Enoch's Ghost by Bryan Davis Page B

the path, walking slowly to make sure Angel kept up. “Why would the people stop us?”
    “They are friendly and will want to know all about you. Your pose is a polite request to allow you to proceed without distraction. They will smile and bow their heads as we pass, and we should do the same.”
    “That should be easy enough.” Timothy followed the path through the increasingly dense forest until he came to a fork.
    “To the right,” Angel said.
    Timothy veered right and maintained his slow pace. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to lead the way?”
    “Easier? Yes. Proper? No.”
    He kept his eyes focused ahead and his mouth closed. It probably wasn’t a good time to ask about gender roles. He would likely just stick his foot in his mouth again.
    “We are coming into the village,” Angel said. “When we clear the tree line, walk on the right boundary of the road and double your speed. We will avoid stares if people don’t have a chance to notice your lack of a companion. After passing the center circle, proceed along the street lined with wooden rails and look for a small house on the left, one with a dragon banner on each side of the door.”
    “Is that the Prophet’s house?”
    “It is.”
    Timothy reached the clearing and quickened his pace. “What is the Prophet’s name?”
    “Many call him ‘Father’ when addressing him, and the elders call him Abraham, but when we speak of him in conversation, it is always ‘The Prophet.’” She cleared her throat and whispered. “Let us be silent now.”
    Passing over the road’s hardened beige-colored clay, Timothy marched near a long rail to which three donkeys were tied, one on his side of the street, and two on the other. An occasional gap in the rail allowed for entry into a much narrower, parallel walkway that crossed in front of the doors of the humble homes.
    Only a few people walked by, smiling and bowing as Angel had predicted, each one with a companion hovering somewhere over his or her shoulder, some more visible than others.
    Timothy responded with smiles and head nods, hoping he wasn’t committing any unintentional faux pas. A young lady coming out of a stacked-stone house stared at him, but when her companion orbited close to her ear, she quickly smiled and bowed, her face reddening.
    As they neared the end of the street, the village’s center came into view. More people streamed into it from the eight identical roads that intersected at a central roundabout. Families walked in groups, a man and woman linking elbows, and one to four children tagging along in no apparent order. Two families stopped and congregated, laughing and chatting. One couple walked in the prayer posture, marching quickly without interruption. Another man led a young woman riding a donkey. They stopped and talked with another couple while three children petted the donkey.
    “The woman on the donkey,” Angel whispered, “is betrothed to the man leading her. Adams and Eves stay side by side. A woman leading a man indicates that the man is her suitor in a courtship arrangement.”
    “I am leading you,” he whispered back. “Will people think we’re betrothed?”
    “I am not riding a donkey!”
    Timothy shook his head and mumbled, “I have so much to learn!”
    He circled the roundabout, staying to the right as he navigated through the intermixing streams of people. Companions hovered all around. Sometimes it was impossible to tell which ovulum belonged to whom, but as he passed close to one teenaged boy, he caught a glimpse of something inside the boy’s companion, an almost imperceptible pair of eyes. As it passed around from ear to ear, the ovulum’s gaze never wandered from its apparent owner.
    Although the mix of adults, teenagers, and children seemed normal enough, no one appeared to be more than thirty years old. Not a gray hair or a wrinkle marred the head or face of man or woman.
    When he reached the opposite side of the circle, he came upon another road