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He
tried
to
sidle
around
the
edge
of
the
room
towards
the
bead
-
hung
doorway
,
all
the
heads
turning
to
watch
him
.
He
tried
a
grin
.
The
woman
said
:
’
Why
does
the
demon
show
his
teeth
,
husband
of
my
life
?
’
The
man
said
:
’
It
could
be
hunger
,
moon
of
my
desire
.
Pile
on
more
fish
!
’
And
the
ancestor
grumbled
:
’
I
was
eating
that
,
wretched
child
.
Woe
unto
the
world
when
there
is
no
respect
for
age
!
’
Now
the
fact
is
that
while
the
words
entered
Mort
’
s
ear
in
their
spoken
Klatchian
,
with
all
the
curlicues
and
subtle
diphthongs
of
a
language
so
ancient
and
sophisticated
that
it
had
fifteen
words
meaning
’
assassination
’
before
the
rest
of
the
world
had
caught
on
to
the
idea
of
bashing
one
another
over
the
head
with
rocks
,
they
arrived
in
his
brain
as
clear
and
understandable
as
his
mother
tongue
.
’
I
’
m
no
demon
!
I
’
m
a
human
!
’
he
said
,
and
stopped
in
shock
as
his
words
emerged
in
perfect
Klatch
.
’
You
’
re
a
thief
?
’
said
the
father
.
’
A
murderer
?
To
creep
in
thus
,
are
you
a
tax
-
gatherer
?
’
His
hand
slipped
under
the
table
and
came
up
holding
a
meat
cleaver
honed
to
paper
thinness
.
His
wife
screamed
and
dropped
the
plate
and
clutched
the
youngest
children
to
her
.
Mort
watched
the
blade
weave
through
the
air
,
and
gave
in
.
’
I
bring
you
greetings
from
the
uttermost
circles
of
hell
,
’
he
hazarded
.
The
change
was
remarkable
.
The
cleaver
was
lowered
and
the
family
broke
into
broad
smiles
.
