and reached the shore where her people were, lying about as they always were, singing a little, spreading out their long hair. They had scarcely noticed she had been away.
The Old Shes were all together on a big flat rock, their place. She saw as if for the first time those vast loose laps and dewlaps of flesh, enormous loose breasts, the big slack faces with eyes that seemed to see nothing, bodies half in, half out of the warm waves. She saw it all and disliked what she saw.
She had to tell them what had happened, and it was not that they didnât listen, they didnât seem able to take in what she said. Over the mountain were living the Monsters they had put out to die â that was the very first fact, and she might as well not have spoken at all. The younger Clefts were almost as bad, except a girl, one of those who had tried to tell the Old Shes about the Monstersâ tubes, did hear her and wanted to know everything. These two girls were always together now, talking, speculating. In due time a babe was born â a Cleft. She knew and her friend knew that this babe was different, and they looked for signs of the difference. Nothing to see, but it was a restless, crying babe and it crawled and swam and then walked early.
This first babe born to the Clefts, with a Monster for a father, was, these two girls knew, different in its deepest nature. But saying this poses a question,does it not? How did they know? What was so different in them that made it possible for them to know? Something had happened to these two Clefts, but they did not know what it was. All they knew was that when they talked together about the new babe, about the Monsters over the mountain, they were using language and ideas they could not share with anyone else on that shore.
The girl who had gone over the mountain, because she had been forced to by a new inner nature, was one of the Water Carers. She saw to it that the trickles of water that come down the cliffs were kept clean, and directed into a rocky pool made for that purpose. She was known as Water, but one day, summoned by the Old Shes for some task or other, she said, not having thought or planned it, âMy name is Maire.â Which is what they called the half moon, before it became full moon. Her friend, the other girl, who was one of the Fish Catchers and, therefore, Fish, said, âAnd my name is Astre.â Which is what they called the brightest star at evening.
The Old Shes seemed annoyed, if they had actually heard what the girls said. As long as the young Clefts tended them and gave them food, they could call themselves what they liked â this was what the girls suspected was felt.
This kind of critical thought about the Old Sheswas new: so many new dangerous thoughts in their heads.
Maire thought a good deal about the Squirts over the mountain. She felt them as wanting her. It was not how she had handled their squirts that was in her mind: rather the hunger in their faces as they looked at her, a need that was like something pulling at her.
The new people in their valley thought of Maire. They had no memories of the very first Cleft they had killed, but they remembered Maire, and with longing. Sometimes they crept along the rocky hills above the old shore to catch a glimpse of the Clefts, but were afraid of being seen by them. All their thoughts of the Clefts were dark and troubling. The Clefts had the gift of making new people: they, the newest people, did not.
And then they were more and more troubled by their speech. The Cleftsâ speech was clearer and better. They tried to remember words used by Maire, and how she put them together. But they didnât know enough, they knew so little.
Perhaps she would come again?
Meanwhile, the eagles were not bringing them any new babies. This was because none had been born.
Next, Astre gave birth. It was a baby Monster and she and Maire, without talking about it, or planning, decided to take the babe over
The Old Shes were all together on a big flat rock, their place. She saw as if for the first time those vast loose laps and dewlaps of flesh, enormous loose breasts, the big slack faces with eyes that seemed to see nothing, bodies half in, half out of the warm waves. She saw it all and disliked what she saw.
She had to tell them what had happened, and it was not that they didnât listen, they didnât seem able to take in what she said. Over the mountain were living the Monsters they had put out to die â that was the very first fact, and she might as well not have spoken at all. The younger Clefts were almost as bad, except a girl, one of those who had tried to tell the Old Shes about the Monstersâ tubes, did hear her and wanted to know everything. These two girls were always together now, talking, speculating. In due time a babe was born â a Cleft. She knew and her friend knew that this babe was different, and they looked for signs of the difference. Nothing to see, but it was a restless, crying babe and it crawled and swam and then walked early.
This first babe born to the Clefts, with a Monster for a father, was, these two girls knew, different in its deepest nature. But saying this poses a question,does it not? How did they know? What was so different in them that made it possible for them to know? Something had happened to these two Clefts, but they did not know what it was. All they knew was that when they talked together about the new babe, about the Monsters over the mountain, they were using language and ideas they could not share with anyone else on that shore.
The girl who had gone over the mountain, because she had been forced to by a new inner nature, was one of the Water Carers. She saw to it that the trickles of water that come down the cliffs were kept clean, and directed into a rocky pool made for that purpose. She was known as Water, but one day, summoned by the Old Shes for some task or other, she said, not having thought or planned it, âMy name is Maire.â Which is what they called the half moon, before it became full moon. Her friend, the other girl, who was one of the Fish Catchers and, therefore, Fish, said, âAnd my name is Astre.â Which is what they called the brightest star at evening.
The Old Shes seemed annoyed, if they had actually heard what the girls said. As long as the young Clefts tended them and gave them food, they could call themselves what they liked â this was what the girls suspected was felt.
This kind of critical thought about the Old Sheswas new: so many new dangerous thoughts in their heads.
Maire thought a good deal about the Squirts over the mountain. She felt them as wanting her. It was not how she had handled their squirts that was in her mind: rather the hunger in their faces as they looked at her, a need that was like something pulling at her.
The new people in their valley thought of Maire. They had no memories of the very first Cleft they had killed, but they remembered Maire, and with longing. Sometimes they crept along the rocky hills above the old shore to catch a glimpse of the Clefts, but were afraid of being seen by them. All their thoughts of the Clefts were dark and troubling. The Clefts had the gift of making new people: they, the newest people, did not.
And then they were more and more troubled by their speech. The Cleftsâ speech was clearer and better. They tried to remember words used by Maire, and how she put them together. But they didnât know enough, they knew so little.
Perhaps she would come again?
Meanwhile, the eagles were not bringing them any new babies. This was because none had been born.
Next, Astre gave birth. It was a baby Monster and she and Maire, without talking about it, or planning, decided to take the babe over
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