His gums continued to hurt him for a week, after which he took to drinking the naturally fermented liquor in the “punchnut.” This grew in great clusters high at the top of a slender tree with short, fragile, mauve branches and tobacco-pipe-shaped yellow leaves. When its leathery rind was cut open with a sharp stone, it exuded an odor as of fruity punch. It tasted like a gin tonic with a dash of cherry bitters and had a kick like a slug of tequila. It worked well in killing both the pain in his gums and the irritation the pain had generated in him.
Nine days after he first experienced the trouble with his gums, ten tiny, white, hard teeth began to shove through the flesh. Moreover, the gold fillings in the others were being pushed out by the return of the natural material. And a thick black growth covered his formerly bald pate.
This was not all. The swimming, running, and climbing had melted off the fat. The prominent veins of old age had sunk back into smooth firm flesh. He could run for long stretches without being winded or feel as if his heart would burst. All this he delighted in, but not without wondering why and how it had come about.
He asked several among the beach-crowd about their seemingly universal youth. They had one reply: “It’s the Lord’s will.”
At first he thought they were speaking of the Creator, which seemed strange to him. As far as he could tell, they had no religion. Certainly they did not have one with any organized approach, rituals, or sacraments.
“Who is the Lord?” he asked. He thought that perhaps he had mistranslated their word wanaks, that it might have a slightly different meaning than that found in Homer.
Ipsewas, the zebrilla, the most intelligent of all he had so far met, answered, “He lives on top of the world, beyond Okeanos.” Ipsewas pointed up and over the sea, toward the mountain range at its other side. “The Lord lives in a beautiful and impregnable palace on top of the world. He it was who made this world and who made us. He used to come down often to make merry with us. We do as the Lord says and play with him. But we are always frightened. If he becomes angry or is displeased, he is likely to kill us. Or worse.”
Wolff smiled and nodded his head. So Ipsewas and the others had no more rational explanation of the origins or workings of their world than the people of his. But the beach-crowd did have one thing lacking on Earth. They had uniformity of opinion. Everyone he asked gave him the same answer as the zebrilla.
“It is the will of the Lord. He made the world, he made us.”
“How do you know?” Wolff asked. He did not expect any more than he had gotten on Earth when he asked the question. But he was surprised.
“Oh,” replied a mermaid, Paiawa, “the Lord told us so. Besides, my mother told me, too. She ought to know. The Lord made her body; she remembers when he did it, although that was so long, long ago.”
“Indeed?” Wolff said, wondering whether or not she were pulling his leg, and thinking also that it would be difficult to retaliate by doing the same to her. “And where is your mother? I’d like to talk to her.”
Paiawa waved a hand toward the west. “Somewhere along there.”
“Somewhere” could be thousands of miles away, for he had no idea how far the beach extended.
“I haven’t seen her for a long time,” Paiawa added.
“How long?” Wolff said.
Paiawa wrinkled her lovely brow and pursed her lips. Very kissable, Wolff thought. And that body! The return of his youth was bringing back a strong awareness of sex.
Paiawa smiled at him and said, “You are showing some interest in me, aren’t you?”
He flushed and would have walked away, but he wanted an answer to his question. “How many years since you saw your mother?” he asked again.
Paiawa could not answer. The word for “year” was not in her vocabulary.