Native Tongue (36 page)

“Oh, goodness,” she said at once, “what nonsense she’s talking!”

“Is it?”

“It certainly sounds like it. What’s she been saying, Mrs. Landry?”

“Something about a secret language for women,” Michaela told her. “She calls it Ladin . . . lahadin . . . Latin? Almost like Latin, but with a lilt to it. And she keeps saying that it won’t be long now, whatever that might mean.”

“Oh,” Caroline laughed, “it’s just the anesthetic!”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Mrs. Landry, Sophie is almost one hundred years old!”

“So? Her mind is as clear as your own.”

“Yes, but she is talking about something from long long ago . . . you know how very old people are! They cannot remember what they did five minutes ago—her cane, for example, which she never knows the location of—but things that happened half a century ago are as fresh in their mind as their own names. That’s all this is.”

“Please explain, Mrs. Chornyak,” said Michaela firmly. “I’m afraid it’s a complete muddle to me.”

Caroline held the screen with one hand and unwound her cape with the other, talking easily. “Mrs. Landry, when Sophie was a little girl the women’s language
was
a secret, I expect. Women were much more frightened then, you know; at least the women of the Lines were. They were afraid that if the men found out about the women’s language they’d make them stop working on it, and so they tried to keep it a secret. But that’s all been over for many many years.”

“There is a woman’s language, then?”

“Certainly,” said Caroline cheerfully. “Why not? It’s called Langlish, Mrs. Landry, not whatever Sophie was mumbling about Latin. And it’s not a secret at all. The men think it’s a silly waste of time, but then they think that everything we do except interpreting and translating and bearing children is a silly waste of time. You can almost always find somebody working on Langlish in the computer room, my dear . . . you’re perfectly free to go watch if you like.”

“But it’s for linguist women,” said Michaela.

“Did Sophie say
that?
”

“No . . . but I assumed it would be.”

“That would be a warped sort of activity,” Caroline observed. “And a
real
waste of time . . . no, it’s not reserved for linguist women. We are constructing it, because we have the training. But when it’s finished, when it’s ready for us to begin teaching it, then we will offer it to all women—and if they want it, it will be
for
all women.”

“Sophie Ann called it a pigeon. A pigeon?”

Caroline frowned, and then she saw what the trouble was. “Not the sort of pigeon you’re thinking of, Mrs. Landry,” she said. “Not the bird. It’s pidgin . . . p-i-d-g-i-n.”

“What does that mean?”

“Is Sophie Ann all right, Mrs. Landry?”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t be chatting with you if she weren’t.”

“I’m sorry; I ought to have known that. A pidgin, then. . . . when a language in use has no
native
speakers, it is called a pidgin.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Say that a conquering nation spoke Hungarian. And they conquered a people who spoke only English. They would have no language in common, you see. But they would need to communicate for trade, for administration, that sort of thing. In such a situation they would work up between them a language that wasn’t quite Hungarian and wasn’t quite English, for use only when the two peoples
had
to communicate. And a language like that, the native language of
no
body, you perceive, is called a pidgin.”

“Is that a good thing? For women to learn one of these pidgins?”

“No . . . it isn’t. But say that the conquered speakers of English for some reason became isolated from the rest of the world. Say they had children who were born hearing the pidgin and grew up using it and perhaps began to prefer it to English. And by the time
they
had children, it was the only language the children heard, and it became a native tongue for
them
, for the children. Then it would be what is called a
creole
, Mrs. Landry. And it would be a new real language. It would develop then like any other language, change like any other language, behave like any other language.”

“So . . . women here who know this Langlish only from a book or a computer, they speak it to children. And the children would speak it, but it’s not a real language. But if they speak it to their own children. . . .”

“The situation is very different from the classic one,” said Caroline. “We women are not precisely a conquered people with an existing language . . . but the analogy is close enough. Basically, yes; it would then become a native language. Remembering, of course, that all children of the Lines are multilingual and have a
number
of native languages. It would become one of their native languages.”

“For all women to learn, if they chose to.”

“Of course.”

“
Would
they choose to, do you think?”

Sophie Ann was wide awake now, looking at them with an anxious expression that caught Michaela’s attention at once; she turned to her patient and touched her soothingly, stroking her arm.

“It’s all right, Sophie Ann,” she said. “It’s all over.”

“I’ve just been explaining to Mrs. Landry about Langlish,” Caroline told Sophie Ann. “You were talking about it before you woke up, dearlove—a lot of nonsense, I’m afraid. About long ago, when it was kept secret.”

Michaela saw the look of consternation on Sophie Ann’s face, and spoke quickly to reassure her. “It’s all right, dear,” she said, knowing that the old woman must be embarrassed at her confusion. “Really! Caroline has explained it all to me. It’s all right.”

“Well,” said Sophie Ann weakly. “Well. I’m sure . . . I’m sure everyone talks a lot of drivel under an anesthetic.”

“Oh, they certainly do,” Michaela reassured her. “Doctors and nurses don’t pay any attention—it’s never anything but nonsense—it was just that in your case it was such
interesting
nonsense.”

Caroline kissed Sophie’s forehead and went away, and Michaela settled to her care, saying no more. But she knew, nevertheless, that this was the very last straw. She could not harm these women.

She stood calmly before Thomas’ desk and listened to his courteous objections, but she was absolutely firm. He could of course force her to go through the formal procedure of contacting her brother-in-law and having him petition for her release, if he chose to do so. She knew no reason why he should, because he would have no trouble finding a replacement for her; but whatever he did, she was not going to change her mind.

She did not tell him her problem was that her life’s mission was to murder linguists and that she found herself in the uncomfortable dilemma of having for patients only linguists she could not bring herself to kill. She provided him with logical reasons, instead.

“My patients are endangered by this situation,” she told him when he asked for reasons. “There’s no way that I, a single nurse, can provide so many sick women with adequate care. And while I am not in the least afraid of hard work, Mr. Chornyak, I
do
have standards. When the work reaches a point where it’s literally impossible for me to do, my patients’ welfare must become my primary concern. I can’t any longer pretend that I can fill this post, sir.”

“But surely they haven’t suddenly become so much sicker than they were?” Thomas asked.

“Oh, no . . . not at all. They are in fact remarkably healthy, all things considered. But they are also remarkably long-lived,
these women of your Household. And as more and more of them become extremely aged, sir, they require constant attention to their personal needs. Almost every one of them, Mr. Chornyak, must now be helped even for such simple matters as bathing and eating.”

And I always have a dozen or more willing pairs of hands ready to help me with those tasks. Even the four-year-olds are contented to sit with a bowl of rice and spoon it one tiny morsel at a time into the mouth of a beloved aunt. And I have seen two seven-year-old girls bathe a frail lady of ninety as competently and gently as any adult woman could have done, chattering the whole time about their verbs and their nouns. . . .

She thought of all this, waiting, but she said none of it. She had learned enough to know that if Chornyak for one moment suspected that the women of Barren House had any leisure to spend tending others he would find a means for them to put it to gainful work instead; even for the four-year-olds, he would have had strong opinions about the “waste” of their time.

“Well, Mrs. Landry,” said Thomas slowly, “I do see your point. I’m afraid we’ve been rather inconsiderate, as a matter of fact. When I hired you, I thought there was very little for you to do—but I haven’t paid any attention to the facts of the matter, and I should have realized that the situation was a progressive one. I apologize, of course, but you should have spoken to me sooner—it appears that our old ladies are determined to live forever, doesn’t it?”

Michaela had been braced for strong protests, intricate arguments, and a great deal of linguistic manipulation along the lines of doing one’s duty and keeping one’s word. But Thomas didn’t behave as she had anticipated.

“Fine,” he said, nodding agreement and making a quick entry to his wrist computer. “Fine. You may consider yourself released from your contract as of the end of this month, my dear.”

Taken aback, but grateful that it had been so simple, Michaela thanked him.

“Not at all,” Thomas said. “I regret that you were obliged to ask, and I apologize on behalf of the younger women at Barren House, who most assuredly should have spoken to me about this long ago and spared you the task. And now that that’s settled, may I offer you a different post, Mrs. Landry?”

“A different post?”

“Yes, my dear. If you would be so kind as to give me your attention for just a moment.”

“Of course, sir.”

“If I understand you correctly, what’s needed at Barren House is primarily strong backs, not nursing skills. Isn’t that right?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“How many nurses do you think should be available, for all this bathing and feeding and so on?”

“Two at least, perhaps three.”

“Very well. We’ll begin with two, and add another if it becomes clear that it’s necessary. If you agree, what I’ll do is find two strong and willing women looking for work as—what do they call them? practical nurses?—all right, I’ll hire two of those. One in the daytime and one at night?”

“No, sir, I’m sorry; you need two in the day, and then one on duty during the night in case she’s called. They could manage nicely if both were there all day and they alternated spending the night on call, first one and then the other.”

“Well, let’s give that a try. And then I’d want you to stay on for two purposes, Mrs. Landry. Neither would be very burdensome, as I perceive it, but you must feel free to tell me if I am mistaken.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“My father is vigorous and alert. But he has spells of severe vertigo that trouble him frequently, he has what I understand are mild infections of the urinary tract, he needs someone to keep track of his diet because he has a tendency to gout—as well as a tendency to gluttony, unfortunately. He’s acquired a disgraceful sweet tooth.”

“He needs a nanny with a nursing license, in other words.”

“Exactly. He’s not bedfast except when he’s suffering from one of his illnesses, off and on, but we need someone at hand for those times. We also need someone who will notice that he
should
be in bed, because we often don’t see it soon enough. I’d like you to move here to the main house to look after Father, as described, but also check in once a day at Barren House to see that everything’s being done properly there. And to do anything that actually requires a trained nurse. And of course if someone there became seriously ill, you could stay at Barren House until the crisis was past and we would manage without you here temporarily. Could I persuade you to do that, my dear? It would be a tremendous help to us all.”

Michaela was delighted. This would let her carry on her vocation of death without having to exercise it on the women; it would let her maintain her relationship with the women of Barren House—which, to her complete astonishment, had come to be something that she treasured—and it would save her the nuisance of hunting for a new post, learning the ways of a new family and patient, all those tiresome things. It was a pleasant surprise, something she had not expected at all and found very welcome.

And perhaps she would be able, once in a while, to see something of the progress of the woman’s language. She had no skills that would let her be part of the work, and she had better sense than to get in the way by trying to help with things she understood not at all. But if she stayed on, and if she observed carefully and discreetly, perhaps she could stay in touch with the project. Now that the women of Barren House knew that she was aware of Langlish, they might talk to her about it sometimes, even teach her a few words—it was at least possible.

“Do you need time to think it over, Mrs. Landry?” Thomas asked her.

“No,” Michaela answered. “I’d be delighted to accept. It wasn’t that I wanted to leave, sir—it’s very beautiful here, and I’m happy with the post. It’s just that the situation as it is currently set up had become impossible. What you propose should solve it, and I’d like to stay.”