Event<'_>) -> Result<()>,
) -> Result<()> {
// Fetch either a cached libcurl handle (which will preserve open
// connections) or create a new one if it isn't listed.
//
// Once we've acquired it, reset the lifetime from 'static to our local
// scope.
thread_local!(static EASY: RefCell<Easy> = RefCell::new(Easy::new()));
EASY.with(|handle| {
let mut handle = handle.borrow_mut();
handle.url(&url.to_string())?;
handle.follow_location(true)?;
if resume_from > 0 {
handle.resume_from(resume_from)?;
} else {
// an error here indicates that the range header isn't supported by underlying curl,
// so there's nothing to "clear" - safe to ignore this error.
let _ = handle.resume_from(0);
}
// Take at most 30s to connect
handle.connect_timeout(Duration::new(30, 0))?;
{
let cberr = RefCell::new(None);
let mut transfer = handle.transfer();
// Data callback for libcurl which is called with data that's
// downloaded. We just feed it into our hasher and also write it out
// to disk.
transfer.write_function(|data| {
match callback(Event::DownloadDataReceived(data)) {
Ok(()) => Ok(data.len()),
Err(e) => {
*cberr.borrow_mut() = Some(e);
Ok(0)
}
}
})?;
// Listen for headers and parse out a `Content-Length` (case-insensitive) if it
// comes so we know how much we're downloading.
transfer.header_function(|header| {
if let Ok(data) = str::from_utf8(header) {
let prefix = "content-length: ";
if data.to_ascii_lowercase().starts_with(prefix) {
if let Ok(s) = data[prefix.len()..].trim().parse::<u64>() {
let msg = Event::DownloadContentLengthReceived(s + resume_from);
match callback(msg) {
Ok(()) => (),
Err(e) => {
*cberr.borrow_mut() = Some(e);
return false;
}
}
}
}
}
true
})?;
// If an error happens check to see if we had a filesystem error up
// in `cberr`, but we always want to punt it up.
transfer.perform().or_else(|e| {
// If the original error was generated by one of our
// callbacks, return it.
match cberr.borrow_mut().take() {
Some(cberr) => Err(cberr),
None => {
// Otherwise, return the error from curl
if e.is_file_couldnt_read_file() {
Err(e).context(DownloadError::FileNotFound)
} else {
Err(e).context("error during download")?
}
}
}
})?;
}
// If we didn't get a 20x or 0 ("OK" for files) then return an error
let code = handle.response_code()?;
match code {
0 | 200..=299 => {}
_ => {
return Err(DownloadError::HttpStatus(code).into());
}
};
Ok(())
})
}
}
#[cfg(feature = "reqwest-backend")]
pub mod reqwest_be {
use std::io;
use std::time::Duration;
use anyhow::{anyhow, Context, Result};
use lazy_static::lazy_static;
use reqwest::blocking::{Client, ClientBuilder, Response};
use reqwest::{header, Proxy};
use url::Url;
use super::Event;
use super::TlsBackend;
use crate::errors::*;
pub fn download(
url: &Url,
resume_from: u64,
callback: &dyn Fn(Event<'_>) -> Result<()>,
tls: TlsBackend,
) -> Result<()> {
// Short-circuit reqwest for the "file:" URL scheme
if download_from_file_url(url, resume_from, callback)? {
return Ok(());
}
let mut res = request(url, resume_from, tls).context("failed to make network request")?;
if !res.status().is_success() {
let code: u16 = res.status().into();
return Err(anyhow!(DownloadError::HttpStatus(u32::from(code))));
}
let buffer_size = 0x10000;
let mut buffer = vec![0u8; buffer_size];
if let Some(len) = res.headers().get(header::CONTENT_LENGTH) {
// TODO possible issues during unwrap?
let len = len.to_str().unwrap().parse::<u64>().unwrap() + resume_from;
callback(Event::DownloadContentLengthReceived(len))?;
}
loop {
let bytes_read = io::Read::read(&mut res, &mut buffer)?;
if bytes_read != 0 {
callback(Event::DownloadDataReceived(&buffer[0..bytes_read]))?;
} else {
return Ok(());
}
}
}
fn client_generic() -> ClientBuilder {
Client::builder()
.gzip(false)
.proxy(Proxy::custom(env_proxy))
.timeout(Duration::from_secs(30))
}
#[cfg(feature = "reqwest-rustls-tls")]
lazy_static! {
static ref CLIENT_RUSTLS_TLS: Client = {
let catcher = || {
client_generic().use_rustls_tls()
.build()
};
// woah, an unwrap?!
// It's OK. This is the same as what is happening in curl.
//
// The curl::Easy::new() internally assert!s that the initialized
// Easy is not null. Inside reqwest, the errors here would be from
// the TLS library returning a null pointer as well.
catcher().unwrap()
};
}
#[cfg(feature = "reqwest-default-tls")]
lazy_static! {
static ref CLIENT_DEFAULT_TLS: Client = {
let catcher = || {
client_generic()
.build()
};
// woah, an unwrap?!
// It's OK. This is the same as what is happening in curl.
//
// The curl::Easy::new() internally assert!s that the initialized
// Easy is not null. Inside reqwest, the errors here would be from
// the TLS library returning a null pointer as well.
catcher().unwrap()
};
}
fn env_proxy(url: &Url) -> Option<Url> {
env_proxy::for_url(url).to_url()
}
fn request(
url: &Url,
resume_from: u64,
backend: TlsBackend,
) -> Result<Response, DownloadError> {
let client: &Client = match backend {
#[cfg(feature = "reqwest-rustls-tls")]
TlsBackend::Rustls => &CLIENT_RUSTLS_TLS,
#[cfg(not(feature = "reqwest-rustls-tls"))]
TlsBackend::Rustls => {
return Err(DownloadError::BackendUnavailable("reqwest rustls"));
}
#[cfg(feature = "reqwest-default-tls")]
TlsBackend::Default => &CLIENT_DEFAULT_TLS,
#[cfg(not(feature = "reqwest-default-tls"))]
TlsBackend::Default => {
return Err(DownloadError::BackendUnavailable("reqwest default TLS"));
}
};
let mut req = client.get(url.as_str());
if resume_from != 0 {
req = req.header(header::RANGE, format!("bytes={}-", resume_from));
}
Ok(req.send()?)
}
fn download_from_file_url(
url: &Url,
resume_from: u64,
callback: &dyn Fn(Event<'_>) -> Result<()>,
) -> Result<bool> {
use std::fs;
// The file scheme is mostly for use by tests to mock the dist server
if url.scheme() == "file" {
let src = url
.to_file_path()
.map_err(|_| DownloadError::Message(format!("bogus file url: '{}'", url)))?;
if !src.is_file() {
// Because some of rustup's logic depends on checking
// the error when a downloaded file doesn't exist, make
// the file case return the same error value as the
// network case.
return Err(anyhow!(DownloadError::FileNotFound));
}
let mut f = fs::File::open(src).context("unable to open downloaded file")?;
io::Seek::seek(&mut f, io::SeekFrom::Start(resume_from))?;
let mut buffer = vec![0u8; 0x10000];
loop {
let bytes_read = io::Read::read(&mut f, &mut buffer)?;
if bytes_read == 0 {
break;
}
callback(Event::DownloadDataReceived(&buffer[0..bytes_read]))?;
}
Ok(true)
} else {
Ok(false)
}
}
}
#[cfg(not(feature = "curl-backend"))]
pub mod curl {
use anyhow::{anyhow, Result};
use super::Event;
use crate::errors::*;
use url::Url;
pub fn download(
_url: &Url,
_resume_from: u64,
_callback: &dyn Fn(Event<'_>) -> Result<()>,
) -> Result<()> {
Err(anyhow!(DownloadError::BackendUnavailable("curl")))
}
}
#[cfg(not(feature = "reqwest-backend"))]
pub mod reqwest_be {
use anyhow::{anyhow, Result};
use super::Event;
use super::TlsBackend;
use crate::errors::*;
use url::Url;
pub fn download(
_url: &Url,
_resume_from: u64,
_callback: &dyn Fn(Event<'_>) -> Result<()>,
_tls: TlsBackend,
) -> Result<()> {
Err(anyhow!(DownloadError::BackendUnavailable("reqwest")))
}
}
|
package burner
import (
"fmt"
sdk "github.com/cosmos/cosmos-sdk/types"
"github.com/iov-one/starnamed/x/burner/types"
)
//TODO: we could add a test for this function
//EndBlocker burns all the coins owned by the burner module
func EndBlocker(ctx sdk.Context, supplyKeeper types.SupplyKeeper, accountKeeper types.AccountKeeper) {
moduleAcc := accountKeeper.GetModuleAccount(ctx, types.ModuleName)
if balance := supplyKeeper.GetAllBalances(ctx, moduleAcc.GetAddress()); !balance.IsZero() {
if err := supplyKeeper.BurnCoins(ctx, types.ModuleName, balance); err != nil {
panic(fmt.Sprintf("Error while burning tokens of the burner module account: %s", err.Error()))
}
}
}
|
<reponame>bjadamson/BoomHS
#pragma once
#define SPDLOG_TRACE_ON
#include <spdlog/spdlog.h>
|
x, y, z = list(map(int, input().split()))
rem_x = x%z
ans_x = x//z
rem_y = y%z
ans_y = y//z
trans = 0
ans = ans_x + ans_y
if rem_x !=0 and rem_y !=0 and rem_x+rem_y >= z:
trans = min(z - rem_x, z - rem_y)
ans += 1
print(ans, trans)
|
def make_beautiful(obj: Any):
if isinstance(obj, BaseDataclass):
return make_colorful(obj.to_dict())
elif isinstance(obj, VultrPagination):
return "".join(make_colorful(i) for i in obj)
elif is_dataclass(obj):
return make_colorful(asdict(obj))
elif isinstance(obj, (dict, list, tuple)):
return make_colorful(obj)
elif isinstance(obj, (set, types.GeneratorType)):
return make_colorful([i for i in obj])
return str(obj) |
# Copyright (c) 2018, Curious AI Ltd. All rights reserved.
#
# This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial
# 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit
# http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ or send a letter to
# Creative Commons, PO Box 1866, Mountain View, CA 94042, USA.
"Tools for building Tensorflow graphs"
from contextlib import contextmanager
import tensorflow as tf
class HyperparamVariables:
def __init__(self, hyperparams, name_or_scope=None):
self.variables = {}
self.placeholders = {}
self.assign_ops = {}
with tf.variable_scope(name_or_scope, "hyperparams"):
for name, default in hyperparams.items():
variable = tf.Variable(default, name=name, trainable=False)
tf.add_to_collection("hyperparams", variable)
placeholder = tf.placeholder(dtype=variable.dtype,
shape=variable.get_shape(),
name=(name + "/placeholder"))
assign_op = tf.assign(variable, placeholder, name=(name + "/assign"))
assert name not in self.variables
self.variables[name] = variable
self.placeholders[name] = placeholder
self.assign_ops[name] = assign_op
def __getitem__(self, name):
"Get the TF tensor representing the hyperparameter"
return self.variables[name]
def get(self, session, name):
"Get the current value of the given hyperparameter in the given session"
return session.run(self.variables[name])
def assign(self, session, name, value):
"Change the value of the given hyperparameter in the given session"
return session.run(self.assign_ops[name], {self.placeholders[name]: value})
@contextmanager
def name_variable_scope(name_scope_name,
var_scope_or_var_scope_name,
*var_scope_args,
**var_scope_kwargs):
"""A combination of name_scope and variable_scope with different names
The tf.variable_scope function creates both a name_scope and a variable_scope
with identical names. But the naming would often be clearer if the names
of operations didn't inherit the scope name of the (reused) variables.
So use this function to make shorter and more logical scope names in these cases.
"""
with tf.name_scope(name_scope_name) as outer_name_scope:
with tf.variable_scope(var_scope_or_var_scope_name,
*var_scope_args,
**var_scope_kwargs) as var_scope:
with tf.name_scope(outer_name_scope) as inner_name_scope:
yield inner_name_scope, var_scope
@contextmanager
def ema_variable_scope(name_scope_name, var_scope, decay=0.999):
"""Scope that replaces trainable variables with their exponential moving averages
We capture only trainable variables. There's no reason we couldn't support
other types of variables, but the assumed use case is for trainable variables.
"""
with tf.name_scope(name_scope_name + "/ema_variables"):
original_trainable_vars = {
tensor.op.name: tensor
for tensor
in tf.get_collection(tf.GraphKeys.TRAINABLE_VARIABLES, scope=var_scope.name)
}
ema = tf.train.ExponentialMovingAverage(decay)
update_op = ema.apply(original_trainable_vars.values())
tf.add_to_collection(tf.GraphKeys.UPDATE_OPS, update_op)
def use_ema_variables(getter, name, *_, **__):
assert name in original_trainable_vars, "Unknown variable {}.".format(name)
return ema.average(original_trainable_vars[name])
with name_variable_scope(name_scope_name,
var_scope,
custom_getter=use_ema_variables) as (name_scope, var_scope):
yield name_scope, var_scope
def assert_shape(tensor, expected_shape):
tensor_shape = tensor.get_shape().as_list()
error_message = "tensor {name} shape {actual} != {expected}"
assert tensor_shape == expected_shape, error_message.format(
name=tensor.name, actual=tensor_shape, expected=expected_shape)
|
<filename>2018/05/binary.py
def delta(state, letter):
states, inputs = ['A', 'B', 'C', 'D', 'E'], ['b', '0', '1']
transition = [
['E', 'B', 'E'],
['C', 'E', 'E'],
['E', 'D', 'D'],
['E', 'D', 'D'],
['E', 'E', 'E']
]
return transition[states.index(state)][inputs.index(letter)]
def fsa(word):
state = 'A'
for letter in word:
state = delta(state, letter)
return state == 'D'
if __name__ == '__main__':
for b in ['0b01', '011', '0b1101']:
print('{} {}'.format(b, fsa(b)))
|
<reponame>sbreitf1/fs<gh_stars>0
package fs
import (
"io/ioutil"
"os"
"testing"
"github.com/sbreitf1/fs/path"
"github.com/sbreitf1/errors"
"github.com/stretchr/testify/assert"
)
func TestOpenFlags(t *testing.T) {
assert.True(t, OpenReadOnly.IsRead())
assert.False(t, OpenReadOnly.IsWrite())
assert.False(t, OpenWriteOnly.IsRead())
assert.True(t, OpenWriteOnly.IsWrite())
assert.True(t, OpenReadWrite.IsRead())
assert.True(t, OpenReadWrite.IsWrite())
assert.False(t, OpenReadOnly.Append().Create().Exclusive().Sync().Truncate().IsWrite())
assert.Equal(t, OpenWriteOnly, OpenWriteOnly.Exclusive().Access())
}
func TestNew(t *testing.T) {
var fs *FileSystem
assert.NotPanics(t, func() { fs = New() })
assert.True(t, fs.CanRead(), "CanRead() returns false")
assert.True(t, fs.CanWrite(), "CanRead() returns false")
assert.True(t, fs.CanReadWrite(), "CanReadWrite() returns false")
assert.True(t, fs.CanTemp(), "CanTemp() returns false")
assert.True(t, fs.CanAll(), "CanAll() returns false")
}
func TestNewUtilInvalid(t *testing.T) {
assert.Panics(t, func() { NewWithDriver(nil) })
assert.Panics(t, func() { NewWithDriver("not a file system driver") })
}
func TestFileSystemCommon(t *testing.T) {
fs := New()
errors.AssertNil(t, WithTempDir("fs-test-", func(tmpDir string) errors.Error {
testFS(t, fs, tmpDir)
return nil
}))
}
func testFS(t *testing.T, fs *FileSystem, dir string) {
t.Run("TestStatRoot", func(t *testing.T) {
fi, err := fs.Stat("/")
errors.AssertNil(t, err)
assert.Equal(t, "/", fi.Name())
assert.True(t, fi.IsDir())
})
t.Run("TestReadString", func(t *testing.T) {
path := path.Join(dir, "test.txt")
if err := ioutil.WriteFile(path, []byte("a new cool file content"), os.ModePerm); err != nil {
panic(err)
}
assertFileContent(t, fs, path, "a new cool file content")
})
t.Run("TestWriteLines", func(t *testing.T) {
path := path.Join(dir, "test.txt")
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.WriteLines(path, []string{"foo", "bar", "", "yeah!", ""}))
assertFileContent(t, fs, path, "foo\nbar\n\nyeah!\n")
})
t.Run("TestCreateDirectory", func(t *testing.T) {
path := path.Join(dir, "testdir/subdir")
assertNotExists(t, fs, path)
fs.CreateDirectory(path)
assertIsDir(t, fs, path)
})
t.Run("TestCopyFile", func(t *testing.T) {
src := path.Join(dir, "test.txt")
dst := path.Join(dir, "testdir/subdir/foobar.txt")
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CopyFile(src, dst))
assertFileContent(t, fs, dst, "foo\nbar\n\nyeah!\n")
})
t.Run("TestCopyDir", func(t *testing.T) {
src := path.Join(dir, "testdir")
dst := path.Join(dir, "justanotherdir")
fs.CreateDirectory(path.Join(src, "subdir/foobar1337"))
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CopyDir(src, dst))
// new file has correct content
assertFileContent(t, fs, path.Join(dst, "subdir/foobar.txt"), "foo\nbar\n\nyeah!\n")
// empty dir is copied aswell
assertIsDir(t, fs, path.Join(dst, "subdir/foobar1337"))
// old file still exists
assertIsFile(t, fs, path.Join(src, "subdir/foobar.txt"))
})
t.Run("TestCopyAll", func(t *testing.T) {
src := path.Join(dir, "justanotherdir/subdir")
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CopyAll(src, dir))
// new file has correct content
assertFileContent(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foobar.txt"), "foo\nbar\n\nyeah!\n")
// old file still exists
assertIsFile(t, fs, path.Join(src, "foobar.txt"))
})
t.Run("TestOpenWrite", func(t *testing.T) {
path := path.Join(dir, "openwritetest.txt")
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.WriteString(path, "foo bar cool test data content"))
f, err := fs.OpenFile(path, OpenReadWrite)
errors.AssertNil(t, err)
f.Write([]byte("short stuff"))
f.Close()
assertFileContent(t, fs, path, "short stuffl test data content")
})
t.Run("TestTruncate", func(t *testing.T) {
path := path.Join(dir, "trunctest.txt")
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.WriteString(path, "foo bar cool test data content"))
f, err := fs.OpenFile(path, OpenReadWrite.Truncate())
errors.AssertNil(t, err)
f.Write([]byte("short stuff"))
f.Close()
assertFileContent(t, fs, path, "short stuff")
})
t.Run("TestAppend", func(t *testing.T) {
path := path.Join(dir, "appendtest.txt")
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.WriteString(path, "foo bar"))
f, err := fs.OpenFile(path, OpenReadWrite.Append())
errors.AssertNil(t, err)
f.Write([]byte(" - short stuff"))
f.Close()
assertFileContent(t, fs, path, "foo bar - short stuff")
})
t.Run("TestDeleteFile", func(t *testing.T) {
path := path.Join(dir, "appendtest.txt")
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.DeleteFile(path))
assertNotExists(t, fs, path)
})
t.Run("TestDeleteDirFail", func(t *testing.T) {
p := path.Join(dir, "justanotherdir")
errors.Assert(t, ErrNotEmpty, fs.DeleteDirectory(p, false))
assertIsDir(t, fs, p)
})
t.Run("TestDeleteDirRecursive", func(t *testing.T) {
p := path.Join(dir, "justanotherdir")
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.DeleteDirectory(p, true))
assertNotExists(t, fs, p)
})
t.Run("TestCleanDir", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CleanDir(dir))
files, err := fs.ReadDir(dir)
errors.AssertNil(t, err)
assert.Len(t, files, 0)
})
t.Run("TestWalk", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CreateDirectory(path.Join(dir, "foo")))
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CreateDirectory(path.Join(dir, "foo/bar")))
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.WriteString(path.Join(dir, "foo/bar/test.txt"), "foo bar"))
assertWalk(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo"), nil, []string{"bar", "test.txt"}, []string{"bar"}, []string{"bar"})
})
t.Run("TestWalkVisitRoot", func(t *testing.T) {
assertWalk(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo"), &WalkOptions{VisitRootDir: true}, []string{"foo", "bar", "test.txt"}, []string{"bar"}, []string{"bar"})
})
t.Run("TestWalkRootCallback", func(t *testing.T) {
assertWalk(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo"), &WalkOptions{EnterLeaveCallbacksForRoot: true}, []string{"bar", "test.txt"}, []string{"foo", "bar"}, []string{"bar", "foo"})
})
t.Run("TestWalkFlat", func(t *testing.T) {
assertWalk(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo"), &WalkOptions{SkipSubDirs: true}, []string{"bar"}, []string{}, []string{})
})
t.Run("TestWalkError", func(t *testing.T) {
errTest := errors.New("TestError")
errors.Assert(t, errTest, fs.Walk(path.Join(dir, "foo"), func(dir string, f FileInfo, isRoot bool) errors.Error {
if f.Name() == "test.txt" {
// wait for inner directory to also test recursive error passing
return errTest.Make()
}
return nil
}, nil, nil, nil))
errors.Assert(t, errTest, fs.Walk(path.Join(dir, "foo"), nil, func(dir string, f FileInfo, isRoot bool, skipDir *bool) errors.Error {
return errTest.Make()
}, nil, nil))
errors.Assert(t, errTest, fs.Walk(path.Join(dir, "foo"), nil, nil, func(dir string, f FileInfo, isRoot bool) errors.Error {
return errTest.Make()
}, nil))
})
t.Run("TestWalkSkipDir", func(t *testing.T) {
visitCount := 0
visitExpected := []string{"bar"}
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.Walk(path.Join(dir, "foo"), func(dir string, f FileInfo, isRoot bool) errors.Error {
assert.Equal(t, visitExpected[visitCount], f.Name())
visitCount++
return nil
}, func(dir string, f FileInfo, isRoot bool, skipDir *bool) errors.Error {
*skipDir = true
return nil
}, nil, nil))
assert.Equal(t, len(visitExpected), visitCount)
})
t.Run("TestMoveFile", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.Move(path.Join(dir, "foo/bar/test.txt"), path.Join(dir, "foo/test.txt")))
assertNotExists(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo/bar/test.txt"))
assertFileContent(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo/test.txt"), "foo bar")
})
t.Run("TestMoveDir", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.Move(path.Join(dir, "foo"), path.Join(dir, "asdf")))
assertNotExists(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo"))
assertIsDir(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "asdf/bar"))
assertFileContent(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "asdf/test.txt"), "foo bar")
})
t.Run("TestMoveAll", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.MoveAll(path.Join(dir, "asdf"), path.Join(dir)))
assertNotExists(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "asdf/bar"))
assertNotExists(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "asdf/test.txt"))
assertIsDir(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "bar"))
assertFileContent(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "test.txt"), "foo bar")
})
t.Run("TestCopyFile", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.Copy(path.Join(dir, "test.txt"), path.Join(dir, "bar/test.txt")))
assertIsFile(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "test.txt"))
assertFileContent(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "bar/test.txt"), "foo bar")
})
t.Run("TestCopyDir", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.Copy(path.Join(dir, "bar"), path.Join(dir, "asdf/bar")))
assertIsDir(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "bar"))
assertFileContent(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "asdf/bar/test.txt"), "foo bar")
})
t.Run("TestWalkComplex", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.Move(path.Join(dir, "bar"), path.Join(dir, "asdf/test")))
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.Move(path.Join(dir, "test.txt"), path.Join(dir, "asdf/file.txt")))
dirCount := 0
fileCount := 0
size := int64(0)
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.Walk(path.Join(dir, "asdf"), func(dir string, f FileInfo, isRoot bool) errors.Error {
if f.IsDir() {
dirCount++
} else {
fileCount++
size += f.Size()
}
return nil
}, nil, nil, nil))
assert.Equal(t, 2, dirCount)
assert.Equal(t, 3, fileCount)
assert.Equal(t, int64(21), size)
})
t.Run("TestWalkFilesFirst", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CreateDirectory(path.Join(dir, "foo2")))
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CreateDirectory(path.Join(dir, "foo2/bar")))
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.WriteString(path.Join(dir, "foo2/test.txt"), "foo bar"))
assertWalk(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo2"), &WalkOptions{VisitOrder: OrderFilesFirst}, []string{"test.txt", "bar"}, []string{"bar"}, []string{"bar"})
})
t.Run("TestWalkDirectoriesFirst", func(t *testing.T) {
assertWalk(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo2"), &WalkOptions{VisitOrder: OrderDirectoriesFirst}, []string{"bar", "test.txt"}, []string{"bar"}, []string{"bar"})
})
t.Run("TestWalkLexicographicAsc", func(t *testing.T) {
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CreateDirectory(path.Join(dir, "foo2/cool")))
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CreateDirectory(path.Join(dir, "foo2/cool/sub")))
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.CreateDirectory(path.Join(dir, "foo2/stuff")))
errors.AssertNil(t, fs.WriteString(path.Join(dir, "foo2/better stuff.txt"), "foo bar"))
assertWalk(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo2"), &WalkOptions{VisitOrder: OrderLexicographicAsc}, []string{"bar", "better stuff.txt", "cool", "sub", "stuff", "test.txt"}, []string{"bar", "cool", "sub", "stuff"}, []string{"bar", "sub", "cool", "stuff"})
})
t.Run("TestWalkLexicographicDesc", func(t *testing.T) {
assertWalk(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo2"), &WalkOptions{VisitOrder: OrderLexicographicDesc}, []string{"test.txt", "stuff", "cool", "sub", "better stuff.txt", "bar"}, []string{"stuff", "cool", "sub", "bar"}, []string{"stuff", "sub", "cool", "bar"})
})
t.Run("TestWalkCompound", func(t *testing.T) {
assertWalk(t, fs, path.Join(dir, "foo2"), &WalkOptions{VisitOrder: NewCompoundComparer(OrderFilesFirst, OrderLexicographicAsc)}, []string{"better stuff.txt", "test.txt", "bar", "cool", "sub", "stuff"}, []string{"bar", "cool", "sub", "stuff"}, []string{"bar", "sub", "cool", "stuff"})
})
}
/* ############################################### */
/* ### Test Helper ### */
/* ############################################### */
func assertNotExists(t *testing.T, fs *FileSystem, path string) bool {
exists, err := fs.Exists(path)
if errors.AssertNil(t, err, "Error while checking for %q", path) {
return assert.False(t, exists, "Expected %q to not exist", path)
}
return false
}
func assertIsFile(t *testing.T, fs *FileSystem, path string) bool {
isFile, err := fs.IsFile(path)
if errors.AssertNil(t, err, "Error while checking for file %q", path) {
return assert.True(t, isFile, "Expected file %q does not exist", path)
}
return false
}
func assertIsDir(t *testing.T, fs *FileSystem, path string) bool {
isDir, err := fs.IsDir(path)
if errors.AssertNil(t, err, "Error while checking for dir %q", path) {
return assert.True(t, isDir, "Expected directory %q does not exist", path)
}
return false
}
func assertFileContent(t *testing.T, fs *FileSystem, path, expectedContent string) bool {
data, err := fs.ReadString(path)
if errors.AssertNil(t, err, "Error while accessing fiile %q", path) {
return assert.Equal(t, expectedContent, data, "Unexpected file content of %q", path)
}
return false
}
func assertWalk(t *testing.T, fs *FileSystem, path string, options *WalkOptions, visitExpected, enterExpected, leaveExpected []string) bool {
visitRoot := false
if options != nil && options.VisitRootDir {
visitRoot = true
}
rootCallback := false
if options != nil && options.EnterLeaveCallbacksForRoot {
rootCallback = true
}
errAssertionFailed := errors.New("AssertionFailed")
visitCount := 0
enterCount := 0
leaveCount := 0
err := fs.Walk(path, func(dir string, f FileInfo, isRoot bool) errors.Error {
if visitRoot && visitCount == 0 {
if !assert.True(t, isRoot) {
return errAssertionFailed.Make()
}
} else {
if !assert.False(t, isRoot) {
return errAssertionFailed.Make()
}
}
if visitCount < len(visitExpected) && !assert.Equal(t, visitExpected[visitCount], f.Name()) {
return errAssertionFailed.Make()
}
visitCount++
return nil
}, func(dir string, f FileInfo, isRoot bool, skipDir *bool) errors.Error {
if rootCallback && enterCount == 0 {
if !assert.True(t, isRoot) {
return errAssertionFailed.Make()
}
} else {
if !assert.False(t, isRoot) {
return errAssertionFailed.Make()
}
}
if enterCount < len(enterExpected) && !assert.Equal(t, enterExpected[enterCount], f.Name()) {
return errAssertionFailed.Make()
}
enterCount++
return nil
}, func(dir string, f FileInfo, isRoot bool) errors.Error {
if rootCallback && leaveCount == (len(leaveExpected)-1) {
if !assert.True(t, isRoot) {
return errAssertionFailed.Make()
}
} else {
if !assert.False(t, isRoot) {
return errAssertionFailed.Make()
}
}
if leaveCount < len(leaveExpected) && !assert.Equal(t, leaveExpected[leaveCount], f.Name()) {
return errAssertionFailed.Make()
}
leaveCount++
return nil
}, options)
if errors.InstanceOf(err, errAssertionFailed) {
return false
}
if !assert.Equal(t, len(visitExpected), visitCount) {
return false
}
if !assert.Equal(t, len(enterExpected), enterCount) {
return false
}
if !assert.Equal(t, len(leaveExpected), leaveCount) {
return false
}
return true
}
|
/**
* A modifiable observable list to support rendering of different
* set of information when navigating to different groups.
*/
public class ArrayObservableList<E> extends ModifiableObservableListBase<E> {
private final List<E> delegate = new ArrayList<>();
/**
* Creates a generic ArrayObservableList.
*/
public ArrayObservableList(ObservableList<E> list) {
for (E e : list) {
this.delegate.add(e);
}
}
public E get(int index) {
return this.delegate.get(index);
}
public int size() {
return this.delegate.size();
}
protected void doAdd(int index, E element) {
this.delegate.add(index, element);
}
protected E doSet(int index, E element) {
return this.delegate.set(index, element);
}
protected E doRemove(int index) {
return this.delegate.remove(index);
}
} |
Dive Brief:
A spate of announced coal retirements are primarily to blame for possibly pushing down reserve margins in the Electric Reliability Council of Texas, according to a Platts report based on the grid operator's board meeting this week.
report based on the grid operator's board meeting this week. Luminant announced three large Texas coal plant retirements this month, which totals about 4,200 MW of capacity. In addition, Talen Energy plans to retire a 300 MW gas-fired unit.
ERCOT has a reserve margin target of 13.75% but according to Platts , the retirements could lower margins to about 12.5% for next summer and 10.5% in 2022.
Dive Insight:
Cheap natural gas and the rise of wind power is changing the Texas power market, and could mean the Lone Star State will need reliability must-run contracts to ensure sufficient capacity. An analysis will be completed before ERCOT's next board meeting in December.
But as coal plants are forced offline, wind generation is stepping in to fill the gap, says research at the University of Texas.
Some 4,000 MW of wind capacity is expected to come online by 2018, according to Joshua Rhodes, research fellow at the University of Texas Austin’s Energy Institute. And while the coal and wind have very different capacity factors, he added that "it’s conceivable that energy generation from wind could possibly overtake coal in the near future."
Earlier this month, Luminant revealed plans to shutter its Sandow and Big Brown power plants in early 2018, due to low wholesale power prices and difficulty competing with cheap gas-fired and renewable power. The company also plans to retire its coal-fired Monticello power plant in Titus County, Texas, in January.
According to Rhodes, Texas will have almost 24 GW of wind capacity next year, compared with 20.3 GW of coal capacity.
The coal retirements come despite efforts by the Trump administration to stem the decline. U.S. Environmental Protection Agency head Scott Pruitt is working to rescind the Obama administration's Clean Power Plan, which sought to cut emissions from power plants. Energy Secretary Rick Perry is also pushing for cost recovery for baseload generation in wholesale markets — though it would not impact the Electric Reliability Council of Texas markets, which are exempt from federal regulation. |
<gh_stars>0
# Copyright 2020 The Vertizee Authors
#
# Licensed under the Apache License, Version 2.0 (the "License");
# you may not use this file except in compliance with the License.
# You may obtain a copy of the License at
#
# http://www.apache.org/licenses/LICENSE-2.0
#
# Unless required by applicable law or agreed to in writing, software
# distributed under the License is distributed on an "AS IS" BASIS,
# WITHOUT WARRANTIES OR CONDITIONS OF ANY KIND, either express or implied.
# See the License for the specific language governing permissions and
# limitations under the License.
# pylint: disable=line-too-long
r"""
===================================
Paths: single-source shortest paths
===================================
Algorithms for the single-source-shortest-paths problem. The asymptotic running times use the
notation that for some graph :math:`G(V, E)`, the number of vertices is :math:`n = |V|` and the
number of edges is :math:`m = |E|`.
**Recommended Tutorial**: :doc:`Paths <../../tutorials/paths>` - |image-colab-paths|
.. |image-colab-paths| image:: https://colab.research.google.com/assets/colab-badge.svg
:target: https://colab.research.google.com/github/cpeisert/vertizee/blob/master/docs/source/tutorials/paths.ipynb
Function summary
================
* :func:`shortest_paths` - Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` and associated lengths from the
source :term:`vertex` to all reachable vertices. This function chooses the fastest available
single-source-shortest-path algorithm depending on the properties of the graph.
* :func:`bellman_ford` - Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` in a weighted graph using the
Bellman-Ford algorithm. Running time: :math:`O(mn)`
* :func:`breadth_first_search_shortest_paths` - Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` in an
unweighted graph using a breadth-first search. Running time: :math:`O(m + n)`
* :func:`dijkstra` - Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` in a graph with positive edge weights
using Dijkstra's algorithm. Running time: :math:`O((m + n)\log{n})`
* :func:`dijkstra_fibonacci` - Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` in a graph with positive
edge weights using Dijkstra's algorithm implemented using a Fibonacci-heap-based priority queue.
Running time: :math:`O(n(\log{n}) + m)`
Detailed documentation
======================
"""
from __future__ import annotations
from typing import Callable, cast, Final, Optional, TYPE_CHECKING, Union
from vertizee import exception
from vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils import ShortestPath
from vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils import search_utils
from vertizee.algorithms.search import breadth_first_search
from vertizee.classes.data_structures.fibonacci_heap import FibonacciHeap
from vertizee.classes.data_structures.priority_queue import PriorityQueue
from vertizee.classes.data_structures.vertex_dict import VertexDict
from vertizee.classes.edge import Attributes, E_co, MultiEdgeBase
if TYPE_CHECKING:
from vertizee.classes.graph import GraphBase
from vertizee.classes.vertex import V, V_co, VertexType
INFINITY: Final[float] = float("inf")
def get_weight_function(
weight: Union[str, Callable[[V, V, bool], Optional[float]]] = "Edge__weight"
) -> Callable[[V, V, bool], Optional[float]]:
"""Returns a function that accepts two :term:`vertices <vertex>` and a boolean indicating if
the :term:`graph` should be treated as if it were :term:`reversed <reverse>` and returns the
corresponding :term:`edge` weight.
If there is no edge weight, then the edge weight is assumed to be one.
Note:
For :term:`multigraphs <multigraph>`, the minimum edge weight among the parallel edge
connections is returned.
Note:
To support :term:`reversed <reverse>` graphs, custom weight functions should implement the
following pattern:
.. code-block:: python
def get_weight(v1: V, v2: V, reverse_graph: bool) -> Optional[float]:
graph: G[V, E[V]] = v1._parent_graph
if reverse_graph:
if not graph.has_edge(v2, v1):
raise AlgorithmError(f"edge ({v2.label}, {v1.label}) not in graph")
edge = graph.get_edge(v2, v1)
else:
if not graph.has_edge(v1, v2):
raise AlgorithmError(f"edge ({v1.label}, {v2.label}) not in graph")
edge = graph.get_edge(v1, v2)
<YOUR CODE HERE>
return min_weight
The weight function may also serve as a filter by returning ``None`` for any edge that
should be excluded from the shortest path search. For example, adding the following would
exclude blue edges:
.. code-block:: python
if edge.attr.get('color', 'no color attribute') == 'blue':
return None
Args:
weight: Optional; If callable, then ``weight`` itself is returned. If
a string is specified, it is the key to use to retrieve the weight from the edge
``attr`` dictionary. The default value ("Edge__weight") returns a function that
accesses the edge property ``weight``.
Returns:
Callable[[V, V, bool], float]: A function that accepts two vertices
and a boolean indicating if the graph is reversed (i.e. edges of directed graphs in the
opposite direction) and returns the corresponding edge weight.
"""
if callable(weight):
return weight
if not isinstance(weight, str):
raise ValueError("'weight' must be a callable function or a string")
def get_weight(v1: V, v2: V, reverse_graph: bool) -> Optional[float]:
graph = v1._parent_graph
if reverse_graph:
if not graph.has_edge(v2, v1):
raise exception.AlgorithmError(f"edge ({v2.label}, {v1.label}) not in graph")
edge = graph.get_edge(v2, v1)
else:
if not graph.has_edge(v1, v2):
raise exception.AlgorithmError(f"edge ({v1.label}, {v2.label}) not in graph")
edge = graph.get_edge(v1, v2)
assert isinstance(weight, str)
if graph.is_multigraph():
assert isinstance(edge, MultiEdgeBase)
if weight == "Edge__weight":
min_weight = min(c.weight for c in edge.connections())
else:
min_weight = min(c.attr.get(weight, 1.0) for c in edge.connections())
else:
if weight == "Edge__weight":
min_weight = edge.weight
else:
min_weight = cast(Attributes, edge).attr.get(weight, 1.0)
return min_weight
return get_weight
def shortest_paths(
graph: GraphBase[V_co, E_co],
source: VertexType,
save_paths: bool = False,
reverse_graph: bool = False,
weight: Union[str, Callable[[V_co, V_co, bool], Optional[float]]] = "Edge__weight",
) -> VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]]:
r"""Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` and associated lengths from the source vertex to
all reachable vertices.
Note:
For weighted graphs that use custom weight attributes (instead of the built-in ``weight``
attribute of the edge classes), this function may select the wrong algorithm. If there is
doubt about which algorithm to use, choose the :func:`Bellman-Ford algorithm
<bellman_ford>`, which will provide the correct shortest paths for both unweighted and
weighted graphs (including the case where the graph contains negative edge weights).
This function chooses the fastest available single-source-shortest-path algorithm depending on
the properties of the graph. Note that :math:`m = |E|` (the number of edges) and :math:`n = |V|`
(the number of vertices):
* unweighted - :func:`Breadth-first search <breadth_first_search_shortest_paths>` is used
for unweighted graphs. Running time: :math:`O(m + n)`
* weighted (positive weights only) - :func:`Dijkstra's algorithm <dijkstra>`
is used for weighted graphs that only contain positive edge weights. Running time:
:math:`O((m + n)\log{n})`
* weighted (contains negative edge weights) - The :func:`Bellman-Ford algorithm
<bellman_ford>` is used for weighted graphs that contain at least one negative edge
weight. Running time: :math:`O(mn)`
Unreachable vertices will have a path length of infinity. In addition,
:func:`ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable>`
will return False.
The edge classes have a built-in ``weight`` property, which is used by default to determine
edge weights (i.e. edge lengths). Alternatively, a weight function may be specified that
accepts two vertices and returns the weight of the edge. See :func:`get_weight_function`.
Args:
graph: The graph to search.
source: The source vertex from which to find shortest paths to all other reachable vertices.
save_paths: Optional; If True, saves the actual vertex sequences comprising each path. To
reconstruct specific shortest paths, see :func:`reconstruct_path
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path>`. Defaults to False.
reverse_graph: Optional; For directed graphs, setting to True will yield a traversal
as if the graph were reversed (i.e. the :term:`reverse graph <reverse>`). Defaults to
False.
weight: Optional; If callable, then ``weight`` must be a function accepting two vertex
objects (edge endpoints) that returns an edge weight (or length). If a string is
specified, it is the key to use to retrieve the weight from the edge ``attr``
dictionary. The default value ("Edge__weight") uses the edge property ``weight``.
Returns:
VertexDict[ShortestPath[V]]: A dictionary mapping vertices to their shortest paths relative
to the ``source`` vertex.
Raises:
NegativeWeightCycle: If the graph contains a negative weight cycle.
See Also:
* :func:`reconstruct_path
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path>`
* :class:`ShortestPath
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath>`
* :class:`VertexDict <vertizee.classes.data_structures.vertex_dict.VertexDict>`
Example:
>>> import vertizee as vz
>>> from vertizee.algorithms.paths import shortest_paths, ShortestPath
>>> g = vz.DiGraph([
('s', 't', 10), ('s', 'y', 5),
('t', 'y', 2), ('t', 'x', 1),
('x', 'z', 4),
('y', 't', 3), ('y', 'x', 9), ('y', 'z', 2),
('z', 's', 7), ('z', 'x', 6)
])
>>> path_dict: vz.VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]] = shortest_paths(g, 's', save_paths=True)
>>> len(path_dict)
5
>>> path_dict['s'].length
0
>>> path_dict['y'].path()
[s, y]
>>> path_dict['y'].length
5
>>> path_dict['x'].path()
[s, y, t, x]
>>> path_dict['x'].length
9
>>> path_dict['x'].edge_count
3
"""
if graph.is_weighted():
if graph.has_negative_edge_weights():
return bellman_ford(graph, source, save_paths, reverse_graph, weight)
# Positive edge weights.
return dijkstra(graph, source, save_paths, reverse_graph, weight)
# Unweighted graph.
return breadth_first_search_shortest_paths(graph, source, save_paths, reverse_graph)
def bellman_ford(
graph: GraphBase[V_co, E_co],
source: VertexType,
save_paths: bool = False,
reverse_graph: bool = False,
weight: Union[str, Callable[[V_co, V_co, bool], Optional[float]]] = "Edge__weight",
) -> VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]]:
"""Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` and associated lengths from the source vertex to all
reachable vertices in a weighted graph using the Bellman-Ford algorithm.
Running time: :math:`O(mn)` where :math:`m = |E|` and :math:`n = |V|`
The Bellman-Ford algorithm is not as fast as Dijkstra, but it can handle negative edge weights.
Unreachable vertices will have a path length of infinity. In addition,
:func:`ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable()
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable>`
will return False.
Note:
This implementation is based on BELLMAN-FORD :cite:`2009:clrs`.
Args:
graph: The graph to search.
source: The source vertex from which to find shortest paths to all other reachable vertices.
save_paths: Optional; If True, saves the actual vertex sequences comprising each path. To
reconstruct specific shortest paths, see :func:`reconstruct_path
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path>`. Defaults to False.
reverse_graph: Optional; For directed graphs, setting to True will yield a traversal
as if the graph were reversed (i.e. the :term:`reverse graph <reverse>`). Defaults to
False.
weight: Optional; If callable, then ``weight`` must be a function accepting two vertex
objects (edge endpoints) that returns an edge weight (or length). If a string is
specified, it is the key to use to retrieve the weight from the edge ``attr``
dictionary. The default value ("Edge__weight") uses the edge property ``weight``.
Returns:
VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]]: A dictionary mapping vertices to their shortest paths relative to
the ``source`` vertex.
Raises:
NegativeWeightCycle: If the graph contains a negative weight cycle.
See Also:
* :func:`reconstruct_path
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path>`
* :class:`ShortestPath
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath>`
* :class:`VertexDict <vertizee.classes.data_structures.vertex_dict.VertexDict>`
"""
try:
s: V_co = graph[source]
except KeyError as error:
raise exception.VertexNotFound(f"source '{source}' not in graph") from error
weight_function = get_weight_function(weight)
vertex_to_path_map: VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]] = VertexDict()
for v in graph:
vertex_to_path_map[v] = ShortestPath(s, v, initial_length=INFINITY, save_path=save_paths)
vertex_to_path_map[s].reinitialize(initial_length=0)
u_path: ShortestPath[V_co]
w_path: ShortestPath[V_co]
for _ in range(graph.vertex_count):
for e in graph.edges():
u_path = vertex_to_path_map[e.vertex1]
w_path = vertex_to_path_map[e.vertex2]
if reverse_graph:
u_path, w_path = w_path, u_path
w_path.relax_edge(u_path, weight_function=weight_function, reverse_graph=reverse_graph)
if not graph.is_directed():
u_path.relax_edge(
w_path, weight_function=weight_function, reverse_graph=reverse_graph
)
for e in graph.edges():
u = e.vertex1
w = e.vertex2
u_path = vertex_to_path_map[u]
w_path = vertex_to_path_map[w]
if reverse_graph:
u_path, w_path = w_path, u_path
u, w = w, u
weight_u_w = weight_function(u, w, reverse_graph)
if weight_u_w and w_path.length > u_path.length + weight_u_w:
raise exception.NegativeWeightCycle("found a negative weight cycle")
return vertex_to_path_map
def breadth_first_search_shortest_paths(
graph: GraphBase[V_co, E_co],
source: VertexType,
save_paths: bool = False,
reverse_graph: bool = False,
) -> VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]]:
"""Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` and associated lengths from the source vertex to all
reachable vertices in an unweighted graph using a breadth-first search.
Running time: :math:`O(m + n)` where :math:`m = |E|` and :math:`n = |V|`
Unreachable vertices will have a path length of infinity. In addition,
:func:`ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable()
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable>`
will return False.
Args:
graph: The graph to search.
source: The source vertex from which to find shortest paths to all other reachable vertices.
save_paths: Optional; If True, saves the actual vertex sequences comprising each
path. To reconstruct specific shortest paths, see
:func:`vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path`.
Defaults to False.
reverse_graph: Optional; For directed graphs, setting to True will yield a traversal
as if the graph were reversed (i.e. the :term:`reverse graph <reverse>`). Defaults to
False.
Returns:
VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]]: A dictionary mapping vertices to their shortest paths relative to
the ``source`` vertex.
See Also:
* :func:`reconstruct_path
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path>`
* :class:`ShortestPath
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath>`
* :class:`VertexDict <vertizee.classes.data_structures.vertex_dict.VertexDict>`
Example:
>>> import vertizee as vz
>>> from vertizee.algorithms.paths import breadth_first_search_shortest_paths, ShortestPath
>>> g = vz.Graph()
>>> g.add_edges_from([(0, 1), (1, 2), (1, 3), (2, 3), (3, 4), (4, 5), (3, 5), (6, 7)])
>>> path_dict: vz.VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]] = breadth_first_search_shortest_paths(g, 0)
>>> path_dict[4].path()
[0, 1, 3, 4]
>>> path_dict[4].length
3
>>> path_dict[6].path()
[]
>>> path_dict[6].is_unreachable()
True
"""
try:
s: V_co = graph[source]
except KeyError as error:
raise exception.VertexNotFound(f"source vertex '{source}' not found in graph") from error
vertex_to_path_map: VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]] = VertexDict() # type: ignore
for v in graph:
vertex_to_path_map[v] = ShortestPath(s, v, initial_length=INFINITY, save_path=save_paths)
vertex_to_path_map[s].reinitialize(initial_length=0)
tuple_generator = breadth_first_search.bfs_labeled_edge_traversal(
graph, source, reverse_graph=reverse_graph
)
bfs_tree = (
(parent, child)
for parent, child, label, direction, depth in tuple_generator
if direction == search_utils.Direction.PREORDER
)
for parent, child in bfs_tree:
vertex_to_path_map[child].relax_edge(vertex_to_path_map[parent], lambda j, k, rev: 1)
return vertex_to_path_map
def dijkstra(
graph: GraphBase[V_co, E_co],
source: VertexType,
save_paths: bool = False,
reverse_graph: bool = False,
weight: Union[str, Callable[[V_co, V_co, bool], Optional[float]]] = "Edge__weight",
) -> VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]]:
r"""Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` and associated lengths from the source vertex to
all reachable vertices in a graph with positive edge weights using Dijkstra's algorithm.
Running time: :math:`O((m + n)\log{n})` where :math:`m = |E|` and :math:`n = |V|`. Running time
is due to implementation using a minimum :term:`priority queue` based on a binary :term:`heap`.
For an implementation built using a :term:`Fibonacci heap` and corresponding running time of
:math:`O(n(\log{n}) + m)`, see :func:`dijkstra_fibonacci`.
This algorithm is not guaranteed to work if edge weights are negative or are floating point
numbers (overflows and roundoff errors can cause problems). To handle negative edge weights,
see :func:`bellman_ford`.
Unreachable vertices will have a path length of infinity. In addition,
:func:`ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable()
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable>`
will return False.
The :class:`Edge <vertizee.classes.edge.Edge>` class has a built-in ``weight`` property, which
is used by default to determine edge weights (i.e. edge lengths). Alternatively, a weight
function may be specified that accepts two vertices and returns the weight of the connecting
edge. See :func:`get_weight_function`.
Note:
This implementation is based on DIJKSTRA :cite:`2009:clrs`.
Args:
graph: The graph to search.
source: The source vertex from which to find shortest paths to all other
reachable vertices.
save_paths: Optional; If True, saves the actual vertex sequences comprising each
path. To reconstruct specific shortest paths, see
:func:`vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path`.
Defaults to False.
reverse_graph: Optional; For directed graphs, setting to True will yield a traversal
as if the graph were reversed (i.e. the :term:`reverse graph <reverse>`). Defaults to
False.
weight: Optional; If callable, then ``weight`` must be a function
accepting two Vertex objects (edge endpoints) that returns an edge weight (or length).
If a string is specified, it is the key to use to retrieve the weight from the edge
``attr`` dictionary. The default value ("Edge__weight") uses the edge property
``weight``.
Returns:
VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]]: A dictionary mapping vertices to their shortest paths relative to
the ``source`` vertex.
See Also:
* :func:`reconstruct_path
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path>`
* :class:`ShortestPath
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath>`
* :class:`VertexDict <vertizee.classes.data_structures.vertex_dict.VertexDict>`
"""
try:
s: V_co = graph[source]
except KeyError as error:
raise exception.VertexNotFound(f"source '{source}' not in graph") from error
weight_function = get_weight_function(weight)
vertex_to_path_map: VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]] = VertexDict()
priority_queue: PriorityQueue[ShortestPath[V_co]] = PriorityQueue(lambda path: path.length)
for v in graph:
vertex_path = ShortestPath(s, v, initial_length=INFINITY, save_path=save_paths)
vertex_to_path_map[v] = vertex_path
priority_queue.add_or_update(vertex_path)
vertex_to_path_map[s].reinitialize(initial_length=0)
priority_queue.add_or_update(vertex_to_path_map[s])
set_of_min_path_vertices = set()
while priority_queue:
u_path = priority_queue.pop()
u = u_path.destination
set_of_min_path_vertices.add(u)
u_adj_iter = search_utils.get_adjacent_to_child(
child=u, parent=u_path.predecessor, reverse_graph=reverse_graph
)
for w in u_adj_iter:
if w in set_of_min_path_vertices:
continue
w_path = vertex_to_path_map[w]
relaxed = w_path.relax_edge(u_path, weight_function, reverse_graph)
if relaxed:
priority_queue.add_or_update(w_path)
return vertex_to_path_map
def dijkstra_fibonacci(
graph: GraphBase[V_co, E_co],
source: VertexType,
save_paths: bool = False,
reverse_graph: bool = False,
weight: Union[str, Callable[[V_co, V_co, bool], Optional[float]]] = "Edge__weight",
) -> VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]]:
r"""Finds the shortest :term:`paths <path>` and associated lengths from the source vertex to
all reachable vertices in a graph with positive edge weights using Dijkstra's algorithm.
Running time: :math:`O(n(\log{n}) + m)` where :math:`m = |E|` and :math:`n = |V|`. Running time
is due to implementation using a minimum :term:`priority queue` based on a
:term:`Fibonacci heap`. For an implementation using a binary :term:`heap` and corresponding
running time of :math:`O((m + n)\log{n})`, see :func:`dijkstra`.
This algorithm is *not* guaranteed to work if edge weights are negative or are floating point
numbers (overflows and roundoff errors can cause problems). To handle negative edge weights,
see :func:`bellman_ford`.
Unreachable vertices will have a path length of infinity. In addition,
:func:`ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable()
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath.is_destination_reachable>`
will return False.
The Edge class has a built-in ``weight`` property, which is used by default to determine edge
weights (i.e. edge lengths). Alternatively, a weight function may be specified that accepts
two vertices and returns the weight of the connecting edge. See :func:`get_weight_function`.
Note:
This implementation is based on DIJKSTRA. :cite:`2009:clrs`
Args:
graph: The graph to search.
source: The source vertex from which to find shortest paths to all other
reachable vertices.
save_paths: Optional; If True, saves the actual vertex sequences comprising each
path. To reconstruct specific shortest paths, see
:func:`vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path`.
Defaults to False.
reverse_graph: Optional; For directed graphs, setting to True will yield a traversal
as if the graph were reversed (i.e. the :term:`reverse graph <reverse>`). Defaults to
False.
weight: Optional; If callable, then ``weight`` must be a function accepting two Vertex
objects (edge endpoints) that returns an edge weight (or length). If a string is
specified, it is the key to use to retrieve the weight from the edge ``attr``
dictionary. The default value ("Edge__weight") uses the edge property ``weight``.
Returns:
VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]]: A dictionary mapping vertices to their shortest paths relative to
the ``source`` vertex.
See Also:
* :func:`reconstruct_path
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.reconstruct_path>`
* :class:`ShortestPath
<vertizee.algorithms.algo_utils.path_utils.ShortestPath>`
* :class:`VertexDict <vertizee.classes.data_structures.vertex_dict.VertexDict>`
"""
#
# TODO(cpeisert): run benchmarks.
#
try:
s: V_co = graph[source]
except KeyError as error:
raise exception.VertexNotFound(f"source '{source}' not in graph") from error
weight_function = get_weight_function(weight)
vertex_to_path_map: VertexDict[ShortestPath[V_co]] = VertexDict()
fib_heap: FibonacciHeap[ShortestPath[V_co]] = FibonacciHeap(lambda path: path.length)
for v in graph:
vertex_path = ShortestPath(s, v, initial_length=INFINITY, save_path=save_paths)
vertex_to_path_map[v] = vertex_path
fib_heap.insert(vertex_path)
vertex_to_path_map[s].reinitialize(initial_length=0)
fib_heap.update_item_with_decreased_priority(vertex_to_path_map[s])
set_of_min_path_vertices = set()
while len(fib_heap) > 0:
u_path = fib_heap.extract_min()
assert u_path is not None # For mypy static type checker.
u = u_path.destination
set_of_min_path_vertices.add(u)
u_adj_iter = search_utils.get_adjacent_to_child(
child=u, parent=u_path.predecessor, reverse_graph=reverse_graph
)
for w in u_adj_iter:
if w in set_of_min_path_vertices:
continue
w_path = vertex_to_path_map[w]
relaxed = w_path.relax_edge(u_path, weight_function, reverse_graph)
if relaxed:
fib_heap.update_item_with_decreased_priority(w_path)
return vertex_to_path_map
|
1 / 1 Show Caption + Hide Caption – Cadet David Houston, University of Maryland - College Park, carries the guidon for his platoon, made up of other Cadets from around the country, last summer at Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Wash. Houston's school has one of the eight top ROTC programs in the nation. (Photo Credit: Jesse Beals) VIEW ORIGINAL
FORT KNOX, Ky. -- The Army's Cadet Command announces the eight winners of the MacArthur Awards for the school year 2010-2011. The award recognizes the eight schools, selected from among the 273 senior Army Reserve Officers' Training Corps (ROTC) nationwide, as the top Army ROTC programs in the country.
The awards, presented by the U.S. Army Cadet Command and the Gen. Douglas MacArthur Foundation, recognize the ideals of, "duty, honor and country" as advocated by MacArthur. The award is based on a combination of the achievement of the school's commissioning mission and its cadets' performance and standing on the Command's national Order of Merit List and its Cadet retention rate.
Cadet Command and the MacArthur Foundation have given the awards annually since 1989.
The eight winners are:
The Citadel (Charleston, S.C.) represents Cadet Command's 1st Brigade, which consists of the nation's six senior military colleges and five of the military junior colleges.
Northeastern University (Boston, Mass.) represents 2nd Brigade, which consists of the 41 senior Army ROTC programs in the northeast.
Iowa State University (Ames, Iowa) represents 3rd Brigade, which consists of the 40 senior Army ROTC programs in the Midwest.
The University of Maryland (College Park, Md.) represents 4th Brigade, which consists of the 38 senior Army ROTC programs in the mid-Atlantic region.
The University of Utah (Salt Lake City, Utah) represents 5th Brigade, which includes the 36 senior Army ROTC programs in the southwest.
The University of Mississippi (Oxford, Miss.) represents 6th Brigade, which consists of the 39 senior Army ROTC programs in the southeastern United States and Puerto Rico.
The University of Notre Dame (South Bend, Ind.) represents 7th Brigade, which consists of the 38 senior Army ROTC programs in the states of Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Tennessee and Kentucky.
Santa Clara University (Santa Clara, Calif.) represents 8th Brigade, which consists of the 30 senior Army ROTC programs on the west coast, as well as Hawai'i, Alaska and Guam. |
def date_diff(date1, date2):
date1 = date1.split('-')
date2 = date2.split('-')
d1 = datetime.date(int(date1[0]),int(date1[1]),int(date1[2]))
d2 = datetime.date(int(date2[0]),int(date2[1]),int(date2[2]))
diff = d2-d1
diff = diff.days
return diff |
import { UserType } from './authActionTypes';
export const ARTICLE_LOADING = "ARTICLE_LOADING";
export const GET_ARTICLES = "GET_ARTICLES";
export const GET_ARTICLE = "GET_ARTICLE";
export const ADD_ARTICLES = "ADD_ARTICLES";
export const UPDATE_ARTICLES = "UPDATE_ARTICLES";
export const DELETE_ARTICLES = "DELETE_ARTICLES";
export const ARTICLE_FAIL = "ARTICLE_FAIL";
export interface ArticleType {
_id: any;
title: string;
subTitle: string;
content: string;
tags: string[];
likes: any;
user: string;
registerDate?: Date;
following: UserType; // getting the type of the user obj
slug: string;
}
export interface ArticleLoading {
type: typeof ARTICLE_LOADING
}
export interface ArticleFail {
type: typeof ARTICLE_FAIL
}
export interface ArticleSuccess {
type:
| typeof GET_ARTICLES
| typeof GET_ARTICLE
| typeof ADD_ARTICLES
| typeof UPDATE_ARTICLES
| typeof DELETE_ARTICLES
payload: ArticleType;
}
export type ArticleDispatchTypes =
| ArticleLoading
| ArticleFail
| ArticleSuccess; |
<gh_stars>1-10
// [AUTO_HEADER]
#include "OVLoaderUserPersistence.h"
using namespace std;
using namespace OpenVanilla;
// #ifdef OVLOADER_USE_SQLITE_CRYPTO
// pair<char*, size_t> ObtenirUserDonneCle();
// int sqlite3_rekey(sqlite3 *db, const void *pKey, int nKey);
// #endif
OVLoaderUserPersistence::OVLoaderUserPersistence(const string& userDatabasePath)
: m_defaultDatabase(0)
, m_userDatabase(0)
{
m_userDatabase = OVSQLiteConnection::Open(userDatabasePath);
if (m_userDatabase) {
// pair<char*, size_t> cle = ObtenirUserDonneCle();
// if (cle.first) {
// sqlite3_key(m_userDatabase->connection(), cle.first, (int)cle.second);
// free(cle.first);
// }
}
else {
m_userDatabase = OVSQLiteConnection::Open(":memory:");
}
if (!m_userDatabase->hasTable("data")) {
m_userDatabase->createTable("data", "key, value");
m_userDatabase->createIndexOnTable("data_index", "data", "key");
}
}
OVLoaderUserPersistence::~OVLoaderUserPersistence()
{
delete m_userDatabase;
}
void OVLoaderUserPersistence::setDefaultDatabaseConnection(OVSQLiteConnection* connection, const string& tableName)
{
m_defaultDatabase = connection;
m_defaultDatabaseTableName = tableName;
}
const string OVLoaderUserPersistence::fetchLatestValueByKeyAndPopulateUserDB(const string& key)
{
pair<string, time_t> fromDefault, fromUser;
fromDefault = fetchValueWithTimestampByKey(m_defaultDatabase, m_defaultDatabaseTableName, key);
fromUser = fetchValueWithTimestampByKey(m_userDatabase, "data", key);
if (fromUser.second >= fromDefault.second) {
return fromUser.first;
}
writeValueTimestampByKey(m_userDatabase, "data", key, fromDefault.first, OVDateTimeHelper::GetTimeIntervalSince1970());
return fromDefault.first;
}
void OVLoaderUserPersistence::populateIfValueDifferentUserDB(const string& key, const string& value)
{
pair<string, time_t> fromUser;
fromUser = fetchValueWithTimestampByKey(m_userDatabase, "data", key);
if (fromUser.first != value) {
writeValueTimestampByKey(m_userDatabase, "data", key, value, OVDateTimeHelper::GetTimeIntervalSince1970());
}
}
pair<string, time_t> OVLoaderUserPersistence::fetchValueWithTimestampByKey(OVSQLiteConnection* connection, const string& tableName, const string& keyName)
{
pair<string, time_t> result;
if (!connection) {
return result;
}
OVSQLiteStatement *find = connection->prepare("SELECT value FROM %Q WHERE key = ?", tableName.c_str());
if (find) {
find->bindTextToColumn(keyName, 1);
while (find->step() == SQLITE_ROW) {
result.first = find->textOfColumn(0);
}
find->reset();
find->bindTextToColumn(keyName + "_timestamp", 1);
while (find->step() == SQLITE_ROW) {
result.second = OVDateTimeHelper::GetTimeIntervalSince1970FromString(find->textOfColumn(0));
}
}
return result;
}
void OVLoaderUserPersistence::writeValueTimestampByKey(OVSQLiteConnection* connection, const string& tableName, const string& key, const string& value, time_t timestamp)
{
if (!connection) {
return;
}
string tsk = key + "_timestamp";
connection->execute("DELETE FROM %Q WHERE key = %Q", tableName.c_str(), key.c_str());
connection->execute("DELETE FROM %Q WHERE key = %Q", tableName.c_str(), tsk.c_str());
stringstream sst;
sst << timestamp;
connection->execute("INSERT INTO %Q (key, value) VALUES (%Q, %Q)", tableName.c_str(), key.c_str(), value.c_str());
connection->execute("INSERT INTO %Q (key, value) VALUES (%Q, %Q)", tableName.c_str(), tsk.c_str(), sst.str().c_str());
}
|
/*
* http://judge.u-aizu.ac.jp/onlinejudge/description.jsp?id=ITP1_10_A
*/
#include <iostream>
#include <iomanip>
#include <cmath>
using namespace std;
int
main()
{
ios::sync_with_stdio(false);
double x1, y1, x2, y2;
cin >> x1 >> y1 >> x2 >> y2;
cout << setprecision(10) << sqrt((x2 - x1) * (x2 - x1) + (y2 - y1) * (y2 - y1)) << endl;
return 0;
} |
<filename>src/network.hpp
/*******************************************************/
/* oPoSSuM solver: network.hpp */
/* Concrete classes for the tree network and PSL prob. */
/* (c) <NAME> (UNS-CNRS) 2012 */
/*******************************************************/
#ifndef NETWORK_HPP_
#define NETWORK_HPP_
#include <stdlib.h>
#include <iostream>
#include <fstream>
#include <iterator>
#include <algorithm>
#include <vector>
#include <queue>
#include <assert.h>
#include <cassert>
#include <boost/random/variate_generator.hpp>
#include <boost/generator_iterator.hpp>
#include <boost/random/mersenne_twister.hpp>
#include <boost/random.hpp>
#include <boost/random/uniform_01.hpp>
#include <boost/random/binomial_distribution.hpp>
#include "cudf_types.h"
//Define the seed of random
#define SEED 1000
extern bool showID;
using namespace boost::random;
using namespace std;
// class predeclarations
class ServerType;
class FacilityType;
class FacilityNode;
class NetworkLink;
class LinkIterator;
class NodeIterator;
class AncestorIterator;
class PathIterator;
class PSLProblem;
typedef vector<unsigned int> IntList;
typedef vector<unsigned int>::iterator IntListIterator;
typedef vector<CUDFcoefficient> CUDFcoefficientList;
typedef vector<CUDFcoefficient>::iterator CUDFcoefficientListIterator;
typedef vector<ServerType*> ServerTypeList;
typedef vector<ServerType*>::iterator ServerTypeListIterator;
typedef vector<FacilityType*> FacilityTypeList;
typedef vector<FacilityType*>::iterator FacilityTypeListIterator;
typedef vector<FacilityNode*> FacilityList;
typedef vector<FacilityNode*>::iterator FacilityListIterator;
typedef vector<NetworkLink*> LinkList;
typedef vector<NetworkLink*>::iterator LinkListIterator;
//Functors and templates
//Fonctor to delete an object in any type
struct FonctorDeletePtr {
template<class T> void operator ()(T* p) const {
delete p;
p = NULL;
}
};
template<typename T>
T& dereference(T* ptr) {
return *ptr;
}
//----------------------------------------
// ServerType Declaration
//----------------------------------------
class ServerType {
public:
ServerType() : capacity(0) {}
ServerType(unsigned int capacity) : capacity(capacity) {}
virtual ~ServerType() {}
inline CUDFcoefficient getMaxConnections() const {
return capacity;
}
friend istream& operator>>(istream& in, ServerType& f);
private:
CUDFcoefficient capacity;
};
//----------------------------------------
// FacilityType Declaration
//----------------------------------------
class FacilityType {
public:
FacilityType() : level(0), binornd(NULL), reliabilityProbability(1) {
binornd = new variate_generator<mt19937&, binomial_distribution<> >(fake_binornd);
}
//Destructor of FacilityType
//Delete the generator of binomial distribution
//
virtual ~FacilityType() {
delete binornd;
}
static void setStaticSeed(const unsigned int seed);
void setSeed(const unsigned int seed);
void setBinomial(unsigned int n, double p);
inline unsigned int getLevel() const {
return level;
}
inline unsigned int binoN() const {
return binornd->distribution().t();
}
inline double binoP() const {
return binornd->distribution().p();
}
inline CUDFcoefficient getDemand(unsigned int stage) const {
return demands[stage];
}
inline CUDFcoefficient getTotalDemand() {
CUDFcoefficient sum = 0;
for (CUDFcoefficientListIterator j = demands.begin(); j != demands.end(); ++j)
sum += *j;
return sum;
}
inline CUDFcoefficient getServerCapacity(const unsigned int stype) const {
return serverCapacities[stype];
}
inline CUDFcoefficient getTotalCapacity() {
CUDFcoefficient sum = 0;
for (CUDFcoefficientListIterator j = serverCapacities.begin(); j != serverCapacities.end(); ++j)
sum += *j;
return sum;
}
unsigned int genRandomFacilities();
unsigned int genRandomBandwidthIndex();
unsigned int genRandomBandwidthIndex(unsigned int maxBandwidth);
bool genRandomReliability();
istream& read(istream& in, const PSLProblem& problem);
friend ostream& operator<<(ostream& out, const FacilityType& f);
private:
static mt19937 default_random_generator;
static uniform_01< mt19937&, double > randd;
static variate_generator<mt19937&, binomial_distribution<> > fake_binornd;
unsigned int level;
CUDFcoefficientList demands;
CUDFcoefficientList serverCapacities;
vector<double> bandwidthProbabilities;
double reliabilityProbability;
variate_generator<mt19937&, binomial_distribution<> >* binornd;
};
//----------------------------------------
// FacilityNode Declaration
//----------------------------------------
class FacilityNode {
friend class NetworkLink;
public:
FacilityNode(unsigned int id, FacilityType* type) : id(id), type(type), father(NULL) {
}
//Destructor of FacilityNode
//Do not delete type and father
//Delete all children
//
~FacilityNode() {
for_each(children.begin(), children.end(), FonctorDeletePtr());
}
//the keyword inline is used only on header file
//
inline unsigned int getID() const {
return id;
}
inline FacilityType* getType() const {
return type;
}
inline NetworkLink* toFather() const {
return father;
}
FacilityNode* getFather() const;
inline unsigned int getChildrenCount() const {
return children.size();
}
inline NetworkLink* toChild(unsigned int i) const {
return children[i];
}
FacilityNode* getChild(unsigned int i) const;
inline bool isRoot() const {
return father == NULL;
}
inline bool isInternalNode() const {
return !isRoot() && !isLeaf();
}
inline bool isLeaf() const {
return children.empty();
}
bool isReliableFromRoot();
ostream& toDotty(ostream& out);
void print(ostream& out);
//For LinkListIterator
LinkListIterator cbegin() {
return children.begin();
}
LinkListIterator cend() {
return children.end();
}
//For NodeIterator
NodeIterator nbegin();
NodeIterator nend();
//For LinkIterator
LinkIterator lbegin();
LinkIterator lend();
//For AncestorIterator
AncestorIterator abegin();
AncestorIterator aend();
//For PathIterator
PathIterator pbegin();
PathIterator pend();
private:
unsigned int id;
FacilityType* type;
NetworkLink* father;
LinkList children;
};
//----------------------------------------
// NetworkLink Declaration
//----------------------------------------
class NetworkLink {
public:
NetworkLink(unsigned int id, FacilityNode* father, FacilityNode* child,
PSLProblem& problem, bool hierarchic);
//Destructor of NetworkLink
//Do not delete origin and destination
//because these nodes are deleted in the destructor of PSLProblem
//
~NetworkLink() {}
inline unsigned int getID() const {
return id;
}
inline FacilityNode* getOrigin() const {
return origin;
}
inline FacilityNode* getDestination() const {
return destination;
}
inline bool isReliable() const {
return reliable;
}
inline unsigned int getBandwidth() const {
return bandwidth;
}
//void forEachPath(void(*ptr)(FacilityNode* n1, FacilityNode* n2)) const;
template <typename FuncType>
void forEachPath(FuncType functor) const;
ostream& toDotty(ostream& out);
private:
unsigned int id;
FacilityNode *origin;
FacilityNode *destination;
unsigned int bandwidth;
bool reliable;
};
//----------------------------------------
// LinkIterator Declaration
//----------------------------------------
class LinkIterator : public std::iterator<std::forward_iterator_tag, FacilityNode> {
public:
LinkIterator(FacilityNode* p);
//Destructor of LinkIterator
//Do not delete pointers of iterator
//
~LinkIterator() {}
LinkIterator(const LinkIterator& other) : current(other.current), end(other.end), queue(other.queue) {}
// The assignment and relational operators are straightforward
LinkIterator& operator=(const LinkIterator& other) {
if(*this != other) {
current = other.current;
end = other.end;
queue = other.queue;
}
return *this;
}
bool operator==(const LinkIterator& other) {
return current == other.current;
}
bool operator!=(const LinkIterator& other) {
//cout << *current << "!= " << (other.current) << endl;
return current != other.current;
}
LinkIterator& operator++();
LinkIterator& operator++(int) {
++(*this);
return *this;
}
NetworkLink* operator*() {
return *current;
}
NetworkLink* operator->() {
return *current;
}
private:
LinkListIterator current;
LinkListIterator end;
deque<FacilityNode*> queue;
};
//----------------------------------------
// NodeIterator Declaration
//----------------------------------------
class NodeIterator : public std::iterator<std::forward_iterator_tag, FacilityNode> {
public:
NodeIterator(FacilityNode* p) : node(p), clink(NULL), elink(NULL) {}
//Destructor of NodeIterator
//Do not delete pointers of iterator
//
~NodeIterator() {}
NodeIterator(const NodeIterator& other) : node(other.node), clink(other.clink), elink(other.elink) {}
// The assignment and relational operators are straightforward
NodeIterator& operator=(const NodeIterator& other) {
if(*this != other) {
node = other.node;
clink = other.clink;
elink = other.elink;
}
return *this;
}
bool operator==(const NodeIterator& other) {
return (node == other.node);
}
bool operator!=(const NodeIterator& other) {
return (node != other.node);
}
NodeIterator& operator++();
NodeIterator& operator++(int) {
++(*this);
return *this;
}
FacilityNode* operator*() {
return node;
}
FacilityNode* operator->() {
return node;
}
private:
FacilityNode* node;
LinkIterator clink;
LinkIterator elink;
};
//----------------------------------------
// AncestorIterator Declaration
//----------------------------------------
class AncestorIterator : public std::iterator<std::forward_iterator_tag, FacilityNode> {
public:
AncestorIterator(FacilityNode* p) : node( p) {
++(*this);
}
//Destructor of AncestorIterator
//Do not delete pointers of iterator
//
~AncestorIterator() {}
AncestorIterator(const AncestorIterator& other) : node(other.node) {}
// The assignment and relational operators are straightforward
AncestorIterator& operator=(const AncestorIterator& other) {
if(*this != other) {
node = other.node;
}
return *this;
}
bool operator==(const AncestorIterator& other) {
return (node == other.node);
}
bool operator!=(const AncestorIterator& other) {
return (node != other.node);
}
AncestorIterator& operator++();
AncestorIterator& operator++(int) {
++(*this);
return *this;
}
FacilityNode* operator*() {
return node;
}
FacilityNode* operator->() {
return node;
}
private:
FacilityNode* node;
};
//----------------------------------------
// PathIterator Declaration
//----------------------------------------
class PathIterator : public std::iterator<std::forward_iterator_tag, pair<FacilityNode*, FacilityNode*> > {
public:
PathIterator(FacilityNode* p) : cnode(p->nbegin()), enode(p->nend()), cdest(p->nbegin()), edest(p->nend()) {
cdest++;
}
//Destructor of PathIterator
//Do not delete pointers of iterator
//
~PathIterator() {}
PathIterator(const PathIterator& other) : cnode(other.cnode), enode(other.enode), cdest(other.cdest), edest(other.edest) {}
// The assignment and relational operators are straightforward
PathIterator& operator=(const PathIterator& other) {
if(*this != other) {
cnode= other.cnode;
enode= other.enode;
cdest = other.cdest;
edest = other.edest;
}
return *this;
}
bool operator==(const PathIterator& other) {
return (cnode == other.cnode) && (cdest== other.cdest);
}
bool operator!=(const PathIterator& other) {
return (cnode != other.cnode) || (cdest!= other.cdest);
}
PathIterator& operator++();
PathIterator& operator++(int) {
++(*this);
return *this;
}
pair<FacilityNode*, FacilityNode*> operator*() {
return pair<FacilityNode*, FacilityNode*>(*cnode, *cdest);
}
pair<FacilityNode*, FacilityNode*> operator->() {
return *(*this);
}
private:
NodeIterator cnode;
NodeIterator enode;
NodeIterator cdest;
NodeIterator edest;
};
//----------------------------------------
// PSLProblem Declaration
//----------------------------------------
class PSLProblem {
public:
PSLProblem() : _groupCount(0), root(NULL), _nodeCount(0) {}
//Destructor of PSLProblem
//Delete all nodes of the tree
//Delete all servers
//Delete all facilities
//
~PSLProblem() {
deleteTree(root);
for_each(servers.begin(), servers.end(), FonctorDeletePtr());
for_each(facilities.begin(), facilities.end(), FonctorDeletePtr());
}
inline unsigned int getBandwidth(unsigned int idx) const {
return bandwidths[idx];
}
inline unsigned int bandwidthCount() const {
return bandwidths.size();
}
inline ServerType* getServer(int idx) {
return servers[idx];
}
inline unsigned int serverTypeCount() const {
return servers.size();
}
inline unsigned int groupCount() const {
return _groupCount;
}
inline unsigned int facilityTypeCount() const {
return facilities.size();
}
inline unsigned int levelTypeCount() const {
return facilities[facilities.size()-1]->getLevel() + 1;
}
inline unsigned int levelCount() const {
return levelNodeCounts.size();
}
void setSeed(const unsigned int seed);
ostream& print_generator(ostream& out);
FacilityNode* generateNetwork();
//generate Breadth-First Numbered Tree
FacilityNode* generateNetwork(bool hierarchic);
bool checkNetwork();
bool checkNetworkHierarchy();
inline FacilityNode* getRoot() const {
return root;
}
inline unsigned int nodeCount() const {
return _nodeCount;
}
inline unsigned int linkCount() const {
return _nodeCount - 1;
}
inline unsigned int pathCount() const {
return lengthCumulPathCounts.back();
}
inline unsigned int stageCount() const {
return _groupCount + 1;
}
inline unsigned int rankCount() const {
return endBij();
}
inline IntList getLevelNodeCounts() {
return levelNodeCounts;
}
//For NodeIterator
inline NodeIterator nbegin() { return root->nbegin();}
NodeIterator nend() { return root->nend();}
//For LinkIterator
LinkIterator lbegin() { return root->lbegin();}
LinkIterator lend() { return root->lend();}
ostream& toRanks(ostream& out);
ostream& toDotty(ostream& out);
friend ostream& operator<<(ostream& out, const PSLProblem& f);
friend istream& operator>>(istream& in, PSLProblem& problem);
//----------------------------------------
// Rank Mapper (associates each variable to an unique index)
//----------------------------------------
int rankX(FacilityNode *node) const {
return node->getID();
}
int rankX(FacilityNode *node, unsigned int stype) const {
assert(stype >= 0 && stype < serverTypeCount());
return endX() + node->getID() * serverTypeCount() + stype;
}
int rankY(FacilityNode *node, unsigned int stage) const {
assert(stage >= 0 && stage < stageCount());
return endXk() + node->getID() * stageCount() + stage;
}
int rankZ(FacilityNode *node, unsigned int stage) const {
assert(stage >= 0 && stage < stageCount());
return endYi() + node->getID() * stageCount() + stage;
}
int rankY(NetworkLink *link, unsigned int stage) const {
assert(stage >= 0 && stage < stageCount());
return endZi() + link->getID() * stageCount() + stage;
}
int rankZ(FacilityNode *source, FacilityNode *destination, unsigned int stage) const {
return endYij() + rank(source, destination, stage);
}
int rankB(FacilityNode *source, FacilityNode *destination, unsigned int stage) const {
return endZij() + rank(source, destination, stage);
}
int rankZ(pair<FacilityNode*, FacilityNode* > const &path, unsigned int stage) const {
return rankZ(path.first, path.second, stage);
}
int rankB(pair<FacilityNode*, FacilityNode* > const &path, unsigned int stage) const {
return rankB(path.first, path.second, stage);
}
private:
inline int endX() const {
return _nodeCount;
}
inline int endXk() const {
return endX() + _nodeCount * serverTypeCount();
}
inline int endYi() const {
return endXk() + _nodeCount * stageCount();
}
inline int endZi() const {
return endYi() + _nodeCount * stageCount();
}
inline int endYij() const {
return endZi() + linkCount() * stageCount();
}
inline int endZij() const {
return endYij() + pathCount() * stageCount();
}
inline int endBij() const {
return endZij() + pathCount() * stageCount();
}
inline int rank(FacilityNode* source, FacilityNode* destination) const {
int length = destination->getType()->getLevel() - source->getType()->getLevel();
//path are ranked by length and their index using the bread-first numbered tree.
return lengthCumulPathCounts[length-1] + (destination->getID() - levelCumulNodeCounts[length]);
}
inline int rank(FacilityNode* source, FacilityNode* destination, unsigned int stage) const {
assert(stage >= 0 && stage < stageCount());
return rank(source, destination) * stageCount() + stage;
}
//Delete tree from root node
void deleteTree(FacilityNode* node) {
levelNodeCounts.clear();
levelCumulNodeCounts.clear();
lengthCumulPathCounts.clear();
_nodeCount = 0;
if(node != NULL) {
for ( size_t i = 0; i < node->getChildrenCount(); ++i ) {
deleteTree(node->toChild(i)->getDestination());
}
delete node;
node = NULL;
}
}
IntList bandwidths;
ServerTypeList servers;
FacilityTypeList facilities;
unsigned int _groupCount;
FacilityNode* root;
unsigned int _nodeCount;
IntList levelNodeCounts;
//number of nodes of level lower or equal than l;
IntList levelCumulNodeCounts;
//number of path of length lower or equal than l
IntList lengthCumulPathCounts;
};
//----------------------------------------
// ostream and istream Declaration
//----------------------------------------
ostream& operator<<(ostream& out, const PSLProblem& f);
istream& operator>>(istream& in, PSLProblem& s);
ostream& operator<<(ostream& out, const ServerType& s);
istream& operator>>(istream& in, ServerType& s);
ostream& operator<<(ostream& out, const FacilityType& f);
ostream& operator<<(ostream& out, const FacilityNode& n);
ostream& operator<<(ostream& out, const NetworkLink& l);
//----------------------------------------
// template definition (must not be placed into cpp)
//----------------------------------------
template <typename FuncType>
inline void NetworkLink::forEachPath(FuncType func) const {
//void NetworkLink::forEachPath(
//void(*ptr)(FacilityNode *n1, FacilityNode *n2)) const {
FacilityNode* ancestor = getDestination();
FacilityList successors;
do {
ancestor = ancestor->getFather();
successors.push_back(getDestination());
while (!successors.empty()) {
FacilityNode* successor = successors.back();
successors.pop_back();
func(ancestor, successor);
if (!successor->isLeaf()) {
for (unsigned int i = 0; i < successor->getChildrenCount();
++i) {
successors.push_back(successor->getChild(i));
}
}
}
} while (!ancestor->isRoot());
}
inline bool isReliablePath(const FacilityNode* origin, FacilityNode* destination) {
while(destination) {
if(destination == origin) return true;
else if(destination->toFather()->isReliable()) {
destination = destination->getFather();
} else destination = NULL;
}
return false;
}
#endif /* NETWORK_HPP_ */
|
// readDir returns all filenames in a given directory.
func readDir(dir string) (result []string, err error) {
var files []os.FileInfo
files, err = ioutil.ReadDir(dir)
if err != nil {
return
}
for _, f := range files {
result = append(result, filepath.Join(dir, f.Name()))
}
return
} |
<filename>src/main/java/com/yxy/algorithms/array/contains/duplicate/III/Solution2.java
package com.yxy.algorithms.array.contains.duplicate.III;
import java.util.SortedSet;
import java.util.TreeSet;
/**
* 220. Contains Duplicate III
*
* Given an array of integers, find out whether there are two distinct indices i and j in the array
* such that the absolute difference between nums[i] and nums[j] is at most t
* and the absolute difference between i and j is at most k.
Example 1:
Input: nums = [1,2,3,1], k = 3, t = 0
Output: true
Example 2:
Input: nums = [1,0,1,1], k = 1, t = 2
Output: true
Example 3:
Input: nums = [1,5,9,1,5,9], k = 2, t = 3
Output: false
* @author <NAME>
* @Date 2017/07/02
* @Reference: https://blog.csdn.net/zdavb/article/details/46747209
*/
public class Solution2 {
public static boolean containsNearbyAlmostDuplicate(int[] nums, int k, int t) {
if(nums.length<2||k<1||t<0) {
return false;
}
SortedSet<Long> bst = new TreeSet<Long>() ;
for(int i=0; i<nums.length; i++) {
//check
if(!bst.subSet((long)nums[i]-t, (long)nums[i]+t+1).isEmpty()) {
return true ;
}
if(i>=k) {
bst.remove((long)nums[i-k]) ;
}
bst.add((long)nums[i]) ;
}
return false ;
}
public static void main(String[] args) {
System.out.println(containsNearbyAlmostDuplicate(new int[] {-1,2147483647}, 1, 2147483647));
System.out.println(containsNearbyAlmostDuplicate(new int[] {1,2,3,1}, 3, 0));
System.out.println(containsNearbyAlmostDuplicate(new int[] {1,5,9,1,5,9}, 2, 3));
System.out.println(containsNearbyAlmostDuplicate(new int[] {1,0,1,1}, 1, 2));
}
}
|
/**
* Extreme paranoia to avoid leaving resources unclosed in the case
* of an error. Since generally only the first error is of interest,
* we track only the first exception, not potential cascading downstream
* exceptions.
* <p>
* Some Drill code ends up calling close() two or more times. The code
* here protects itself from these undesirable semantics.
*/
@Override
public void close() {
if (sortState == SortState.CLOSED) {
return;
}
try {
AutoCloseables.closeWithUserException(
this::releaseResources,
super::close,
oContext::close
);
} finally {
sortState = SortState.CLOSED;
}
} |
<reponame>dolbyio-samples/blog-angular-videoconference
import { Injectable } from '@angular/core';
@Injectable({
providedIn: 'root',
})
export class CredentialsVaultService {
constructor() {}
getCredentials() : Promise<any> {
return Promise.resolve({
key: 'AocrLmFwH3_3QWw5H2a-SA==',
secret: '<KEY>
});
}
}
|
import { EventData } from "data/observable";
import { Page } from "ui/page";
import { PanGestureEventData } from "ui/gestures";
import { View } from "ui/core/view";
import { TextView } from "ui/text-view";
var view: View;
export function navigatingTo(args: EventData) {
var page = <Page>args.object;
view = page.getViewById<View>("target");
}
export function onPan(data: PanGestureEventData) {
console.log(`data state:${data.state} [${data.deltaX}, ${data.deltaY}]`);
var msg = `data state:${data.state} [${data.deltaX}, ${data.deltaY}]`;
(<TextView>view.page.getViewById("output")).text += msg + "\n";
view.translateX = data.deltaX;
view.translateY = data.deltaY;
}
export function clear(args) {
args.object.page.getViewById("output").text = "";
} |
<filename>reladomo/src/test/java/com/gs/fw/common/mithra/test/TestAdditionalRelationships.java
/*
Copyright 2016 <NAME>.
Licensed under the Apache License, Version 2.0 (the "License");
you may not use this file except in compliance with the License.
You may obtain a copy of the License at
http://www.apache.org/licenses/LICENSE-2.0
Unless required by applicable law or agreed to in writing,
software distributed under the License is distributed on an
"AS IS" BASIS, WITHOUT WARRANTIES OR CONDITIONS OF ANY
KIND, either express or implied. See the License for the
specific language governing permissions and limitations
under the License.
*/
package com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test;
import com.gs.collections.impl.set.mutable.primitive.IntHashSet;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.finder.Operation;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test.domain.child.ChildType;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test.domain.child.ChildTypeFinder;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test.domain.child.ChildTypeList;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test.domain.criters.PetType;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test.domain.criters.PetTypeFinder;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test.domain.criters.PetTypeList;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test.domain.parent.ParentType;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test.domain.parent.ParentTypeFinder;
import com.gs.fw.common.mithra.test.domain.parent.ParentTypeList;
import java.util.Iterator;
public class TestAdditionalRelationships extends MithraTestAbstract
{
public TestAdditionalRelationships(String s)
{
super(s);
}
public Class[] getRestrictedClassList()
{
return new Class[]
{
ParentType.class,
ChildType.class,
PetType.class
};
}
protected void setUp() throws Exception
{
super.setUp();
super.setMithraTestObjectToResultSetComparator(new ParentTypeResultSetComparator());
}
public void testThreeLayerRelationship()
throws Exception
{
// test a.b.c relationship
Operation op;
op = ParentTypeFinder.alive().eq(true);
ParentTypeList parents = new ParentTypeList(op);
assertEquals(2, parents.size());
assertEquals(3, parents.getChildrens().size());
assertEquals(2, parents.getChildrens().getPets().size());
// test list relationship
ChildTypeList children = parents.getChildrens();
PetTypeList pets = children.getPets();
int cnt = 0;
int[] petIds = new int[children.getPets().size()];
for (Iterator i = pets.iterator(); i.hasNext(); cnt++)
{
int petId = ((PetType) i.next()).getId();
petIds[cnt] = petId;
}
Operation op2 = PetTypeFinder.id().in(IntHashSet.newSetWith(petIds));
PetTypeList petsTwo = new PetTypeList(op2);
assertEquals(pets.size(), petsTwo.size());
}
public void testDeepFetchRelationship()
throws Exception
{
// test a.b.c relationship
Operation op;
op = ParentTypeFinder.alive().eq(true);
ParentTypeList parents = new ParentTypeList(op);
parents.deepFetch(ParentTypeFinder.children());
parents.deepFetch(ParentTypeFinder.children().pets());
assertEquals(2, parents.size());
assertEquals(3, parents.getChildrens().size());
assertEquals(2, parents.getChildrens().getPets().size());
ParentTypeFinder.clearQueryCache();
ChildTypeFinder.clearQueryCache();
PetTypeFinder.clearQueryCache();
// test list relationship
ChildTypeList children = parents.getChildrens();
int cnt = 0;
int[] childIds = new int[children.size()];
for (Iterator i = children.iterator(); i.hasNext(); cnt++)
{
int childId = ((ChildType) i.next()).getId();
childIds[cnt] = childId;
}
Operation op2 = ChildTypeFinder.id().in(IntHashSet.newSetWith(childIds));
ChildTypeList childrenTwo = new ChildTypeList(op2);
childrenTwo.deepFetch(ChildTypeFinder.pets());
assertEquals(children.getPets().size(), childrenTwo.getPets().size());
}
}
|
Lumped constant for deoxyglucose is decreased when myocardial glucose uptake is enhanced.
Quantification of myocardial glucose uptake by positron emission tomography with fluorodeoxyglucose (FDG) requires the "lumped constant" (LC), which corrects the difference of affinity between glucose and FDG to glucose transporters and phosphorylating system. Since LC was introduced, it has been considered to be constant. However, this has recently been questioned. To elucidate the constancy of LC by other than radioisotope techniques, the accumulation rate of sugar phosphates (d /d t) was measured in isolated, perfused rat hearts by31P NMR spectroscopy with 2-deoxyglucose (DG). We postulate α as the affinity of DG to transporters and the phosphorylating system relative to that of glucose. Theoretically, α is equivalent to LC. We determined α by measuring d /d t at DG concentration ( ) = 10, 7, 5, and 3 mmol/l, keeping the total of glucose concentration ( ) and to 10 mmol/l. When the glucose uptake was enhanced by insulin (10 mU/ml) or stunning, calculated α was reduced (insulin stimulated, 0.15; stunning, 0.19) compared with the control (0.59). These results indicate that LC can be evaluated by methods without radiolabeled tracers and is smaller when glucose uptake is augmented. |
Federal prison service staff misused public assets and committed a "serious breach of code of conduct" by setting up a car wash, oil change and vehicle repair enterprise using correctional facilities, supplies and inmate workers, an internal investigation has found.
According to a report on wrongdoing in the workplace from the Correctional Service of Canada, an investigation was launched after a whistleblower alleged a supervisor was abusing publicly funded resources, time and materials to wash and fix colleagues' cars.
The senior staffer was also ordering employees to pick up parts, paints and supplies using CSC fleet vehicles to benefit their private business, according to the report.
Staff members benefited
"Throughout this investigation, it was observed that in addition to the supervisor, a small group of staff members had been benefiting from this situation. These employees used CSC facilities, supplies and materials to perform light maintenance work on their personal vehicles, and used CSC fleet vehicles to conduct errands that were not related to CSC business," it reads.
"Furthermore, there appeared to be instances where offenders, who were employed in the department, were unwittingly implicated in the wrongdoing by the supervisor. The inmates were involved in cleaning and repairing the personal vehicles of CSC employees."
The case summary report, recently released by CSC, said nine recommendations resulted from the probe, including disciplinary measures, risk mitigation strategies and staff accountability measures. Results of the investigation were also to be shared with regional offices as a "lessons learned" document.
But while the report says the CSC commissioner approved the recommendations, the department would not disclose what actions were taken as recourse for the misuse of public assets and breach of conduct.
"Due to the Privacy Act, the Correctional Service of Canada cannot comment on specific cases of staff misconduct," spokeswoman Julie O'Brien told CBC News. "CSC does not tolerate any breach of its policies and all allegations, regardless of the source, are thoroughly investigated by CSC."
Won't reveal disciplinary action
She added employees are expected to act according to the "highest legal and ethical standards" and subject to rules around conduct and discipline.
Without specifying what disciplinary action was taken against the employees, O'Brien referenced a Treasury Board website that lists measures that may be taken against public servants — ranging from oral or written reprimands to financial penalties, suspension or termination.
CSC's Office of Internal Disclosure, which conducted the investigation, is mandated to receive and investigate information provided by employees about allegations of wrongdoing in the workplace.
These offices were created across government departments after the Public Servants Disclosure Protection Act passed in 2007.
All substantiated cases are required to be publicly reported. |
def pack_sequence_as(structure, flat_sequence):
if not is_sequence(flat_sequence):
raise TypeError("flat_sequence must be a sequence")
if not is_sequence(structure):
if len(flat_sequence) != 1:
raise ValueError(
"Structure is a scalar but len(flat_sequence) == %d > 1" %
len(flat_sequence))
return flat_sequence[0]
flat_structure = flatten(structure)
if len(flat_structure) != len(flat_sequence):
raise ValueError(
"Could not pack sequence. Structure had %d elements, but flat_sequence "
"had %d elements. Structure: %s, flat_sequence: %s." %
(len(flat_structure), len(flat_sequence), structure, flat_sequence))
_, packed = _packed_nest_with_indices(structure, flat_sequence, 0)
return _sequence_like(structure, packed) |
<filename>tesseract-server/src/lib.rs<gh_stars>10-100
pub mod app;
pub mod db_config;
pub mod handlers;
pub mod logic_layer;
pub mod schema_config;
pub mod errors;
pub mod auth; |
// Conn connect beanstalk by params
func Conn(params *config.ParamsData) *beanstalk.Conn {
beanstalkConn, err := beanstalk.Dial("tcp", params.Host+":"+params.Port)
if err != nil {
log.Fatalln(err)
}
return beanstalkConn
} |
// EntityCreate ensures a "scope" txnLevel pool allocator exists for this entity
func (mgr *IPAMPoolMgr) EntityCreate(entityName string, scope string) {
for _, ipamPool := range mgr.ipamPoolCache {
if ipamPool.Spec.Scope == scope {
ipamPoolAllocator, err := mgr.FindAllocator(ipamPool.Metadata.Name, entityName)
if err != nil {
allocatorName := contructAllocatorName(ipamPool, entityName)
ipamPoolAllocator = ipam.NewIPAMPoolAllocator(allocatorName,
ipamPool.Spec.StartRange, ipamPool.Spec.EndRange, ipamPool.Spec.Network)
ctlrPlugin.ramCache.IPAMPoolAllocators[allocatorName] = ipamPoolAllocator
}
}
}
} |
//read a BLOCK from file every time
void * problemReadThread(void * arg)
{
fileOp file;
char * lineBuf = (char *) malloc(BATCH_NUMBER * 82);
while(1)
{
filenameLock.get();
if(filenameBuffer.size() == 0)
{
if(readFile == false) {
eofIntoProblemBuffer();
filenameLock.release();
break;
}
else {
filenameLock.release();
continue;
}
}
std::string file_path = filenameBuffer.front();
filenameBuffer.pop();
filenameLock.release();
size_t pos = 0;
size_t lastSize = 0;
file.Open(file_path.c_str(), S_FILE_OP_READ_ONLY);
lastSize = file.getSize() - 1;
while((pos + 82 * BATCH_NUMBER - 1) <= lastSize) {
file.readAt(pos, 82 * BATCH_NUMBER - 1, lineBuf, NULL);
for(int i = 0; i < BATCH_NUMBER; i++)
{
char * singleLine = (char *) malloc(82);
strncpy(singleLine, &lineBuf[i * 82], 81);
singleLine[81] = '\0';
problemWriter(singleLine);
}
pos += 82 * BATCH_NUMBER;
}
size_t len = 0;
if(pos <= lastSize) {
len = ((lastSize - pos + 1) / 82) * 82;
}
if(len)
{
int readSize = 0;
file.readAt(pos, lastSize - pos + 1, lineBuf, &readSize);
readSize = (readSize + 1) / 82 ;
for(int i = 0; i < readSize; i++)
{
char * singleLine = (char *) malloc(82);
strncpy(singleLine, &lineBuf[i * 82], 81);
singleLine[81] = '\0';
problemWriter(singleLine);
}
}
file.Close();
}
free(lineBuf);
} |
Increased therapeutic index of weekly doxorubicin in the therapy of non-small cell lung cancer: a prospective, randomized study.
One hundred patients with non-small cell lung cancer were entered into a randomized evaluation of two schedules of doxorubicin combined with ftorafur, cyclophosphamide, and cisplatin (FACP). Doxorubicin was given either weekly at 20 mg/m2, or every three weeks (standard) at 60 mg/m2. Fifty-two patients were randomized to the FACP/weekly doxorubicin arm and 48 patients to the FACP/standard doxorubicin arm. The FACP/weekly doxorubicin regimen was associated with higher complete and partial remission rates (31% versus 19%), longer response duration (median, 33 versus 21 weeks), and longer survival duration for responders (median, 58 versus 50 weeks). These differences were not significant. Less neutropenia (p = 0.01) and less infectious morbidity (p = 0.05) were observed in the FACP/weekly doxorubicin arm. Twenty-eight patients underwent 35 endomyocardial biopsies to assess doxorubicin-induced cardiotoxicity. Sixteen biopsies were performed in 12 patients receiving cumulative doxorubicin doses ranging from 250 to 1,190 mg/m2 within the FACP/weekly doxorubicin arm. Nineteen biopsies were performed in 16 patients receiving cumulative doxorubicin doses ranging from 250 to 540 mg/m2 within the FACP/standard doxorubicin regimen. The FACP/weekly doxorubicin regimen was associated with significantly lower cardiotoxicity scores (p = 0.01). This study indicates that weekly administered doxorubicin is as effective and less cardiotoxic than the standard schedule. |
/**
* <p>
* Manages the invocation of the given method on the specified 'proxied' instance. Logs any invocation failure.
* </p>
*
* @param proxiedInstance the instance
* @param m the method to invoke that belongs to the instance
* @param o the optional parameter
* @return the result of the invocation
*/
public static Object invoke(final Object proxiedInstance, Method m, Object o) {
if (m != null) {
try {
return m.invoke(proxiedInstance, (o == null || m.getParameterTypes().length == 0) ? new Object[]{} : new Object[]{o});
} catch (IllegalAccessException e) {
LOGGER.debug("", e);
} catch (InvocationTargetException e) {
LOGGER.debug("", e);
}
}
LOGGER.trace("No Method Mapped for {}", o);
return null;
} |
/**
* Generates a list of ClockCategoriesData with the given
* ClockCategoriesImpl list
*
* @param ClockCategoriesImpl
* @return
*/
private static List<ClockCategoriesData> generateList(List<ClockCategories> inClockCategories) {
final List<ClockCategoriesData> clockCategoriesDataList = new ArrayList<ClockCategoriesData>();
for (final ClockCategories aClockCategory : inClockCategories) {
clockCategoriesDataList.add(new ClockCategoriesData(aClockCategory));
}
return clockCategoriesDataList;
} |
NAPA, Calif. — The Oakland Raiders addressed their most pressing personnel issue this offseason and got Derek Carr signed to a long-term contract extension.
It's now on Carr to show why he was worthy of becoming the highest-paid quarterback in NFL history with a five-year, $125 million deal.
After leading Oakland back to relevancy over the past three seasons, the next step for Carr and his teammates is winning in the postseason — something the Raiders haven't done since the 2002 campaign.
MORE NFL: 2017 predictions | Power Rankings
Carr, who was sidelined for last season’s opening-round playoff loss to Houston because of a broken leg, discussed his NFL future and the state of the 2017 Raiders during a SiriusXM NFL Radio interview Monday with co-host Gil Brandt and me.
Coming off your leg injury, how long did it take you to feel like Derek Carr once again?
Carr: I remember sitting in my brother’s house watching the Super Bowl and they’re like, "Hey, could you have played today?" And I remember getting up and starting to do drops in the living room showing them, yes, I could have played. So I've been good for a while.
People always talk about the mental side of the injury. That was easy for me because when it's me versus me I'm going to win. My mind's not going to beat me. The physical part was the hard part, getting the stretching in and all that pain and stuff. But, I’m glad to be back.
Your 81 touchdown passes through three seasons is the fourth-highest total in NFL history along with Dan Marino, Peyton Manning and Andrew Luck. What’s in store for the 2017 season?
Carr: For my name to be up there with some of those guys for the first three years, that is ridiculous. That's stuff you dream of when you're little. But that means I just have more work to do because the ways those guys finished their careers is probably what we talk about — not really how they started it.
I have a lot of room for growth. I see potential for myself that I know that I can (fulfill), but I need to do it consistently to be where I want to be, which is one of the best to ever play.
Todd Downing was promoted from your quarterbacks coach to offensive coordinator this offseason. How is that transition going to him now calling the plays and how do you guys work on that during the preseason so it comes off without a hitch once the games are for real?
Carr: We kind of finish each other's sentences. We just have discussions. There's decisions I make out there, whether it's checking a play here or there, and he says, "What if you would have went here? What if you would have done this?" It just makes me think. He's always making me think. That way when we hit the games, I put us in the best possible situations.
We as an offense are doing some really good things. But at the same time, we see little things where it's like, "Man, if we would have done that a little bit better, it would have been a great day." As long as we can continue to every day take a step and not make that same mistake, we're gonna be good.
MORE: 2017 NFL QB rankings
(New Raiders tight end) Jared Cook complimented you by saying you were the best young quarterback he's ever worked with. What is his addition going to mean to your offense this year?
Carr: He takes those double teams off of Crab (Michael Crabtree) and Amari (Cooper). To have that vertical stretch down the middle, someone that can create explosive plays for us in the pass game not only on the perimeter but down the middle, in the flats, by breaking tackles and things like that … Adding that to our offense is just going help those guys out.
Beast Mode has come home. Tell us what you knew about Marshawn Lynch before he arrived and what have you learned about him since.
Carr: I knew before he showed up that he ran hard. And, when he got here, I learned he ran really hard. Seeing it in person is awesome. The way he approaches the game, he’s an amazing teammate. You know he has your back. He's going to push you to be the best version of yourself every day in his own way (laughs). He's someone that you want on your football team.
You get a new quarterback in your meeting room in EJ Manuel as well as a guy going into his second season in Connor Cook. Tell us about what EJ’s bringing to the team and what growth you've seen in Connor from Year 1 to Year 2.
Carr: With Connor, it's just his poise. You can tell he's played in an NFL game — and a playoff game at that. We always joke in there. Something will come up and I'll be like, "I don’t know. Ask Connor. He's the one with the playoff touchdown." (Laughs) So we have fun. But he is someone who has great poise, throws with great anticipation and he's going to develop into a really good quarterback.
I truly believe that we have three starters in our room. EJ, obviously with his situation in Buffalo, when he showed up here I just wanted to show him how to have fun again. I joke with him. I just try and be a great friend, a great teammate. He's having a good time just picking our brains and learning and getting back to having fun in football again. There's no doubt in my mind that he's going to be starting again.
The Raiders signed Cordarrelle Patterson this offseason and not just for special teams. You can have a lot of fun with this guy on offense, can't you?
Carr: Yes we can. Whether we're throwing it to him, handing it to him, faking it to him ... Who knows? The possibilities are limitless with a guy like that, with that kind of talent. He's a first-rounder for a reason, so you know the talent's there. Now it's just incorporating him (into the system), seeing what he's good at and letting him do that.
We've handed it to him. We can fake it. We put him outside, we can put him inside to run some slot stuff. He's just another guy that creates another match-up problem for us.
Obviously you'd like your left tackle to be here, but Donald Penn is missing training camp because of a contract holdout. How's your offensive line looking after a great 2016 season?
Carr: "It's going to continue. Obviously, we love Donald and know what kind of player he is. Everyone does. We would love for him to be here, but we have to focus on the guys that are here and they are playing some really good football. I mean, everyone watched (Monday's) practice. I had a lot of time and those pass rushers that we have are pretty darn good. They’re doing a really good job of stepping up and playing spots, protecting the quarterback and opening holes in the run game. Our O-line has great coaches in (Mike) Tice and Tim (Holt). They do a good job.
MORE: Best players by jersey number
Last question for you — what has you most optimistic about the 2017 Raiders?
Carr: Our work ethic. We obviously have talent, but most importantly, we're a group of guys that just wants to work. We don't like talking about certain things. I think that that is the culture we're building here.
I hope that 20 years from now when Khalil (Mack) and I walk out together, it's a culture that stays.
Alex Marvez can be heard from Los Angeles Rams training camp 7-10 p.m. ET Wednesday on SiriusXM NFL Radio. |
#include<iostream>
#include<string>
using namespace std;
int main(){
while(true){
int H,W;
cin>>H>>W;
if(W==0&&H==0)break;
string tiles[H][W];
bool same_tiles[H][W];
for(int i=0;i<H;i++){
for(int j=0;j<W;j++){
same_tiles[i][j]=false;
}
}
string tiles_line;
for(int i=0;i<H;i++){
cin>>tiles_line;
for(int j=0;j<W;j++){
tiles[i][j]=tiles_line[j];
}
}
int now_x=0,now_y=0;
while(true){
if(same_tiles[now_y][now_x]==true){
cout<<"LOOP"<<endl;
break;
}
same_tiles[now_y][now_x]=true;
if(tiles[now_y][now_x]==">")now_x++;
else if(tiles[now_y][now_x]=="<")now_x--;
else if(tiles[now_y][now_x]=="v")now_y++;
else if(tiles[now_y][now_x]=="^")now_y--;
else if(tiles[now_y][now_x]=="."){
cout<<now_x<<' '<<now_y<<endl;
break;
}
}
}
} |
<filename>src/main/java/te4j/template/compiler/exp/impl/ImmutableExpParentheses.java
/*
* Copyright 2021 Whilein
*
* Licensed under the Apache License, Version 2.0 (the "License");
* you may not use this file except in compliance with the License.
* You may obtain a copy of the License at
*
* http://www.apache.org/licenses/LICENSE-2.0
*
* Unless required by applicable law or agreed to in writing, software
* distributed under the License is distributed on an "AS IS" BASIS,
* WITHOUT WARRANTIES OR CONDITIONS OF ANY KIND, either express or implied.
* See the License for the specific language governing permissions and
* limitations under the License.
*/
package te4j.template.compiler.exp.impl;
import lombok.Getter;
import lombok.NonNull;
import te4j.template.compiler.ExpOperator;
import te4j.template.compiler.exp.AbstractExp;
import te4j.template.compiler.exp.Exp;
import te4j.template.compiler.exp.ExpParentheses;
import te4j.template.compiler.exp.Operator;
import te4j.template.compiler.exp.filter.ExpDefaultFilters;
import te4j.template.compiler.exp.output.ExpOutput;
import te4j.template.compiler.exp.output.ExpOutputWrite;
import te4j.util.TypeUtils;
import java.lang.reflect.Type;
import java.util.Arrays;
/**
* @author whilein
*/
@Getter
public final class ImmutableExpParentheses extends AbstractExp implements ExpParentheses {
private final Exp[] inner;
private final Type type;
private ImmutableExpParentheses(Exp[] inner, Type type) {
super(ExpDefaultFilters.create(type));
this.inner = inner;
this.type = type;
}
private static Class<?> getNumericalType(@NonNull Exp[] inner) {
return doIteration(null, inner, (current, next, prev) -> {
if (prev == null || next == null) {
return null;
}
if (current instanceof ExpOperator) {
ExpOperator operator = (ExpOperator) current;
if (operator.getOperator().isNumerical()) {
Type prevType = prev.getType();
Type nextType = next.getType();
if (prevType instanceof Class<?> && nextType instanceof Class<?>) {
Class<?> prevClass = (Class<?>) prevType;
Class<?> nextClass = (Class<?>) nextType;
if (TypeUtils.isNumberOrExtends(prevClass)
&& TypeUtils.isNumberOrExtends(nextClass)) {
return TypeUtils.getDominatingNumber(prevClass, nextClass);
}
}
}
}
return null;
});
}
private static boolean isStringConcatenation(@NonNull Exp[] inner) {
return doIteration(false, inner, (current, next, prev) -> {
if (prev == null || next == null) {
return null;
}
if (current instanceof ExpOperator) {
ExpOperator operator = (ExpOperator) current;
return (operator.getOperator() == Operator.PLUS)
&& (prev.getType() == String.class || next.getType() == String.class);
}
return null;
});
}
private static boolean isLogical(@NonNull Exp[] inner) {
return doIteration(false, inner, (current, next, prev) -> {
if (current instanceof ExpOperator) {
ExpOperator exp = (ExpOperator) current;
Operator operator = exp.getOperator();
if (operator.isComparison()
|| operator.isNumberComparison()
|| operator.isLogical()) {
return true;
}
}
return null;
});
}
private static <T> T doIteration(T defaults, @NonNull Exp[] inner, @NonNull ExpHandler<T> handler) {
for (int i = 0; i < inner.length; i++) {
Exp exp = inner[i];
Exp next = i == inner.length - 1 ? null : inner[i + 1];
Exp prev = i == 0 ? null : inner[i - 1];
T done = handler.handle(exp, next, prev);
if (done != null) {
return done;
}
}
return defaults;
}
private static @NonNull Type detectType(@NonNull Exp[] inner) {
// 100% boolean
if (isLogical(inner)) {
return boolean.class;
}
// "" + "", "" + 10, "" + false
// there are no comparison operators
// i.e there are no "" + "" == "" statements
if (isStringConcatenation(inner)) {
return String.class;
}
Class<?> type = getNumericalType(inner);
if (type != null) {
return type;
}
throw new IllegalStateException("Cannot get type of parentheses: " + Arrays.toString(inner));
}
public static @NonNull ExpParentheses create(@NonNull Exp[] inner) {
if (inner.length <= 1) {
throw new IllegalStateException("inner.length <= 1");
}
return new ImmutableExpParentheses(inner, detectType(inner));
}
@Override
public void write(ExpOutput output) {
ExpOutput token = output.next(this);
token.applyFilters(filters);
token.append("(");
try (ExpOutputWrite write = token.startWrite(inner)) {
do {
write.current().write(token);
} while (write.moveNext());
}
token.append(")");
}
private interface ExpHandler<T> {
T handle(Exp current, Exp next, Exp prev);
}
}
|
WASHINGTON, D.C.— Manufacturers of general aviation airplanes, users of those airplanes, and the FAA are taking steps to reduce the costs, complexity, and time involved in certification in an effort to reduce prices and stem the decline in general aviation flying.
Recently, the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association and the General Aviation Manufacturers Association held a webinar to provide an update on the work of the FAA Part 23 Aviation Rulemaking Committee (ARC). Part 23 is the section of FARs related to the manufacture of aircraft. Many in the aviation industry say the complexity of Part 23 regulations, as well as frequent changes in those regulations, have been a major factor in the rising costs of new aircraft and the costs of flying them
The Part 23 ARC has been chartered with the goal of cutting the cost of new airplane certification and retrofits in half, while offering products with twice the safety, according to AOPA and GAMA officials.
“In order to counter the stable and negative trends in light general aviation, the ARC plans to make some ground-shifting recommendations which will require the knowledge and participation of the entire aviation community to become successful,” the organization said in the invitation to the webinar.
The active pilot population in the United States today is below 200,000, and about 10,000 are being lost every year. Much of this is blamed on the costs of buying and operating an airplane, GAMA and AOPA officials said.
The average general aviation airplane is 40 years old, while production of new planes is based mostly on technology that old.
To certify a new aircraft today costs between $500,000 and $1 million — and these certification costs must be recovered. These certification costs are a primary reason why aircraft produced today by major manufacturers are based on designs of 1980 and before, officials said during the webinar. Other expenses, such as liability, certification of changes, and wages, raise the costs beyond inflation. If inflation was the only factor affecting prices, the cost of a typical airplane today would be $69,000, the GA officials note.
Today’s rules for certification are both outdated and restrictive, which is why the industry and the FAA are getting together to simplify the rules. This should result not only in less expensive aircraft, but innovations that can save lives by the ability to produce technology changes more quickly and at less expense. It should also create flexibility to permit more rapid changes and cost savings in introducing new technology.
It was pointed out during the webinar that new technology for flying airplanes is available, but the costs of certification are prohibiting advancement, resulting in pilots not having equipment that could save lives. As an example, loss of control is the biggest single cause of fatal accidents. Technology exists to reduce the dangers, even to the point of aircraft making a safe landing with the pilot completely off the controls. Yet costs and confusion are preventing advancements such as these.
Historically, the FAA has hosted regular reviews of Part 23 about every 10 years. The two most recent reviews were conducted in 1974 and 1984. In 2008, the FAA initiated the current, ongoing review process. Last November, an effort began to bring regulations from the dark ages of flight, when the old Civil Aeronautics Administration established the first standards, through massive changes over the years, into today’s rapid advancements in design, manufacturing and technology.
The Part 23 Reorganization ARC has 20 members, including representatives from manufacturing, both Part 23 and light sport, equipment manufacturing, aviation associations, and foreign aviation authorities. The foreign representatives serve as observers only, but their participation will be a major step in getting international standards, officials said. The committee expects to have the completed Part 23 rule by July 2015.
Reorganization of Part 23 alone will not bring aviation back to lower prices, but it will be a major step in efforts the industry and user organizations are beginning to take.
Charles Spence is General Aviation News’ Washington, D.C., correspondent. |
<gh_stars>0
static MD2_S_TABLE: &'static [u8] = &[
0x29, 0x2E, 0x43, 0xC9, 0xA2, 0xD8, 0x7C, 0x01, 0x3D, 0x36, 0x54, 0xA1, 0xEC, 0xF0, 0x06, 0x13,
0x62, 0xA7, 0x05, 0xF3, 0xC0, 0xC7, 0x73, 0x8C, 0x98, 0x93, 0x2B, 0xD9, 0xBC, 0x4C, 0x82, 0xCA,
0x1E, 0x9B, 0x57, 0x3C, 0xFD, 0xD4, 0xE0, 0x16, 0x67, 0x42, 0x6F, 0x18, 0x8A, 0x17, 0xE5, 0x12,
0xBE, 0x4E, 0xC4, 0xD6, 0xDA, 0x9E, 0xDE, 0x49, 0xA0, 0xFB, 0xF5, 0x8E, 0xBB, 0x2F, 0xEE, 0x7A,
0xA9, 0x68, 0x79, 0x91, 0x15, 0xB2, 0x07, 0x3F, 0x94, 0xC2, 0x10, 0x89, 0x0B, 0x22, 0x5F, 0x21,
0x80, 0x7F, 0x5D, 0x9A, 0x5A, 0x90, 0x32, 0x27, 0x35, 0x3E, 0xCC, 0xE7, 0xBF, 0xF7, 0x97, 0x03,
0xFF, 0x19, 0x30, 0xB3, 0x48, 0xA5, 0xB5, 0xD1, 0xD7, 0x5E, 0x92, 0x2A, 0xAC, 0x56, 0xAA, 0xC6,
0x4F, 0xB8, 0x38, 0xD2, 0x96, 0xA4, 0x7D, 0xB6, 0x76, 0xFC, 0x6B, 0xE2, 0x9C, 0x74, 0x04, 0xF1,
0x45, 0x9D, 0x70, 0x59, 0x64, 0x71, 0x87, 0x20, 0x86, 0x5B, 0xCF, 0x65, 0xE6, 0x2D, 0xA8, 0x02,
0x1B, 0x60, 0x25, 0xAD, 0xAE, 0xB0, 0xB9, 0xF6, 0x1C, 0x46, 0x61, 0x69, 0x34, 0x40, 0x7E, 0x0F,
0x55, 0x47, 0xA3, 0x23, 0xDD, 0x51, 0xAF, 0x3A, 0xC3, 0x5C, 0xF9, 0xCE, 0xBA, 0xC5, 0xEA, 0x26,
0x2C, 0x53, 0x0D, 0x6E, 0x85, 0x28, 0x84, 0x09, 0xD3, 0xDF, 0xCD, 0xF4, 0x41, 0x81, 0x4D, 0x52,
0x6A, 0xDC, 0x37, 0xC8, 0x6C, 0xC1, 0xAB, 0xFA, 0x24, 0xE1, 0x7B, 0x08, 0x0C, 0xBD, 0xB1, 0x4A,
0x78, 0x88, 0x95, 0x8B, 0xE3, 0x63, 0xE8, 0x6D, 0xE9, 0xCB, 0xD5, 0xFE, 0x3B, 0x00, 0x1D, 0x39,
0xF2, 0xEF, 0xB7, 0x0E, 0x66, 0x58, 0xD0, 0xE4, 0xA6, 0x77, 0x72, 0xF8, 0xEB, 0x75, 0x4B, 0x0A,
0x31, 0x44, 0x50, 0xB4, 0x8F, 0xED, 0x1F, 0x1A, 0xDB, 0x99, 0x8D, 0x33, 0x9F, 0x11, 0x83, 0x14
];
/// Struct storing the necessary state for the Message Digest 2 (MD2) hash function
/// Code is ported and `rustified` from libtomcrypt
#[allow(non_camel_case_types)]
pub struct MD2 {
check_sum : [u8; 16],
x : [u8; 48],
buffer : [u8; 16],
cur_len : usize
}
fn md2_compress(state: &mut MD2) {
/* copy block to state.x */
for i in 0..16 {
state.x[16 + i] = state.buffer[i];
state.x[32 + i] = state.x[i] ^ state.x[16 + i];
}
let mut t = 0u8;
/* perform 18 rounds */
for round in 0..18 {
for i in 0..48 {
state.x[i] ^= MD2_S_TABLE[(t & 255) as usize];
t = state.x[i];
}
t = t + round & 255;
}
}
#[allow(non_snake_case)]
fn md2_update_checksum(state: &mut MD2) {
let mut L = state.check_sum[15];
for i in 0..16 {
/* caution, the RFC says its "C[j] = S[M[i*16+j] xor L]" but the reference
* source code [and test vectors] say otherwise. */
state.check_sum[i] ^= MD2_S_TABLE[(state.buffer[i] ^ L) as usize] & 255;
L = state.check_sum[i];
}
}
impl MD2 {
/// Creates a new MD2 instance
///
/// # Returns
/// * The created instance
pub fn new() -> MD2 {
MD2 {
check_sum : [0; 16],
x : [0; 48],
buffer : [0; 16],
cur_len : 0
}
}
fn reset(&mut self) {
self.check_sum = [0; 16];
self.x = [0; 48];
self.buffer = [0; 16];
self.cur_len = 0;
}
}
impl ::hashes::HashFunction for MD2 {
fn set_input(&mut self, input: &[u8]) {
use std::cmp::{min};
// First reset the hash state
self.reset();
let mut index = 0usize;
let mut in_len = input.len();
loop {
if in_len <= 0 {
break;
}
let n = min(in_len, (16 - self.cur_len));
for i in 0..n {
self.buffer[self.cur_len + i] = input[index + i];
}
self.cur_len += n;
index += n;
in_len -= n;
/* if 16 bytes are filled compress and update checksum */
if self.cur_len == 16 {
md2_compress(self);
md2_update_checksum(self);
self.cur_len = 0;
}
}
}
fn hash(&mut self) {
// When is this the case?
if self.cur_len >= self.buffer.len() {
panic!("self.cur_len >= self.buffer.len()")
}
/* pad the message */
let k: u8 = 16u8 - self.cur_len as u8;
for i in self.cur_len as usize..16 {
self.buffer[i] = k;
}
/* hash and update */
md2_compress(self);
md2_update_checksum(self);
/* hash checksum */
for i in 0..16 {
self.buffer[i] = self.check_sum[i];
}
md2_compress(self);
}
fn get_output(&mut self, output: &mut [u8]) {
assert!(output.len() >= self.get_output_length());
for i in 0..16 {
output[i] = self.x[i];
}
}
fn get_blocksize(&self) -> u32 { 16 }
fn get_output_length_in_bits(&self) -> u32 { 128 }
}
#[cfg(test)]
mod tests {
use hashes::md2::MD2;
use hashes::test::{HashTestCase, perform_hash_test};
#[test]
fn test_md2() {
let tests = vec![
hash_test!(
"",
vec![0x83,0x50,0xe5,0xa3,0xe2,0x4c,0x15,0x3d,0xf2,0x27,0x5c,0x9f,0x80,0x69,0x27,0x73],
"8350e5a3e24c153df2275c9f80692773"),
hash_test!(
"a",
vec![0x32,0xec,0x01,0xec,0x4a,0x6d,0xac,0x72,0xc0,0xab,0x96,0xfb,0x34,0xc0,0xb5,0xd1],
"32ec01ec4a6dac72c0ab96fb34c0b5d1"),
hash_test!(
"message digest",
vec![0xab,0x4f,0x49,0x6b,0xfb,0x2a,0x53,0x0b,0x21,0x9f,0xf3,0x30,0x31,0xfe,0x06,0xb0],
"ab4f496bfb2a530b219ff33031fe06b0"),
hash_test!(
"abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz",
vec![0x4e,0x8d,0xdf,0xf3,0x65,0x02,0x92,0xab,0x5a,0x41,0x08,0xc3,0xaa,0x47,0x94,0x0b],
"4e8ddff3650292ab5a4108c3aa47940b"),
hash_test!(
"ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz0123456789",
vec![0xda,0x33,0xde,0xf2,0xa4,0x2d,0xf1,0x39,0x75,0x35,0x28,0x46,0xc3,0x03,0x38,0xcd],
"da33def2a42df13975352846c30338cd"),
hash_test!(
"12345678901234567890123456789012345678901234567890123456789012345678901234567890",
vec![0xd5,0x97,0x6f,0x79,0xd8,0x3d,0x3a,0x0d,0xc9,0x80,0x6c,0x3c,0x66,0xf3,0xef,0xd8],
"d5976f79d83d3a0dc9806c3c66f3efd8")
];
let mut md2 = MD2::new();
for t in tests.iter() {
perform_hash_test(&mut md2, t);
}
}
}
|
/**
* @param artifactURL the url of the artifact, if the url is the actual file archive(zip,tar.gz or jar) to download it will just download,
* otherwise it will try to first retrieve artifactid-versionnumber.zip/tar.gz
* and lastly try to retrieve artifactid-versionnumber.jar
* @return the downloaded file
* @throws java.io.FileNotFoundException if there is not file to download at the url location
*/
public static File downloadJarFile(URL artifactURL,File destination) throws IOException {
URL archiveURL;
String folderName;
if (artifactURL.getPath().contains(".zip")) {
archiveURL = WebDAO.getUrlOfZippedVersion(artifactURL, ".zip", false);
folderName = archiveURL.getFile().substring(archiveURL.getFile().lastIndexOf("/"), archiveURL.getFile().lastIndexOf(".zip"));
} else {
archiveURL = WebDAO.getUrlOfZippedVersion(artifactURL, ".tar.gz", false);
if (archiveURL != null) {
folderName = archiveURL.getFile().substring(archiveURL.getFile().lastIndexOf("/"), archiveURL.getFile().lastIndexOf(".tar.gz"));
}
}
/*
if (folderName.endsWith("-windows")) {
folderName = folderName.substring(0, folderName.indexOf("-windows"));
} else if (folderName.endsWith("-mac_and_linux")) {
folderName = folderName.substring(0, folderName.indexOf("-mac_and_linux"));
}
*/
if (!destination.exists()) {
if (!destination.mkdirs()) {
throw new IOException("could not make the directories needed to download the file in");
}
}
downloadedFile = new File(destination, archiveURL.getFile().substring(archiveURL.getFile().lastIndexOf("/")));
downloadedFile = fileDAO.writeStreamToDisk(archiveURL.openStream(), archiveURL.getFile().substring(archiveURL.getFile().lastIndexOf("/")), destination);
return downloadedFile;
} |
# this prints the objects' titles
# however, it prints too long a list; not sure where the extras came from...
# it's possible some title entries have a return in the text, pushing some content to
# a new line, but trying to figure that out could be... annoying
import json
f = open('BKMobjects.json')
data = json.load(f)
for id in data['object']:
print(id['title'])
|
<gh_stars>0
export interface Checkbox {
className:string;
isChecked: boolean;
label: string;
name: string;
value: string;
tooltip?: string;
}
export interface CheckboxList{
defaultCheckboxName: string;
checkboxes: Checkbox[];
name: string;
title: string;
} |
/**
* This method display information about all node within the current simulation,
* or a selected node within the simulation.
* @author luke_hamilton
* @param args[] - String of arguments from the command line eg: dn
* @exception InvalidNodeNameException
* @version v0.20
**/
private void displayNodes(String args[]){
if(args.length == 1){
sim.displayNodes();
}else if (args.length == 2){
try {
sim.displayNode(args[1]);
} catch (InvalidNodeNameException e) {
System.out.println("'"+args[1]+"' does not exist within Simulation.\n");
}
}
} |
/**
* Folding estimation (What you can do here is a wire diagram that does not consider the overlap of surfaces)
*/
public PointSet folding() throws InterruptedException, FoldingException {
PointSet pointSet = getFacePositions();
Logger.info("折ったときの点の位置を求める。");
QuadTree qt = new QuadTree(new PointSetFaceAdapter(pointSet));
Logger.info("折ったときの点の位置を求める（開始）");
for (int it = 1; it <= this.pointSet.getNumPoints(); it++) {
tnew[it].reset();
for (int im : qt.collect(new PointCollector(pointSet.getPoint(it)))) {
if (pointSet.pointInFaceBorder(im, it)) {
tnew[it].addPoint(fold_movement(it, im));
pointSet.setPoint(it, tnew[it].getAveragePoint());
}
}
}
Logger.info("折ったときの点の位置を求めた（終了）");
return pointSet;
} |
def copy_files(self, from_path, to_path, paths_to_ignore):
names = os.listdir(from_path)
ignored_names = paths_to_ignore(from_path, names)
os.makedirs(to_path)
for name in names:
if name in ignored_names:
continue
srcname = os.path.join(from_path, name)
dstname = os.path.join(to_path, name)
if os.path.isfile(srcname):
copy2(srcname, dstname)
copystat(from_path, to_path) |
def partitions(x):
sign = 1 if x >= 0 else -1
n = abs(x)
for i in range(0, n//2+1):
yield sign*i, sign*(n-i) |
<reponame>toomore/COSCUP-2020<filename>src/services/meta/index.ts
// Copyright (c) 2020 DevilTea
//
// This software is released under the MIT License.
// https://opensource.org/licenses/MIT
export enum MetaType {
Title = 'title',
Description = 'description',
OgUrl = 'ogUrl',
OgImage = 'ogImage',
OgType = 'ogType',
OgSiteName = 'ogSiteName'
}
export type MetaDomSetterSet = {
[name in MetaType]: (value: string) => void;
};
export type MetaOptions = {
[name in MetaType]?: string;
}
export type MetaValues = {
[name in MetaType]: string;
}
export const defaultMetaValues: MetaValues = {
[MetaType.Title]: 'COSCUP 2020 | Conference for Open Source Coders, Users, and Promoters',
[MetaType.Description]: 'Conference for Open Source Coders, Users, and Promoters is a free annual conference providing a platform to connect FLOSS folks across Asia since 2006. It\'s a major force of free software movement advocacy in Taiwan.',
[MetaType.OgUrl]: 'https://coscup.org/2020',
[MetaType.OgImage]: 'https://coscup.org/2020/images/og.png',
[MetaType.OgType]: 'website',
[MetaType.OgSiteName]: 'COSCUP 2020'
}
const vanillaMetaDomSetterSet: MetaDomSetterSet = {
[MetaType.Title]: (value) => {
const title: string = (value.length === 0 || value === defaultMetaValues.title) ? (defaultMetaValues.title) : (`${value} - ${defaultMetaValues.title}`);
(document.querySelector('title') as HTMLElement).innerHTML = title;
(document.querySelector('meta[property="og:title"]') as HTMLElement).setAttribute('content', title)
},
[MetaType.Description]: (value) => {
(document.querySelector('meta[name="description"]') as HTMLElement).setAttribute('content', value);
(document.querySelector('meta[property="og:description"]') as HTMLElement).setAttribute('content', value)
},
[MetaType.OgUrl]: (value) => { (document.querySelector('meta[property="og:url"]') as HTMLElement).setAttribute('content', value) },
[MetaType.OgImage]: (value) => { (document.querySelector('meta[property="og:image"]') as HTMLElement).setAttribute('content', value) },
[MetaType.OgType]: (value) => { (document.querySelector('meta[property="og:type"]') as HTMLElement).setAttribute('content', value) },
[MetaType.OgSiteName]: (value) => { (document.querySelector('meta[property="og:site_name"]') as HTMLElement).setAttribute('content', value) }
}
export interface MetaService {
readonly currentMetaValues: MetaValues;
setMeta: (options: MetaOptions) => void;
resetMeta: () => void;
}
class MetaServiceConcrete implements MetaService {
private __currentMetaValues: MetaValues = defaultMetaValues
private _metaDomSetterSet: MetaDomSetterSet
constructor (metaDomSetterSet = vanillaMetaDomSetterSet) {
this._metaDomSetterSet = metaDomSetterSet
}
private set _currentMetaValues (values: MetaValues) {
this.__currentMetaValues = values
Object.entries(values)
.forEach((entry) => {
const metaDomType: MetaType = entry[0] as MetaType
const value = entry[1]
const setter = this._metaDomSetterSet[metaDomType]
setter(value)
})
}
public get currentMetaValues (): MetaValues {
return Object.freeze(this.__currentMetaValues)
}
public setMeta (options: MetaOptions): void {
this._currentMetaValues = {
...defaultMetaValues,
...options
}
}
public resetMeta (): void {
this._currentMetaValues = defaultMetaValues
}
}
export function createMetaService (metaDomSetterSet = vanillaMetaDomSetterSet): MetaService {
return new MetaServiceConcrete(metaDomSetterSet)
}
|
/**
* Signals the session's thread that it should stop.
* Doesn't wait for the thread to be completly finished.
* Note that it can take some time before the thread is completly
* stopped.
* @see #run()
*/
public void stop()
{
debug.write("SMSCSession stopping");
keepReceiving = false;
} |
// Sets the value from valOut into column colOut, performing any conversions.
void RowAggregationUM::SetUDAFValue(static_any::any& valOut, int64_t colOut)
{
execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::ColDataType colDataType = fRowGroupOut->getColTypes()[colOut];
if (valOut.empty())
{
return;
}
int64_t intOut;
uint64_t uintOut;
float floatOut;
double doubleOut;
long double longdoubleOut;
ostringstream oss;
std::string strOut;
bool bSetSuccess = false;
switch (colDataType)
{
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::BIT:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::TINYINT:
if (valOut.compatible(charTypeId))
{
intOut = valOut.cast<char>();
bSetSuccess = true;
}
else if (valOut.compatible(scharTypeId))
{
intOut = valOut.cast<signed char>();
bSetSuccess = true;
}
if (bSetSuccess)
{
fRow.setIntField<1>(intOut, colOut);
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::SMALLINT:
if (valOut.compatible(shortTypeId))
{
intOut = valOut.cast<short>();
fRow.setIntField<2>(intOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::MEDINT:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::INT:
if (valOut.compatible(intTypeId))
{
intOut = valOut.cast<int>();
bSetSuccess = true;
}
else if (valOut.compatible(longTypeId))
{
intOut = valOut.cast<long>();
bSetSuccess = true;
}
if (bSetSuccess)
{
fRow.setIntField<4>(intOut, colOut);
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::BIGINT:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::DECIMAL:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::UDECIMAL:
if (valOut.compatible(llTypeId))
{
intOut = valOut.cast<long long>();
fRow.setIntField<8>(intOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
else if (valOut.compatible(int128TypeId))
{
int128_t int128Out = valOut.cast<int128_t>();
fRow.setInt128Field(int128Out, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::UTINYINT:
if (valOut.compatible(ucharTypeId))
{
uintOut = valOut.cast<unsigned char>();
fRow.setUintField<1>(uintOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::USMALLINT:
if (valOut.compatible(ushortTypeId))
{
uintOut = valOut.cast<unsigned short>();
fRow.setUintField<2>(uintOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::UMEDINT:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::UINT:
if (valOut.compatible(uintTypeId))
{
uintOut = valOut.cast<unsigned int>();
fRow.setUintField<4>(uintOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::UBIGINT:
if (valOut.compatible(ulongTypeId))
{
uintOut = valOut.cast<unsigned long>();
fRow.setUintField<8>(uintOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::DATE:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::DATETIME:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::TIMESTAMP:
if (valOut.compatible(ulongTypeId))
{
uintOut = valOut.cast<unsigned long>();
fRow.setUintField<8>(uintOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::FLOAT:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::UFLOAT:
if (valOut.compatible(floatTypeId))
{
floatOut = valOut.cast<float>();
fRow.setFloatField(floatOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::DOUBLE:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::UDOUBLE:
if (valOut.compatible(doubleTypeId))
{
doubleOut = valOut.cast<double>();
fRow.setDoubleField(doubleOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::CHAR:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::VARCHAR:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::TEXT:
if (valOut.compatible(strTypeId))
{
strOut = valOut.cast<std::string>();
fRow.setStringField(strOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::VARBINARY:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::CLOB:
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::BLOB:
if (valOut.compatible(strTypeId))
{
strOut = valOut.cast<std::string>();
fRow.setVarBinaryField(strOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
case execplan::CalpontSystemCatalog::LONGDOUBLE:
if (valOut.compatible(doubleTypeId))
{
longdoubleOut = valOut.cast<long double>();
fRow.setLongDoubleField(longdoubleOut, colOut);
bSetSuccess = true;
}
break;
default:
{
std::ostringstream errmsg;
errmsg << "RowAggregation: No logic for data type: " << colDataType;
throw logging::QueryDataExcept(errmsg.str(), logging::aggregateFuncErr);
break;
}
}
if (!bSetSuccess)
{
SetUDAFAnyValue(valOut, colOut);
}
valOut.reset();
} |
// Load loads a provider from the configuration and uses one or several builtins provided.
func (c *ProviderConfig) Load(builtins ...Provider) (Provider, error) {
for _, builtin := range builtins {
if strings.ToLower(builtin.Name()) == strings.ToLower(c.Provider) {
if err := builtin.Configure(c.Config); err != nil {
return nil, errors.New("The provider '" + c.Provider + "' could not be loaded. " + err.Error())
}
return builtin, nil
}
}
p, err := plugin.Open(resolvePath(c.Provider))
if err != nil {
return nil, errors.New("The provider plugin '" + c.Provider + "' could not be opened. " + err.Error())
}
sym, err := p.Lookup("New")
if err != nil {
return nil, errors.New("The provider '" + c.Provider + "' does not contain 'func New() interface{}' symbol")
}
pFactory, validFunc := sym.(*func() interface{})
if !validFunc {
return nil, errors.New("The provider '" + c.Provider + "' does not contain 'func New() interface{}' symbol")
}
provider, validProv := ((*pFactory)()).(Provider)
if !validProv {
return nil, errors.New("The provider '" + c.Provider + "' does not implement 'Provider'")
}
err = provider.Configure(c.Config)
if err != nil {
return nil, errors.New("The provider '" + c.Provider + "' could not be configured")
}
return provider, nil
} |
<gh_stars>10-100
use chrono::prelude::*;
pub fn get_local_now() -> [usize; 6] {
datetime_to_array(Local::now())
}
pub fn get_utc_now() -> [usize; 6] {
datetime_to_array(Utc::now())
}
fn datetime_to_array<Tz: TimeZone>(datetime: DateTime<Tz>) -> [usize; 6] {
[
datetime.year() as usize,
datetime.month() as usize,
datetime.day() as usize,
datetime.hour() as usize,
datetime.minute() as usize,
datetime.second() as usize,
]
}
|
<filename>graph-pheory/graph-traversal/applications/connectivity_check.cpp
#include <bits/stdc++.h>
using namespace std;
/***
* APPROACH
* 1. Apply Depth search that visits all the nodes of the graph
* Then if one of the nodes is found not have been visited
* it means that the graph is not strong ly connnected.
*
***/
class Graph
{
vector<bool> visited;
int n;
map<int, list<int>> adj;
public:
Graph(int n){
this->n = n;
visited.resize(n);
}
void addEdge(int v, int w)
{
adj[v].push_back(w);
}
void DFS(int v)
{
visited[v] = true;
list<int>::iterator i;
for (i = adj[v].begin(); i != adj[v].end(); i++)
{
if (!visited[*i])
DFS(*i);
}
}
bool isStronglyConnected()
{
/// CHECK IF YOU CAN TRAVERSE THE WHOLE GRAPH STARTING FROM EACH NODE.
// IF YOU COMPLETE TRAVERSING A PARTICULAR NODE AND YOU FIND THEY ARE SOME ELEMENTS WHICH WERE NOT REACHED
// CONCLUDE THAT , IT IS NOT STRONGLY CONNECTED
for (auto v : adj)
{
DFS(v.first);
if (find(visited.begin(), visited.end(), false) != visited.end())
return false;
}
return true;
}
};
int main()
{
vector<vector<int>> edges = {{0, 4}, {1, 0}, {1, 2}, {2, 1}, {2, 4}, {3, 1}, {3, 2}, {4, 3}};
Graph graph(5);
for (int i = 0; i < edges.size(); i++)
{
graph.addEdge(edges[i][0], edges[i][1]);
}
// check if the graph is not strongly connected or not
if (graph.isStronglyConnected())
{
cout << "The graph is strongly connected";
}
else
{
cout << "The graph is not strongly connected";
}
return 0;
} |
<gh_stars>1-10
package sorashell
import "github.com/c-bata/go-prompt"
func (s *SoracomCompleter) statusFilterSuggestions(word string) []prompt.Suggest {
return filterFunc([]prompt.Suggest{
{Text: "active", Description: ""},
{Text: "inactive", Description: ""},
{Text: "ready", Description: ""},
{Text: "suspended", Description: ""},
{Text: "terminated", Description: ""},
}, word, prompt.FilterFuzzy)
}
|
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