Suzette Elgin - Native Tongue

Except that there was no peace. Instead, there were women running up and down the stairs, there was disorder and bustle and confusion, and there was a low murmur that he recognized sadly as female nervous racket.

Thomas drew a long breath, and he stopped dead in the entrance. He did not fail to notice the row of ornamental pebbles set into the border of the threshold — that had not been there when he went off to the Awards circus, he was sure of it; he made a mental note to take it up with the ladies at the first opportunity, after he’d found out what was responsible for the disturbance he could sense all around him in place of the serenity he had been looking forward to. He let the door slide shut behind him, and coughed gently, and the racket died at once, the silence spreading from where he stood like ripples in still water; the women were passing along the word that he’d come home.

“Well,” he said in the new stillness, “Good evening to you all.”

“Good evening, Thomas.” From all directions.

“Well?”

They said nothing, and he spoke sharply. “What the devil is going on here? I could hear the uproar all the way to the slidewalk… what’s it all about?”

One of the older girls, one of the multitude of his nieces, came to the top of the staircase and stood looking at him.

“Well, damn it?”

“It’s Nazareth, Uncle Thomas,” said the girl.

“It’s Nazareth? It’s Nazareth what , child?” Knowing he’d get nowhere with her if he was cross — that would only addle her further — he hid his irritation and spoke gently.

“Nazareth… your daughter. She’s sick.”

Thomas considered that for a moment, and took off his coat to hand to the woman who had come up to stand waiting beside him. He remembered the girl now; Philippa, her name was. Superb at Laotian.

“In what way is Nazareth sick, Philippa?” he asked, heading down the stairs toward her, smiling.

“I don’t know, Uncle Thomas. We’ve been wondering whether to call the doctor.”

Thomas made a sharp noise in his throat… that was all he needed, one of those bloody Samurai stomping arrogantly around his house all evening… not that he’d stay long. Very busy men, the doctors; no time to do more than present their bill and shower their generalized contempt around in all directions. He respected the laser surgeons, who seemed to be capable craftsmen; as for the rest of them, his contempt for their ignorance was matched only by his outrage at their assumption that all humankind owed them automatic and unreasoning devotion. It was a tribute to the skill of the American Medical Association that although there had been Anti-Linguist riots again and again there had never even been an Anti-Physician rumble.

“Surely that’s not necessary, child,” he said. “It can’t be anything serious. What’s Nazareth doing, throwing up?”

His wife came then, finally, hurrying, and he turned to greet her. She hadn’t time to be polite, either, of course. And she looked tired. She always looked tired, and he found it very boring.

“We’ve had an awful time with Nazareth,” she said, without so much as a hello for preamble, “ever since dinner. She has dreadful abdominal pain, and her legs hurt her… her muscles keep cramping and knotting, poor thing… I feel so sorry for her! And she’s vomited until she has nothing left in her stomach and is just retching…”

“Appendix, maybe?”

“Thomas. She had that out summer before last. And an appendix doesn’t cause muscle spasms in the legs.”

“Her period, then? She’s at the right age to start carrying on about that… and I’ve known women to claim everything short of total paralysis on that excuse, Rachel.”

She just looked at him steadily, and said nothing.

“Well, then. A bit of a virus, and the drama of it all. I’m sure she enjoys all the attention.”

“Whatever you say, Thomas.”

There it was. That mechanical whatever-you-say that meant nothing-that-you-say. He hated it. And she was forever doing it, in spite of knowing full well that he hated it.

“You don’t agree with me, Rachel,” he said.

“Perhaps you might consider taking a look at her. Before you make your decision.”

“Rachel, I have a lot of work to do, it’s already very late, and I’ve lost hours in a stupid meeting as it is — not to mention this very inappropriate meeting on my staircase. Do you really feel that I need to waste yet more time fussing over Nazareth? She’s healthy as a mule, always has been.”

“And that is why I’m worried,” Rachel said. “Because she’s never sick — never. Even the appendix was only removed because she had to do that frontier colony negotiation and they didn’t want to chance having her seriously ill with inadequate medical facilities at hand… she’s always well. And no, I don’t expect you to waste your time fussing over her.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“That will be enough, Rachel,” said Thomas sternly, glad that Philippa had taken herself off when Rachel appeared and wasn’t there to witness her aunt’s insolence; he would have been forced to do something obvious to counteract it, if she’d been there with them.

Rachel was becoming more and more difficult as she went into middle age, and if it hadn’t been for the extraordinary skill she had in the management of his personal affairs he would not have tolerated her behavior. A quick hysterectomy, and off she’d be to Barren House — it was tempting. But it wouldn’t be convenient for him to have her at Barren House, and so he put up with her. He knew what she would do now… she’d turn on her heel and flounce off to the girldorms, her rigid back eloquently saying for her all the things she dared not say aloud.

But she surprised him. She stood her ground, and she faced him calmly, saying, “Thomas, I’m really alarmed. This isn’t like Nazareth.”

“I see.”

“I think we should have a doctor.”

“At this hour? A house call? Don’t be absurd, Rachel… you know what that would cost. Furthermore, it’s excessive and hysterical over-reaction. Is Nazareth in coma? Hemorrhaging? Is her heartbeat seriously irregular? Does she have difficulty breathing? Is there anything even remotely resembling an emergency?”

“Thomas, I told you. Severe pain — abdomen and legs. Vomiting that just goes on and on.”

“We have painkillers in the house; give her some. We have drugs to stop the vomiting, give her those. If she’s no better in the morning, by all means take her to the doctor.”

Rachel drew a long breath, and clasped her hands behind her back. He knew what that meant; it meant that she had started to set her arms akimbo and her hands on her hips and then thought better of it.

“Thomas,” she said, “Nazareth has to be at the International Labor Office at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. She’s interpreter for the new labor treaty negotiations on seldron. And that treaty’s crucial… seldron imports are down 39 percent from last year, and there’s no other source. Do you know what the situation would be in the comset industry if we lost our seldron trade contract over a labor dispute? And are you aware of the credits this Household has tied up in seldron stocks?”

“What backup has she got?” Thomas demanded, alert now — this changed things a great deal, as Rachel knew very well. It was typical of her to take fifteen minutes getting to the point, typical and infuriating. “Who’s available?”

“There’s no one to take over for her. The only other native speaker of REM34 we have is four years old — not nearly old enough. Aquina Chronyak does informal backup, but she’s not fluent; she couldn’t handle even trivial negotiations, and these aren’t trivial. And besides that, she’s booked.”