islanders. We’ll keep trying Jorana here and his counterparts; we just won’t rely on them.” He addressed himself anew to the alien.
“I am curious, Jorana. Do you think we offer you these things because it is our intention to harm you, or because we
want
to make you forget your kusum?”
The elder paused in his carving. “No, Pu’il. I am sureyour people wish to do us good. That is part of
your
kusum. It means that you believe your kusum to be stronger than ours.”
“Not stronger,” the xenologist objected. “I choose to see them as different but compatible.”
“You imply otherwise when you suggest that your weapons, your tools, and your learning should replace ours.”
“Not replace. Supplement.”
Jorana’s ears twitched and his upper lip rippled like a wavelet on a shallow beach. “Listen well to me, Pu’il. The Parramati have their own weapons, their own tools, their own boats, and their own ways. Each has its own power, its own magic. The trees behind you, the bench you sit upon, the ground beneath your feet. It takes time to learn to know these powers and magics, to see the best way of using them. We have ours, you have yours. Ours does not need to be supplemented, not even by those good of heart and intention.”
“Hierophanes,” Fawn murmured.
Pulickel frowned at her. “What did you say?”
“Parramati society is based on hierophanes. Everything in the world is seen as a manifestation of the sacred. Each is a hierophane and each has power. With access to so much power, they see no need to invite in outside influences.”
He nodded disappointedly. “It makes it difficult to convince a people to give something up if everything controls something else. But I still think that when some of the younger villagers accept access to advanced technology, Jorana and the others will come around.” He switched back to the local dialect.
“I agree with you, Jorana. Everything in the world has a certain amount of power. Some have more, some less. Certain minerals that lie beneath the Parramat have verymuch power. My people have spent a lot of time learning how to make use of these, while the Parramati have not. So you see, our kusums are not so very far apart.”
The old carver considered. “F’an has spoken of such. As you say, I would not know of such powers. I am a wood person, not an earth person. My road leads through the forest. To learn the value of certain rocks you would have to talk to someone whose road is of the earth.”
“But if no one is using these minerals, why would the Parramati object to my people doing so?”
Jorana blinked double lids. “If the earth is turned up too much, it is bad for growing things.”
The xenologist had had enough. “I think that’s plenty for one day. We don’t want to tire the old fellow, or irritate him. I’m happy with the progress we’ve made. Let’s leave him to consider what has been said.” He brushed wood dust from his shorts as he rose.
Fawn straightened. “You don’t want to talk to anyone else in the village?”
“Not today. I don’t want to get a reputation for being insistent or demanding. Nothing puts primitive peoples off more quickly. Better they should grow curious about me. That way, hopefully the next time they’ll be anxious to see me, instead of simply polite.”
Stretching, he bid the elder big person a polite farewell. “It has been good to talk with you, Jorana.”
“And with you, Pu’il. F’an, I am always warmed by your presence.” He bent low until his nostrils skimmed the ground. It was as close as he could come to performing the traditional flip.
“I am pleased by your happiness.” She duplicated the elder’s motion, bending double at the waist.
“Then I will see you both again?” Vibrantly colored alien eyes regarded them both.
“Very soon, I hope.” With a hand gesture, Fawn turned to leave.
They headed out of the village and back toward the forest. A clutch of boisterous, barking
“I am curious, Jorana. Do you think we offer you these things because it is our intention to harm you, or because we
want
to make you forget your kusum?”
The elder paused in his carving. “No, Pu’il. I am sureyour people wish to do us good. That is part of
your
kusum. It means that you believe your kusum to be stronger than ours.”
“Not stronger,” the xenologist objected. “I choose to see them as different but compatible.”
“You imply otherwise when you suggest that your weapons, your tools, and your learning should replace ours.”
“Not replace. Supplement.”
Jorana’s ears twitched and his upper lip rippled like a wavelet on a shallow beach. “Listen well to me, Pu’il. The Parramati have their own weapons, their own tools, their own boats, and their own ways. Each has its own power, its own magic. The trees behind you, the bench you sit upon, the ground beneath your feet. It takes time to learn to know these powers and magics, to see the best way of using them. We have ours, you have yours. Ours does not need to be supplemented, not even by those good of heart and intention.”
“Hierophanes,” Fawn murmured.
Pulickel frowned at her. “What did you say?”
“Parramati society is based on hierophanes. Everything in the world is seen as a manifestation of the sacred. Each is a hierophane and each has power. With access to so much power, they see no need to invite in outside influences.”
He nodded disappointedly. “It makes it difficult to convince a people to give something up if everything controls something else. But I still think that when some of the younger villagers accept access to advanced technology, Jorana and the others will come around.” He switched back to the local dialect.
“I agree with you, Jorana. Everything in the world has a certain amount of power. Some have more, some less. Certain minerals that lie beneath the Parramat have verymuch power. My people have spent a lot of time learning how to make use of these, while the Parramati have not. So you see, our kusums are not so very far apart.”
The old carver considered. “F’an has spoken of such. As you say, I would not know of such powers. I am a wood person, not an earth person. My road leads through the forest. To learn the value of certain rocks you would have to talk to someone whose road is of the earth.”
“But if no one is using these minerals, why would the Parramati object to my people doing so?”
Jorana blinked double lids. “If the earth is turned up too much, it is bad for growing things.”
The xenologist had had enough. “I think that’s plenty for one day. We don’t want to tire the old fellow, or irritate him. I’m happy with the progress we’ve made. Let’s leave him to consider what has been said.” He brushed wood dust from his shorts as he rose.
Fawn straightened. “You don’t want to talk to anyone else in the village?”
“Not today. I don’t want to get a reputation for being insistent or demanding. Nothing puts primitive peoples off more quickly. Better they should grow curious about me. That way, hopefully the next time they’ll be anxious to see me, instead of simply polite.”
Stretching, he bid the elder big person a polite farewell. “It has been good to talk with you, Jorana.”
“And with you, Pu’il. F’an, I am always warmed by your presence.” He bent low until his nostrils skimmed the ground. It was as close as he could come to performing the traditional flip.
“I am pleased by your happiness.” She duplicated the elder’s motion, bending double at the waist.
“Then I will see you both again?” Vibrantly colored alien eyes regarded them both.
“Very soon, I hope.” With a hand gesture, Fawn turned to leave.
They headed out of the village and back toward the forest. A clutch of boisterous, barking
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