And it was complete: a many-colored teepee residence for her to stay in while she was here. They stood back and looked at her expectantly.
“It’s very nice,” she said. “But—”
They waited, but she could not go on. It way very nice, and their society was very nice — but how could she inquire the purpose of it all? She had entered some kind of — diagram? — something with little balls falling and wheels spinning, and she had seen strange animals as though one of Harold’s charts had come to life, and finally she had fallen into a pond with talking fish — or had she been the fish, somehow? — and some kind of writing on the bottom. She understood vaguely that it all had to do with history and the reason she and Harold and Ivo and Afra had come to this place. That place. But now she was by herself, and there was no history and no explanation, and she did not know how to phrase her question.
If only Harold were here to take charge! He was so practical about such things.
“Thank you so much,” she finally said.
“A paean!” Hume cried, and suddenly the group was in song, a melody of sheer exuberance and youthful glee. The voices of the girls were like flutes, marvelously clear and high.
Then they were all sitting around the fire, now a ring of dimming coals, and passing spicy, juicy fish around, each one wrapped in tough green leaves. For drink there was something very like coconut milk, but richer and more filling. She worried that it might be alcoholic, but was soon satisfied that it was not.
No one seemed to have lamps, and when the last of the fire died they were sitting in the dark. The men were exchanging stories of the fish they had speared or almost speared that day, and the territory they had explored: some fabulous fish, some astonishing territory, if everything were to be believed. The girls spoke of the pretty flowers they had seen inland, and the colored stones they had collected. No one asked Beatryx where she had been, and she was glad of that because she did not see how she could explain.
It was all very pleasant, and even the sea-breeze was not cold; but there was one problem. She had dined well and sipped well, and certain urgencies of nature were developing. But which tent…?
On her left sat Hume; on her right, Durwin. She could not inquire.
At last the gathering broke up and the merry voices faded into the night. It was time to retire.
She stood up uncertainly. She was no longer sure where her tent was, or what she should do once she reached it. As for the other—
A gentle hand took her arm. “Will you walk with me?” Persis’ soft voice came.
Thankfully she accepted the guidance. They walked out of the village and into the line of vegetation; she could tell only by the retreating sound of the waves and by the occlusion of a swath of stars by overhanging branches every so often. Now and then her foot came down on a twig or pebble, but there was nothing harsh enough to cause pain.
“Here.”
“Here?” They were still in the forest; she was sure of that much. Night insects chirruped and fluttered nearby. Where was the building?
Persis squatted down.
Beatryx realized, with a despairing shock, that this was it. There were no lavatory facilities! Nothing but the bushes. And these people weren’t even disturbed!
Harold would have arranged to build a privy, at least…
There was a fluffy mattress on the floor of her domicile, and no wind entered to disturb things. Persis showed her where to hang her bathing suit, and left. The advantage of the teepee format was that everything was within reach in the dark. It was comfortable enough.
Comfortable enough physically, but not aesthetically. To sleep without night clothing… and no sanitary facilities! She knew she was being foolish, but these were aspects of the primitive idyl that disturbed her profoundly.
Now she wondered about the sleeping arrangements of her companions. It seemed to her that there had been fewer than twenty structures in the village. Not enough for each person to have one. Were a number of these young men and women married? She had seen no sign of this; no rings on any fingers, no marital designations.
Perhaps Hume and Durwin shared a tent, and Lida and Persis. Young people often did not like to remain alone. Nor, for that matter, did people like Beatryx herself. Still—
She knew what Harold would say: other peoples, other customs. Let them be.
If only he were here!
In the morning the young men gathered more dry branches for the fire, but did not light it. The girls brought fruit from the forest, harvesting it from somewhere, and more coconuts. The nectar, it turned out, was from these. Teams of men punched holes in the mighty-husked objects and skillfully poured the juice into gourds. The women added flavoring from crushed berries.
Breakfast was as supper had been: a communal gathering around the fire — still unlit — and distribution of succulent sections of fruit and cups of drink. Instead of tales of the day’s adventures, the dialogue was about forthcoming projects: where the best fishing might be had, whether it was time to move the camp to a new location, the prospects for rain.
“I,” Hume said, “shall scout to the south this morning. Maybe I can find a suitable campsite.”
“And who will go with you?” Persis demanded with a twinkle. “Do you think we can trust a man to make such an important survey?”
“Tryx will go with me!” he replied jovially. “Was I not first to find her?”
“Are you sure it was not her sunbeam hair you found first?” Persis concentrated with mock-brooding on a strand of her own black tresses.
“I really don’t know anything about campsites,” Beatryx protested. It was foolish again, but she felt flattered by the frequent references to her hair. Once, of course, it had been quite fair, and some of the color lingered. Of course it would be subject to comment amid a black-haired group such as this, but it really was nothing remarkable.
“Do you think he does?” Persis said. Beatryx took a moment to remember that this referred to knowledge of campsites. The matter seemed to be decided.
She and Hume walked down the beach, not hurrying. Beatryx worried about sunburn, but clouds were growing in the sky and rain seemed to be a more likely problem.
“Is it like this — all the time?” she asked, still having trouble framing her question. She had not understood, before, why Ivo had not simply snapped out of his Tyre-dream. Now she appreciated his situation. This world included sleep! Waking up was merely waking up, not a return. There was nothing to take hold of, no way to — she still couldn’t formulate it.
“All summer,” he said. He carried a fishing spear that he used as a staff.
So that was it! A summer holiday. “Where are your families?”
“Oh, they’re inland. It is too dangerous for them on the beaches.”
“Dangerous?” That didn’t sound like vacation!
“The blacks,” he said, as though that explained it.
“What are the blacks?”
He looked uncomfortable. “They come up from the sea. I thought you knew all about — that. We have to stop them from infesting the land. Every year some try. If they ever take hold and start breeding—” He looked ahead. “There it is! I wanted you to see it.”