Hothouse - Brian Aldiss [57]
‘Praise the gods for that!’ Yattmur exclaimed, brushing her hair back. ‘What made you attack this poor fellow, Poyly, jumping on him from behind as you did with me?’
‘All these Fishers are not like us, Yattmur. They can’t be human at all – their tails attach them to the three trees.’ Not meeting the other girl’s eyes, Poyly stared down at the stump of tail on the fellow weeping at her feet.
‘These fat Fisher people are slaves of the trees,’ twanged the morel. ‘It is disgusting. The trailers from the trees grow into their backbones and compel the men to guard them. Look at this poor wretch grovelling here – a slave!’
‘Is it worse than what you do with us, morel?’ Poyly asked, showing signs of tears. ‘Is it any different? Why don’t you let us go? I had no wish to attack this fellow.’
‘I help you – I save your lives. Now, attend to this poor Fisher and let’s have no more silly talk from you.’
The poor Fisher was attending to himself, sitting up and examining a knee that had been grazed in his fall on to the rock. He gazed at them with an anxiety that still did not remove the simplicity from his countenance. Huddled there, he looked like a roughly rounded lump of dough.
‘You can get up,’ Gren told him gently, extending his hand to help the fellow to his feet. ‘You’re shaking. There’s nothing to be afraid of. We won’t hurt you if you answer our questions.’
The Fisher broke into a torrent of words, most of it incomprehensible, gesturing with his broad hands as he talked.
‘Speak slowly. You’re talking about the trees? What are you saying?’
‘Please… The Tummy-tree, yes. I and them all one part, all tummy or tummy-hands. Tummy-head to think for me where I serve Tummy-trees. You kill my tummy-cord, I feel no good in my veins, no good sap. You wild lost people with no Tummy-tree, not have the sap to see what I say…’
‘Stop it! Talk sense, you great tummy! You’re human, aren’t you? You call those big swollen plants Tummy-trees? And you have to serve them? When did they catch you? How long ago?’
The Fisher put his hand to the height of his knee, rolled his head stupidly and burst into speech again.
‘No-high the Tummy-tree take us, cuddle, bed, save snugly like mothers. Babies go in the soft folds, just legs to see, keep on sucking at the tummy, get put on a tummy-cord to walk. Please you let me go back, try find a new tummy-cord or I’m a poor baby too without one.’
Poyly, Gren and Yattmur stared at him as he chattered, not taking in half he said.
‘I don’t understand,’ Yattmur whispered. ‘He talked more sense before his tail was cut off.’
‘We’ve set you free – we’ll set all your friends free,’ Gren said, the morel prompting him. ‘We’ll take you all away from these filthy Tummy-trees. You’ll be free, free to work with us and start a new life, slaves no longer.’
‘No, no, please… Tummy-trees grow us like flowers! We have no want to be wild men like you, no lovely Tummy-trees – ’
‘Shut up about the trees!’ Gren raised his hand and at once the other fell silent, biting his lips and scratching his fat thighs in anguish. ‘We are your liberators and you should be grateful to us. Now, tell us quickly, what is this fishing we’ve heard about? When does it start? Soon?’
‘Soon now, so soon, please,’ the Fisher said, trying to catch Gren’s hand in entreaty. ‘Most times, no fishy swim in Long Water, cut too sharply on out the hole of Black Mouth, so no fish swim. And if no fish means no fishing, see? Then the Black Mouth sings to all things to be a meal for him in his mouth, and so Tummy-trees make us big mummy noise, cuddle us up, not let us be any meal in his mouth. Then short time Mouth make rest, no sing, no eat, no noise. Then Mouth drop away what he eat not need not eat not have, drop away in Long Water under his self. Then up come big fish big hunger big eat all drop-away pieces, we quick Tummy-men Fishers go out catch big fish big hunger in big net, feed big glad