The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [139]
"No, I don’t think so," Sofia said. "I asked Warsoa once if our hands looked strange to him and he said, ’If you can pick up food, your hands are good enough.’ Very practical outlook."
"The craftsmanship is superb," Marc acknowledged.
"Granted," George said dismissively, "they are great with their hands, but these folks are not the ones who invented radio. Or anything else much more advanced than a chisel."
"They’ve got glass and metal and pottery," Marc pointed out.
"Trade goods," said George dismissively. "They’re not making that stuff in this village. I hate to say it, boys and girls, but I don’t think they’re all that bright, on the whole."
Emilio was about to protest that Askama was very quick but there was, he thought, something to George’s observation. The Runa could be perceptive, but he did occasionally find some of them—not dense, really, but limited somehow.
"The technological basis for this society is gathering," George was saying, disgusted. "They collect food. And flowers, for crying out loud. Damned if I know what they do with them."
"For the perfume trade," Sofia said. "I have the impression that there’s a lot of manufacturing in the city. Sandoz, did I tell you I found out the name of the city? It’s Gaiger or Gaidjur, something like that. In any case, each village specializes in trading something." She was allowed to sit in on what seemed to be village council discussions and picked up a lot of information that way. "In Kashan, it’s blossoms for the fragrance industry. I think the Runa are much more interested in scent than we are. That’s why the coffee is so valuable."
Anne cleared her throat and made a small movement with her head in D.W.’s direction, grinning.
Yarbrough grunted, refusing to be bullyragged. To his everlasting irritation, coffee was their choicest trade item. Worse yet, it wasn’t even coffee per se, but the aroma of coffee. Sofia would brew some of her awful damn Turkish mud and Manuzhai would hold the cup in her hands, breathe the fragrance in and then pass it around to other guests. When the coffee cooled off, they’d hand it back to Sofia, who’d drink the wretched stuff. The Jesuit party could pay for almost anything by sharing a cup of coffee with someone.
"But George is right," said Jimmy who, like George, was perilously close to being bored by the Runa. The two men were working mainly on downloaded astronomical and meteorological data these days, but the city with the transmitters beckoned. "There’s almost no advanced technology here. I haven’t seen any sign that they even listen to radio. They can’t be the Singers. They don’t even like music!"
D.W. grunted an assent. There had been no sung Masses since the first one witnessed by the Runa, who had become agitated and distressed. At first he thought it was the ritual aspects of the behavior that bothered them; the Runa didn’t seem to have any religious specialists or ceremonies themselves. But it turned out that if the Liturgy was merely said, the Runa were fine. And they liked the incense. So it wasn’t the rites; it was evidently the singing itself.
"Someone is making the boats and the glass and the rest of it," Marc said. "Consider things at home. If you go to the highlands of Bolivia, it is like stepping into the Middle Ages. Travel to La Paz and they’re designing satellite components and synthesizing pharmaceuticals. This village is simply at the edge of the more advanced culture."
"And, to be fair, there’s very little need for industry here," Anne said. "Daylight almost all the time—who needs electric lights? Rivers all over the place—who needs paved roads or land transport? They eat such a variety of things, they just wait for something to ripen. Why plow when you can just pick?"
"If people like you were