West of Eden

in its entirety it signified slow-stupid. Kerrick could not have cared less.
    "Ekerik," he said, then again with the modifiers, "Slow-stupid."
    "I could almost be talking to a fargi," Vaintè said. "But see how unclearly it says Slow-stupid."
    "It can do no better," Enge explained. "Having no tail it cannot complete the motion correctly. But see, it has taught itself that twisting motion which is as close as it can come."
    "I will have need of the creature soon. The uruketo has brought Zhekak from Inegban* to work with Vanalpè. She is vain and she is fat—but she has the best scientific brain in Entoban*. She must stay here for we need her help. I wish to please her in every way. You must see that this ustuzou attracts her attention. The sight of a talking ustuzou will be a success I wish to achieve."
    Kerrick expressed only respectful attention as she turned to him. Unlike the Yilanè where to think a thought was to express it—he could lie very well. Vaintè looked him up and down coldly.
    "It looks filthy, it must be washed."
    "It is washed daily. That is its natural color."
    "Disgusting. As is the creature's penis. Can't it be forced to withdraw it into its pouch?"
    "It has no pouch."
    "Then have one made and attach it. The same color as the the creature's flesh so it will not be noticed.
    And why is its skull scratched like that?"
    "The fur is cut off daily. You ordered it."
    "Of course I did—but I didn't order the ugly thing to be butchered as well. Talk to Vanalpè. Tell her to find a better way of defurring it. Do this at once."
    Kerrick just expressed humble thanks and amplified respect when they left. Not until they were gone and West of Eden - Harry Harrison
    the door was sealed did he permit himself to straighten up and laugh out loud. It was a very hard world, but at the age of nine he was learning to survive in it very well.
    Vanalpè came that same day, shown in by Stallan, and followed by her usual train of assistants and eager fargi. There were too many of them to fit into the small chamber and Vanalpè made all of them, other than her first assistant, wait outside. The assistant put the bundles and containers on the floor while Vanalpè walked around Kerrick examining him closely.
    "I've never seen a live one before," she said. "But I know the creature well. I did the dissection on the other."
    She was behind Kerrick's back when she said this so he did not hear it all. Which was just as well since the Yilanè expression for dissection was the very literal cutting-dead-meat-apart-to-learn .
    "Tell me, Stallan, can it really speak?"
    "It is an animal." Stallan did not share the general interest in the ustuzou and wanted it dead. But she obeyed orders and did it no injury.
    "Speak!" Vanalpè ordered.
    "What do you want me to say?"
    "Wonderful," Vanalpè said and instantly lost all interest. "What have you been using to remove the fur?"
    "A string-knife."
    "Very messy. You've butchered the animal. Those things are better for cutting meat. Bring me the unutakh," she ordered her assistant.
    The brown, slug-like creature was shaken out of the container onto the palm of Vanalpè's hand. "I use it for preparing specimens. It digests the fur but not the hide. But only on dead specimens so far. Let us see how it works on a live one."
    Stallan hurled Kerrick to the floor and leaned on him as
    Vanalpè pried the rolled-up unutakh open and placed it on his skull. He shivered away from the cold, slimy touch and the Yilanè expressed amusement at the sight. It crawled damply across his skin.

"Very good," Vanalpè announced. "Flesh unharmed, fur removed. Now for the next problem. The creature certainly needs a pouch. I have this tanned hide, almost a perfect color match. Just a matter of West of Eden - Harry Harrison
    fitting it into place and trimming it. I've lined it with modified bandages to adhere to the skin. Good.
    Stand it up now."
    Kerrick was close to tears at the rough and insulting handling but he forced them back. Murgu would not see him cry. The cold slug still crawled across his scalp and was now over one eye. When it moved away he glanced down at the small breechclout that they were fitting into place. It was no bother to him. He forgot about it as the slug went slowly across the lashes of his other eye.
    It would be many years before he would learn that the covering pouch was made from the preserved and well-tanned skin of Ysel, the girl who had been murdered before his eyes.
    CHAPTER