‘-at least not to us.' the monkey added, laughing again.

The fruit tasted even better than its scent had promised. The meat was succulent, the juice strong as a liqueur. He licked it off his fingers, and the palms of his hand.

‘Like it?'

‘Superb.'

‘Food and drink all in one.' The monkey looked at the man beneath the tree. ‘Want one, Smith?' it asked.

The man put a flame to his cigarette and drew on it.

‘D'you hear me?'

Getting no response, the monkey scampered back up into the higher reaches of the tree.

Cal, still eating the pear, had found the pips at its centre. He chewed them up. Their slight bitterness only complemented the sweetness of the rest.

There was music playing somewhere between the trees, he now noticed. One moment lilting, the next manic.

‘Another?' said the monkey, re-appearing with not two but several fruit.

Cal swallowed the last of his first.

‘Same deal.' the monkey said.

Suddenly greedy, Cal took three, and started to peel.

There's other people here.' he said to the puppeteer.

‘Of course.' said the monkey. This has always been a gathering place.'

‘Why do you speak through the animal?' Cal asked, as the monkey's fingers claimed a peeled fruit from his hands.

The name's Novello.' said the monkey. ‘And who says he's speaking at all?'

Cal laughed, as much at himself as at the performance.

‘Fact is.' said the monkey, ‘neither of us is quite sure who does what any longer. But then love's like that, don't you find?'

It threw back its head and squeezed the fruit in its hand, so that the liquor ran down its throat.

The music had found a fresh intoxication. Cal was intrigued to find out what instruments it was being played upon. Violins certainly, and whistles and drums. But there were sounds amongst these that he couldn't place. ‘Any excuse for a party.' said Novello. ‘Must be the biggest breakfast in history.' ‘I daresay. Want to go see?' ‘Yes.'

The monkey ran along the branch, and scurried down the trunk to where Smith was sitting. Cal, chewing the seeds of his second Giddy, reached up and claimed a further handful of fruit from amongst the foliage, pocketing half a dozen against future hunger, and skinning another to be consumed on the spot.

The sound of monkey-chatter drew his gaze down to Novello and Smith. The beast was perched on the man's chest, and they were talking to each other, a babble of words and grunts. Cal looked from man to beast and back to man again. He could not tell who was saying what to whom.

The debate ended abruptly, and Smith stood up, the monkey now sitting on his shoulder. Without inviting Cal to follow, they threaded their way between the trees. Cal pursued, peeling and eating as he went.

Some of the visitors here were doing as he'd done, standing beneath the trees, consuming Jude Pears. One or two had even climbed up and were draped amongst the branches, bathing in the perfumed air. Others, either indifferent to the fruit or sated upon it, lay sprawled in the grass and talked together in low voices. The atmosphere was all tranquillity.

Heaven is an orchard, Cal thought as he walked; and God is plenty.

That's the fruit talking.' said Novello. Cal wasn't even aware that he'd spoken aloud. He looked round at the monkey, feeling slightly disoriented.

‘You should watch yourself.' the animal said, ‘an excess of Judes isn't good for you.'

‘I've got a strong stomach.' Cal replied.

‘Who said anything about your stomach?' the monkey replied. ‘They're not called Giddy Fruit for nothing.'

Cal ignored him. The animal's condescending tone irritated him. He picked up his pace, overtaking man and beast.

‘Have it your way.' said the monkey.

Somebody darted between the trees a little way ahead of Cal, trailing laughter. To Cal's eyes the sound was momentarily visible; he saw the rise and fall of notes as splashes of light, which flew apart like dandelion heads in a high wind. Enchantment upon enchantment. Plucking and peeling yet another of Lo's remarkable fruits as he went, he hurried on towards the music.

And ahead of him, the scene came clear. A blue and ochre rug had been laid on the ground between the trees, with wicks in oil flickering along its borders; and at its edge the musicians he'd heard. There were five of them: three women and two men, dressed formally in suits and dresses, in the dark threads of which brilliant designs were somehow concealed, so that the subtlest motion of the folds in the flame-light revealed a glamour that brought to Gal's mind the iridescence of tropical butterflies. More startling, however, was the fact that this quintet had not a single instrument between them. They were singing these violins, pipes and drums, and offering in addition sounds no instrument could hope to produce. Here was a music which did not imitate natural sound - it was not bird or whale song, nor tree nor stream - but instead expressed experiences which lay between words: the off-beat of the heart, where intellect could not go.

Hearing it, shudders of pleasure ran down Gal's spine.

The show had drawn an audience of perhaps thirty Seerkind, and Cal joined them. His presence was noted by a few, who threw mildly curious glances in his direction.

Surveying the crowd, he attempted to allot these people to one or other of the four Families, but it was near enough impossible. The choral orchestra were presumably Aia; hadn't Apolline said that it was Aia blood that had given her a good singing voice? But amongst the rest, who was who? Which of these people were of Jerichau's Family, for instance: the

Babu? Which of the Ye-me, or the Lo? There were negro and Caucasian faces, and one or two with an oriental cast; there were some who boasted traits not quite human - one with Nimrod's golden eyes (and tail too, presumably); another pair whose features carried symmetrical marking that crept down from the scalp; yet others who bore - either at the dictates of fashion or theology - elaborate tattoos and hair-styles. There was the same startling variety in the clothes they wore, the formal designs of their late nineteenth-century garb refashioned to suit the wearer. And in the fabrics of skirts, suits and waistcoats, the same barely concealed iridescence: threads of carnival brilliance in wait behind the monochrome.

Gal's admiring gaze went from one face to another, and he felt he wanted each of these people as a friend, wanted to know them and walk with them and share his pittance of secrets with them. He was vaguely aware that this was probably the fruit talking. But if so, then it was wise fruit.

Though his hunger was assuaged, he took another of the pears from his pocket and was about to peel it when the music came to an end. There was applause and whistling. The quintet took their bows. As they did so a bearded man with a face as lined as a walnut, who had been sitting on a stool close to the edge of the rug, stood up. He looked directly at Cal and said:

‘My friends ... my friends ... we have a stranger amongst us...'

The applause was dying down. Faces turned in Cal's direction; he could feel himself blush.

‘Come out, Mr Mooney! Mr Calhoun Mooneyl'

Ganza told the truth: the air did gossip.

The man was beckoning. Cal made a murmur of protest.

‘Come on. Entertain us a while!' came the reply.

At this Cal's heart started to thump furiously. ‘I can't,' he said.

‘Of course you can,' the man grinned. ‘Of course you can!'

There was more applause. The shining faces smiled around him. Somebody touched his shoulder. He glanced round. It was Novello.

‘That's Mr Lo,' said the monkey. ‘You mustn't refuse him.'

‘But I can't do anything -'

‘Everybody can do something,' said the monkey. ‘If it's only fart.'

‘Come on, come on.' Lemuel Lo was saying. ‘Don't be shy.'