The Family Tree (30 page)

The countess lifted her lip in a very tiny sneer. “Not particularly.”

“My house is just through the trees. You can stay with me. It’ll be a little crowded, but—”

“I can’t leave the veebles,” cried Lucy Low.

“Bring the rab—the veebles,” said Dora. “They can sleep in the…the storage room. And the two…Oyk and Irk, they can keep guard, okay?”

“What is okay?” asked Izzy.

“It’s a word that means…something is appropriate. Come on. We’ll sort it out when we get there.” And she watched as they gathered up their baggage, then led them back through the forest to the break in the trees that gave upon her yard, where they engaged in another of their disputatious colloquies. After a few moments of this, as he was helping unburden the veebles, Izzy advised her that the veebles would stay in the yard, guarded by Oyk and Irk, that the rest of them would go indoors with her, that when morning came, some attention must be paid to finding food for all of them. Lucy Low then removed the veeble harness and put it with the baggage, inside the door.

Dora found herself tallying, as she used to do when a little girl, how much food there was on hand. Fruit and nuts for the monkeys, something solid for the pig, rice, maybe, with flavorings of vegetable. She had
canned salmon for the otters. Spinach and carrots for the veebles. Dog chow for Oyk and Irk. She’d have to borrow dog chow from the man next door. Even now she could hear her neighbor’s Rottweiller barking, a challenging sound.

And what of the other ones? The ones that had gone hunting. “The other ones of you?” she asked Izzy, who was halfway up the stairs.

“Prince Sahir, his guard Soaz, and our cook. They’ll find us by morning.”

Their weariness was evident, and with little additional talk—to do mostly with oohing over the electric lights—the countess lay down upon the unfolded couch, on her side, her feet over the edge, head on pillow, her wig neatly arrayed on top of a nearby lamp. Lucy Low and her family curled up in a leather chair, all in a heap, like a fur stole. Izzy and Nassif were offered the other half of the couch, and they, too, curled up, one at the head, one at the foot, outer clothing neatly folded on a chair. Blanche perched on the back of Grandma’s rocker, rocking it gently as she nestled her head down into her neck feathers, beak on chest.

Dora had left the door open downstairs, so the veebles and the dogs could get under cover if need be. Later, to the accompaniment of thunder and the patter of rain, she heard the dogs talking down below as they cleared a place for themselves. She thought she should have spread out her sleeping bag for them to lie on. Then she remembered, with faint dismay, that she had forgotten her sleeping bag. It was still hanging in the rafters of Jared’s garage. The dismay faded into drowsiness. It was only a dream, after all. She didn’t need a real sleeping bag. A dream one would suffice, and so convinced, she went away into quiet darkness and did not think of it at all.

She wakened in bright sunlight to confront Izzy, who was seated crosslegged on the other pillow, watching her face while combing his hair. He wore full trousers and a vest. He tied his long hair into a tassel at the back of
his head. Nassif was watching him, rather enviously. Her hair—Dora knew she was a she—was short, hidden by the head cloth she wore.

“We found the sanitary facilities,” said Izzy carefully.

“Bathroom,” said Dora, only half awake, not yet realizing that she was awake at all.

“While Nassif and I have no trouble with…ah, latrine, neither countess nor onchiki can manage it. I have suggested they dig small place inside forest. Veebles will use forest, also.”

“Very sensible,” croaked Dora, sitting up. This wasn’t a dream. She would never discuss latrines with a monkey in a dream. My God, it wasn’t a dream. It was all true. Plague and all. She folded her arms across her chest, trying to stay calm.

“We would all like to use your…rainspout?”

This took a moment. “Shower?”

“Shower. Of course.”

“Feel free.” She fought down a hysterical giggle. “Hot is on the left, cold is on the right.”

He looked puzzled for a moment, then his face cleared. “Temperatures of water. Of course. One mixes.”

“Towels,” she murmured, close to losing it. “In the cupboard.”

Izzy and Nassif went away. She heard sounds from the bathroom, much splashing and high voices either exclaiming or complaining. Communal bathing was evidently in. Otters, monkeys, pig, cockatoo, all en famille. No modesty at all. So why did they wear clothing? She buried her face in the pillow. Japanese cultural style. Dress up in very fancy clothes, but bathe communally in the nude. By the time she had herself under control, the creatures—no, people, she reminded herself sternly, making her face solemn—the people were coming out of the bathroom, variously wrapped in towels or drying one another off or, as with Lucy Low and her brothers, with wet fur standing out in spikes around their necks,
composing themselves before the window while they combed their fur with their clawed fingers and groomed themselves with their teeth. Blanche went back to her rocker, spread one wing to its fullest extent and began preening, feather by moist feather.

When Izzy was somewhat dried off and had resumed his clothing, he leapt upon the bed again, seated himself facing Dora and said, conversationally:

“I am interested to see latrine. I once drew up cistern plan to supply flush system, which I learned about in library, but when I put this meme before palace wizard, wizard put his hands over my mouth and said new ideas could get me decapitated as they did my father. Also he said actually doing something new would destroy faith of common people.”

“Don’t your people invent any new things?”

Izzy shook his head. “It is our religion. Not my religion, but official religion of my people. All is as is supposed to be, therefore, nothing changes. I could understand wizard’s concern. When one’s livelihood comes from confounding witches and undoing curses in order to cure inexplicable illnesses, it would be counter-productive to have people stay healthy through simple sanitation.”

This was said in such a ponderous tone, Dora knew he was quoting someone. “Someone told you that.”

“Old Mock. Librarian. Like father to me. He said it is same with religious leaders. When one’s livelihood comes from issuing passports out of hell, it would be unprofitable to admit that no such place exists.”

To hide her amusement, Dora rose and went to her living room window. It seemed important to assess what kind of day it was going to be. Rain would be a definite damper on things.

A sound came from below, Oyk’s voice. “Here comes cook.”

Waddling from the trees came a raccoon dressed in a starched though quite rumpled blue apron, paniers and a high puffy hat. He walked erect, then fell to all fours,
dipping his nose to the ground, evidently following the trail they had left the night before, then stopped abruptly, rose to his hind legs and looked up at the window where she stood, his jaw dropping in surprise. Oyk strolled out to meet him. The raccoon spoke urgently. The dog scratched himself, as though to say, “So?” The raccoon shrugged, cast a covert glance upward, then followed Oyk back into the yard.

Dora went down to meet him.

“Dzilobommo,” he tapped himself on the chest.

“Dora,” she said, tapping herself likewise.

“Grummel, grummel, grummel.”

“He says he’s happy to meet you,” said the countess, from behind her. “Armakfatidian language is not entirely oral. Their names are spoken, rest of it seems to be at least partially…extrasensory.”

“Ah?” Dora responded.

“It tickles in your head,” explained Lucy Low from halfway up the stairs. “If you hold your mind very still.”

“I see,” said Dora.

“Where are Sahir and Soaz?” the countess asked the raccoon.

“Grummel.”

“They should be returning soon,” said the countess, with a sideways glance at Dora. “You’ll be…interested in meeting one another.”

“No doubt,” Dora replied, wondering if the others were sea monsters or dragons. Anything less could not be as interesting as those from the future she had already met. The future. Which was not, so she advised herself sternly, now! There would be time to panic later.

“I have to go to work,” she said to the wall. “Either that or call in sick.”

Izzy heard her, but didn’t understand the idiom, and that took a few moments. They went back up the stairs to find the raccoon in the kitchen, high on Dora’s step-stool, removing things from his basket. Mushrooms.
Roots. Greens, mostly dandelion greens. “Grummel,” he told her gravely.

“He wants to know if you have grain of some kind,” said the countess. “Rice or wheat or corn?”

Dora wordlessly provided a package of rice, the box of cornmeal, her flour cannister, and, after another grummel, eggs and fruit, which were handed back to her with a stern grummel which Nassif took to mean they were to be washed. Nassif leapt to the counter beside the sink and took care of that, while Dora went into her bedroom to get into her clothes. By the time she returned to the living room, the guests were seated variously while being served breakfast. With a flourish, the raccoon pulled out Dora’s chair, handed her a napkin, and provided her with a coddled egg and some tart greens with grilled mushrooms as a garnish. The countess, newly bewigged, joined her at the table to be served the same, sitting on her haunches, one foreleg beside the plate, napkin tucked at neck, silverware clamped firmly in the split hoof of the other leg. Lucy Low’s kindred dined upon fish and rice, eating directly from the bowl. Nassif, Izzy and Blanche concentrated upon the fruit. Oyk and Irk, so said Izzy, had gone hunting for themselves this morning, and the veebles were well content with the greens they could find in the woods.

They had almost finished when someone knocked at the door downstairs. Dora went down in a fatalistic mood, believing she might encounter almost anything, though the knock had not seemed in any way threatening.

“Abby!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing back here?”

“I forgot my briefcase. It’s got the summer school exams I corrected last night, and I need them this—”

“Who is it?” called a voice from upstairs.

“Ah…” he said, fumbling for words. “If you have company, I’m, ah, that is…” He flushed.

He was interrupted by a volley of barks, and turned, surprised, as a large dog ran from the forest, skidded to
a stop, pulled its ears and lips back and began growling at them. Dora recognized the Rottweiller that was usually confined to a run in the backyard next door.

Oyk and Irk came after him, walking very deliberately. One of them said, “Down, sir! I say, down!”

The Rottweiler sank to his haunches, whining.

“We apologize,” said Oyk, with a sidewise glance at Abby. “We didn’t realize he was not civilized when he invited us to share his food, so we left gate open. Should we take him back and reconfine him?”

Abby sagged against the wall. “Wha…” he murmured. “Gaa…”

“May I introduce Oyk and Irk,” said Dora. “They’re from the future.”

Abby put his hand to his forehead.

“Why did you say, ‘Down, sir’?” Dora asked.

“It is what one says to puppies who have no manners,” said Oyk, seeming surprised at the question. “Such is our culture.”

Abby shook his head, saying weakly, “Dora…”

“It’s easier if you pretend you’re dreaming,” said Dora, turning back to Oyk and Irk. “If you would reconfine the, ah…uncivilized creature, please.”

“What’s going on?” grated Abby.

“Upstairs there are two monkeys, and some otters, all of whom talk,” she droned at him. “Oh, and a pig, cockatoo and raccoon.”

He stared at her a long moment before smiling. “It makes jokes, so early in the morning? What is this, ventriloquism?”

“Come up,” she said, offering him her hand. “I want you to meet them all.” Come meet the in-laws, she said to herself. Come meet the family.

D
ora, the talking female umminha, came up the stairs with a talking male umminha. I think until that moment we had all carried some suspicion that she might be singular, an exception to the general rule, but the one with her, the “man,” as she said, was also a speaking creature, unmistakably a person. Since there were two of them of opposite sexes, we all had to believe there were probably more, even though umminhi breed as slowly as the proverbial elefant, taking years to reach reproductive age. One can ride a horse at the age of two, but umminhi cannot be burdened at all heavily until they are ten or twelve, and then only the larger ones. They are broken to the box-saddle and tump strap very early, learning to carry small things, then at sixteen or eighteen years of age they can be ridden.

This “man” was named Abby. Dora introduced him to all of us quite properly, the countess first, then Prince
Izakar. The “man” started to put out his hand to the countess, then stopped, obviously embarrassed. When it came time for him to be presented to me, I put out my own hand, clasping his, and allowing him to shake it gravely. This was obviously a present day custom among umminhi persons who walked on their hind legs, as Izzy and I usually did, as Dzilobommo could, when he wished. The others of us would be at a disadvantage if one hand were held. It could put one off balance, so to speak. Abby evidently realized this, for he simply bowed to the others, except for Blanche, who copied me in offering one hand.

“Our guests are from three millenia in the future,” Dora said to the “man.” She herself, I later learned, was not a “man.” She was a womb-man. I thought this distinction interesting. She went on to tell him of our mission, all about the Woput, her words supplemented by lengthy explanations from Izzy and more cogent ones from the countess.

The man sat down, still staring at us as though he could not believe what he saw.

“Unfortunately,” the countess said, “where we landed gives us no clue as to location of Woput. Sahir and Soaz went to reconnoiter, and they have not yet returned.” She sounded rather worried.

“They would have found nothing much if they went west,” Dora said. “The city is the other way. Still, it will be hard to find any clue to your Woput. Thirty years is a long time.”

“Are we talking about out there?” asked Abby, gesturing toward the window. “Thirty years ago it was the air base. This end of it, as I recall, was pretty much left alone as grasslands. There were antelope out there, and small animals.”

“How do you know?”

“The boy scouts used to camp there. Twenty years ago, I was a scout. It was a traditional campground, one the scouts had used at least since World War II.”

Dora turned to Izzy. “When you say you came to the
same place, did you also come in the same season?”

Izzy shook his head, confused, looking to the others.

I said, “It was summer in the future when the Woput came. Two of the wizards were talking about him, and they said he picked a fine day to go back. It was one of the few summer days that year that there had been no rain.”

“But was summer there also summer here?”

“I think it likely,” said the countess. “The wizards said the end of the coil is current time, and one turn down is exactly three thousand real years.”

“Real years?” asked Dora.

Abby nodded. “She probably means actual years, three hundred and sixty-five days plus a few hours.”

“So,” said Dora.

“So,” said Abby eagerly, “thirty years ago, 1970, presumably in summer, somebody showed up out there on the air base. He may have been noticed.”

“No,” said Izzy. “Wizards say he did not come in his body. He used someone’s body. Some person who was already there.”

The man curled his lip, looking in that moment much like Soaz. I was glad to see this evidence of personhood in him. Summer after summer in my childhood I had ridden my umminha, Honey, and it was hard for me to reconcile her stupidity and wilfulness with this umminha’s ability to display real thought and motivation. I had never believed umminhi could think. It was hard to admit that these two were thinking, but I made myself accept it by thinking of them as ponjic persons in umminhi masks.

“Well,” the man said, “we can find out who was there. Maybe.”

Dora frowned. “Scout records?”

“And base records. Maybe even newspaper clippings. If a guy had his body taken over, maybe there was a story about it. I imagine he’d yell a little, or keel over, or something.”

He looked quite excited at the prospect, and I was
annoyed to see that my comrades did not appreciate what this man was suggesting.

“He’s going to help us find the Woput!” I told them. “We should say thank you.”

Izzy raised his brows at me and shook his head slightly.

Dora saw this. I thought under the circumstances that she was quite calm about it when she said, “You have just realized that your wizards of St. Weel are probably human.”

“I suspected it last night,” said the countess. “When we met you. When you said this is age of umminhi. Weelians were of the government of this age. They survived because they were in a deep, protected place. That would make them umminhi, is it not so?”

“What?” asked the man. “What’s going on?”

“Their Woput was human,” said Dora. “That’s why he came back! He felt his people, the human race, should have survived instead of these…people. He came back to our time in an attempt to change history. Now these people are wondering why we should want to help them, because we could conceivably be on opposing sides in the matter.”

“I don’t see that at all,” said Abby. “There are far too many people. I mean, human people.”

“I find it odd that you should think so,” said Prince Izakar rather stiffly. “I have never heard one of my people say there were too many of us.”

“Perhaps there aren’t too many of you,” Abby said rather loudly. “There are too many of us. My God, even the trees know it! They’re pushing us around, compressing us, nibbling off our houses, maybe making off with babies.”

Dora held up her hand. “Please. Prince Izakar, in our time, now, there are human people who are tree-huggers, animal lovers, ecologists, environmentalists. They have few children, for they know man is endangering the earth. They tend to be obsessive recyclers, and they worry about the future of the world a lot. Among that
group, you will find allies. There are, however, other humans who would not care if every tree in the world were cut down.”

“Now, Dora,” said Abby somewhat angrily.

“Well, there are,” she said stiffly. “Their prime motivation is money, or jobs—for humans, of course—because money and jobs buy votes or power. If wiping out forests means jobs and room for more people, they will wipe out the forests. If killing animals means jobs and more room for people, they will drive the animals to extinction. Animals and forests do not vote. These destroyers care only that more room and more jobs be made available to accommodate the ever increasing number of people they encourage to be born, because an ever increasing population fuels our economic system.”

The countess said, “But can’t they see what is happening to the world? Don’t they worry about it?”

Dora snorted. “They worry only that they be allowed to live out their own lives in power and comfort. They buy the kind of lives they are destroying for others. They live in gated communities or in mansions on stretches of untouched land or perhaps in twelve-room apartments at the tops of very tall, exclusive buildings. As for the poor, as for the animals, as for the trees, let them die.”

“She’s talking politics,” Abby explained to us, patting her on the shoulder.

I had already decided that! The countess, when she discusses Fasal Grun versus Fasahd, uses many of the same ideas Dora was using. Fasahd is a cannibal, without doubt, but the humans Dora spoke of sounded very person-eating to me.

“I’m sorry,” Dora said. “I shouldn’t rant on and on like that, but hearing that all of us, or most of us, are to be wiped out shortly makes me so…I have nephews, and nieces, and I love them. I have sisters and brothers…I don’t know whether to be angry or glad! I’ve thought of it, God knows, but even though we deserve it, I’ve always believed—always prayed that it would get just bad enough that
everyone
would admit it, and
then we could fix it before it was too late.”

The man put his arms around her, very tenderly, I thought. When he looked at her, he looked rather like Izzy looking at me, and I found the idea surprising. I had thought Izzy’s regard was mere…fellow-tribe feeling, but perhaps it was more than that. I turned away, and there was Izzy, looking at me in that exact same way. I averted my eyes, feeling very strange inside.

Dora leaned her cheek against the man’s for a moment before pushing herself away from him. “We must think,” she said. “We must all think, very clearly. I believe we are all allies here, but we must be sure what is involved.”

The countess drew herself up and nodded. “You are wise to suggest this, person. I fear thus far, none of us have had time to think at all.”

Both Dora and Abby “called in sick,” which seemed to be something one could do in their world, providing one did not do it very frequently. It seemed that “sick of the routine,” or “sick of life in general” qualified one to take advantage of the opportunity. I thought how nice that would be for a slave in the harim. If I didn’t want to wash vegetables, I would just call in sick. The idea was amusing, and when I told Lucy Low, she too was amused.

“If I don’t want to swim out in the icy water and catch salmon in my teeth, I’ll just call in sick,” she said. Then she and her brothers and I all lost ourselves in giggles, they at the thought of sickness being an excuse, I at the thought of Lucy Low with a salmon in her teeth. Though they were, come to think of it, extremely sharp teeth.

Dora said the first order of business ought to be to guarantee the safety of us new arrivals. Her announcement of this priority started a general discussion.

“Look,” she said, when we had gone astray from the subject several times. “I’m trying to explain why you are not safe here, in this time. You are less safe as speaking, dressed-up people than you are as plain animals.
While you do look slightly different from the animals I’m familiar with, it’s a difference that most people won’t notice, because most humans don’t really look at animals provided they’re not wearing clothing and commenting on the weather! Those who do really look at animals would probably be your friends, but there are the exceptions—the media people, for instance—”

We were unfamiliar with the word, so we interrupted her and she stopped to tell us about media people. “They are really cannibals,” she concluded. “They eat people three meals a day plus snacks!”

“Are you saying we dare not carry out our mission?” the countess asked.

“She’s saying that if you’re going to survive in order to carry out your mission, anyplace you go, anything you do has to be carefully thought out,” Abby replied. “In the forest, you’re probably fairly safe. Here, in Dora’s house, you’re okay. Half a dozen blocks that way is an avenue where there is no forest. As you approach the city, there are fewer and fewer trees. If you go to the city, asking to look at records, you’ll be mobbed within minutes.”

“Killed?” asked Lucy Low, her eyes very wide.

“Locked up in a cage,” said Dora. “In a zoo, or worse, in a laboratory. Where people would take samples of your blood and your bone and your brains.” She sighed. “Where they’d probably vivisect you to find out what made you tick and then
tsk tsk
when you died. You’ll have to trust us to do part of your mission for you. We can bring you the documents, so you can see them for yourself….”

“If there are any.” Abby frowned, staring out the window at the morning forest. “It’s like a needle in a haystack.”

Dzilobommo interrupted with a lengthy grummel.

Blanche persisted. “Dzilobommo wants to know why you are helping us? What is your advantage?”

Dora cried, “I’m not sure we have one. Knowing what you have told me, of course I’ll try to survive. I
may not make it. The human race may not make it, but if humans die, does intelligence have to die as well? Earth includes its creatures, and that means you! Why shouldn’t we want to help you?”

“But other umminhi…persons will not think the same?” Blanche persisted.

“A lot of human beings don’t think at all,” Dora said in a weary voice. “So long as they have their flowerpot on the windowsill and their canary in a cage, they will live forever in concrete without realizing they are in prison.”

“If they do not know, what difference does it make?” I asked.

Abby shook his head at me. “To them, none. To you? Perhaps everything. Aren’t we allowed to choose sides?”

Another long silence during which we looked at one another. I believed the umminhi. I think Izzy believed them. I wasn’t sure about the others. The countess rose, saying our group would go into the forest, for private consultation, leaving the umminhi to talk together. We trooped away down the stairs, all of us, and from the window Dora watched us wander off among the trees, all but the veebles, who were sprawled against the sunny wall of the house, half asleep.

A little way into the woods we met Sahir and Soaz, who looked very tired and dirty, and while they rested we told them our news.