“Think. The natives have such a perilous struggle for survival that they have to use every available weapon. They’re bright. If they happen onto a more efficient way of doing things, they’ll adopt it. No one knows how many visitors they’ve had, down through the centuries, and out of all the knowledge that those visitors brought here, the only item I can positively identify that the natives found useful was that knot.”
Before she could comment, he changed the subject abruptly. “As long as you’ve walked this far, why don’t we see the gourds now?”
“Why not?” she murmured. “By an incredible coincidence, I have no other engagement.”
They used the ferry to cross the river, and when they reached the other side he told her, “The one rule is to go single file and keep to the center of the path. There’s no danger there, or there wouldn’t be a path.”
They moved off into the forest. Several times vegetation along the path drew back from them as they passed, alarming her, but Hort paid no attention to it. She followed him silently. They passed trees with enormous, multicolored flowers, and they splashed through a small stream just downstream from a towering waterfall in which a strange flying creature, magnificently colored but unspeakably hideous in appearance, was enjoying a shower bath. The creature suddenly became aware of them and soared away squalking, dripping water on them as it passed over-head.
Abruptly they came to another river and another of Wembling’s ferries, and this one was in use. A crowd of extremely happy children was playing in it, hauling back and forth across the river. Now and then a child tumbled overboard and found that hilarious, too. With whoops of joy they ran the ferry to shore, made room for Hort and Talitha, and gave them swift passage. Hort helped Talitha to disembark, and then the two of them stood with arms uplifted, and the children, giggling delightedly, responded as they pulled the boat back across the river.
“I forgot about that,” Hort said. “The children think the ferries are absolutely scrumptious playthings. If they want to cross a river, though, they’ll swim.”
A short distance beyond the river, Hort stopped abruptly and pointed. “There’s one of them.”
Talitha gazed blankly at the enormous, looming thing that vanished from sight among the branches of the surrounding trees. She said, “It grew that big?”
“Some of them do,” Hort said. “Probably the natives pick most of them when they’re smaller, because they have so many uses for them. A gourd this size must be many years old. What I can’t figure out is how the things reproduce. There are dozens of them here. Look.”
He moved along the path, parting leaves and showing her gourds of various sizes. “All of them come from one plant,” he said. “Wherever you see gourds, whatever the species, there’s always one plant. I can’t figure out how a thing like this can scatter seeds or spores so widely—and in a forest, too.”
“Are they edible?” she asked.
“No, but they’re used for everything else. Roofs of houses, containers, hammocks, furniture, and they make really splendid drums and musical instruments. Children play all sorts of games with gourd toys. They’re platforms for native dances, and the end of a small one can be painted to make a splendid mask. The vines yield a thread that makes excellent rope and cloth. Remarkable, aren’t they?”
He leaned over and thumped on one, and it gave off deep, booming thuds.
“Is that all there is to see?” she asked.
“That’s all,” he said cheerfully.
“They certainly are remarkable. I’m glad I didn’t wait until tomorrow to see them. Two such tremendous thrills like gourds and a native festival on the same day would be more than my nervous system could stand.”
She turned and walked away. Where the path curved, she was able to glance back at him without turning her head, and she saw him still standing in the path looking after her.
9
There were two fires on the beach, and they produced an enormous halo of light that not only illuminated the spectators crowding the hillside but also touched off spectacular flashes in the breaking wave caps. Between the fires a musician had set up his instrument. A nab, Aric Hort called it, and it was constructed of a gourd twice as tall as the musician and of tremendous circumference. Talitha’s first incredulous conclusion was that it took one musician to play the thing and two to hold it down, because two members of the audience were seated atop the gourd. Later, when they began to stomp their feet, she learned that they were drummers.
The musician struck his first tones, and the native festival was under way. For a time nothing happened but the rhythmic thum… thum… thum of the nab strings. Then another musician joined him.
He played the same instrument.
Sets of strings were stretched from a yoke near the top to a wood collar near the bottom. The nab was not an instrument; it was many instruments. More musicians joined in, each on another set of strings, until Talitha counted eight playing one nab. Probably there were others hidden by the instrument. The rhythm took on fantastic complexities.
Then the drummers began punctuating the thums with their vigorous stomping, marking off new rhythmic complexities with a thud… thud… thud. An orchestra began to assemble about the nab, and smaller drums and stringed instruments joined in. Then the colorfully costumed dancers entered. The young men circled one fire, the young women the other.
The lines broke off and interwove as the groups changed fires. The lines broke off again and began to weave through the spectators. Several of the young women tried to coax Talitha into the dance as they passed her.
She shook her head. “I don’t know how.”
Hort, seated beside her, got up and tried to pull her to her feet. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s the custom—they’re making an honored guest of you. Just do what they do.”
Her uncle, seated nearby, was smiling encouragement at her. The natives around her seemed delighted. The movements did not look difficult, so she succumbed and let the girls lead her away.
For a time she thought she was not doing badly, though the steps quickly became more intricate. They circled a fire and broke off to weave through the line of young men. Aric Hort smiled at her as they passed; the young men had pulled him into the dance.
The men returned to form a circle around the girls, and she found herself paired off with Hort. The dance picked up speed, the steps became more and more difficult, but they blundered along until they were exhausted. Laughing, gasping for breath, they staggered back to their places.
When she had caught her breath, Talitha looked about her at the rapt audience of natives. She nudged Hort. “Why aren’t Fornri and Dalla dancing?”
“It’s like I told you—Fornri is the leader. He seems to have forsworn marriage. He and Dalla are sweethearts, but they aren’t dancing. Dalla isn’t happy about that, but she’s not accepting any other offers.”
“What’s that got to do with dancing?” Talitha demanded.
“It’s a betrothal dance.”
She stared at him. “Betrothal dance? You mean—you and I—”
“Only on Langri,” he said with superb nonchalance.
Angrily she slapped his face and dashed off into the night. At the top of the slope she looked back. The throbbing pulse of the music, the blend of color and intricate movement, gripped and exhilarated her.
Then she saw Aric Hort anxiously looking about for her, and she laughed merrily.
Lying on the beach, hand cupping her chin, looking thoughtfully out to sea, she made up her mind. Ahead of her she could anticipate only dreamy, lethargic days too frequently interrupted by long monologues from her uncle and Aric Hort. Her uncle was preoccupied with the brilliant new projects he was devising. Hort was obsessed with one trivial mystery after another.