The biologist replied, “He has an inordinate love of bugs.”
After four days we came to a new kind of vegetation: a bright green plant that looked like grass or pseudo-grass, except that it was five meters tall. It formed a wall that went north and south as far as we could see.
“There’s water here,” said Nia. “This stuff grows at the edge of rivers.”
We rode north along the barrier. There was no way through. The stalks grew too close together, and the leaves had rough edges.
“They cut,” said Nia. “This is what I wanted.” She reined her animal and pointed. “A path.”
We dismounted. I groaned as usual, but the pain was getting less. Nia went down the path. I followed, leading my animal. It crowded me. It must have smelled water. “Stop that!” I slapped the creature’s nose. It snorted.
“Be quiet,” said Nia. “You can never tell what is waiting for you at a river.”
The vegetation ended. We were on the riverbank. In front of us a narrow trickle wandered over a wide sandy bed. On the far side was more of the monster grass. Downstream was a pool.
“Aiya!” said Nia.
A man stood in the pool. He was naked, and he had no fur. His skin was brown. His long hair was blond. On his back was a tattoo: a complex geometric pattern. It represented the cosmic forces in and around the Gray Whale. It—the whale or rather the pattern of the whale—was the totem of his lodge. Maybe I ought to use his terminology. It was the mandala of his eco-niche.
He had a fishing rod, and he was casting with all his usual skill.
“I have a question for you,” said Nia. “Do you know what that is?”
“A person. A friend of mine.”
He glanced around and pulled in his line, then waded to shore. His beard and his pubic hair were reddish brown. On his chest and arms were initiation scars. The rod he carried was handmade. It was long—extremely long, and it didn’t have any reel.
“How is it?” I asked in English.
“The fishing rod? Not good.” He grinned. “But I have fish.” He laid the rod down. “You are Nia,” he said in the language of gifts. “I am Derek. My tribe is the Angelinos. The house I belong to is the house of—” He paused for a moment. “The big fish. The name I got for myself is He Who Fights in the Sea. And I had better tell you, I am a man.”
“I thought you might be,” Nia said. “Though it is hard to be certain about anything when dealing with people who are so different. Are you holy? Like the Voice of the Waterfall? Is that why you are naked?”
“No. I’ll be back.” He went off along the river, moving quickly, out of sight in a minute.
Nia looked at me. “I didn’t really believe there were other people like you. I thought you were something peculiar, like the young our does have now and then. They have five legs or two heads. We kill them, and the shamaness performs ceremonies to avert bad luck.”
Derek returned wearing jeans. His hair was pulled back and fastened at the nape of his neck. He had on a necklace made of shells and pieces of bone and a metal pendant. It was the same kind I wore, an AV recorder.
As usual, he looked graceful and barbarous. He had a Ph.D. in anthropology, and he was a full professor at the University of San Francisco, on leave at the moment, of course. A rather lengthy leave. He wouldn’t be back for another 120 years, at the earliest.
“Now for the fish.” He went to the river and pulled out a stringer. There were six fish on it: long, narrow, and silver-gray. He held them up. They twisted and flapped their tails. “You take care of your animals. I’ll take care of mine.”
“Good,” said Nia.
By the time we got back, Derek was cutting the last fish open. A fire burned next to him. The rest of the fish lay on a rock in a neat row, gutted.
“We have two choices,” he said. “We can put them on sticks and roast them or wrap them in wet leaves and bake them in the coals.”
“Which is faster?”
He grinned. “Roasting. Go cut the sticks.”
We turned and walked back to the monster grass.
“He gives a lot of orders,” Nia said. “Who does he think he is? A shamaness?”
“He has tenure,” I said. “It gives him confidence.” I felt a twinge of envy. My own academic history was far less distinguished. The job I had left had been untenured.
“What is that? The word you said?”
“Tenure. It means that what he has, he is able to hold on to.”
“He is like the big men among my people,” Nia said. “They hold their territories, and no one can make them back down—until they get old.”
“I guess that’s right.”
We got our sticks and went back to the fire. Derek cooked the fish. We ate. Afterward I said, “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“I got lonely and from what Eddie told me about Nia, I thought she could tolerate a man.”
“That may be,” Nia said. “But you are nothing like Enshi, and he was the only man I ever spent time around.”
I looked at Nia. She began to lick the inside of her hand, getting the last of the fish oil. “If you mind him, I’ll tell him to go.”
She glanced up. “No. I want to learn how he catches fish. Now I am going to wash myself.” She stood up and undid her belt. Then she pulled off her tunic. Naked, she walked to the river. She knelt and undid her sandals. Her fur shone like copper, and she moved as easily as Derek. No. I was wrong. Her movements were more powerful and less graceful. She stood, kicked off her sandals, and waded into the water.
My companion rubbed his nose, which was peeling a little. “I thought, from what she said before, that nudity wasn’t entirely proper. Or does that apply to men only? Or maybe it is appropriate to undress in order to bathe, no matter who is around.”
“When in doubt, ask.”
“A good idea.” He got up. “I imagined her as a tough old lady. A Mother Courage. She’s beautiful.” He followed her to the edge of the river.
Oh, no, I thought. Derek was notorious. The Don Juan of San Francisco. The Interstellar Lover. He had gone through the ship like a devouring flame. There were even rumors about him and Ivanova, though I found that combination highly unlikely. He wouldn’t say if the rumors were true, and I certainly didn’t have the nerve to ask her.
I asked him why he was promiscuous, one evening after we had finished making love. Guilt, he told me.
“Among my people, we marry young. I had a wife. She was maybe thirteen, thin like a reed with long brown hair. Her eyes were blue. I left her when I left my people. I will never betray her. I will never settle down with a woman from outside.”
Nia was waist-deep in the water and splashing her arms. He called to her. I couldn’t make out what he said. She answered. They began to talk. She moved closer to the shore. Thank heaven it was the middle of summer. The time for mating was past. Nia couldn’t possibly be interested in Derek. Nonetheless, I decided to join them. I heard Nia say, “My people think it’s shameful to go without clothes. But the women in the village of Nahusai like to swim. They wash often. They say the only shame is being naked when a man is there. Or even a boy, for they grow up to be men. But I do things my own way.” She said this defiantly. “I do not pay attention to the opinions of old women. I do what I think is right.”
Derek grinned, then made the gesture of agreement. Nia waded farther out and began to wash her back.
Late in the afternoon he showed her how to use a fishing pole. She caught nothing. We ate dried meat for dinner. Night came. There were shooting stars.
“They come this time of year,” said Nia. “We call them the Arrows of Summer.”
Derek put more wood on the fire. I went to sleep and dreamt of him. We were in one of the recreation cabins on the ship. The walls were glazed yellowish white. Derek was naked and laughing. His penis was erect. He reached for me. I woke. Off to my right Nia was snoring, and Derek was on the other side of the fire. I could hear his deep, slow breathing. I lay for a while watching the night sky. Then I went back to sleep.