Текст книги "A Woman of the Iron People"

Автор книги: Eleanor Arnason

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“Four of them are men.”

“Sit down,” Angai said. “Here, under the tent flap. There is no reason why we should be uncomfortable while we talk.”

We obeyed, even Hua. Angai glared at her. “I am not certain this is a matter for children.”

“The whole village is here. Everyone is listening.”

Angai made the gesture that meant “very well.” “But keep quiet. Pay attention! Learn what makes a shamaness!”

Hua made the gesture of assent.

“Now.” Angai looked at Nia. “Tell me what this is about.”

“These people are different. It isn’t simply the lack of hair. Look at her eyes.” She pointed at me. “They are brown and white like the ground in early spring, when the snow has begun to melt. Who has ever seen eyes like these? Look at her hands. She has two extra fingers, and they are not deformed. All her people have two extra fingers. Friend of my childhood, draw in a breath! Does she smell like any person you have ever met before?”

Angai sniffed. “No.”

Nia hunched forward. “She is not a person the way you are a person, Angai.”

I opened my mouth to object, then closed it. Nia was far from stupid. She must have a reason for what she was doing.

“They have tools that are different from our tools. Their language sounds like an animal spitting and chittering.

“But—” Nia paused. “They do have tools, and they do have a language. They aren’t animals. Nor are they spirits. I don’t believe they are demons. They are utterly strange and unfamiliar people.”

Angai made the gesture that meant “that may be.”

“Among these people the men are not solitary. They live with the women.”

“Aiya!” cried a woman. Others called, “Hu!”

Angai made the gesture that demanded silence. “Go on.”

“That’s why they are waiting. They know we have different customs. They do not want to anger the Iron People. They do not want to show disrespect or be dishonest.”

“But they want to come into the village,” Angai said.

Nia glanced at me.

“Yes,” I said. “They—we—have a difficulty. An argument we cannot settle. We want your advice, the advice of your people.”

“It’s hardly surprising that they argue,” a woman said. “Men and women together! What a perversion!”

Another woman added, “Except at the time of mating.”

“Bowhorns mate in the autumn,” Angai said. “And there are animals that bear two or three litters in a summer. Are you like that? Is this your time for mating?”

I hesitated.

Nia said, “I have watched these people carefully and listened to them. It’s my belief that they’re always ready to mate.”

There was more hu-ing from the audience. Angai made the gesture for silence. We all waited. She frowned. “You are certain these are people, Nia?”

“You are the shamaness. Is this one a spirit? A demon? Or a ghost?”

Angai touched my arm. “She is solid. It is daylight. She cannot be a ghost.”

“What about a demon?” asked one of the villagers. “They are solid. They can go out in the light of the sun.”

Angai stared at me. “I have seen demons in my dreams. Their eyes burn like fire. Their hands and feet have long curving claws. Otherwise they look like people. I have never heard of a demon without hair.” She paused. “You are certain they are not spirits, Nia?”

“Spirits have many disguises,” Nia said. “Even a clever woman can fail to discover them. But I have traveled with these people for three cycles of the big moon. They have never changed their shape. They have never changed their size. They eat. They sleep. They produce dung and urine. Their dung and urine is ordinary, though it does not smell exactly like ours. Even when they are angry, even when they seem to be in danger, they do nothing spiritlike.”

Angai made a gesture I did not know. “They are not animals. They are not spirits. They are not ghosts or demons. Therefore they must be people. They have asked us for help. It is my opinion that we ought to help them. They have asked to come into our village, it is my opinion that we ought to give them permission.”

A woman spoke loudly, but not in the language of gifts.

Angai lifted a hand. “They are not like us. We cannot judge them the way we judge ourselves.”

Several women spoke in the tribal language. I turned to look at the crowd.

The sun was low by now. Rays of light—almost horizontal—shone between the tents. They lit the open area, the vegetation and the people: solid matrons, bent old crones, lithe girls, a lot of children. The adults shouted and gestured. Their jewelry flashed.

I knew most of the gestures. “Yes.” “No.” “You are wrong or crazy.” “We are in agreement.” “Agreement is utterly impossible.”

I looked back at Angai. She watched and listened, expressionless.

“What is going on?” I asked Nia.

“Some of them agree with Angai. Others do not. They will all shout until they get tired.”

I looked back at the crowd. The argument went on. Children—the older ones—wandered off, obviously bored. The younger children began to cry. Their mothers picked them up and hugged them and rocked them.

The other women continued the argument, but everything was less violent now. The voices had grown softer. The gestures were less broad.

Light faded out of the square. Only the peaks of the tents were lit and the tips of the metal standards. Gold, silver, and bronze gleamed in front of the sky, which was cloudless and deep blue-green.

At last there was silence except for the whimpering of babies and the high, clear voices of a group of children who had started to play a game.

“Hai! Hai! Ah-tsa-hai!”

The women looked at Angai, who spoke loudly and firmly.

The women replied with gestures of uncertain agreement.

Angai looked at me. “The day is almost finished. It is a bad idea to begin anything important in the dark. Therefore, I ask you to return to your boats. Come back in the morning with everyone. All your people. We will listen to your problem.”

I made the gesture of gratitude and stood.

“You, Nia.” Angai looked at my companion. “Go with the hairless person. People have known you too long. They will forget that you are a stranger now. They won’t treat you with the courtesy due a traveler.”

Nia made the gesture of assent.

Hua said, “I want to go with them.”

Angai frowned.

Nia said, “No. I don’t want people saying that you are like me.”

“Nia is right,” said Angai. She looked at her foster daughter. “Tomorrow you will see the hairless people. Tonight, stay here.”

Hua made the gesture of reluctant acquiescence.

The crowd parted. Nia and I passed through it.

“Aiya!” said Nia. “What a day!”

We went down the bluff. The lights on the first boat had been turned on. Pale and steady, they lit the open deck at the rear of the boat. The oracle sat there, gnawing on the forearm of a biped. He looked up as we climbed onboard. “What happened? Did you get any food?”

“No,” said Nia.

“You’d better soon. Everything is gone except for this and the food of Lixia’s people.”

“You saved nothing for me?”

“I thought you would eat in the village.”

“Aiya!”

He handed her the bone.

She made the gesture of effusive gratitude.

I opened the cabin door. Agopian and Ivanova were inside playing chess.

Agopian looked up. “You’re back.”

“Uh-huh. It went all right. We can go up tomorrow. All of us.”

“Congratulations.” Ivanova tipped over her king. “I concede. I can do nothing without my pawns.”

Agopian grinned. “One of her pawns became a revolutionary socialist and convinced the others to form a soviet, which means—of course—that white has no ordinary soldiers left.”

“And red wins,” said Ivanova grimly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Brechtian chess.” Agopian began to put the pieces away. “It was named in honor of the German playwright Bertolt Brecht, who said that ordinary chess was boring. The pieces ought to change according to where they were on the board and how long they’d been there. A madman named Robik actually invented the game early in the twenty-second century.”

“It is a thoroughly irritating game,” said Ivanova.

“Karl Marx hated losing at chess. It didn’t bother Lenin—at least according to Gorki.” Agopian folded the board, then folded it a second time. “Lenin was interested in howhe lost. That kept him from getting angry over the fact that he’d lost. He said chess taught him a lot about strategy and tactics. But he had to give it up. It was interfering with his revolutionary activity.”

“Where is everyone else?” I asked.

“On the other boat. Mr. Fang is fixing dinner. Iguana with red peppers and green onions. We wanted to finish our game.”

“Though I don’t know why,” said Ivanova. She stood up and stretched.

“You thought you were going to win, comrade, when my commissar developed ugly revisionist tendencies.”

“Commissar,” I said.

Agopian smiled. “Robik wanted to get rid of the feudal elements in chess. He changed the knights into commissars.”

“Don’t tell me any more.”

“I won’t. Are you coming to dinner?”

“No.”

“There is beer in the gallery and the makings for sandwiches.” He went out on deck.

Ivanova followed, pausing at the door. “You have done good work, Lixia.”

I made the gesture that indicated the modest acceptance of praise.

She left. I got a beer and drank it, then made a sandwich. I took it out on deck along with another beer.

Nia and the oracle were still there. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“I did,” the oracle said. “But Nia is going to be hungry when she wakes.”

Nia made the gesture that meant “no big deal.”

I sat down facing the natives. “Nia, why was your daughter upset when I asked if she had known old Hua?”

“Ai!” said the oracle. “You asked that?”

“Yes. What is wrong with the question?”

“No one ever names a child after a living woman,” Nia said. “If a woman meets her name-mother, she is meeting a ghost.”

I said, “Hu!” and drank some beer, then asked, “Is that true of men as well?”

“No,” said the oracle.

Nia added, “Boy children are named after men who have left the village. Usually it is the brother of their mother. My son is named after my brother Anasu. As far as I know, he is still alive.” She paused. “I hope he is.” She looked at the bone she held. It was gnawed clean. No shred of meat remained. “When my son leaves the village, he may well meet Anasu. That will not be especially frightening.”

“Unless they try to claim the same territory,” the oracle said.

“That is hardly likely.” Nia tossed the bone down. It rattled on the deck. “I am going to get a blanket and sleep up there.” She pointed toward the prow of the boat.

“All right,” I said.

She got up stiffly, as if she had been working hard at some kind of physical labor. Well, someday I would find out what it was like to go home.

I finished the beer, went into the cabin, and unfolded a bed.

“I need a blanket,” the oracle said.

I got one for him. He took it outside. I undressed and lay down. For a while I thought about the day—the tents and wagons, the people, especially the children. How must it feel to have a daughter? I reached for the button on the wall above me. I pressed it, and the lights went out.

Derek said, “You never came over to report last night. We were disappointed, Lixia.”

I opened my eyes. The cabin was full of people: Derek, Agopian, Tatiana.

“Do all of you have to be here?” I asked.

“We have limited space at the moment,” said Derek.

Agopian nodded. “Two boats and a planet.”

“What happened in the village?” asked Tatiana.

“I told Agopian. The shamaness—her name is Angai—has agreed to help us with our problem. Excuse me.” I went to the bathroom.

When I came back out, the cabin had been rearranged. The beds were couches again. The chairs and tables had been unfolded. Agopian and Derek were setting out plates.

Agopian glanced at me. “We are serving an American breakfast on this boat. The only decent food I ever had in America was served at breakfast. Though the hamburger has a certain je ne sais quoi.As does the Coney Island hot dog. Yunqi is serving a Chinese breakfast on the other boat. I hear she’s a really bad cook.”

“Are all Armenians oral-dependent?”

“That is a racist question.” He finished setting the table. “We like to eat. A lot of us have died of starvation over the centuries.”

“You might want to go outside,” said Derek.

“Why?”

“Nia’s son is there.”

I went on deck. Nia and the oracle sat on either side of an iron pot full of stew. They were eating, pulling out hunks of meat with their fingers, and they wore new clothes. Nothing impressive. Nia had on a dark green tunic, plain except for a single line of yellow embroidery at the neck. The oracle wore a reddish-orange kilt with no embroidery at all.

“Where is Anasu?” I asked.

She pointed.

The boy sat on the railing. He was the same height as the oracle, but not as solid-looking, and very dark brown. His eyes were gray. I had never seen that color in a native before.

His kilt was blue-gray. He wore boots designed—I was almost certain—for riding, not walking. They were knee high, made of thin flexible gray leather, which bagged at the ankles. The heels were decorated with silver studs. His belt had a silver buckle, and he wore four narrow silver bracelets, two on each wrist.

Nia said, “He came down last night, after everyone was asleep. He woke me. I told him I was hungry. He went and got food.”

The oracle, chewing, made the gesture of gratitude.

The boy said, “I was away yesterday—out on the plain, hunting. When I got back, Hua told me our mother had returned. Angai told me to leave her alone. I didn’t listen. I will be a man—if not this winter, then the winter after. It is not the voices of women that keep a man alive on the plain. It is his own voice. The one he hears in his mind when his tongue is silent.”

The oracle made the gesture of agreement.

“He brought us clothing, too,” said Nia.

“I saw what my mother looked like. Shabby! And foreign! I don’t really understand what’s going on. Who are you, anyway? Why do you need help from our shamaness?”

I opened my mouth to explain. The boy held up his hand.

“But I know that Nia is in the middle, and it seems to me she ought to be dressed in decent clothing.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Thirteen. Everyone says that I have grown up quickly. I don’t know if that’s a good thing. People expect me to leave the village soon. I suppose I don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind,” said Nia. “Your father got in trouble because he didn’t want to leave the village.”

“I’ve heard about that.” The boy paused and turned his head, then jumped down off the railing.

Foliage moved. Eddie climbed onto the boat. “Good morning, Lixia.” He glanced at the boy. “Nia’s son?”

I made the gesture of affirmation.

“Introduce me.”

I did.

The boy looked him up and down. “Is this a man?”

“Yes.”

“He is a big man,” the boy said.

Eddie wore jeans, a turquoise-blue shirt, and a vest covered with beadwork. The vest was Anishinabe: a bold pattern of brightly colored flowers. The beads were tiny, made of glass. They shimmered in the early morning light. His hair was in braids. The buckle on his belt was turquoise and gold. Of course he was a big man. I made the gesture of affirmation.

“Is he likely to confront anyone?” the boy asked.

“No.”

The boy made the gesture that meant “good.”

Nia stood. “Didn’t you hear in the village? These people are not like any other people.”

“I heard,” said the boy.

Agopian leaned out the cabin door. “Breakfast is ready.”

“This is another male,” said Nia.

“You are really certain they are not going to confront each other?” asked the boy.

“Yes.”

“Hu!”

The oracle looked up. “The little one won’t back down or run away, even though it is obvious that he is no match for Eddie.”

“We have to eat,” I said in the language of gifts.

The oracle made the gesture that meant “go ahead.”

Eddie and I went in. There was a plate of bagels already on the table, toasted and buttered. Derek was setting down a plate of scrambled eggs. Tatiana came out of the galley, carrying a pot of coffee.

“Ivanova is staying on the other boat,” Eddie said. “I think she is trying to make points with the Chinese by eating their breakfast.”

“Never put politics above digestion,” Agopian said. He sat down and reached for a bagel.

We ate in silence, aware—I think—of the aliens outside. Their voices came through the open door, low and even, speaking the language of their tribe.

Tatiana cleared the table. Eddie washed. I dried. Ivanova arrived and spoke to Tatiana in Russian. I glanced out of the galley. It was obvious they were arguing—speaking softly and intently, both of them frowning. Agopian listened and said nothing.

We finished with the dishes.

Ivanova said, “There have been noises in the wood. Voices. I have seen a couple of children in the trees, looking at us, doing nothing. But I don’t think it would be a good idea to leave the boats unattended.”

“I have to stay,” said Tatiana. “And Yunqi. The rest of you are needed in the village. I’ve come so far, and now I have to be a watchdog while history is made a few hundred meters away.”

“Agopian could stay,” I said.

Agopian said, “I will never forgive you for that remark.”

Ivanova shook her head. “He is a historian. I want him along.”

I went out on deck and looked up. The sky was empty except for one little group of clouds. They were shaped like scales and arranged in rows.

“Lizard-hide clouds,” said Nia. She stood up, then bent and put a cover on the stew pot. The handle was a biped—a carnivore, bending over and feeding on another biped that lay dead, a relief on the curving lid.

The boy was gone.

I made the gesture of inquiry.

“I said we’d be in the village soon. He went ahead.”

Ivanova came out. “We’d better get going.”

I followed her onto the bank. The natives followed me. Mr. Fang was on the trail, leaning on a cane. The others joined us: Agopian, Eddie, Derek, who had changed his clothing. Now he was dressed entirely in white: close-fitting jeans and a loose thin shirt. The sleeves were blouselike. The shoulders were covered with embroidery, white on white.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked. “Not from supply.”

“Barter.”

His shoes were a highly reflective white cloth, trimmed with white leather. They shimmered and flashed, even in the forest shadow.

“Huh!” said Eddie.

We went up the bluff. Nia led the way into the village. It was empty. The wind lifted dust and blew it around us. The bells on the metal standards rang.

Agopian said, “Where is everybody?”

Derek made the gesture that meant he did not know.

We came to the open area: the village square. It was full of people: women and children dressed in fine clothing. Everywhere I looked, I saw bright colors, embroidery, jewelry.

A woman shouted. Everyone looked at us.

“Aiya!” said the oracle. “Do I have to go into that?”

“You can go back,” Derek said.

“No. My spirit told me to stay with you.”

The crowd parted. We walked through. The oracle kept his head down, looking at no one until we reached Angai.

She stood in front of her tent, under the awning. Her robe was covered with so much embroidery that I could not tell the color of the underlying fabric.

Her jewelry was less impressive: a nose stud made of gold and a necklace that looked as if it ought to belong to a girl. Each link was a small and delicate silver bird. Hardly the right thing for a middle-aged shamaness, dressed up for a major social occasion.

“Be seated.” She pitched her voice so everyone could hear. “Tell me your problem. The village will listen. We’ll do what we can.”

There were rugs spread under the awning. Angai gestured, and we sat down.

The villagers moved in. The old women were closest. They sat on the ground. Behind them stood the matrons. I could not see the girls or the children. I heard the children though—high voices shouting, “Tsa! Tsa! Tsa!”

Angai said, “Begin.”

I introduced myself, then the other humans.

“What sex are they?” asked Angai.

I told her.

“Four men,” said Angai. “One of them looks old. Is that right?”

I made the gesture of affirmation.

“But the other three?”

“Are neither old nor young.”

“Two of them.” She glanced at Derek and Eddie. “Look like big men. The way they dress is big. So is the way they hold themselves.”

“Yes.”

“But they are able to sit next to each other—and to women—and to a pair of little men—and do nothing.”

“Yes.”

“Nia is right. You people are different.” She looked at the oracle. “Li-sa did not give your name. Who are you and why do you travel with the hairless people? Why have you come into this village? Are you a pervert?”

“No. I am holy and crazy. My name is the Voice of the Waterfall. I belong to the Copper People of the Plain. I am an oracle. I travel with the hairless people because my spirit told me to. I came into your village, o shamaness, because these people came. I will not leave them until I hear from my spirit.”

Angai frowned. “I have never heard of a spirit that used a man for speaking. But the old women say the farther off a village is, the more things are done wrong. The Copper People are a long way off.” She glanced back at me. “What is your problem? Tell me! Maybe if I know what kinds of things worry you, I will understand you better.” She glanced at Nia. “You!”

Nia made the gesture that indicated she was listening with respect.

“Pay careful attention! If this hairless woman says something that does not seem right to you, speak up. Tell me!”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said in English. “She is ready to hear about the problem.”

“I will speak first,” said Mr. Fang. “Please continue to translate, Lixia.”

I made the gesture of agreement.

He looked puzzled. I nodded. He began.

“First of all, thank Angai for making us welcome. Explain to her that we come from a long distance away.

“After we reached this planet—this place—we developed a difference of opinion. We have not been able to settle the argument among ourselves. Therefore, we have decided to turn to people outside our expedition.”

I translated.

Angai made the gesture of approval. “When two women cannot agree, they must turn to a third. To act differently is to act like men.” She frowned, evidently remembering that Mr. Fang was a man. “Go on.”

The old man hesitated. Dots of reflected sunlight danced over his brown skin and his faded blue cotton clothing. The light came from ornaments that hung from the edges of the awning: chains of bronze, which ended in little flat fishes and birds. They moved in the wind, chiming softly. The old man’s hair was loose today, and it moved too, lifting as the wind blew under the awning: wispy, untidy, whitish gray. “This is difficult. How can ideas be removed from their context? How can we explain our dilemma to people whose history and technology are different from our own?”

“I am willing to try,” said Eddie.

“No,” said Mr. Fang. “Your turn will come later. Lixia, tell her that we come from a planet—a place—where there are many different kinds of society. These societies have different levels of technology and, therefore, different kinds of social organization and different ideologies.”

“The old man says in our country there are many different peoples. They have different tools and different ideas.”

“They could hardly have the same tools,” said Angai. “Every village must have its own smith. Every smith must have her own tools. As for ideas, I know that people do not always agree.”

Mr. Fang went on. “In the past there have been problems when people with different levels of technology have met.” He paused. “I don’t want to talk about war or exploitation. Those are Eddie’s subjects.

“Tell the shamaness—when different societies encounter one another, they exchange information and this can cause changes in one society or the other. These changes are not always pleasant.”

I made the gesture that meant “I will.” “The old man says when different people get together, they teach each other new ways of doing things, and this can be disturbing.”

The word I used for “disturbing” meant “to turn around or over,” “to stir porridge by moving a spoon in a circle,” “to empty a pot by turning it upside down.”

Angai looked puzzled.

“Because of this,” said Mr. Fang, “people have always disagreed about the benefits of travel and the exchange of information. According to Master Lao, in a country that follows the Way, people will avoid technological improvements. They will spend their whole lives in one village even though the next village may be so close that they can hear the dogs barking and the crowing of the roosters.”

I said, “There are people in our country who think it is a bad idea to learn new things. These people don’t like to travel.”

Angai made the gesture that meant “go on.”

Mr. Fang said, “But Master Kong said the two great pleasures of life are acquiring knowledge and having friends come to visit from a long distance.

“The literature of China is full of traveling, of friends parting and meeting again. That is how our civilization was created and held together—by the poets on horseback and the soldiers on the frontier, the women sent to marry foreigners, the ordinary workers who took caravans over the mountains and boats through the gorges of the Yangtze.” He glanced up and realized where he was. For a moment he looked startled.

I said, “There are other people who like to learn new things. These people like to travel.”

“I come from Sichuan, from ancient Shu. Without travel and the exchange of information, we would not be Chinese. On the other hand we might still have our native culture and ecology. I am the heir to Kong and Lao, Du Fu and Wang Anshi. That is an obvious good. But we have lost our ancient traditions, whatever they may have been. And we have lost our tigers, our elephants, our pandas, and our leopards. That is a terrible loss.”

“There is both gain and loss in all this travel,” I said. “New stories are learned. Old stories are forgotten. New things come into the country. Old things go away.”

“Even in the twentieth century, it was possible to find giant pandas in the forests of Sichuan. The snow leopard is—or was—remarkably elusive, but there were people who saw prints in the snow of the high mountains in the twentieth century. How does one balance that loss against the poetry of Du Fu, the philosophy of Master Kong, the benefits of socialism?”

“This is not easy to explain,” I said to Angai. “He’s talking about his country. You don’t know the places or the people or the animals.”

“Do the best you can,” said Angai.

“All right.” I thought for a moment. “He is making a pile of the things that have been gained through travel. He is comparing it to the things that have been lost. Which pile is bigger? he asks. He can’t make up his mind.”

“Aiya!” said the villagers.

Mr. Fang lifted his head, looking directly at Angai. “We cannot decide whether or not it’s a good idea to visit you. Therefore we are asking you to decide.”

I translated, then added, “Eddie and Ivanova are going to speak. Eddie is against this visit. Ivanova thinks it is a good idea.”

“This is going to take a long time,” Angai said. “My people need to care for their children. The old women need to get up and walk around. We will stop for a while. There is so much information! So much to think about! So many questions to ask!”

She made a gesture. The old women stood up, groaning. Some of them had to be helped to their feet. The crowd of villagers broke apart and we were alone.

Angai looked at Nia. “Have you heard anything that sounds wrong?”

“No. But there is a lot about these people that I don’t know.” Nia scratched her forehead. “Li-sa did not speak as much as the old man did.” She looked at Derek. “What was not said?”

“She told you,” Derek said. “The old man was speaking about his country.”

“Is what he said important?” Nia asked.

“Judge for yourself.” Derek gave a meticulously exact translation.

The natives frowned and began to ask questions. What is a panda? What is a Wang Anshi?

I got up and walked into the sunlight, stretched and touched my toes. The morning clouds had vanished. The air was getting hot.

I glanced at the group under the awning. Hua had joined them. She carried a jar made of silver. The body was round. The neck was long and narrow. She looked at me and lifted it. I went back, hunkered down, and drank a cool liquid that tasted bitter and made my mouth go numb.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It makes people happy,” Hua said. “When the old women drink it, they forget that their bodies hurt and their strength is leaving them. They dance and sing like girls.”

“Hu!” I took another swig, then handed the jar to Derek.

“You were in the tent,” I said to Hua.

She made the gesture of affirmation. “If I had stayed out there,” she waved at the open area, “the old women would have pushed in front of me. I would have seen nothing and not heard much, either. I am going to be the next shamaness. It is important for me to see and hear what my foster mother does.”

Eddie took the jar. “What is this stuff?”

“A mind-altering substance,” Derek said.

Eddie handed it to Ivanova, who handed it to Agopian. “Be careful, comrade,” she said.

“I will,” said Agopian. He drank, choked, coughed, and gave the jar to Mr. Fang.

I looked at Hua. “Why couldn’t you be out here with us?”

“There is no room under the awning.”

“Girls do not sit with women when they make important decisions,” Angai said.

And maybe, I thought, it would not be a good idea for Hua and Nia and Angai to sit together in front of the entire village. The villagers might remember how close their shamaness had been to the woman they had exiled.

People were coming back now. They carried objects: poles, which they dug into the ground, and pieces of fabric, which they stretched over the poles. Light shone through the fabric, taking on the color of each piece: red, green, blue, yellow, and orange.

The people spread rugs and settled down. They handed around food: pieces of bread, bowls of meat, jars made of silver and bronze. Babies crawled through the colored shadows. Little children ran.

Hua ducked back into the tent. A moment later she reappeared—or rather, her hand did, furry and brown, holding a large flat piece of bread. Eddie took it. We passed it around.

Angai made a commanding gesture. The people in the square grew quiet. Angai looked at us. “Begin.”

“Elizaveta and I flipped a coin,” said Eddie. “I lost. I have to go first. Derek, will you translate?”