the Creator’s work. In our youth, if such a thing were told, who would believe it?”
“Did not our Creator forbid flesh-cutting?” Mist signed rhetorically.
“Those who get the implants grow richer and stranger,” the old man continued. “Sad it is, but true: I have seen it said that the Earthers are helping our economy with these implants.”
Mist’s only answer was a facial gesture which meant, “I have so much to say but not here.”
He answered. “And I too. But whether from fear, fatigue, helplessness or grief, one must be quiet.”
Mist nodded. The flickering purple lights along the Wallaou tree indicated that the News Carrier had arrived: six quick flashes and one long one. Just in time she looked up to see her brothers’ wives walking ahead of her.
How richly dressed they were! How round and well-fed their bodies! Living in her husband’s family house, she rarely saw her mother’s family. But she had heard that her mother’s family, too, had chosen implantation and had prospered greatly in doing so. Mist studied her scrawny brown jewelry-less arms jutting out from under her full yellow sleeves. Her dress was made from Yona plant fiber, but her sisters-in-law wore Federation ‘silk’ embroidered with Federation ‘gold.’ Unsure if they had seen but purposely ignored her, she watched as they took seats near the podium. In the days before her marriage, she too would have sat in those places of honor. But now she hid in the back row among the women of the servant caste, dutifully dragging their mistress’ ling-carts from one vendor to another. She hoped no one from her mother’s house would see her.
The News Carrier who wore the wide tribal pants of the people of the land beyond the Two Hills took the high seat in the center square.
“My mothers, my fathers, my sisters, my brothers, my daughters, my sons,” the woman began. Her gestures indicated a Two Hills accent. “Life has changed in our village since the Earthers came with their cutting. I have heard your elders are contemplating mandating this matter. Please warn them not to. Already I have seen”—and here the woman from beyond the Two Hills stared impolitely at Mist’s sisters-in-law—“that already some of your own people are cutting themselves and their children.”
Mist watched to see what her brothers’ wives would do. She well-remembered how they had mocked her when she chose to marry out of the trader clan. Their cruel hands had sawed at her like daggers. Her brother’s wives were not the types to be challenged. But neither would they disagree with a stranger in the town center where everyone could read their business.
The News Carrier approached them and signed “Traitor!” in an angry sweeping gesture.
In response, they stood up. They walked away from the crowd, their gold-threaded blue silk marriage scarves trailing behind them. Mist hid her face when they passed by but she could easily imagine their faces, arrogant and expressionless as if the insult was nothing more than vapor in the air.
The woman from beyond the Two Hills continued, “Already the children of our village no longer dance to the light at our festivals. They insist on ‘Sound-dances,’ preferring ‘music’ to light. They hide their natures, clans, and status. They do not wear their clan colors. Some of our marriageable young girls refuse to wear the courtship tassels. They refuse to give the world knowledge of themselves. It’s a perverse game they play. Yesterday, at the beginning of the Mother-Infant Festival, some children insisted on mouth-singing, even though their parents could not understand a word they said. And when they talk, they hide their conversations, imitating the mouth-speakers' mouth-to-ears talk, what the Earthers call”—this she finger-spelled in English—“‘whispers.’”
Mist thought of her nieces and nephews huddled together in their groups, doing mouth-to-ears hiding their conversations. She remembered the family’s excuses: Children must explore and discover. They’re practicing using those implant things right. Children play endlessly with their toys until the novelty wears off. They then outgrow them. Mist had always thought her husband’s brothers’ wives were foolish women with no foresight. These latest events only proved their short-sightedness.
“And many other new things have happened,” the News Carrier continued. “Now the young married youth move from the family house. They live by themselves. ‘Husband and wife family house,’ they call it. Who has seen such a thing? But worse things happen: They disappear and are not seen then they suddenly re-appear for an afternoon. To ‘visit’ they call it. They come when they want something. And many want to create speaking temples in order to worship the Creator. The world has crashed around us.” The News Carrier went on to list all the alarming troubles caused by cutting. She ended with the warning, “One law falls and all others fall with it.”
Mist’s eyes met those of another woman in the crowd. Both women exchanged glances and then glanced backwards at the off-worlders in the distance with their strange metallic equipment. Mist and the woman shook their heads.
“Surely the News Carrier is stretching stories,” the woman signed. Mist hoped the woman was right. Surely, these were only tales.
After the town meeting, she returned to her book shop. Many Earthers were coming in and out, marveling at the “primitive” lifestyle of the “locals,” buying dictionaries and planetary histories. In the old days, she did not mind them. But now she grew impatient with them. They made her sad. Even stranger, they made her tired. The more Earthers she saw in the market place, holding their ears, like princes holding their noses, the more fatigued she felt. If the Earthers don’t like it here, she thought, why do they walk among us? Mist spent the rest of the day suspiciously reading their lips and feeling unusually tired and later when she left her shop, she locked the door securely behind her and carried the key home with her.
Returning home, she saw more Earthers, two men and a woman, standing in the train station. She watched them for a while, standing there with those two ear-caps sticking out on the sides of their heads. She had thought them funny when she first saw them. But now she considered them offensive, small intrusive weapons against her culture.
Several Aqueduct families were to the left and right of her. From their shells and floral holiday dress, she knew they were awaiting the Festival train which would take them to Living-Water-White Light, the town where the largest Mother-Infant parade occurred.
One young woman in the tribal cloak of the people of the Solitary Hills wore a baby carrier across her chest. The baby’s face was buried in its mother’s holiday cloak, a cloak trimmed and edged with “gold,” the signifier of a new mother.
Her first time in the festival, Mist thought. I remember when I was newly-married, childless and young and so wanted to join all the mothers in the parade. I waited so long. And then Flowers-in-the-Sun came. What a joy that was. To be a mother at last.
The woman’s face was turned in the other direction and Mist could not gesture a greeting. The baby was twisting and shaking in its carrier, obviously uncomfortable and agitated. Mist watched the woman from Solitary Hills take the child from its little pouch in order to comfort it. As the woman lifted the baby, Mist saw the tell-tale patterned tattoos on the baby’s neck. No wonder she can wear “gold,” Mist thought. Her family is one of the mutilated. Then, startled, Mist realized that the people surrounding her all had the tattoos. Tears stung her eyes. She glanced at the Earthers speaking among themselves at the far end of the track.
How smug they are! she thought. And she wanted to tell them so. What will I say to them? Will they even listen to me if I tell them they are destroying my culture?
Mist had seen ideographs which told the stories and histories of the Earthers. A warlike lot, to be sure, bent
