Fish Tails

by Sheri S. Tepper

  “And that’s the town,” said Abasio unnecessarily.

  “It’s got no road to it!” exclaimed Willum, crowing at the discovery. The only visible access was the narrow stairway path, also well railed and netted, that zigzagged up the face of the cliff to a single gate. The tall and burly gatekeeper had just opened it to allow two figures to descend, immediately identifiable as Kim and Gum. They came down far more quickly than seemed advisable to the watchers.

  “Salt! Gosh!” said Willum again. “They built the whole town outta it! Gum tol’ me, but I didn’ know it’d look like that.”

  “Willum, did you know Gum would be here?” asked Xulai, staring at the back of the boy’s neck . . . which turned slightly red.

  His face was as flushed when he turned to answer her. “Well, he hadda bring t’wagon anyhow. Bringin’ stuff t’ barter for salt, for Gravysuck this winter. We gotta have salt before the animals get slaughtered, y’know, to salt the meat n’ the cabbage n’ make pickles an’ stuff.”

  “And?”

  Willum flushed. “And Ma said in case you didn’ want me by the time we got here, Gum could bring me on home.”

  Ah, she thought. So Willum’s mother had not been as casual about his departure as she and Abasio had supposed. “And?” she asked. “Did she tell you anything else?”

  “Ma said somethin’ . . . I forgot until I saw Gum’s wagon.” He made a face, digging one horny toe into the dirt.

  “And of course you can’t possibly remember what she said.” Abasio sighed.

  Willum turned red. “Suthin’ about no runnin’ off or teachin’ the babies bad words, I think. An’ helpin’. I’m pretty sure she said helpin’.”

  Xulai and Abasio shared a frustrated glance. “Did she also tell you that you were to listen to us and obey us?” asked Abasio.

  Willum turned almost purple, seemingly unable to answer. He cast a sidelong glance at Xulai. “Tell him,” she ordered. “Tell Abasio what you told me!”

  “Yeah, but . . . I didn’t take it . . . for serious. I mean, Ma always says stuff, but she never does—­”

  Xulai said sternly, “Willum’s mother makes the girls mind her, but she never made Willum mind her because he is a boy. And what did I tell you about that?”

  “You tol’ me sometimes women give up on that ’cause they b’lieve men’re too stupid to listen.”

  “And?”

  “And lately I been provin’ she ’uz right.”

  Abasio said, “I imagine when you’re there on the farm, maybe it doesn’t make a lot of difference. If you get yourself killed, that’s just you. But when you risk getting both of us and the babies killed, along with Kim and the horses, then we just can’t have somebody like you along. It’s too dangerous for us. You might try this, Willum. Imagine you’re home, back in Gravysuck. And imagine there’s a ­couple of those giants in the forest up the mountain. And they’re hungry. They’ll eat you or your ma or anybody else. Try to figure out whether you’d make noise or not.”

  “Ma never did nothin’ to me . . .”

  “Answer the question.” He saw the boy’s blank look. He hadn’t listened to the question. “We won’t do anything to you either, Willum. We’ll just send you home. Not worth our time trying to teach you if you’re not willing to learn.”

  Xulai said, “We’re serious, Willum. If all you are is a noisy young one who does not listen, you’ll definitely go home, if not now with Gum, then later by whatever route is handy. Do you know that I mean that for sure? I’m not going to let you risk our lives by playing games.”

  Abasio remarked, “I think maybe your ma knew that Xulai wouldn’t let you get away with being ornery. Your ma probably figures if you’re with us, we’ll treat you as family.”

  Willum shook his head. “Ma thinks more a’ Xulai than that, Abasio. Ma says you got to earn bein’ fam’bly. Lorp was married in, but he never earned bein’ fam’bly.”

  His words reminded Abasio of something he’d been wondering about. In most places, if a local was kicked to death by a horse belonging to an outsider, there would be some fuss about it, but there’s been none over Lorp’s death. “I didn’t think to ask about it before, Willum, but did they have any kind of funeral for your uncle Lorp?”

  “He wun’t really a uncle, an’ nah. Wasn’t no funeral. They jus’ cata-­pull-­it’d him into Gravysuck.”

  “They whatted him?” cried Xulai. “Into Gravysuck? The town?”

  “Didn’ you know about Gravysuck? Y’ know that swamp south a’ town? The one with the corpse flowers growin’ all around it?”

  “Corpse . . . ? Those things that looked like lilies?” Abasio asked. They had passed it when they left, and he had regretted not having had time to explore it. “I never did get over to take a look at it.”

  Willum looked at him, shivering. “Well, thassa good thing you din’t go anywheres near it. Dad says more’n a few ­people and kids got themselves drowned in there. Didn’t nobody tell you about that? See, the town is really named Gravysuck Swamp Town, but ­people leave the ‘Swamp Town’ part off. Gravysuck is the name a’ the swamp. It’s all brown and kind of like gravy, only it smells bad—­Pa says it oughta be called Poop-­suck—­and if anythin’ falls into it, the swamp goes suuuck, an’ whatever got in there goes down and it never comes up again. That’s where we put Lorp.”

  Abasio shared a glance of incomprehension with Xulai.

  Noting this, Willum continued: “See, there’s a cata-­pull-­it over on the far side, like a big spoon, and it’s got a pivot in the middle, see? Like a little kid’s teeter-­totter. Well, not e’zackly, because one end’s a lot longer than the other one. Anyhow. There’s a kinda basket at each end. The basket at the short end—­that’s the cata part—­is kept fulla rocks. When they need t’use it, a whole buncha men go down to the long end, the pull-­it part, and they use a whole buncha pulleys to pull the long end down. Usin’ those pulleys, that’s the pull-­it part, an’ that pulls the cata part up into the air. It takes a whole buncha men t’pull-­it, ’cause the stones are heavy. When they get the stones alla way up, they tie the pull-­it end down. They use a short piece a’ real strong rope that’s left over from something. The pull-­it end’s gotta basket on it, too.

  “Then somebody—­whoever feels like doin’ it, maybe more’n one—­makes a speech about how this par-­tick-­u-­lar person is a cata-­stroll-­free and he’s been strollin’ free at it long enough and now should be cata-­pull-­ited! If somebody wants t’make an argyment, that’s awright to do. Maybe his ma or pa begs for ’im, but if he’s a real cata-­stroll-­free, likely they’ve given up on him anyhow. When the argyments’re done, they takes a vote.”

  “A vote?” Xulai asked, almost in a whisper.

  “Yeah. Whether they cata-­pull-­it the person or don’t cata-­pull-­it the person. An’ if they vote yes, the drummer does a dum, dum, dum on the drum. Loud, so ever’body c’n hear it an’ anybody wants ta watch, they know it’s time. When ever’body’s there, they march the cata-­stroll-­free aroun’, lettin’ everbody see he’s the right one, y’know, givin’ everbody a las’ chans’ ta say if he’s the wrong one ’r not. Then they tie up the cata-­stroll-­free’s legs an put’m in the basket, and then they cut the tie-­down rope with a hatchet and wheeeeowee, the cata end with all the rocks falls down WHAM, and the pull-­it end whips up real fast and cata-­pull-­its who’s in the basket right out into the middle a’ Gravysuck. ’At’s where Lorp landed, anyhow.”

  “Catapult,” said Xulai. “Your ­people do that with everyone who dies, too?”

  Willum shook his head at such willful misunderstanding. “Din’t you hear me say, Xulai? I awready said just cata-­stroll-­frees. ­People free ta stroll aroun’ bein’ no good for nothing-­at-­all!”

  “Like what?” asked Abasio.

  “One stroll-­free, he use ta foller t’women. N�
� if they got somewheres with nobody around, he’d grab at ’em and try to drag ’em off, n’ you know whut he’d do. N’ little girls, too. All the time. N’ if anybody ast him why, he’d jus’ giggle, like some little kid, giggle and point at hisself, his parts. ’Basio, you know what I mean! An’ one little girl he mos’ kilt.”

  “Sex-­mad, mentally defective lunatic,” murmured Xulai.

  “He was a cata-­stroll-­free. Free ta be rotten! That’s the kinda folks the man who built it said t’use it on. The man who made the cata-­pull-­it, he lived in Gravysuck in my grandma’s time. He wan’t from around here, but he stayed here for a long time. Ma, she sez he was sweet on Granma, you know? Anyhow, he got to know the folks, and he said we had a need for a cata-­pull-­it. He even picked out the first two or three cata-­stroll-­frees folks used it on. My gram knew two of ’em. All they did was steal from folks and beat on ­people—­even little kids an’ women—­and stay drunk. She says the town ­people should be everlastingly grateful to the man who built the cata-­pull-­it.” It was obvious that Willum had learned and enjoyed rehearsing those specific words. “Anyhow, when they did Lorp, there was no argyment about it. Whole buncha ­people made speeches about him bein’ good riddance and sayin’ thank-­yous to the horse that kilt him. ’Sides, he ’uz dead anyhow when he got cata-­pull-­ited.”

  Abasio and Xulai shared a glance, Xulai frowning as she considered the ethical considerations. Perhaps the inventor had been a Volumetarian? A wandering Tingawan? Someone who shared Abasio’s horrific sense of humor?

  Willum went on thoughtfully: “We don’t cata-­pull-­it fambly or good folks. We bury them up on a hill where flowers bloom in the springtime. It’s nice up there. ­People go talk to the buried ones, too. They bring lunch, y’know, and fix a plate for the ­people that’s gone. The spirits, they eat the spirit of the food, Ma says. We only cata-­pull-­it ­people like Lorp. Even Lorp’s ma said he cert’ny was irritatin’. ’F a person din’ have ten toes and ten fingers and two eyes and ever’thin’ else all co-­rect, then that person was ’sposed to be kilt—­right then, no argyment. Girl’s mama made a hole in little girl’s ear to put a gold ring in, she was ’sposed to be kilt.”

  Xulai asked very softly, “Do the town ­people always wait until the catastrophes die, Willum? Before they catapult them?”

  Willum shook his head firmly. “Not alla time, no. ’Member, I said they march ’em aroun’, the ones that’re live? March ’em aroun’ with the drum goin’ dum, dum, dum, dum an’ ever’body makin’ sure that’s the real cata-­stroll-­free. Folks don’ wanna make a mistake ’bout that! An if it’s a real one, nobody’s gonna wait till he dies nachrul. Kids arn ’sposed to watch, though.”

  “So?”

  “So? Us kids sneak inna woods an’ watch from where folks can’t see us. But I never saw’m do a live one, so I dunno. Lorp was the onliest one in a long time got cata-­pull-­ited. Now, mostly, if some man—­or some really awful woman—­hears ­people say they’re ‘checkin’ out the cata-­pull-­it to be sure it’s workin’,’ they figure maybe it’s them and they oughta leave town on their own.”

  Xulai smiled evilly. “Willum, now that we know what you do with cata-­stroll-­frees, we’re warning you: just make sure you don’t turn out to be one for us.”

  Willum gave Abasio a pale and frantic glance. Abasio contented himself with a serious-­faced nod toward Xulai, indicating his complete agreement with her sentiment.

  By this time, Kim and Gum had made their way through the mine workings, where they had been joined by half a dozen of the Saltgoshian men, who turned and straggled by ones and twos across the road and reassembled beside the fence of a large stretch of pasture between the road and the south wall of the valley, where the wagon would pass it very shortly. Xulai put the babies inside and took her place on the wagon seat. Abasio and Willum continued on foot beside the horses.

  As they neared the Saltgosh group, one of the Goshians came to meet them, offering a hand to Abasio.

  “Name’s Melkin, sir. Supervisor this season. You’d be Abasio? My pleasure, sir. And you, young’un. You’d be Willum? Nephew to Gum there, right? He told us you’d be coming. Ma’am, nice to see you well. Your children also well, ma’am? Good. Good. All of us very interested in hearing about them. Now, as you can see, the path up to the town doesn’t allow for wagons, so this pasture here’s the place for visitors.” He waved toward the enclosed area. “We’d offer the use of the visitors’ dormitory, over behind the mine office, but Gum says you’ve got the wagon fitted comfortable and we keep a watch on this area, so nobody’ll bother you here. This side here’s for ­people to camp; the west side, through the gate, that’s for the horses. Take your water from the east side, there where it’s clean. Horses can water in that little side pool off at the west end, and there’s a nice, tight shed for them if it comes to rain.

  “Privy over there next to the trees away from the stream. We ask that users put several buckets of water down it before you leave. One bucket per day per user is about right. It’s leached in a contained area, ma’am, no danger of reaching the water. You can rely on its cleanliness. There’s no fee for graze. We expect visitors to leave the place as clean as they found it; there’s a place for rubbish yonder,” and he pointed to a bin at the upper near corner. “Burn what will burn clean; what won’t or didn’t burn clean is rubbish. Manure pile there against the wall.”

  “Do you hear the man, Blue? Rags?”

  “Certainly,” said Blue. “Thank you for pointing it out, sir.”

  Melkin’s jaw dropped. “The horse . . . he . . . talks?”

  “Yes,” said Abasio. “He does. So does his partner.”

  Melkin swallowed, breathed deeply, and continued. “There’s places for cook fires already laid up; there’s the wood bin there, next to the fence; take what you need, either go up in the woods and find enough deadwood to replace it or pay the children to collect as much as you’ve used. The children always appreciate it. Rule is, little ones six years old and older have to earn what they spend, and traders generally have something the little ones covet. Children do a lot of chores for travelers, but there’s very few travelers this late in the season.

  “Now, even though you prefer your wagon, ma’am, you’re welcome to use the warm-­water showers available behind the works, separate one for the womenfolk. Place there to do laundry, too. Can’t work salt without a way to wash it off! No fee for use of the place, ma’am, just leave it clean as you find it.”

  “I hope everyone is polite enough to do that in return for your generosity,” said Xulai.

  “Well, let’s just say we never forget the ones who don’t, ma’am. Next trip they make, they find showers and laundry and all locked up tight and a very high fee to unlock ’em.”

  Abasio and Xulai murmured their thanks and their assurances for this well-­rehearsed recital. Abasio asked what amount the children would expect for wood gathering and was shown the marks on the wood bin that measured usage, and what amount of coin of what types was considered appropriate per mark to be deposited in the slotted box by the fence. The men bowed to Abasio, again to Xulai, neither scornfully nor subserviently. Melkin turned toward Blue, then shook his head, deciding not to bow to the horse. Blue spoiled the whole thing by whinnying at him ingratiatingly, extending one front leg and bowing to him.

  Melkin gulped, fought with his face for a moment, then returned the bow. Abasio, swallowing laughter, returned Melkin’s bow, to precisely the same level with precisely the same expression, and spoke his own thanks simply, without flourishes. Melkin waved a hand and left them, saying, “Gum’ll bring you up to the town. Tavern’s open yonder.”

  Abasio followed him until they were out of earshot and detained him with a touch on his arm. “We came through the notch down there,” he said, pointing.

  Melkin frowned. “So the watch told me. We get . . . very little traffic
that way.”

  “We just escaped, barely. I’d like to know . . .”

  Melkin whispered, “The watch thought there’d been a problem, the way you came through! Please don’t talk about it in the town. Only takes one or two to get everyone hysterical. I’ll make an opportunity to talk with you about it, but we don’t want the whole town stirred up. If that’s all right with you? I can say this, just so you can reassure the lady and the boy—­oh, and the animals . . . what’s considered polite with speaking horses, by the way? I had no idea! Anyhow, you’re safe here, and when you go on east of here all the way to the pass, you’ll be safe from that particular problem. The giants can’t get in here.”

  Abasio nodded, smiled, letting everyone see he wasn’t fearful or unhappy. No, not if it was something they preferred to keep quiet. “You asked about the horses. Blue and Rags are partners of ours. We treat them as we would ourselves, we chat with them, we make sure they’re well fed, well informed, and well cared for. As for ­people like yourself, who know they can speak but are not familiar with them, they still appreciate being acknowledged. I follow their lead. You may have noticed that animals treat ­people differently. They sense things about ­people that other ­people may not. So, around certain ­people, the horses do not speak because they do not trust them. If the horses don’t, I follow their lead.”

  Melkin mused, finally allowing himself to smile. “Well, at least I’ve passed the horse test.”

  As Abasio waved Melkin good-­bye, he grabbed Willum, grasped him firmly by both shoulders, and said very briefly that Willum was not to mention the giants.

  “Not to get the womenfolks stirred up,” said Willum.