Fish Tails (87 page)

“Hair,” said Abasio, pointing to his own.

“No, thicker than that. But at the end lots of things like hairs . . .”

“F . . . fl . . . filmens. Filaments!” said Abasio.

“Good, yes, two kinds filaments, red ones and brown ones. And all along sides of filaments little . . . nodules, tiny, hundreds and hundreds of them. Those are being willimoxies, red ones, brown ones.”

“I shee,” Abasio murmured. He didn't, but it might get clearer. His mug was almost empty. Balytaniwassinot refilled Abasio's and its own.

“Meantime,” it said, “isks is having similar thing happening. K'fum might be called, in your language . . .
REFERENCE needed!
. . . ‘fringe.' That is good word. All around necks of isks and tans are being fringes. Time goes warmer and warmer until one morning all isks and tans wake up feeling OH, MY! All isks and tans run out into fields, ­people running from everywhere, laughing, and once in fields, isks and tans, they dance. Wind comes up and they dance, they dance, the willimoxies on brown filaments, they begin to swell up, bigger and bigger, brown willimoxies get like balloon, and then they burst! Isk ones burst, tan ones burst, air is full of dusty, smoky . . .”

“Sper . . .”Abasio tried to say.

“Spores!” cried Balytaniwassinot. “Yes, that is right word. Breeze is mixing them, mixing them, meantimes, red filaments of fringe has become all sticky, red fringe is swirling, catching dusty smoky spores. Soon all tans, isks fall down, exhausted from dancing. They sleep there all day. No one bothers. Is bad to bother.

“While they sleep, fringe dries out. Later, isks wake up, tans wake up, go about business. Fringe is now drying out! Hanging around . . . neck like . . . collar. No one very sensible, you know? Silly. Like when drinking k'pir, what is in your cup. Like that. Then is coming rattle time!”

“Rattle time?”

“All along each filament of fringe all red willimoxies are becoming golms. Not
quite
what
seed
is, but something like that. Hard, with shell, and makes happy little rattle when the isks move, the tans move, happy little sound. Everyone hears the sound and laughs, even blags, wurfs, and dibbles. Days and days go by, everyone smiling. Time for fixing soil in fields. Turning over, making smooth, making soft, putting good things in soil. Everyone does that, young ones, old ones, every person helps, even pet quizzinogs out in fields digging, digging. You have quizzinogs? To catch ziprogs?”

“Cats,” murmured Abasio. No, cats didn't dig. “Terriers dig and catch mice. Yes, many ­people have them.”

“Good. Is always good, finding similarities. Now comes golm-­swat time. Need coolish day, must be little breeze, no big wind. Isks and tans dance in the fields, jump up and down, hit own fringe with fingers, hit other ­people's fringe with fingers while singing swat song. Have special fingers for swat. Other ­peoples gather around edges of fields also singing. When we swat fringe, shells break and ripe golms fall to the ground. Dance must be very active to make golms fall evenly, all over ground. Golms have tiny, tiny legs. If one falls too close to other one, on ground, it will move over. When isks and tans are finished dancing, all the dried pods have fallen off, the parts have shrunken and pulled back into neck, lids shut.

“When isks and tans finish dancing, blags go dance in field. If is no breeze, may wait a while, a day or so. All along back and side arms of blags are sacs that hold what is like mist. Four arms, four sacs each arm. Top one has genetic part for isks, next one is for tans, then blags, then wurfs. Blags dance in pairs, using front arms to press on partner's sacs, now this one, now that one, round and round making little puffs of mist. Little breeze spreads mist. Mist is different colors, it swirls and moves. Blags wave arms, whirl around, sing, dance, wave, until growing part is spread evenly, everywhere. ­People watching also sing blagging song. Each separate part has its own song.

“Dancing has packed the soil down. Now is time for wurfs. Sun is going down, getting cooler. Must be just cool enough. Wurfs line up at edge of field. You understand are many fields, many places, local ­people use local fields, different days different places? Maybe not all on same days but when weather is right? Wurf has hands out at sides touching hand of next wurf, looking straight down field, just so far apart, very even, the wurfs march across field, singing plibble song, funny song, plibbing as they go . . .”

“Plibbing?”

“Excreting liquid.
No, no, not waste-­produce liquid!
Not dirtiness, no. Fertility liquid. Not covering whole field, no, just spraying here, there, wherever. Like you would take tiny mouthful of water and sploosh it out. Human childrens play so, sometimes? Have play things to sploosh water at one another? Wurfs have gland behind knee. In the marching, wurf bends so”—­Fixit did a deep knee bend—­“and so, and so, and each time, little puff of liquid spurts out. Where the plibble falls on golms, those golms
at once become maybe-­­people
. As soon as golm is touched with tiny drop of plibble-­mist, it buries self. Is very funny to see. Just-­grown persons, you would say ‘childs,' they take magnifying glass to edge of field, laughing at funniness of golms burying selves.”

Abasio tried to visualize this. “Why ish it funny, Fishit?”

“Just is. Tiny golm, covered all over with legs, all legs going like . . . windmill—­you know windmill? Round and round? Very . . . industrious. Funny, so little, so . . . vigorous.

“Then, when the wurfs are finished, everyone goes home and the maflipluks—­maflipluk is family, you see—­sit at supper table in family house and pray for rain. This is done as a courtesy. We have a very reliable world spirit who always assures rain at the proper time but is courteous to say ‘please send rain' and ‘thank you for sending rain,' respecting world spirit.”

“You did say ‘maybe-­­people'?”

“Yes. Very soon all golms sprout and grow. Those not plibbed are not-­­people, not-­­people is food; those having been plibbed are maybe-people. Isk, tan, blag, and wurf have contributed to maybe-­­people, but they have no nerves, no brain. No feelings. No senses. No emotions. Just good vegetable/animal, very delicious, very nutritious.

”I see you are confused. I am told our planet has very strange genetic systems, but we are accustomed to it.” Fixit patted Abasio on one shoulder. “You will understand . . .

“So, time goes by, all the ones in fields, including the not-­­people and the maybe-­­people, grow up, put roots down. Machine goes through field cutting narrow paths, leaving rows of not-­­people and maybe-­­people in between to grow, to get half tall.” Balytaniwassinot stood and put two of its hands at about its midpoint. “So tall as this, half tall. Now inspectors go into fields, look at maybe-­­people, see how developing, decide whether developed enough to ring bells for choosing time. All of us, isks and tans and blags and wurfs, go into field—­walk up and down paths, look carefully at maybe-­­people, see best ones we can find. Tallest ones, best-­shaped, best color. Count arms and legs, feel to see if muscle growing well. Look in mouth to see chew plate forming. Look at shape of node at top to be sure is room for face and hair. Mark all good ones with color spray. Color spray says,
‘This one is maybe-­person suitable for final choosing.'

“Then some time later, long enough for maybe-­­people to get almost full height, inspectors set choosing day. This is separate for each field. Not all fields grow alike. Isks and tans and blags and wurfs go down the rows again, and each person looks only at those approved with color spray, looks and looks, and each chooses two maybe-­­people that are close together, best two they can find, close together. Only best ones; out of thousands only two. Those two are now
chosen ones
and chosen labels are put on those chosen two. Those two are chosen to become ­people!”

Abasio found that getting his tongue to make words was becoming difficult. He set the liquid down and resolved not to finish what was in the glass. “You shay labels?”

“Labels are made special by selection department. Selection department knows how many ­people world is comfortable with. At beginning of year, part of new year celebration, each worthy person receives two labels. Unworthy persons, those who have done evil, no labels. World does not risk unworthy person raising another to be unworthy. Self, Balytaniwassinot, gets two labels with my name on, with my registered number on. Two labels only for any person: never more! When person receives labels, person puts them away safely. No replacements! No mistakes! Only last year a blag was cooked for stealing label. This is a very bad thing to do! Shameful for that blag's maflipluk!

“When labels are all on, everyone finished, all the pairs chosen, fertility officers check off everyone against list. You understand each field has its own ­people? Mostly ­people living nearby—­all are on list. If someone did not choose, if someone's label is missing, they check! Maybe during year that one wilted or is wilting now; maybe that one is afar on duty for galactic office; maybe that one left labels with family member with certificate allowing family member to choose for the one who is far away. Fertility officers check all such things, remind ­people who did not show up to come to field and choose, correct records, and not until all checking is finished do they make announcement. ‘Choosing is finished.'

“Only then, finally, come the dibbles. Some dibbles are already standing in field next to pair chosen by friend or member of maflipluk. Others go into field and pick pair without knowing who chose. However chosen, each dibble picks one pair. When pair is located, dibble will very carefully dibble both of them: one of pair for chooser, other one of pair for dibble's self. Dibble also has two labels, different colors; and has flag with name and number. Dibble puts one color label on one dibbled for self, puts other color label for person who chose that pair, puts flag in ground to show this pair now
chosen,
and
dibbled,
and
labeled
! Person calls out to fertility officer to check, fertility officer calls out name on pair, names are written down, and flag is recorded. If are not enough dibbles to come out even, fertility officer asks dibblers who have already dibbled one pair to dibble one of a chosen pair for someone else—­only one, since there is no dibble for that pair. When all is finished, every already-­person has one
dibbled one,
also called
chosen one,
or
becoming-­person
. All these names mean the same thing, all are used with dignity.
Only after being dibbled do the chosen ones acquire nerves and brain and consciousness of self
.”

“They're the ones who are becoming . . . whats?”

“Camrath-­selipedes-­nosti-­famikines. Which I am. Which my ­people are. Once the
maybe-­person
has been dibbled, it is a
becoming-­person
. It grows brain, nerves, face, develops gender. This is when we learn what gender chosen one is. Until then, no one knows or cares. We have saying, ‘Food has no gender. Families welcome all.' This is happy season, fields full of green, here and there maflipluks of already-­­people—­that is, ‘grown-­up family' spending time with their becoming-­­people who are still growing, talking to them about becoming wurf or tan or whatever it is. If one's chosen is a wurf, and one's maflipluk—­family—­has no wurf, one may be inviting friend who is wurf to come talk to one's chosen. This is time for teaching what is breeding role, how to behave, vocabulary. Sometimes songs. Some even teach reading, though Self thinks it better to wait until one's chosen is ready to go home. In field, sometimes, when learning words, there is a certain regrettable . . . naughtiness. Using impolite words. Self always says: ‘They had to learn it from an already-­person, and that already-­person ought to be ashamed!' ”

Abasio was amazed to realize he was visualizing this whole thing. Seeing it. “When are they ready to . . . go home?”

“When big growth roots on bottom of feet dry up. You understand our year is very long; more than fifteen of your years. All this growing has taken a long, long time, and in time you would call autumn, when one's chosen is fully grown and ripe, growth roots have become dry. When almost completely dry, maflipluk comes to help new person get loose from roots. That is when whole maflipluk comes together to name the new person. Maflipluk has decided on name together. Maflipluk helps new person walk first steps on way home. Many new-­persons' legs being tangled as it learns to walk, much laughing, much singing, much introducing of new ones and old ones.”

Abasio took a deep breath, wishing he had taken notes. “If you need a dibble for every one of them, then there are more dibbles than there are any of the other genders.” Abasio wasn't sure of this, but it had seemed so, going by . . .

“Oh! Forgot important thing. You are right, must be more of them, but they have already been something else by then. All dibbles begin as something else, then when it is getting older, parts used in reproduction become . . . inactive, other parts ripen. Then person becomes dibble. All of us become dibbles in time. Dibbling is final, very serious step of being-­person. Dibble can even reject a chosen one, force a person to choose again. We have no such things as inexperienced, novice ­people being dibbles! No!”

“And the picture up there
is not
a picture of one of your . . . ones you've . . . chosen?”

“No. That is only maybe-­person, or as we say after choosing, ‘a wasn't-­person.' ”

Abasio struggled with it. “You mean, once all the dibbling is done, then the ones not dibbled are not maybe-­­people anymore. Because all the chances to be ­people are gone? So now they're just
wasn't . . . weren't-­persons
?”