“Except they don’t call us `humans,’ ” Indira explained. “Gukuy can’t seem to handle hard aspirates at all, and sibilants are difficult for them. So I made it simple—we are now `ummun.’ ”
Julius scowled. “Dirty, rotten linguistic imperialism, if you ask me.”
Indira ignored the quip. She was frowning, deep in thought.
“What’s on your mind, fair lady?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. It’s just—I’m not sure yet. They seemed to agree to the term `ummun’ readily enough, but I don’t think—”
She fell silent. Julius prodded her, but the historian refused to speculate until she felt she understood the gukuy language well enough.
Two months later, she understood.
“They’ll call us `ummun,’ out of politeness. But that’s not really how they think of us. We’re demons.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Demons. Powerful and fearful creatures from beyond the known world.”
“But—why demons? We haven’t done anything wicked to them. Or to the owoc, for that matter.”
Indira smiled, and patted his cheek.
“Poor Julius. So stunted you are by that horrid Judeo-Christian outlook.”
Julius scowled. “What’s my ancestry got to do with this?” he demanded.
“In the rigidly monotheistic religions—which shaped your cultural views, regardless of whether you personally are still a believer—all powerful non-divine creatures are amalgated into devils. Pure evil. But the original conception of demons doesn’t necessarily carry the connotation of evil. Although evil is always there, lurking below the surface. Not evil, actually. Power. Tremendous, unbridled, fearful power—which can, of course, often manifest itself in evil ways.”
“Why should they think we are powerful? Our technological level’s really no higher than theirs, when you get right down to it. Our theoretical knowledge is vastly greater, of course. That’s even true for the kids, even though I often think the disrespectful little bastards think most of what we teach them are fairy tales.”
Indira smiled. As much as he carped on the sins of the younger generation, she knew that the biologist adored them. Much more uncritically, in fact, than she did.
“It has nothing to do with technology, Julius. At a Bronze Age stage of historical development, there’s really not that much difference between the technological level of civilized societies and barbarians. The difference is social.”
“So?”
“So these beings are not stupid, dear. They don’t understand us, but they understand that we are very, very different. And then there’s the frightening way we move.”
“Huh?”
She frowned. “Surely you, a biologist, can understand that fear. Other than size—and we’re much taller than gukuy, even if they outweigh us—what’s the other physical trait that all animals instinctively fear? Especially intelligent animals?”
Understanding came to him. “Speed.”
“Yes. Especially uncanny speed, produced by unusual forms of motion. Didn’t you tell me once that the reason humans have such an irrational fear of snakes is because of the way in which they strike?”
“Yeah. A coiled snake can strike like a lightning bolt, so most people think the reptiles are inhumanly fast. Truth is, a human can outrun any snake that ever lived.”
“Have you ever thought of how the way humans move must look to gukuy? Like nothing they’ve ever seen. Almost magical, is the sense I get from them. Even with their excellent eyesight, their brains have a hard time processing our motion. To them, we—we flicker. Half-seen; half invisible. And so quickly. And we can move easily over terrain that they have to struggle through. You should have seen how their mantles were flooded with orange when they saw two of the children having a race up the mountainside.”
“Orange? I’ve never seen that color on the owoc.”
“No, neither have I. I’m certain that it’s the color of astonishment. Owoc are never astonished. Puzzled, often. But then their mantles turn ochre with indecision and uncertainty. To be astonished—amazed—requires more of a rational sense of what is normal in the world. To the owoc the world simply is what it is. They may not understand it—they often don’t—but they accept it.”
Julius grunted. “True. They really aren’t all that bright.”
Indira’s stare was stony.
“That’s one way to put it. But there’s another way to look at it, you know. The capacity to be amazed presupposes that you believe in your ability to understand the world. When something then happens which doesn’t fit your conception of reality, you are astonished and amazed.”