Native Tongue (32 page)

“Never mind, Arnold,” he told himself out loud. “Never mind. Just put it all behind you, and get on with what you’ve been ordered to do.”

A team player, that’s what he was. By God.

And he wasn’t going to let down the side.

Chapter Seventeen

“Behavioral Notes”

ONE:
    
That: one never has to say please.

                    
What does it mean? It means that please is not required because your needs are known, and without being politely asked it is still possible to refuse you.

TWO:
    
That: one is always welcome.

              
What does it mean?

                     
It means that there occur from time to time empty spaces which you are allowed to fill and during which your presence constitutes no real annoyance.

THREE:
    
A shudder.

                
What does it mean?

                       
It means that an error has been made in the translation.

(20th century “feminist” poem)

Nazareth could not have said precisely when her personal involvement with Jordan Shannontry began. She had never had a flirtation, never even a “crush,” and there had been no opportunity for her to learn anything about romance from her husband. One day Jordan was simply her informal backup on duty, always courteous, always as helpful as his limited knowledge of REM34 allowed him to be. And then without any transition that she could identify he was something more, and she found herself always in a kind of breathlessness next to him. Her eyes went
more and more to his strong hands as they turned the pages of his books and worked deftly with the microfiches; she knew those hands so intimately that she could see them with her eyes tightly closed . . . the texture of the skin and its color, the elegance of the joints, the haze of dark soft hair, the bend of the wrists. All of it seemed to her to have an endless fascination so that she could never tire of exploring it again; and when his hands touched her, accidentally or in the course of their joint duties, she went absolutely still, as a rabbit freezes when the owl swoops down upon it. Presumably, this was the “love” about which she had heard so much . . . she had no real way of knowing. And the negotiations dragged on and on.

Jordan was kind, and that was probably her downfall. She wasn’t accustomed to kindness from men, and had rarely encountered it. The men of her Household, in the brief bits of time they had with her, were simply correct; and she had never had any contact with other men except as an interpreter. The interpreter was paid no more attention than a business machine, especially if she was a woman; after all, as Thomas said so frequently, a circuit will carry any message you want to send over it, but you do not assume from that fact that it understands what you have said. It was his standard response to accusations that the linguists allowed their women to take part in affairs properly reserved for men.

As for small girls interpreting, or women past thirty. . . . they were invisible. Nazareth much doubted that the men they worked with even knew they existed for more than a few seconds at the beginning and end of each negotiation. They disappeared from the male consciousness in just the same way that the miniature earphones—so annoying to the wearer for an instant or two after they were inserted—faded out of awareness.

Jordan Shannontry not only treated her kindly, he paid her compliments. He had remarked once on the tasteful arrangement of her hair. He had mentioned that she had a lovely throat. A lovely throat! On a very bad day, when nothing at all went right and every one of the men at the table was cross and on a nervous hair trigger, Jordan had brought in a yellow rose and laid it across her dictionary. No one had ever given Nazareth a rose before, not even on her wedding day. When she looked at him now, she could scarcely breathe for the thudding of her heart, and since that could well have interfered with her effectiveness as interpreter she was careful
not
to look at him. Only at his hands; she allowed herself that. She had thrown the yellow rose away, rather than chance its being found no matter how carefully
she tried to hide it; there was no way that she could have explained how she had come to have it in her possession.

The day came, as it inevitably had to come, when there was only one more session of negotiations left, one more day when they would sit side by side in the interpreter’s booth. She knew she wouldn’t see him again afterward unless she made some sort of effort herself. What sort, she had no idea . . . she had heard of “affairs” but was completely ignorant of how they were initiated. One thing she was dead certain of—whatever was done would be done by the man in the situation, not the woman. But surely she had to let him know that she was willing?

She did not let the word “adultery” come into her mind, adultery being an offense second only to murder . . . she had a feeling that within the Lines it might well be considered
more
serious than murder. She had gone no further in her imagination than lying in Jordan’s arms, both of them fully and decorously clothed, and perhaps talking together . . . perhaps his lips might touch her hair. So far, and no further.

All that last day she thought, whenever she was not actually interpreting; but no graceful stratagem came to her, and as the hours passed and she knew that if she didn’t act she would never have another opportunity her anxiety became panic. And that was how it happened that she found herself, walking down the corridor behind her escort to the government car with Jordan beside her, turning suddenly to him and reaching up to whisper into his ear “I love you, Jordan, I love you so very very much!” And then running. Running full tilt past the flabbergasted government aide, and almost leaping into the car. Slamming the door behind her, praying that the driver would hurry.

“Something wrong, Mrs. Chornyak?” the man said when he reached the car. “Never saw a lady linguist take off like that before, I must say. You all right?”

“A little sick at my stomach,” she managed. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” he said. “We’ll get you home, then.”

She waited through that afternoon, having no idea what might happen next, alternately wishing she had done nothing at all and wishing she had done far more, wishing there were someone she could talk to and knowing there was nobody she trusted that much. And it would not be fair, even if she had had someone; whoever it was, by her telling she would have implicated them in what she was about to do. She would not do that.

Every soft signal from the comset made her jump, but none of the calls was for her. And then, a few, minutes after eight
o’clock, Rachel found her out in the gardens and told her that Thomas wanted to see her in his office.

“Oh, damn,” said Nazareth, “I’m in no mood to hear about the next contract, or whatever complaints there are on this one, or whatever else Father has to talk about!”

“Really.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m worn out.”

“Nazareth, your father didn’t ask me to come find out if you were willing to go to the office. You know that. He sent me to tell you he was waiting for you there. Please don’t trouble me with your nonsense.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. It was rude of me. . . . I guess I really am tired.”

“No doubt you are,” said Rachel calmly, and went on about her business, saying only, “Don’t keep Thomas waiting now, dear; he doesn’t like that.”

No, he didn’t; that was true. Whatever he wanted, the longer she put off hearing about it the more unpleasant it would be, and so she hurried.

When she opened the door of the room set aside for the Head of the Household, her father was at his desk, as she had anticipated. But she had not been expecting to see Aaron there with him, sitting in the armchair, nor was she expecting the bottle of wine open and already half-empty on the desk. She stopped in the doorway, surprised, and Thomas motioned to her to let the door close and join them.

“Sit down, my dear,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Nazareth was wary instantly; they both had that satisfied expression that went with some new and delightful project that would mean endless annoyance for her but carried some advantage for them. What had they scheduled her for now? Aaron wore an expression that could only be described as a smirk; it had to be something he was really confident she would detest.

“Nice to see you, Natha,” he said, all cordiality and cooing welcome. “You do look lovely.”

There was a time when Nazareth would have explained to him that the reason she was so grubby was because she’d been out working in the gardens when Rachel came to get her, but she no longer bothered. She kept still, and waited to see what they had for her. Work on a frontier colony, maybe? Someplace that would involve a dozen frantic transfers from one means of transport to another? She detested travel, and they both knew that.

She expected something dreadful, but she did not expect what it turned out to be.

“Nazareth,” her father said, “we had a visitor this afternoon.”

“Nice man,” Aaron put in.

“Indeed he is,” said Thomas. “And a gentleman.”

“Well?” asked Nazareth. “Does it concern me, this gentleman? Or is this just a game and I don’t know the opening move?”

“Nazareth, it was Jordan Shannontry.”

Nazareth went very still. What was this?

“Nazareth? Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you, Father.”

“Have you anything to say?”

“As you said,” she began, cautiously, so cautiously, “he is a nice man. He’s been very helpful. Not like having a real backup, of course, but still it gives me a break now and then. A hard worker.”

“He had a rather disturbing story to tell me, Nazareth,” Thomas said.

“Oh? He did? Did something go wrong? Nobody spoke to me about it, Father—I didn’t know.”

“It had nothing to do with your professional functions.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing at all.” Thomas poured himself some wine and looked at her over the top of the glass, handing the bottle on to Aaron. “According to Shannontry, you ended your working day today by accosting him in the hall—in public!—and blurting into his ear that you ‘loved him very very much’. And then bolting like a badly trained horse.”

“Oh,” she said again. “Oh.”

“ ‘Oh?’ Is that all you have to say? I assume Shannontry would not make up such a wild hairy tale—but you
are
my daughter. I’ll listen to you if you care to deny it.”

He watched her, and when she said nothing, stunned into total silence and as unable to move as if she’d been fast-frozen, he went on.

“I thought as much. He was completely at a loss, inasmuch as he is a respectable married man with numerous children, and you are alleged to be a respectable married woman, etc. And inasmuch as he cannot conceive of what made you take such a bizarre notion.”

Finally Nazareth could speak, although the hoarse words were not in a voice she recognized as hers.

“He told you. . . . He actually came here, to this house, and he
told
you!”

Thomas raised his eyebrows, and Aaron looked even more delighted.

“Certainly,” said Thomas. “What would you have expected the poor man to do?”

“I believe, Thomas,” her husband suggested, “that she thought he’d come climbing up a ladder to her window—figuratively speaking, of course, since what he’d have to do is come down through a tunnel—perhaps with a band of strolling musicians warbling lovesongs. Or send a messenger with a note begging her to flee with him to . . . oh, to Massachusetts at least.”

“Is that what you expected, Nazareth?” asked Thomas gravely. “Are you that much of a fool?”

She bit her lip and hoped she would die, and he kept on.

“
Certainly
he came here and told me, and I would have been most surprised if he hadn’t! He is well aware of his obligations as a gentleman—and when something as idiotic as this happens, it is a gentleman’s duty to go tell the female’s father of her ridiculous behavior. In his place, any man of breeding would have done precisely what he did. Did you think he would just ignore it, you utter ninny?”

“I didn’t think he would . . . tattle!”

Thomas sighed, and exchanged a long look with his son-in-law.

“My dear child,” he said, “that is not a very well-chosen word.”

“It seems to me to be exactly the right word.”

“Well, that’s not bright of you. When a young woman misbehaves in the manner that you took it upon yourself to misbehave this afternoon—and I must tell you, Nazareth that I was
very
surprised—some responsible person witnessing the incident has to inform the family, so that they can decide what to do about the situation. Since Shannontry was, thank God, the only person who knew precisely what you had done, he had no choice but to tell us himself. And I’m certain it wasn’t pleasant for him.”

“He came here,” Nazareth repeated dully, through the fog of his words, “and he told you, and he told Aaron—”

“Of course not! God, girl, you leap from one stupidity to another like a goat! He came here and he told
me
, because I am your father, and the Head of this Household. He did not tell your husband; as is quite proper, he left that unpleasant duty to me.”