Angai frowned. “I have never heard of a spirit that used a man for speaking. But the old women say the farther off a village is, the more things are done wrong. The Copper People are a long way off.” She glanced back at me. “What is your problem? Tell me! Maybe if I know what kinds of things worry you, I will understand you better.” She glanced at Nia. “You!”

Nia made the gesture that indicated she was listening with respect.

“Pay careful attention! If this hairless woman says something that does not seem right to you, speak up. Tell me!”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said in English. “She is ready to hear about the problem.”

“I will speak first,” said Mr. Fang. “Please continue to translate, Lixia.”

I made the gesture of agreement.

He looked puzzled. I nodded. He began.

“First of all, thank Angai for making us welcome. Explain to her that we come from a long distance away.

“After we reached this planet—this place—we developed a difference of opinion. We have not been able to settle the argument among ourselves. Therefore, we have decided to turn to people outside our expedition.”

I translated.

Angai made the gesture of approval. “When two women cannot agree, they must turn to a third. To act differently is to act like men.” She frowned, evidently remembering that Mr. Fang was a man. “Go on.”

The old man hesitated. Dots of reflected sunlight danced over his brown skin and his faded blue cotton clothing. The light came from ornaments that hung from the edges of the awning: chains of bronze, which ended in little flat fishes and birds. They moved in the wind, chiming softly. The old man’s hair was loose today, and it moved too, lifting as the wind blew under the awning: wispy, untidy, whitish gray. “This is difficult. How can ideas be removed from their context? How can we explain our dilemma to people whose history and technology are different from our own?”

“I am willing to try,” said Eddie.

“No,” said Mr. Fang. “Your turn will come later. Lixia, tell her that we come from a planet—a place—where there are many different kinds of society. These societies have different levels of technology and, therefore, different kinds of social organization and different ideologies.”

“The old man says in our country there are many different peoples. They have different tools and different ideas.”

“They could hardly have the same tools,” said Angai. “Every village must have its own smith. Every smith must have her own tools. As for ideas, I know that people do not always agree.”

Mr. Fang went on. “In the past there have been problems when people with different levels of technology have met.” He paused. “I don’t want to talk about war or exploitation. Those are Eddie’s subjects.

“Tell the shamaness—when different societies encounter one another, they exchange information and this can cause changes in one society or the other. These changes are not always pleasant.”

I made the gesture that meant “I will.” “The old man says when different people get together, they teach each other new ways of doing things, and this can be disturbing.”

The word I used for “disturbing” meant “to turn around or over,” “to stir porridge by moving a spoon in a circle,” “to empty a pot by turning it upside down.”

Angai looked puzzled.

“Because of this,” said Mr. Fang, “people have always disagreed about the benefits of travel and the exchange of information. According to Master Lao, in a country that follows the Way, people will avoid technological improvements. They will spend their whole lives in one village even though the next village may be so close that they can hear the dogs barking and the crowing of the roosters.”

I said, “There are people in our country who think it is a bad idea to learn new things. These people don’t like to travel.”

Angai made the gesture that meant “go on.”

Mr. Fang said, “But Master Kong said the two great pleasures of life are acquiring knowledge and having friends come to visit from a long distance.

“The literature of China is full of traveling, of friends parting and meeting again. That is how our civilization was created and held together—by the poets on horseback and the soldiers on the frontier, the women sent to marry foreigners, the ordinary workers who took caravans over the mountains and boats through the gorges of the Yangtze.” He glanced up and realized where he was. For a moment he looked startled.

I said, “There are other people who like to learn new things. These people like to travel.”

“I come from Sichuan, from ancient Shu. Without travel and the exchange of information, we would not be Chinese. On the other hand we might still have our native culture and ecology. I am the heir to Kong and Lao, Du Fu and Wang Anshi. That is an obvious good. But we have lost our ancient traditions, whatever they may have been. And we have lost our tigers, our elephants, our pandas, and our leopards. That is a terrible loss.”

“There is both gain and loss in all this travel,” I said. “New stories are learned. Old stories are forgotten. New things come into the country. Old things go away.”

“Even in the twentieth century, it was possible to find giant pandas in the forests of Sichuan. The snow leopard is—or was—remarkably elusive, but there were people who saw prints in the snow of the high mountains in the twentieth century. How does one balance that loss against the poetry of Du Fu, the philosophy of Master Kong, the benefits of socialism?”

“This is not easy to explain,” I said to Angai. “He’s talking about his country. You don’t know the places or the people or the animals.”

“Do the best you can,” said Angai.

“All right.” I thought for a moment. “He is making a pile of the things that have been gained through travel. He is comparing it to the things that have been lost. Which pile is bigger? he asks. He can’t make up his mind.”

“Aiya!” said the villagers.

Mr. Fang lifted his head, looking directly at Angai. “We cannot decide whether or not it’s a good idea to visit you. Therefore we are asking you to decide.”

I translated, then added, “Eddie and Ivanova are going to speak. Eddie is against this visit. Ivanova thinks it is a good idea.”

“This is going to take a long time,” Angai said. “My people need to care for their children. The old women need to get up and walk around. We will stop for a while. There is so much information! So much to think about! So many questions to ask!”

She made a gesture. The old women stood up, groaning. Some of them had to be helped to their feet. The crowd of villagers broke apart and we were alone.

Angai looked at Nia. “Have you heard anything that sounds wrong?”

“No. But there is a lot about these people that I don’t know.” Nia scratched her forehead. “Li-sa did not speak as much as the old man did.” She looked at Derek. “What was not said?”

“She told you,” Derek said. “The old man was speaking about his country.”

“Is what he said important?” Nia asked.

“Judge for yourself.” Derek gave a meticulously exact translation.

The natives frowned and began to ask questions. What is a panda? What is a Wang Anshi?

I got up and walked into the sunlight, stretched and touched my toes. The morning clouds had vanished. The air was getting hot.

I glanced at the group under the awning. Hua had joined them. She carried a jar made of silver. The body was round. The neck was long and narrow. She looked at me and lifted it. I went back, hunkered down, and drank a cool liquid that tasted bitter and made my mouth go numb.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It makes people happy,” Hua said. “When the old women drink it, they forget that their bodies hurt and their strength is leaving them. They dance and sing like girls.”

“Hu!” I took another swig, then handed the jar to Derek.

“You were in the tent,” I said to Hua.