Derek held out his hand. “Me, too.”

“Just a minute.” I covered myself with lather and rubbed lather in my hair. He stood watching, waist-deep in water, his hands on his hips. “Impatience on a monument,” I said.

“What?”

“It’s a quote, but I don’t have it right.”

“Shakespeare. Twelfth Night.‘She sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief.’ I don’t remember the act or scene, but it’s Viola speaking to the duke. About herself, of course, though the duke does not know it. Give me the soap.”

I handed it over. He lathered. I rinsed. Was there anything equal to getting clean? Especially after traveling so long. I got the soap back and covered myself with lather again.

Derek said, “I think we could use this stuff to wash our clothes. I have reached the point where I don’t want to stand upwind of myself.”

A log floated by. There was a lizard on it. A little one, no more than a meter long. It turned its head and looked at us, then inflated the sack in its throat. Ca-roak!

“The same to you,” I said.

We waded back to shore, washed our clothes, and spread them on the sand to dry. The air was almost motionless. The day was getting hot. We sat down side by side. I glanced at Derek. His hair was blond again. His skin had returned to its usual color: brown and reddish brown. He looked attractive.

“The old saints were right,” he said. “The ones who didn’t take baths. Being dirty does interfere with sex. I’m not sure what the exact connection is, and it doesn’t work for everyone, of course. But it certainly works for me.” He made the gesture of inquiry.

I replied with the gesture of agreement and the gesture of assent.

We made love on the sand, then waded back into the river and washed ourselves off. We sat down again. He leaned over and kissed my ear. “Aristotle was not right. ‘All animals are sad after sex.’ I tend to feel mellow and sentimental after getting laid.” He grinned. “And complacent, as if I’ve pulled off something out of the ordinary. A better-than-average card trick or a really clever essay.”

“I didn’t know you did card tricks.”

“Not at the moment. I left my cards upstairs.”

I looked downriver. A thick column of smoke rose into the sky. The signal fire.

“But I can prove that I’m clever,” Derek said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“There was someone in the tent when we arrived last night. Hiding. I think it was a man.”

“How do you know?”

“Footprints. Big ones. Entering and leaving. The ones close to the tent were scuffed. But I found others farther away. Good clear ones. One set was fresh. The ones leaving. My bet is he left after we went to sleep.” Derek paused. “Not by the front. That would have wakened me. He cut apart two skins in the back.”

I thought for a moment. “Do you think it’s the man she’s signaling?”

“Most likely. She didn’t want us to know she was friendly with a man. Even though I am a man and so is the oracle. These people are careful.”

I checked the clothes. They were still damp. “I just realized this morning—there’s a chance our journey is almost over. We won’t see Nia or the oracle after another day or two.”

He made the gesture of agreement.

“I didn’t mind leaving that village in New Jersey. Those people were loathsome. I barely got out alive. But every other time I’ve finished a study, it’s been painful. At least a little. To go in and out of the lives of other people.”

“I’m usually ready to go,” said Derek. “I start thinking of my house in Berkeley. My books. The indoor plumbing. The kitchen with everything I need for cooking. And all the lovely women that are to be found around a university.” He paused. “Later, when I’m back, I miss the people I was studying.” He grinned. “In the comfort of my house.”

I checked the clothes again. We talked about the people we had studied and the people we had known as friends and colleagues on Earth. A wandering conversation, full of pauses. We made love a second time and washed again in the lukewarm river. The day kept getting hotter. Clouds appeared in the west.

Around noon Nia came looking for us. “The man has arrived. He must live close to here. He’s willing to take us to the lake. But he wants to go now. He says there will be a storm in the afternoon. He wants to be a good distance down the river by then.”

We put on our underwear and shook the sand off the rest of our clothes, rolled them and carried them to camp.

There was a canoe drawn up on the shore. A dugout. Good-sized. Surprising that a single man would need a boat that big. The prow was high. The top was an animal head, elaborately carved. The eyes were inlaid with shell. The mouth was open and had real teeth: triangular and white. They were all the same size. Unspecialized. Most likely the teeth of a fish or reptile or a very large bird. The owner of the canoe was nowhere in sight.

“He’s in the tent,” said the oracle. “Talking to Tanajin. They are a strange pair.”

“We’d better put on shirts,” said Derek. “The day is bright. We’ll get burned out on the water.”

“Okay.”

We packed the jeans and the rest of our belongings.

Nia said, “I talked with Tanajin this morning and told her I am a smith. She has tools here, left by a traveler. She says there is a hole in the bottom of her best cooking pot, and Ulzai—the man—has a knife that no longer holds an edge. And there is other work to be done.”

“I am not much use at a forge,” said the oracle. “But I know stories, and my dreams are useful.”

Reciprocity. A gift must always be returned. What could we possibly give to Nia and the oracle in return for their help?

Tanajin came out, carrying a sack made of leather and a large metal jug. “Food,” she said.

The man came after her. He wasn’t tall, but he was broad and heavy. His fur was shaggy. It made him look even bigger than he was. He limped heavily. There was a patch of white fur on his leg. Was that evidence of scar tissue? He turned his head, looking us over. Two lines of white fur went down the side of his face. The inner line touched the corner of his mouth and the lip was twisted out. I could see the red mucous membrane.

His eyes were red. His pupils were contracted and so narrow I could not see them. The eyes were blank. Eerie!

“You are certainly different,” he said. His voice was deep and harsh. “Tanajin says you have not been sick.”

Derek made the gesture of affirmation.

“I am Ulzai.”

He wore a kilt made of brown cloth. His belt was leather with a buckle of yellow metal. Brass, most likely. A long knife hung at his side. The sheath was leather and brass or bronze. The hilt was tarnished silver. His feet were bare. He wore no jewelry at all. He was the plainest-looking man I had seen on the planet. Plain in both senses. Unadorned and ugly.

“Get everything you own in the canoe. Does any one of you know how to paddle?”

“I do,” I said.

“I will be in the stern. You sit in the prow. These others will go in between.” He stared at Derek and Nia and the oracle. “The boat is going to be heavily laden. It may be that I am a fool to carry so many people. But I know what I am doing out on the water, and I have always been lucky there. Listen to me! Stay quiet! If you move around, the boat may turn over.”

“Okay,” said Derek.

“What?” asked Ulzai.

“That word means ‘yes,’ ” said the oracle.

We loaded the canoe and pushed it into the water. Nia and the oracle got in clumsily.

“Be careful!” said Ulzai.

Derek did a little better.

Ulzai and I turned the boat, then climbed in. “You—at least—can get in a canoe,” the furry man said. “Tell me your name.”

“Lixia.”

“Li-zha,” he repeated.

Tanajin said, “Farewell.”

I found my paddle. It was almost the same as the paddles I had used in northern Minnesota.

“Get to work,” said Ulzai.