Nia said, “He came down last night, after everyone was asleep. He woke me. I told him I was hungry. He went and got food.”

The oracle, chewing, made the gesture of gratitude.

The boy said, “I was away yesterday—out on the plain, hunting. When I got back, Hua told me our mother had returned. Angai told me to leave her alone. I didn’t listen. I will be a man—if not this winter, then the winter after. It is not the voices of women that keep a man alive on the plain. It is his own voice. The one he hears in his mind when his tongue is silent.”

The oracle made the gesture of agreement.

“He brought us clothing, too,” said Nia.

“I saw what my mother looked like. Shabby! And foreign! I don’t really understand what’s going on. Who are you, anyway? Why do you need help from our shamaness?”

I opened my mouth to explain. The boy held up his hand.

“But I know that Nia is in the middle, and it seems to me she ought to be dressed in decent clothing.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Thirteen. Everyone says that I have grown up quickly. I don’t know if that’s a good thing. People expect me to leave the village soon. I suppose I don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind,” said Nia. “Your father got in trouble because he didn’t want to leave the village.”

“I’ve heard about that.” The boy paused and turned his head, then jumped down off the railing.

Foliage moved. Eddie climbed onto the boat. “Good morning, Lixia.” He glanced at the boy. “Nia’s son?”

I made the gesture of affirmation.

“Introduce me.”

I did.

The boy looked him up and down. “Is this a man?”

“Yes.”

“He is a big man,” the boy said.

Eddie wore jeans, a turquoise-blue shirt, and a vest covered with beadwork. The vest was Anishinabe: a bold pattern of brightly colored flowers. The beads were tiny, made of glass. They shimmered in the early morning light. His hair was in braids. The buckle on his belt was turquoise and gold. Of course he was a big man. I made the gesture of affirmation.

“Is he likely to confront anyone?” the boy asked.

“No.”

The boy made the gesture that meant “good.”

Nia stood. “Didn’t you hear in the village? These people are not like any other people.”

“I heard,” said the boy.

Agopian leaned out the cabin door. “Breakfast is ready.”

“This is another male,” said Nia.

“You are really certain they are not going to confront each other?” asked the boy.

“Yes.”

“Hu!”

The oracle looked up. “The little one won’t back down or run away, even though it is obvious that he is no match for Eddie.”

“We have to eat,” I said in the language of gifts.

The oracle made the gesture that meant “go ahead.”

Eddie and I went in. There was a plate of bagels already on the table, toasted and buttered. Derek was setting down a plate of scrambled eggs. Tatiana came out of the galley, carrying a pot of coffee.

“Ivanova is staying on the other boat,” Eddie said. “I think she is trying to make points with the Chinese by eating their breakfast.”

“Never put politics above digestion,” Agopian said. He sat down and reached for a bagel.

We ate in silence, aware—I think—of the aliens outside. Their voices came through the open door, low and even, speaking the language of their tribe.

Tatiana cleared the table. Eddie washed. I dried. Ivanova arrived and spoke to Tatiana in Russian. I glanced out of the galley. It was obvious they were arguing—speaking softly and intently, both of them frowning. Agopian listened and said nothing.

We finished with the dishes.

Ivanova said, “There have been noises in the wood. Voices. I have seen a couple of children in the trees, looking at us, doing nothing. But I don’t think it would be a good idea to leave the boats unattended.”

“I have to stay,” said Tatiana. “And Yunqi. The rest of you are needed in the village. I’ve come so far, and now I have to be a watchdog while history is made a few hundred meters away.”

“Agopian could stay,” I said.

Agopian said, “I will never forgive you for that remark.”

Ivanova shook her head. “He is a historian. I want him along.”

I went out on deck and looked up. The sky was empty except for one little group of clouds. They were shaped like scales and arranged in rows.

“Lizard-hide clouds,” said Nia. She stood up, then bent and put a cover on the stew pot. The handle was a biped—a carnivore, bending over and feeding on another biped that lay dead, a relief on the curving lid.

The boy was gone.

I made the gesture of inquiry.

“I said we’d be in the village soon. He went ahead.”

Ivanova came out. “We’d better get going.”

I followed her onto the bank. The natives followed me. Mr. Fang was on the trail, leaning on a cane. The others joined us: Agopian, Eddie, Derek, who had changed his clothing. Now he was dressed entirely in white: close-fitting jeans and a loose thin shirt. The sleeves were blouselike. The shoulders were covered with embroidery, white on white.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked. “Not from supply.”

“Barter.”

His shoes were a highly reflective white cloth, trimmed with white leather. They shimmered and flashed, even in the forest shadow.

“Huh!” said Eddie.

We went up the bluff. Nia led the way into the village. It was empty. The wind lifted dust and blew it around us. The bells on the metal standards rang.

Agopian said, “Where is everybody?”

Derek made the gesture that meant he did not know.

We came to the open area: the village square. It was full of people: women and children dressed in fine clothing. Everywhere I looked, I saw bright colors, embroidery, jewelry.

A woman shouted. Everyone looked at us.

“Aiya!” said the oracle. “Do I have to go into that?”

“You can go back,” Derek said.

“No. My spirit told me to stay with you.”

The crowd parted. We walked through. The oracle kept his head down, looking at no one until we reached Angai.

She stood in front of her tent, under the awning. Her robe was covered with so much embroidery that I could not tell the color of the underlying fabric.

Her jewelry was less impressive: a nose stud made of gold and a necklace that looked as if it ought to belong to a girl. Each link was a small and delicate silver bird. Hardly the right thing for a middle-aged shamaness, dressed up for a major social occasion.

“Be seated.” She pitched her voice so everyone could hear. “Tell me your problem. The village will listen. We’ll do what we can.”

There were rugs spread under the awning. Angai gestured, and we sat down.

The villagers moved in. The old women were closest. They sat on the ground. Behind them stood the matrons. I could not see the girls or the children. I heard the children though—high voices shouting, “Tsa! Tsa! Tsa!”

Angai said, “Begin.”

I introduced myself, then the other humans.

“What sex are they?” asked Angai.

I told her.

“Four men,” said Angai. “One of them looks old. Is that right?”

I made the gesture of affirmation.

“But the other three?”

“Are neither old nor young.”

“Two of them.” She glanced at Derek and Eddie. “Look like big men. The way they dress is big. So is the way they hold themselves.”

“Yes.”

“But they are able to sit next to each other—and to women—and to a pair of little men—and do nothing.”

“Yes.”

“Nia is right. You people are different.” She looked at the oracle. “Li-sa did not give your name. Who are you and why do you travel with the hairless people? Why have you come into this village? Are you a pervert?”

“No. I am holy and crazy. My name is the Voice of the Waterfall. I belong to the Copper People of the Plain. I am an oracle. I travel with the hairless people because my spirit told me to. I came into your village, o shamaness, because these people came. I will not leave them until I hear from my spirit.”