Fish Tails by Sheri S. Tepper Page B

was over. That fall, however, when Slap and Grudge, the second set of Trudis’s boys, were six years old, a predator began killing livestock, including one of the half-­dozen cows left in the valley. None of the cows were in milk, the men having inadvertently slaughtered their only bull calf for a barbecue, so amply supplied with beer that the recent death of the only other bull in the valley had been forgotten. When they sobered up enough to become infuriated—­fury was always an acceptable substitute for thought in Hench Valley—­the men went hunting for the killer, whatever it was.
    The killer beast had left very catlike tracks, and the tracks led the Hench Valley men a great distance away, deep into distant woods, beyond twisted ridges. In their absence, a tall, strong, quiet sort of fellow made camp out in the woods at a point equidistant from the towns of Tuckwhip, Bag’s Arm, Gortles, and Grief’s Barn, and thereafter he became familiar to the women—­and to Grandma, who watched his amatory adventures as though they had been a play on a stage. But then she had always thought of Tuckwhip as a stage and of herself more as bit-­part player than as a resident. The women were quick to notice how clean he was, and how pleasant his manner. They noticed his very pale skin, his white hair, not from age but from birth. There was a sudden onset of bathing in hot springs among the village women, only two of whom—­captured as children some thirty years before from among a group of travelers on the road—­had ever before met a male who was either clean or pleasant. Several months went by. Shortly before the valley men returned, the stranger departed. There were three reminders he had actually been there: several women had become pregnant; some women so enjoyed being free of the itch that they kept up their habit of bathing and washing their clothes; and there was a young bull in the cowshed at Grief’s Barn. The stranger had brought it, leading it on a leash, like a dog. No one had wondered at that, no one at all. One or two of the women thought fleetingly that the cows could be bred and would come into milk about the time the women would have their children, just in case cow’s milk was needed.
    Along with all this, Lillis learned that Trudis, the only woman of childbearing age left in Tuckwhip, was among the pregnant in Hench Valley. In the family home near the House of the Oracles, where Lillis now dwelt in a degree of comfort that almost repaid her years of frustration, Lillis recalled what she had heard of “Silverhairs,” a race said to be preternaturally wise, able to read the future, able to set things in motion to achieve future ends, sometimes generations in advance—­able, indeed, to do most if not all of the wonders the Oracles were reputed to achieve. If what was said of them was true, then Trudis’s pregnancy might result in something other than the birth of another Hench Valley stone. Lillis talked with Joshua/Jeremy/Jubal/James about it, saying, “I think I’ll consult the Oracles about it.”
    Joshua et al. grinned and said, “Now, Lill, why would you do that?”
    â€œWell, it’s important, maybe. And the Oracles are right here, pretty near here, anyhow. And with them available, wouldn’t one be foolish not to consult them?”
    â€œWell then, love, you go right ahead and consult. Just don’t place much faith in what they have to say.”
    He was right. Why should she behave foolishly? Instead, why not simply find out? She decided to go back to Tuckwhip when the baby came. Selfishly, she preferred to return at the latest possible time: when Trudis was already in labor. If the baby turned out to be another stone, she would be able to tell at once and could leave without unpacking. When she reminded herself of Trudis’s propensities, however, she utilized other bits and pieces of the Oracles’