Текст книги "A Woman of the Iron People"

Автор книги: Eleanor Arnason

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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

“Yes.”

Eddie drew in a breath, then exhaled slowly. “First of all, repeat what Mr. Fang said: When different people meet, changes occur.

“Most likely these people—the Iron People—will change more than we will, since they have a less developed technology. They may not like the changes they experience. And they may not find it possible to go back to the way they were.”

Derek thought for a moment. “All right.” He looked at Angai. “Eddie says when people meet, they change one another.”

Angai made the gesture of qualified agreement.

“If the people have different kinds of tools, then the people with large and powerful tools will change less than the people with small and weak tools.

“Eddie says our tools are large and powerful. Your tools are small and weak. Therefore you will change more than we do, and you may not like the changes.”

Angai frowned. “This man is not being courteous. Our people are skillful. The tools we make are good.”

The women around her made gestures of unqualified agreement.

“However, it is true that new ideas make people uncomfortable. Maybe we will not like the stories you tell or the ways that you behave.”

Derek translated this into English.

Eddie frowned, then nodded. “Next, tell the shamaness that we have a long history of bad behavior toward people who are different. We have improved in the past two or three centuries, but we don’t know that the change is permanent. We may revert—especially here in this country, which is so much like North America.”

“Is this necessary?” asked Ivanova. “Do we have to bring up all the ancient crimes of feudalism and capitalism? We are not those people. And most of us have not had to endure anything like those economic systems.”

Mr. Fang said, “Eddie is not a Marxist. He does not share our analysis of human nature or of human history. For him this is a real concern.”

Derek said, “Eddie says in the past our people acted badly toward people in other villages. He is afraid it will happen again.”

“What do you mean by acting badly?” Angai asked.

Derek translated.

Eddie said, “Tell her about war.”

“In the past our men used to go around in groups. They fought with men from other villages. The men who won stole things from the men who lost.”

“What kind of things?” asked Angai.

“Belongings, animals, land. Sometimes they took away people: men and women and children.”

“How can you steal land? It cannot be carried away in a saddlebag or even in a wagon. And what purpose could there be in stealing people?”

An old woman said, “There are stories about demons who eat people.”

Angai frowned. “Is that what your people did?”

“No,” said Derek. “Let Eddie explain.” He translated Angai’s questions.

Eddie frowned. “This is really difficult. Wait a minute.” He stared at the sky. “There are two ways to steal land.

“First, you drive off the people who are on the land and take it over yourself. That was done in North America.

“Second, you take over ownership of the land. You don’t get rid of the original people. You keep them to work the land. You own them as well as the land. That was done in South America and Africa and—I guess—in Europe in the Middle Ages.”

Derek translated.

Angai said, “Why would people agree to work for strangers? What bond holds them together? They are not kin. They cannot possibly have any obligations to people who are thieves.”

Eddie answered, “If they did not work, they got no food. Often they were beaten or hurt in other ways.”

Derek translated, having trouble with the word “beaten.” He hesitated, then used the word that meant to hammer metal at the forge.

“This is impossible to understand,” said Angai. “Why didn’t the people leave?”

“There was no place to go,” said Eddie. “The world was full of people who fought and stole. Everything was owned.”

“Hu!” said Angai. She looked at Nia. “Does this sound right to you?”

“No. I have never heard any of this before. I know this man does not want you to welcome his people. Maybe he is lying.”

Angai looked at me. “Is he lying?”

“No. But what he is describing happened a long time ago.”

“How long ago?”

I did some figuring. “At least twelve generations have passed.”

Angai leaned back and exhaled. “Are you certain these things really happened? A story can change when it is told and retold.”

“We are certain.”

“What happened? It is easier to change words than to change people. If the story is true, if it has not changed, then what happened to you? Why are you different now?”

I hesitated. Derek translated our conversation.

Eddie said, “I’m not certain that we are any different.”

“Can I answer the question?” I asked.

Mr. Fang and Ivanova nodded.

“I think you are trying to undercut me,” Eddie said.

“I’m trying to answer a question that Angai has asked. Derek will translate everything I say. If you want to comment, you’ll be able to.”

Eddie made the gesture of reluctant assent.

I looked at Angai. “Eddie does not believe that we have changed. But I do.”

“How? And why?” asked Angai.

I thought for a while, aware of the people listening—of the small noises, coughs and whispers, a baby crying, older children playing on the far side of the square. I could hear their voices, high and clear, not all that different from the voices of children on Earth.

But when I looked, I saw dark fur and yellow eyes, slit pupils, flat broad faces that reminded me of no kind of human.

“Eddie has told you that these people—our ancestors—stole from one another. That is true. They also stole from the entire world. People will treat everything the way they treat one another.”

A very old lady—bent over and gray—said, “Hu! Yes! I know!”

“They tore up the land, looking for various kinds of wealth: gold and silver and copper and other things. They cut down forests. They took water out of rivers so the rivers went dry. They put poison into other rivers so the water could not be used. They were even able to do harm to the sky. Burning rains began to fall, and the heat of the sun grew more intense.”

“This is terrible,” a woman said. “Weren’t your shamanesses able to do anything? Couldn’t they plead with the spirits? Couldn’t they perform ceremonies of propitiation and aversion?”

“They tried. But nothing worked. It was not spirits that were doing these things. It was people.”

“Hu!” the woman said.

“What happened?” asked Angai.

“You have to understand, most of our ancestors were not deliberately evil. They did not intend to ruin the world. But they didn’t think about the results of what they were doing. They thought they could take without giving. They thought the world was like a fish in a shell. They could open it and eat it and throw the shell away.”

I paused. Derek translated.

“Fish in a shell?” asked Mr. Fang.

Eddie said, “I’m surprised that Derek missed that one. Our ancestors thought the world was their oyster.”

Mr. Fang still looked puzzled.

Angai said, “They must have realized that they were acting wrongly. It is always wrong to steal. It is always wrong to harm other people—except when two men fight in the spring.”

“They lied to one another about what they were doing,” I told her.

“In the beginning—in the early days—they said, ‘We are making the world better. When we came to this place there was nothing except forest and wild animals and people who ran around naked. We have ended this. We have cut down the trees and planted gardens. We have made meadows where we can raise the kind of animals we like. We have taught the naked people how to wear clothing. All this is good! And look at the other things we’ve done! We have dug rivers and brought water to our gardens. We have turned dry canyons into lakes. Now there is more food. Now there can be more people. Now our villages can grow large and rich!’

“After a while they began to notice that the world did not seem to be a better place. Everything seemed smaller and dirtier. Everything was wearing out—the soil, the hills, the rivers and lakes. The people said, ‘There is nothing new in this. There have always been places where the land is thin and useless. There have always been rivers where the water is not fit to drink. There is no problem.’

“Things kept getting worse. Now the people said, ‘For everything that is gained, something must be lost. Look at what we have gained! Look at our villages full of big houses! Look at our houses full of many gifts! The forests that are gone have come back to us in gold. The rivers we cannot drink from have become jars full of bara.’

“Finally everything became so bad that no one could come up with anything comforting to say. Then the people said, ‘Change is impossible. It’s already too late. Anyway, we don’t really mind the way things are.’ ” I paused. “Those are the four kinds of lie the people told. ‘We are making things better.’ ‘There is no problem.’ ‘There are no real gifts.’ ‘It is too late to change.’ ”

“This is the worst thing I have ever heard,” a woman said.

Angai said, “This can’t be the end of the story.”

“In the end the people looked around and saw how terrible the world had become. Lying was no longer possible. They saw where anger and greed had taken them—to the edge of destruction. They had to choose. If they wanted to live, they would have to give up anger and greed. If they wanted to remain angry and greedy, they would certainly die.

“Most people decided they wanted to live. They were like someone walking in her sleep, troubled by terrible dreams. All at once she wakes and sees where she is standing—at the edge of a cliff. One more step will take her over. The rocks below look hard.”

Derek translated.

Agopian said, “That’s a wonderful speech, Lixia. I’m impressed. But you left out class warfare and a lot of very serious revolutionary struggle.”

“And you have ignored the benefits of technology,” said Ivanova. “Civilization is more than organized lying and stealing—though lying and stealing have certainly been important. Do you really think that we’d be better off if we were still digging for grubs with our fingers in the African savannah?”

“I can’t get everything in,” I said. “And like Eddie, I am not a Marxist.”

Angai said, “Is that all? Or is there more to your explanation?”

“One other thing. Derek told you that groups of men used to go around and fight each other. That is how everything started—when one kind of people began to steal from another kind of people.”

Angai made the gesture of acknowledgment.

“Our men don’t go off on their own anymore. They stay with the women, and women do not like to confront and fight.”

“That is true,” Angai said. “Maybe you are right to keep your men in the villages—if they get together and make trouble once they are on their own.”

The other women made gestures of agreement.

“How lucky we are,” one said. “Our men would never think of getting together.”

“They might, if they heard about these people,” another said.

“I think you have just done us in,” Derek said in English.

Angai made the gesture of disagreement. “These people are obviously different from us. I think it’s likely their men are different from our men.” She looked at me. “Did your men ever live alone the way our men do?”

“No. Our men have always done things in groups.”

Angai made the gesture that meant “you see.” She glanced up. “The sun is in the western half of the sky, and we are reaching the hottest part of the day. We have heard from Eddie. Now we have to hear the other person. Ifana.”

I translated.

Ivanova nodded. “You take care of this, Lixia.” She straightened up. “I don’t have much to add. What Eddie has described is not the nature of humanity, but the nature of capitalism—and the various economic and political systems that arose in response to capitalism, some of which, I know, called themselves proletarian. The question of what those societies actually were—”

Agopian spoke in Russian.

Ivanova nodded and said, “—is not relevant here. The dominant system was capitalism. It squatted like a dragon in the center of the twentieth century. Its tentacles reached everywhere.”

A lovely metaphor, and Ivanova would not be able to disown it. We had too many recorders on.

“That era is over, at least for the majority of the population of Earth.” She paused.

I said, “Ivanova says, our ancestors were not bad people. They had bad customs, and we have given those customs up.”

“We have learned the hard way—through terrible suffering—that a society based on individual greed is very dangerous. In order to survive we have to think in large terms. We have to think about the species and the planet. If we do not, we’ll die—or our children will die—or their children. We have no choice! We must cooperate!”

I said, “We have learned that we can’t be greedy or selfish.”

“Good!” said the gray old lady, the one who had spoken before.

“A proletarian society is based on cooperation. People do not exploit each other. Nor do they exploit their neighbors. When they meet with members of other societies, it is with respect for the rights of others and a concern for the benefit of all.”

I said, “We work together now. We don’t steal. When we meet people from other villages, we exchange gifts.”

Ivanova looked at Angai. “We would like to spend time in your country in order to learn about your people and this planet. In return we will teach you about our people and Earth. I sincerely believe this exchange of information will do no harm. Instead, it will work for the benefit of everyone.”

“She says that our people want to come and visit and exchange stories. She thinks this will be good for everyone.”

“Is she telling the truth?” asked Angai.

“She believes what she has told you. So does Eddie.”

“Does the old man have anything to say?”

I translated the question.

“Only this,” said Mr. Fang. He looked at the shamaness. “This is your planet and your decision. It will remain your decision. If—in the future—you want us to leave, we will.”

“He says this is your country. You can tell us to stay. You can tell us to go, now or anytime.”

Angai frowned. “I know all that. Does he think I am stupid?” She climbed to her feet. “We will end now. I will go and think about everything these people have told us. I’ll ask the advice of the spirits and the old women of the village. Tomorrow I will tell you what my decision is.” She made the gesture that meant “it is over” and went into her tent.

The villagers began to disassemble their awnings.

I helped Mr. Fang get up.

“I do not really agree with the Daoists,” he said. “But maybe we take too much upon ourselves. Making history is hard work, and it may be dangerous. I think I will have a cup of tea, look at the river, and contemplate inaction.”

We walked through the village. He leaned on my arm. I realized how thin he was, and frail.

“On the other hand,” said Mr. Fang, “there is the story of Yu the Engineer. He was traveling on government business and had to cross a river. A large yellow dragon bumped the boat.

“The boatmen were terrified. Yu remained calm. He said, ‘I am doing my utmost in the interest of the people, discharging my duties in obedience to Heaven. Living, I am a guest. Dying, I go home. Why should I be disturbed? This dragon is no more than a lizard.’

“The dragon flattened its ears and dropped its tail and swam away. Yu continued on his journey. I have always liked that story.”

We went down the river bluff. I helped him onto Ivanova’s boat and settled him in a chair on the deck. The cabin was empty. Yunqi must have gone to see Tatiana. I made tea and brought it out. Lapsang Souchong. We sipped and watched birds fishing in the river.

Yunqi returned and prepared lunch. Cold noodles and pickled vegetables. We ate together on the deck. The pickles were delicious.

After a while Derek joined us and drank a beer, his feet up on the railing, his new shoes gleaming. “Much better! I don’t like speeches. They aren’t what life is about. If life is about anything.”

I made the gesture of agreement.

“What will they do?” asked Yunqi. “Will we be allowed to stay?”

I said, “I don’t know.”

Yunqi frowned. “Our work is important.”

“This is their country,” said Mr. Fang.

I decided that I was hot and sticky and not especially willing to listen to speculation about the villagers. “I’m going for a swim.”

Derek made the gesture that meant “that’s a good idea.”

I went to the other boat.

Agopian and Ivanova sat on the deck. They were talking softly and intently in Russian. They glanced at me, then went back to their conversation.

Eddie was in the cabin on a couch reading.

“Where is Tatiana?” I asked.

“In the village. She wanted to see the people. It might be her only chance. They may tell us to go.” There was something in his voice. Hope? Satisfaction?

I got a towel and a bottle of soap from the bathroom. “What are the comrades talking about?”

“I have no idea. It never occurred to me that I’d need Russian. Their work in the social sciences is not that good, at least in the areas that interest me.”

“It’s probably nothing.” I got a new pair of coveralls: bright yellow. “I’m going into the river. If I’m not back in an hour, get out the nets.”

“Okay.”

I washed in the shallow water close to shore, then swam out to midchannel. It was midafternoon now. The cliffs above me were still bright with sunlight, but the forest along the river was shadowy. I floated on my back, letting the current take me south and east.

Something whistled. I lifted my head. There was a biped on the shore. It was two meters tall, yellow with blue stripes and a lovely azure throat. A predator. I saw the clawed hands and the mouth full of pointed teeth. An osupamaybe? It watched me, fearless, then whistled again. Other animals came out of the shadows: a pack. The young were half the size of their parents and spotted rather than striped. Ten in all. On land they would have frightened me. But they didn’t look like swimmers. I flipped over and slowly swam upriver to the boat. The current was stronger than I had realized. By the time I pulled myself onboard I was tired. I sat on the prow, breathing heavily.

The dominant predators seemed to be the animals called killers. They were four-footed and looked something like badgers or leopards, if the art of the natives was accurate. Were the predatory bipeds being pushed out? Or did they fill another ecological niche? Maybe the killers preyed mostly on bowhorns, while these animals preyed on their herbivorous cousins. More questions for Marina to answer. I got dressed and went aft.

Ivanova was gone. Agopian sat at the folding table, laying down cards. A native watched him, standing at the other end of the table, leaning forward on furry hands.

Agopian looked up. “He or she wants you, I think. It’s really hard trying to relate to utterly strange beings who don’t speak a language I understand.”

“What is he doing?” asked the native. It was Nia’s son.

“It’s a…” I hesitated. I still didn’t know the word for game. “A ceremony. Or else, it’s the kind of thing that children do with a stick and a ball.”

“Hu! He puts red on black and black on red. But I don’t understand the rest. Are the colors important?”

I translated.

Agopian said, “Red for blood and fire. Black for night and death.” He laid down a card. “Black for anarchy. Red for revolution.”

I looked at Anasu. “He says, they are the colors of blood and fire, night and death, confusion and change.”

“That is plenty! What a ceremony this person is performing! Is he? I don’t know the word. Is he a male shamaness?”

I translated.

“I am a Marxist.”

I made the gesture that meant “yes.”

“Aiya!” The boy straightened up, taking his hands off the table. “Is there a place where we can go? I don’t want to disturb a shaman.” He paused. “A shaman person.”

“He doesn’t want to bother you,” I said in English.

“Take him away,” Agopian said. “I have to do some thinking.” He glanced up. “I may want to tell you something later.”

“About the conversation you were having with Ivanova?”

“Yes. I think I’ve gotten myself into something stupid, and now I have to get out.” He looked at the array of cards, frowning. “That’s life, as Lenin said. One step forward. Two steps back.” He laid down another card. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention my remarks to Ivanova.”

“Okay.”

The boy followed me forward to the prow. We sat down on the fiberglass deck. He wrapped his furry arms around his furry knees.

“One of your people is in the village, walking around and looking. She doesn’t understand a word that people say to her. Or is she a male? I don’t know.”

“A woman. Her name is Tatiana.”

He made the gesture of acknowledgment: a quick flip of one hand. “Hua is with her, making sure that she does not get into trouble.”

A voice called out in the language of the village. It came from a tree that leaned over the river. I glanced up and saw leaves moving. “Is that a friend of yours?”

“Gerat. He always makes a lot of noise. You won’t hear the others. They told me I would not dare go onto the boat.”

“Is that why you came down?”

“Because of the dare? No. We wanted to see the boats, and everyone in the village is arguing.” He hugged his knees. “Hu! What a situation! They don’t want the children around, especially the boys. They don’t want us to see that they are confused.”

“Do you know what they’re going to decide?”

“No. It depends on Angai and the spirits. Also on the old women. I think the old women will say that you have to leave. But I don’t know about Angai.” He tilted his head, considering. His strange pale gray eyes were half-closed. Finally he made the gesture of uncertainty. “Hua might have some idea. She understands Angai better than I do. And she knows more about the spirits.” He opened his eyes. “I have something to ask you.”

I made the gesture that meant “go ahead and ask.”

“People say this boat moves on its own. I’d like to see that. Is it possible?”

I thought for a moment. It was a reasonable request. One must always help the young acquire knowledge. And I liked this kid. He was intelligent and charming. Odd that charm crossed species lines. Odd that his charm should have a sexual component. It did.

“Okay.” I stood up. “I’ll talk to the shaman person.”

Anasu lifted a hand. “I don’t want to interrupt a ceremony.”

“He might be done by now.”

I walked back to the stern. Agopian was still playing solitaire. “Can you run the boat?”

“Of course.”

“Take it out.”

“Why?”

“The boy. Anasu. He wants to see a boat in motion.”

Agopian frowned.

“It isn’t a lot to ask.”

Agopian stood and gathered up the cards. “Okay.”

The boy joined us, looking nervous. “Was the shaman person done?”

“I think so.”

Agopian settled himself in the pilot’s chair, flipped a switch, and spoke in Russian.

“What is he saying?” asked the boy.

“I don’t know. We have many languages, and I know only a few.”

“Then you aren’t all from the same village?”

“No.”

The radio spoke in Russian. Agopian started the engine. Next to me, the boy clenched his hands. Agopian said, “Get the mooring lines, Lixia.”

I did, scrambling through the underbrush. A voice spoke overhead. I didn’t think it was the child who had spoken before. I climbed back on the boat, and it moved away from shore. Eddie came out of the cabin.

“What’s going on?”

I told him.

He frowned.

“Think of it this way,” I said. “It may be his last chance.”

“Like Tatiana in the village?” Eddie grinned. “Okay.”

“Is the big man angry?” asked Anasu.

“No.” I looked at the shore. A couple of the children were visible now. One stood quietly on the bank, looking out at us. The other hung one-handed from a branch like a gibbon. His feet kicked. Or did I mean her feet?

“That is Gerat,” said Anasu.

A moment later Gerat lost his grip. He fell into the water and splashed around, shouting. The other child paid no attention.

“I told you,” said Anasu. “He is always noisy.”

We reached the middle of the river. Agopian brought the boat around so it pointed upstream toward the rapids, then throttled down. The sound of the engine went from a roar to a growl.

“Why does your boat make so much noise?” asked Anasu. “Is it hungry?”

“It won’t eat us, if that is what you are wondering.”

“Is it alive?”

Gerat climbed onto the bank. His fur was soaked and matted. He looked miserable, even at a distance.

“No,” I said. “It’s a tool.”

The boy ran three steps forward, jumped and caught the edge of the cabin roof, swinging himself up.

“Hey!” said Eddie.

Anasu stood, his legs wide.

“Get down!” Eddie shouted.

The boy waved.

The other children made whooping noises. I could see five.

“I will be a big man!” Anasu called. “I’ll be like my uncle. You little ones, listen! Get ready to back down!”

“You say it!” a voice called in reply.

The boat was drifting downriver very slowly. Anasu tried a dance step: a slide and hop.

 
“I am on the boat!
I am on the boat
that growls!
“I am on the boat!
I am on the boat
that ROARS!
“I am dancing!
Aiya! Dancing
on the broad
and shaking back.”
 

“Big mouth!” cried one of the children. I thought it was Gerat.

Anasu spun around.

Agopian said, “Get him down, Lixia.”

“The shaman person is getting angry,” I said. “Get down.”

Anasu shouted again, then rolled forward in a somersault that took him off the roof. He straightened in midair and landed on his feet.

“Gymnastics,” said Agopian. “That’s what these kids need. With the proper training, they’d beat the Chinese.”

“They need to be left alone,” said Eddie.

Agopian turned the wheel. The boat turned in a circle, heading back to shore.

Anasu was breathing heavily. Not from exertion. From excitement and maybe fear. “Is the shaman person seriously angry?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about the big man? He did most of the shouting.”

“No.”

Anasu made the gesture of happiness.

The other children met the boat, calling to Anasu in their own language. He ignored them, standing with his shoulders back.

Interesting. The process of establishing dominance must begin early. That was true of humans in societies where hierarchies were important. In New Jersey, for example.

It was possible that the children already knew—before they went through the change—where they stood in relation to one another.

I climbed out of the boat and tied it up. Anasu followed, helping as best he could. When we were done, he made the gesture of gratitude. “Tell the shaman person, I am grateful to him. I hope he isn’t angry. It is never a good idea to get in quarrels with holy people.”

He turned and ran into the forest. The other children followed. I went back to the boat.

“He could have fallen off,” said Eddie. “What if he came down near the prop?”

“I think it’s called a screw,” said Agopian. “Though I wouldn’t swear to that.”

I went in the cabin. Eddie’s book lay on the floor. The fast-forward button shone red and on the screen was the three-lobed symbol used to mark the end of anything precious: literature, art, air, clean water, unpolluted soil. The symbol was painted on outside airlocks. It stood at the edge of the various ruined lands. It ended holodramas and shone over the exits in museums.

I turned the book off and tossed it on the couch, went to the galley and got a beer.

Tatiana came back.

“How did you like the village?” I asked.

“God is great.” She laughed. “That’s what I kept thinking. Allah akbar.”

“ ‘O brave new world, that has such people in it,’ ” said Eddie.

Agopian said, “Miranda in The Tempest.Has anyone ever told you that Shakespeare is better in Russian?”

Eddie made the gesture that meant “no.”

I said, “I’ve always heard that he was best in German.”

“That line never reminds me of Shakespeare,” Eddie said. “I know it from Aldous Huxley. His novel Brave New World.”

“You’ve read it?” I asked.

“I’ve taught it—in my survey course on the collapse of Western civilization.”

Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten?

We made sandwiches and ate them on the deck. Bugs danced above the surface of the river. The sky darkened.

Tatiana went to bed. The rest of us stayed on deck. I opened another beer.

“Be careful,” said Eddie. “That stuff can be dangerous.”

“I’m of Chinese descent, and the Chinese are famous for not having a drinking problem.”

Derek chose that moment to climb over the railing. “For example,” he said. “There is the famous Chinese poet Li Bo. The story is—he was out in a boat, drinking rice wine and enjoying the evening. He saw the reflection of the moon on the water and leaned over to embrace it. He fell in and drowned.”

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“Up at the village.”

Eddie frowned. “We were told—”

“I wasn’t in the village. I was outside it, taking a walk, looking at the night sky, listening to the music.”

“Music?” I asked.

He made the gesture of affirmation. “One instrument sounded like a flute. Another was like a xylophone, and there was a third that made a noise like a foghorn.

“I wanted to go in. But the old men were prowling at the edges of the village. The music must have gotten to them. They didn’t go in, but they couldn’t seem to pull themselves away. They kept pacing, stopping, peering at the fire—there was a big one in the middle of the village—then pacing again. I couldn’t figure out a way to get past them. Damn! I hate to pass up any ceremony!”

I finished my beer and went into the cabin. Tatiana was already asleep. I unfolded one of the couches, undressed, and lay down. The window above me was open. I heard the rustle of foliage and the river lapping gently against our boat.

I woke early. The cabin was dark and cool. Someone was snoring. I got up and went to the bathroom, then out on the deck, carrying my clothes. Light shone out the windows of the other boat. A gust of wind brought me the scent of Chinese cooking and music: the piano version of “Pictures from an Exhibition.”

I did my yoga, dressed, and climbed the river bluff.

The sun was visible from the top. It hung just above the horizon: a reddish-orange disk, too bright to look at directly. I followed a trail through the pseudo-grass. Leaves brushed against me, wet with dew. In a minute or two my pants were soaked.

A flower bloomed just off the trail: large and low to the ground. The petals were pale yellow, almost the same color as the plain. The center was dark. The entire plant was fleshy—like a succulent on Earth.