Hothouse - Brian Aldiss [55]
Gren took in one other noteworthy fact about them before they spoke: each had a long green tail, even as the herders had said.
‘Do you bring us food for eating?’ the first of them asked.
‘Have you brought us food for our tummies?’ asked the second.
‘Can we eat any food you have brought?’ asked the third.
‘They think you are of my tribe, which is the only tribe they know,’ Yattmur said. Turning to the Fishers, she replied, ‘We have no food for your bellies, O Fishers. We did not come to see you, only to travel.’
‘We have no fish for you,’ replied the first Fisher, and the three of them added almost in chorus, ‘Very soon the time for fishing will be here.’
‘We have nothing to exchange for food, but we should be glad of some fish to eat,’ Gren said.
‘We have no fish for you. We have no fish for us. The time for fishing will soon be here,’ the Fishers said.
‘Yes. I heard you the first time,’ Gren said. ‘What I mean is, will you give us fish when you have it?’
‘Fish is fine to eat. There is fish for everyone when it comes.’
‘Good,’ Gren said, adding for the benefit of Poyly, Yattmur and the morel, ‘these seem very simple people.’
‘Simple or not, they didn’t go chasing up the Black Mouth trying to kill themselves,’ the morel said. ‘We must ask them about that. How did they resist its beastly song? Let’s go to their place, as they seem harmless enough.’
‘We will come with you,’ Gren told the Fishers.
‘We are going to catch fish when the fish come soon. You people do not know how to catch.’
‘Then we will come and watch you catch fish.’
The three Fishers looked at each other, a slight uneasiness ruffling the surface of their stupidity. Without saying a word more, they turned and walked away along the river bank. Given no option, the others followed.
‘How much do you know of these people, Yattmur?’ Poyly asked.
‘Very little. We trade sometimes, as you know, but my people fear the Fishers because they are so strange, as if they were dead. They never leave this little strip of river bank.’
‘They can’t be complete fools, for they know enough to eat well,’ Gren said, regarding the plump flanks of the men ahead.
‘Look at the way they carry their tails!’ Poyly exclaimed. ‘These are curious folk. I never saw the like.’
‘They would be simple for me to command,’ thought the morel.
As they walked, the Fishers reeled in their tails, holding them in neat coils in their right hands; the action, done so easily, was clearly automatic. For the first time, the others saw that these tails were extraordinarily long; in fact, the ends of them were not visible. Where they joined the Fishers’ bodies, a sort of soft green pad formed at the base of their spines.
Suddenly and in unison the Fishers stopped and turned.
‘You can come no further now,’ they said. ‘We are near our trees and you must not come with us. Stop here and soon we will bring you fish.’
‘Why can’t we come any farther?’ Gren asked.
One of the Fishers laughed unexpectedly.
‘Because you have no tail! Now wait here and soon we will bring you fish.’ And he walked on with his companion, not even bothering to look back and see if his order was being obeyed.
‘These are curious folk,’ Poyly said again. ‘I don’t like them, Gren. They are not like people at all. Let us leave them; we can easily find our own food.’
‘Nonsense! They may be very useful to us,’ twanged the morel. ‘You see they have a boat of some kind down there.’
Farther down the bank, several of the people with long green tails were working. They laboured under the trees, dragging what looked