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As spring became summer, Anketam pushed the war out of his mind. Evidently, there wasn’t going to be any real shooting. Except that two of The Chief’s sons had gone off to join the Army, things remained the same as always. Life went on as it had.

The summer was hot and almost windless. Work became all but impossible, except during the early morning and late afternoon. Fortunately, there wasn’t much that had to be done. At this stage of their growth, the plants pretty much took care of themselves.

Anketam spent most of his time fishing. He and Jacovik and some of the others would go down to the river and sit under the shade trees, out of the sun, and dangle their lines in the water. It really didn’t matter if they caught much or not; the purpose of fishing was to loaf and get away from the heat, not to catch fish. Even so, they always managed to bring home enough for a good meal at the end of the day.

The day that the war intruded on Anketam’s consciousness again had started off just like any other day. Anketam got his fishing gear together, including a lunch that Memi had packed for him, and gone over to pick up Blejjo.

Blejjo was the oldest man in the village. Some said he was over a hundred, but Blejjo himself only admitted to eighty. He’d been retired a long time back, and his only duties now were little odd jobs that were easy enough, even for an old man. Not that there was anything feeble about old Blejjo; he still looked and acted spry enough.

He was sitting on his front porch, talking to young Basom, when Anketam came up.

The old man grinned. “Hello, Ank. You figure on getting a few more fish today?”

“Why not? The river’s full of ’em. Come along.”

“Don’t see why not,” said Blejjo. “What do you think, Basom?”

The younger man smiled and shook his head. “I’ll stay around home, I think. I’m too lazy today to go to all that effort.”

“Too lazy to loaf,” said Blejjo, laughing. “That’s as lazy as I ever heard.”

Anketam smiled, but he didn’t say anything. Basom was lazy, but Anketam never mentioned it unless the boy didn’t get his work done. Leave that sort of kidding up to the others; it wasn’t good for a supervisor to ride his men unless it was necessary for discipline.

Basom was a powerful young man, tall and well-proportioned. If the truth were known, he probably had the ability to get a good job from The Chief–become a secretary or something, like Russat. But he was sloppy in his work, and, as Blejjo had said, lazy. His saving grace was the fact that he took things as they came; he never showed any resentment towards Anketam if he was rebuked for not doing his work well, and he honestly tried to do better–for a while, at least.

“Not too lazy to loaf,” Basom said in self-defense. “Just too lazy to walk four miles to loaf when I can do it here.”

Old Blejjo was taking his fishing gear down from the rack on the porch. Without looking around, he said: “Cooler down by the river.”

“By the time I walked there,” said Basom philosophically, “walking through all that sun, I’d be so hot it would take me two hours to cool down to where I am now, and another two hours to cool down any more. That’s four hours wasted. Now–” He looked at Anketam with a sly grin. “Now, if you two wanted to carry me, I’d be much obliged. Anketam, you could carry me piggyback, while Blejjo goes over to fetch my pole. If you’d do that, I believe I could see my way clear to going fishing with you.”

Anketam shook his head positively. “I’m afraid the sun would do you in, anyway.”

“Maybe you’d like The Chief to carry you,” said Blejjo. There was a bite in his voice.