The 20th Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK ™: Evelyn E. Smith Page 28

  He pointed out a small dome shading from lavender at the bottom to rose pink on top. Over the door were glittering symbols which Clarey was able to decipher after a moment's concentration as “Dordonec District Public Library — Katund Branch," and underneath, in smaller letters, “Please Blow Nose Before Entering."

  Hesitantly, he touched the screen that covered the portway. It rolled back. He went inside.

  At his first sight of what filled the shelves from floor to topmost curve of the dome, Clarey became charged with fury. The ancient books in the glass cases back on Earth were of a different shape and substance, but, “My God," he cried aloud, “it's nothing but another archive!"

  The female in charge glared at him. “Silence, please!"

  Suddenly the anger left him, and the fear. He was no longer a stranger on a strange world. He was an archivist in an archive.

  She took a better look at him and the local equivalent of a bright smile shone on her face. “May I help you, til?" she asked in a softer, sweeter voice.

  “I am Balt, tial," he said. “I am the new librarian."

  She came out from behind the desk to offer the ceremonial toe touch. “I'm Embelsira, the head librarian, and I am very glad to see you!" Her tone was warm; she really seemed to mean it. “Everything's in such a mess," she went on. “I've needed help so very badly, so very long." She looked up at him, for she was a good deal shorter than he. “So glad," she murmured, “so very, very glad to see you, really."

  “Well, now you have help," he said with quiet strength. “Where are the files?"

  They were written instead of punched, of alien design, in an alien language, arranged according to alien patterns, but he understood them at a glance. “These will need to be reorganized from top to bottom," he said.

  “Yes, Til Balt," she said demurely. “Whatever you say."

  * * * *

  Once every six months, Clarey went for a long weekend to visit his “Aunt Askidush" in Barshwat. Barshwat was the largest city on Darmorlan; it was the capital of Vintnor — the greatest nation. Earthmen, Clarey thought, as he traveled there in the comparative luxury of a first-class compartment — as a rich nephew, he saw no real reason to travel third-class — were disgustingly obvious.

  That first time, he was five hours late, and Blynn was a nervous wreck. “I was afraid you'd been killed or discovered or God knows," he babbled, practically embracing Clarey in a fervency of relief. “I was afraid — "

  “Come, come, Colonel," Clarey interrupted, striding past him, “you know how inefficient Damorlant transport is, and I had to make two chain connections." “Of course," the colonel said, wiping the perspiration off his forehead. “Of course. And you must be dead tired. Sit down; let me take your cloak — "

  “How about the servants?" Clarey asked.

  “This is their weekend off." Blynn pulled himself together. “Really, my dear fellow, I've been in this business longer than you. I know what precautions to take."

  “Never can be too careful."

  “I see you've got yourself another cloak," the colonel said as he hung it in the guest snap. “Very handsome. I've never seen one like it."

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, several people on the chains wanted to know where I'd got it"

  “Where did you get it?" asked Blynn, feeling the material. “Might go well as an export."

  “Afraid it couldn't be exported. It's a custom job, you see. Hand-woven, hand-decorated. It was a birthday present."

  The colonel stared at him. “Well," Clarey said, “if you didn't expect me to get birthday presents, you shouldn't have put a birth date on my identity papers. My boss baked me a melxhane — "

  “Your boss!"

  “The relationship between employer and employee is much different from the way it is on Earth," Clarey explained. Reaching over, he flipped the switch on the recorder and repeated the statement, adding, “Embelsira is kind, considerate, helpful; she can't do enough for me." He put his mouth close to the mechanism. “Be sure to tell MacFingal that."

  “Now, now," the colonel said, turning the switch off. He pushed a small tea wagon over to Clarey. “You must be starving. Have some sandwiches and coffee. I'm sure you'll be glad to taste good Earth food again."

  “Yes, indeed," Clarey said, trying not to make a face. “Er — shouldn't we start recording while everything's fresh in my mind?"

  “Might as well," the colonel said, flipping the switch again. “Pity we don't have a probe here. Would save so much time. But, of course, it's an expensive installation. All right, Clarey, over to you."

  * * * *

  Clarey choked on a mouthful of sandwich and hesitated. “Begin with your very first impressions," the colonel urged.

  “Well, the archives — the library — was in a real mess. Took me over two weeks to get it in even roughly decent shape. Three different systems of classification and, added to that — "

  “Not so much the library, old chap. Leave the technical stuff for later. What I meant was your first impressions of the natives . . . Is something wrong with the coffee? And you've hardly touched your sandwich. Maybe you'd like another kind. I have several varieties here — ham and cheese and — "

  “Oh, no," Clarey protested. “The one I have is fine. It's just that I'm — well, to tell you the truth," he confessed, “I've grown accustomed to Damorlant food."

  “Don't see how you could," the colonel said. “Nauseating stuff — to my way of thinking," he added politely. He opened a sandwich and inspected the filling.

  “You've only eaten at public places. Even the better restaurants don't put themselves out for Earthmen, say they have no — palates, I guess the word would be. But you ought to taste my landlady's cooking!"

  “All this is being taped, you know. They'll have to listen to every word on Earth."

  “If only I could convey the true picture through words. Her ragouts are rhapsodies, her souffles symphonies — I'm using rough Terrestrial equivalents, of course — "

  “The cuisine comes later, please. Over-all impressions first." “Well," Clarey began again, “at first I was a bit surprised that you'd stuck me in a quarter-credit place like Katund. Naturally in a village the people'd be more backward than in the cities, so you'd have a poorer idea of how they were developing. Then I realized that you couldn't help putting me there, that you probably couldn't write a letter good enough to get me a job in any of the big centers. Embelsira said she was surprised to find me so much more literate than she would have expected from the letter."

  The colonel sat erect huffily. “I've never pretended to be a philologist. And, anyway, Damorlan isn't like Earth. Here the heartbeat of the planet is in its villages."

  “Earth hasn't any villages, so the comparison doesn't apply." Clarey cleared his throat. “Don't you have anything to drink except coffee?"

  “Tea?"

  “That would be better. Do you know the Katundi have a special variety of tea, or something very like it, which is — "

  “Tell me what they think of Earthmen," the colonel interrupted desperately.

  “Not much. What I mean is, nobody in Katund's actually had any contact with them, though they've heard of them, of course. Every now and then there's a little article in the Dordonec Bulletin from their Barshwat correspondent, and sometimes, if there isn't any real news, he gives a couple of inches to the Earth-men."

  “Exactly how do they regard us?" the colonel asked as he spooned tea into the pot. “Demigods? Superior beings? Are they in great awe of us?"

  “They regard us as visitors from another planet," Clarey said. “They don't realize from quite how far away we hail, think it's only a matter of a solar system or two, but they've got the general idea. Don't forget, they may not be a mechanical people, but they do have some idea of astronomy. They're not illiterate clods."

  “What do they think of our spaceships? Great silver birds, something like that?"

  * * * *

  Sighing deeply, Clarey said, "They think
our spaceships are cars that fly through the sky without tracks. And they think it's silly, our having machines to fly in the sky and none to go on the ground. There's an old Dordonec proverb: ‘One must run before one must fly. Originally applied to birds, but — "

  “But what else do they think about us?"

  Clarey was hurt. “That's what I was getting to, if you'll only give me time. After all, I've been speaking Vangtort for six months and it's a little hard to go back to Terran and organize my thoughts at the same time." “Terribly sorry," the colonel apologized, handing him a cup of tea. “Carry on."

  “Thank you. They say if you — if we — are so smart, why do we use hax or the chains like anybody else? They think somebody else must have given us the starships, or else we stole them. That's mostly Piq's idea; he's the village lawyer and, of course, lawyers are apt to think in terms like that."

  “Um," the colonel said. “We didn't think it would be a good idea to introduce ground cars. Upset their traffic and cause dissatisfied yearnings."

  “They're satisfied with their hax carts. They're not in any hurry to get anywhere. But Katund's a village. Attitudes may be different in the cities." “You stick with your village, old chap. If you feel a wild urge for city life, you can always take a weekend trip to Zrig. Stay at the Zrig Grasht; it's the only decent inn. By the way, you spoke of a landlady. Do you mean at the inn?"

  No, Clarey told him, at first he had put up at the inn, but he found the place noisy, the cooking poor, and the pallet covers dirty. Besides, Hanxi had kept importuning him to go on visits to a nearby township where he promised him a good time.

  “I was wondering, though," Clarey finished, “if it would be possible for an Earthman and a Damarlent to — er — have a good time together."

  “Been wondering myself!" the colonel said eagerly. “I didn't dare ask on my own behalf, but it's your job, isn't it? I'll check back with the X-T boys on Earth. Go on with your story."

  * * * *

  As a resident of the inn, Clarey told Colonel Blynn, he'd found that he was expected to join the men in the bar parlor every evening, where they'd drink and exchange appropriate stories. But he'd choked on the squfur and was insufficiently familiar with the local mores to be able to appreciate the stories, let alone tell any. He'd concentrated on smiling and agreeing with whatever anybody said, with the result that the others began to agree with Piq that he was a bit cracked. “They were, for the most part, polite enough to me, but I could sense the gulf. I was a stranger, a city man, and probably a bit of a lunatic."

  A few of the younger ones hadn't even been polite. “They used to insult me obliquely," Clarey went on, “and whisper things I only half-heard. I pretended I didn't hear at all. I stood them drinks and told them what a lovely place Katund was, so much cleaner and prettier and friendlier than the city. That just seemed to confirm their impression that I was an idiot."

  He stopped, took a sip of tea, and continued, “The females were friendly enough, though. Every time they came into the library they'd always stop for a chat. And they were very hospitable — invited me to outdoor luncheons, temple gatherings, things like that. Embelsira — she's the chief librarian — got quite annoyed because she said they made so much noise when they all gathered round my desk."

  He paused and blushed. “I have an idea that — well, the ladies don't find me unattractive. I mean they're not really ladies. That is, they're perfect ladies; they're just not women."

  “I'm not a bit surprised," the colonel nodded sagely. “Very well-set-up young fellow for a native — only natural they should take a liking to you. And only natural the men shouldn't."

  Clarey gave an embarrassed grin. “One evening I was sitting in the bar-parlor, talking to Kuqal and Gazmor, two of the older men. And then Mundes came in; he's the town muscle boy. You know the type — one in every tri-di series. He was rather unpleasant. I pretended to think he was joking. I've learned to laugh like one of them. Listen." He gave a creditable imitation of an agonized turshi.

  * * * *

  The colonel shuddered. “I'm sure if anything would convince the chaps back on Earth that the Damorlanti aren't human, that would do it. What then?"

  “Finally he made a remark impugning the virility of librarians that I simply could not ignore, so I emptied my mug of squfur in his face."

  “Stout fellow!"

  “I knew he'd attack me and probably beat me up, but I thought that perhaps if I put up a show of courage they'd respect me. There was something like that in Sentries of the Sky a year or so ago — but of course you'd have missed that episode; you were up here. Anyhow, as I expected, he hit me. And then I hit him ..." He smiled reminiscently into his cup of tea.

  “And then?"

  “I beat him," Clarey said simply. “I still can't figure out how I did it. I think it must be because my muscles are heavier-gravity type." He smiled again. “And I beat him good. He couldn't dance at the temple for weeks."

  The colonel's jaw dropped. “He's a temple dancer?"

  “Chief temple dancer. I was a little worried about that, because I didn't want to get in bad theologically. So I went to the priest and apologized for any inconvenience I might have caused. He said not to worry; Mundes had had it coming to him for a long time and his one regret was that he hadn't been there to see it. Then we touched toes and he said he liked to see a young fellow with brawn who also took an interest in cultural pursuits like reading. He trusted I'd have a beneficial effect on the youth of the village. And then he asked me to fill in for Mundes as chief temple dancer until he — ah — recovered. It's a great honor, you know!" he said sharply, as the colonel seemed more moved to mirth than awe. “But I've never been much of a dancing man and that's what I told him."

  “Very well done," the colonel said approvingly. “But you still haven't explained where you got lodgings and a landlady."

  “She's Embelsira's mother. I was invited over for dinner from time to time . . . It's a local custom," he explained as Blynn's eyebrows went up. “So, when Embelsira told me her mother happened to have a compartment to let with meals included, I jumped at it. Blynn, you really ought to taste those pastries of hers!"

  The colonel managed to divert him onto some of the other aspects of Katundut life. When he'd finished taping everything he had to say, the colonel gave him a list of artifacts and smallsized flora and fauna the specialists on Earth wanted him to collect for his next trip, providing he could do so without arousing attention or violating tabus.

  They shook hands. “Clarey," the colonel said, “you've done splendidly. Earth will be proud of you. And you might bring along one or two of those pastries, by the way."

  * * * *

  When Clarey got back to Katund, Embelsira and her mother gave a little welcome home party for him. “Nothing elaborate," the widow said. “Just a few neighbors and friends, some simple refreshments."

  The tiny residential dome was packed with people; the refreshments, Clarey thought, as he munched industriously, were magnificent. But then he'd been forced to live on Earth food for a weekend, so he was no judge.

  After they'd finished eating, the young people folded the furniture, and, while one of the boys played upon a curious instrument that was string and percussion and brass all at once, the others danced.

  Clarey made no attempt to participate. In his early youth, he'd flopped at the Earth hops — and the Damorlanti had a distinctly more Dionysian culture than his home world. He stood and watched them leaping and twirling. When they'd dropped, temporarily exhausted, he made his way over to the musician, whom he recognized as one of Piq's numerous grandsons; this one was Rini, he thought.

  “Is that difficult to learn?" he asked, touching the instrument.

  “The ulerin is extremely difficult," the boy said importantly. “It takes years and years of practice. And you've got to have the touch to begin with. Not many do. All our family have the touch, my brother Irik most of all. He's in Barshwat, studying to be a famous musician."
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  Clarey looked at the ulerin with unmistakable wistfulness.

  “Care to try it?" the boy asked. “But, mind, you have to pay for any bladders you burst."

  “I shall be very careful," Clarey said, taking the instrument reverently in his hands. He had never touched a musical instrument before — an Earth instrument would have been no less unfamiliar, no more wonderful. Gently he began to pluck and bang and blow, in imitation of the way the boy had done, and, though the sounds that came out didn't have the same smoothness, still they didn't fall harshly on his ears. The others stopped talking and listened; it would have been difficult for them to do otherwise, as he was unable to find the muting device.

  “Sounds like the death wail of a hix," Piq sibilated, but he added grudgingly, “Foreigner or not, I have to say this for him — he's got the touch."

  “Yes, he's got the touch," others agreed. “You always can tell."

  Rini smiled at Clarey. “I believe you do. I'll teach you to play, if you like."

  “I would, very much." Clarey was about to offer to pay for the lessons; then he remembered that, though this would have been the right thing on Earth, it would be wrong on Damorlan. “If it is not too much trouble," he finished.

  “It's the kind of trouble I like." The boy twisted his nose at Clarey. “Sometime you can hide the reserved books for me."

  * * * *

  After the guests had gone, Clarey insisted on helping the women with the putting away. “Well, as long as Embelsira has a pair of brawny arms to help her," the widow yawned, “I might as well be getting along to my pallet. I seem to get more and more tired these days — old age, I expect. One day I'll be so tired I'll never wake up and Embelsira'll be alone and what'll she do, poor thing? Who can live on a librarian's salary? Now, on two librarians' salaries — "

  “Mother," Embelsira interrupted furiously, “you go to bed!"

  She did, hurriedly.

  “Don't worry, Embelsira," Clarey said. “She will be weaving away for decades yet. Everybody says she's the best weaver in the district," he added, to change the subject.