“Grandfather, if this were real there would be good reason for such hatred, and I would be ashamed for what my people had done and were doing. But it is not real.” He had to rise and hold up his hands to quell the indignant outcry “Have any of you known me to tell not-real things and try to make the People act as though they were real? Then trust me in this. I will show you real things, which you will all see, and I will give you great secrets, which it is now time for you to have and use for the good of the People. Even the greatest secret,” he added.
There was a pause of a few seconds. Then they burst out, in a hundred and eighty-four—no, three hundred and sixty eight—voices:
“The Oomphel Secret, Mailsh Heelbare?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. The Oomphel Secret will be given.”
He leaned back and relaxed again while they were getting over the excitement. Foxx Travis looked at him apprehensively.
“Rushing things, aren’t you? What are you going to tell them?”
“Oh, a big pack of lies, I suppose,” Edith Shaw said scornfully.
Behind her and Travis, the native noncom interpreter was muttering something in his own language that translated roughly as: “This better be good!”
The shoonoon had quieted, now, and were waiting breathlessly.
“But if the Oomphel Secret is given, what will become of the shoonoon?” he asked. “You, yourselves, say that we Terrans have no need for magic, because the oomphel works magic for us. This is real. If the People get the Oomphel Secret, how much need will they have for you shoonoon?”
Evidently that hadn’t occurred to them before. There was a brief flurry of whispered—whooshed, rather—conversation, and then they were silent again. The eldest shoonoo said:
“We trust you, Mailsh Heelbare. You will do what is best for the People, and you will not let us be thrown out like broken pots, either.”
“No, I will not,” he promised. “The Oomphel Secret will be given to you shoonoon.” He thought for a moment of Foxx Travis’ joking remark about the Kwannon Thaumaturgical Society. “You have been jealous of one another, each keeping his own secrets,” he said. “This must be put away. You will all receive the Oomphel Secret equally, for the good of all the People. You must all swear brotherhood, one with another, and later if any other shoonoo comes to you for the secret, you must swear brotherhood with him and teach it to him. Do you agree to this?”
The eldest shoonoo rose to his feet, begged leave, and then led the others to the rear of the room, where they went into a huddle. They didn’t stay huddled long; inside of ten minutes they came back and took their seats.
“We are agreed, Mailsh Heelbare,” the spokesman said.
Edith Shaw was impressed, more than by anything else she had seen. “Well, that was a quick decision!” she whispered.
“You have done well, Grandfathers. You will not be thrown out by the People like broken pots; you will be greater among them than ever. I will show you how this will be.
“But first, I must speak around the Oomphel Secret.” He groped briefly for a comprehensible analogy, and thought of a native vegetable, layered like an onion, with a hard kernel in the middle. “The Oomphel Secret is like a fooshkoot. There are many lesser secrets around it, each of which must be peeled off like the skins of a fooshkoot and eaten. Then you will find the nut in the middle.”
“But the nut of the fooshkoot is bitter,” somebody said.
He nodded, slowly and solemnly. “The nut of the fooshkoot is bitter,” he agreed.
They looked at one another, disquieted by his words. Before anybody could comment, he was continuing:
“Before this secret is given, there are things to be learned. You would not understand it if I gave it to you now. You believe many not-real things which must be chased out of your minds, otherwise they would spoil your understanding.”
That was verbatim what they told adolescents before giving them the Manhood Secret. Some of them huffed a little; most of them laughed. Then one called out: “Speak on, Grandfather of Grandfathers,” and they all laughed. That was fine, it had been about time for teacher to crack his little joke. Now he became serious again.
“The first of these not-real things you must chase from your mind is this which you believe about the home of the Terrans. It is not real that they come from the Dark Place under the World. There is no Dark Place under the World.”
Bedlam for a few seconds; that was a pretty stiff jolt. No Dark Place; who ever heard of such a thing? The eldest shoonoo rose, cradling his graven image in his arms, and the noise quieted.
“Mailsh Heelbare, if there is no Dark Place where do the Sky Fire and the Always-Same go when they are not in the sky?”
“They never leave the sky; the World is round, and there is sky everywhere around it.”
They knew that, or had at least heard it, since the Terrans had come. They just couldn’t believe it. It was against common sense. The oldest shoonoo said as much, and more:
“These young ones who have gone to
