operate the sailways together — that’s nearly a thousand kilometers of track covering eight Cantons. If it wasn’t for the sailways, we’d be a string of warring coastal tribes, the way we were centuries ago. But the sailways have joined us together so now we have trade instead of wars, and everyone’s better for it.
“And now, a few of the felinos are saying they want their share of the trade. They say they’re not satisfied with the fees they earn from towing. They want their own sailcars. And we can’t let that happen.”
“Why not?” Up here in Rangua hill country she was sheltered from politics — and Tonio rarely discussed his work.
Tonio walked to the window. He could see the Atlantic bright in the sun, with the grassy downs rolling to the beach, and the guanacos grazing. The sailway ran across the downs and a car was passing, sail brilliant with sunshine and bearing the emblem of its owner: the whale of Rio Pele. Squat, powerful crewmen were hauling on ropes and Tonio cocked a practiced eye at the wind indicators relative to the sails; and he decided the captain knew his business. To the south he could see the lower boundaries of the tumpfields, and one of the gigantic tumps was in view, like a great gray slug with the tiny figure of the tumpier perched on its back. This was his life; this was his place in the hill country and he wouldn’t want anything to change.
He said, “The felinos control the hills. There are over thirty hills on the coast which are too steep for the cars to climb unassisted, so we have to use shrugleggers. Only felinos can make shrugleggers work. Why? Because the shrugleggers are scared of the felinos.” He checked off the points on his fingers. “Because the felinos have jaguar genes in their make-up and by Agni the shrugleggers can sense it!
“Now, just imagine if the felinos could operate their own cars. For a start, they wouldn’t have to pay towing fees, which is one of the biggest items in any voyage, believe me. So they’d be able to undercut the Canton and Company rates, and get a big share of the trade. Not only that, but there are certain prestige runs where they could block our craft.”
“Like the Tortuga Races?”
“Exactly. They’d make a killing on the tortugas. Our craft would never get past Rangua North Stage. They’d hold them up while they let their own cars through, and they’d get all the best prices while our own cargoes went rotten and started exploding. No. The one thing we can’t let happen, is for the felinos to get their own sailcars.” He sighed. “The felinos think we don’t like them — and God forgive me I called them animals today. But it’s not that. It’s simply a matter of survival. We can both survive if we stay apart and stick to our separate jobs. But if we let the felinos in on our job when we don’t have the physical characteristics to do theirs, then we cut our own throats.”
Astrud made her way slowly up the stairs towards the bedroom of Raoul, her son the stranger. Her mind was in the past, remembering that bewildering, hurtful day when Tonio had mocked her barrenness by bringing a baby into the house and assuming, without question or explanation, that she would bring it up as if it were her own.
She’d tried, as a devout follower of the Examples must try, and as the years went by she’d learned to love Raoul because, after all, the situation was no fault of his. But she could never understand Tonio’s attitude, or give any credence to his ridiculous story that some woman had given him the child one day. It was like a legend told by an old man at the inn, or one of those odd songs the Pegman sang. No — she was morally certain the baby was Tonio’s, and she felt he ought to have the decency to tell him who the mother was.
And yet Raoul bore no resemblance to Tonio and sometimes, when some trick of the light threw his cheekbones into relief and shaded in the hollows of his eyes, he didn’t look
“And now, a few of the felinos are saying they want their share of the trade. They say they’re not satisfied with the fees they earn from towing. They want their own sailcars. And we can’t let that happen.”
“Why not?” Up here in Rangua hill country she was sheltered from politics — and Tonio rarely discussed his work.
Tonio walked to the window. He could see the Atlantic bright in the sun, with the grassy downs rolling to the beach, and the guanacos grazing. The sailway ran across the downs and a car was passing, sail brilliant with sunshine and bearing the emblem of its owner: the whale of Rio Pele. Squat, powerful crewmen were hauling on ropes and Tonio cocked a practiced eye at the wind indicators relative to the sails; and he decided the captain knew his business. To the south he could see the lower boundaries of the tumpfields, and one of the gigantic tumps was in view, like a great gray slug with the tiny figure of the tumpier perched on its back. This was his life; this was his place in the hill country and he wouldn’t want anything to change.
He said, “The felinos control the hills. There are over thirty hills on the coast which are too steep for the cars to climb unassisted, so we have to use shrugleggers. Only felinos can make shrugleggers work. Why? Because the shrugleggers are scared of the felinos.” He checked off the points on his fingers. “Because the felinos have jaguar genes in their make-up and by Agni the shrugleggers can sense it!
“Now, just imagine if the felinos could operate their own cars. For a start, they wouldn’t have to pay towing fees, which is one of the biggest items in any voyage, believe me. So they’d be able to undercut the Canton and Company rates, and get a big share of the trade. Not only that, but there are certain prestige runs where they could block our craft.”
“Like the Tortuga Races?”
“Exactly. They’d make a killing on the tortugas. Our craft would never get past Rangua North Stage. They’d hold them up while they let their own cars through, and they’d get all the best prices while our own cargoes went rotten and started exploding. No. The one thing we can’t let happen, is for the felinos to get their own sailcars.” He sighed. “The felinos think we don’t like them — and God forgive me I called them animals today. But it’s not that. It’s simply a matter of survival. We can both survive if we stay apart and stick to our separate jobs. But if we let the felinos in on our job when we don’t have the physical characteristics to do theirs, then we cut our own throats.”
Astrud made her way slowly up the stairs towards the bedroom of Raoul, her son the stranger. Her mind was in the past, remembering that bewildering, hurtful day when Tonio had mocked her barrenness by bringing a baby into the house and assuming, without question or explanation, that she would bring it up as if it were her own.
She’d tried, as a devout follower of the Examples must try, and as the years went by she’d learned to love Raoul because, after all, the situation was no fault of his. But she could never understand Tonio’s attitude, or give any credence to his ridiculous story that some woman had given him the child one day. It was like a legend told by an old man at the inn, or one of those odd songs the Pegman sang. No — she was morally certain the baby was Tonio’s, and she felt he ought to have the decency to tell him who the mother was.
And yet Raoul bore no resemblance to Tonio and sometimes, when some trick of the light threw his cheekbones into relief and shaded in the hollows of his eyes, he didn’t look
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