Imago

by Octavia E. Butler

“Jodahs doesn’t sound like any name I’ve heard before,” the male said. “Oankali name. An Oankali named Jodahs died helping with the emigration. My birth mother said he should be remembered. The Oankali don’t have a tradition of remembering people by naming kids after them, but my birth mother insisted. She does that sometimes—insists on keeping Human customs.” “You look very Human,” the female said softly. I smiled. “I’m a child. I just look unfinished.” “How old are you?” “Twenty-nine.” “Good god! When will you be considered an adult?” “After metamorphosis.” I smiled to myself. Soon. “I have a brother who went through it at twenty-one, and a sister who didn’t reach it until she was thirty-three. People change when their bodies are ready, not at some specific age.”