Sheri Tepper - Grass

“I thought Grassians spoke Terran or trade lingua,” she replied, dismayed. “Obermun bon Haunser spoke diplomatic Terran to me.”

“Oh, they’ll do that if they like,” he said with a nasty grin. “They’ll speak diplo and some of them will even lower themselves to speak trade lingua, and then the next time they’ll turn their backs to you and pretend they don’t understand you at all. You’ll get further with ’em if you know Grassan. Way I understand it, it’s a mishmash of languages they all spoke when they came here, and then it’s changed since. Each family speaks its own variety of it, kind of a family dialect, a game they have, but mostly that’s a matter of family words and you can understand the sense if you know the language. You’ll get further yet if they don’t know you speak it until you speak it pretty good. I can send you a teacher.”

“Do,” she agreed, all at once trusting and liking him. “Send me a teacher and be very close-mouthed about it if you will, Mr. Few.”

“Oh, I will.” He snorted “I’ll send you a man in two days. And you call me Roald, like all the Commons do. Damn bons.” The animosity seemed habitual rather than acute, and Marjorie did not inquire into it, merely making a note that Rigo should hear of it if he had not already learned of it for himself.

In addition to the commodious guest and servants’ quarters in the main house, there were three small detached residences at Opal Hill available to members of the embassy staff. Given first choice, Rigo’s faithful assistant Andrea Chapelside had picked the small house closest by, to be most readily available in case of need. Her sister Charlotte would live there with her. Father Sandoval and his companion priest, Father James, took the largest of the detached residences, intending to use part of it as a library and school for Stella and Tony and the largest room as a chapel for themselves and the embassy. This left the smallest house for Eugenie Le Fevre. It had a summer kitchen, living room, and bedroom above the ground and several cozy winter rooms below. Each of the houses was connected by a tunnel which led to the big house. Each opened upon a separate vista of the gardens.

When Roald Few finished his business with Marjorie, he called on each of the other residents of Opal Hill, getting their instructions for the furnishing of summer bedrooms and sitting rooms. The middle-aged women in the first house had pictures of what they wanted, things that looked like home. The men in the larger house wanted everything as plain as it could be, and one room they wanted untouched except for the provision of some little seats with kneeling stools in front of them and an altar kind of arrangement. The delicate-looking younger man had drawn a picture which the older stocky man nodded approval over. Both of them religious, Roald thought. Not dressed like Sanctified, though. These had funny little collars. Something different from the usual run.

“I hope this will not cause you too much trouble,” the older of the two said in a steely voice which only seemed apologetic.

“No trouble at all, except one,” said Roald with an engaging smile. “And that’s knowing what the proper title is for you and the other gentleman. I know you’re some sort of religious folk, and I wouldn’t want to go astray with the lingo.”

The delicate gentleman nodded. “We are Old Catholics. I’m Father Sandoval, and my companion is Father James. Father James’ mother is sister to His Excellency, Roderigo Yrarier. We are usually called Father, if that wouldn’t offend you.” And if it would, his voice said, say it anyhow.

“I don’t stay in business being easily offended,” Roald assuredcthem. “If you wanted me to call you uncle. I’d do that, too. I might balk at aunt, but uncle I could manage “

This brought a chuckle from the younger priest, and Roald nodded at him cheerfully as he left.

The smallest house was the most remote and the last on his list. It was there, in the empty summer quarter, that he met with Eugenie. He had not been with her for long before he knew everything about her. Everything, he thought to himself, that he needed to know.

“Pink,” she said. “Soft pink. And rose shades, all warm, like the inside of a flower. I miss flowers. Curtains to shut out the night and the sight of that awful grass. Soft curtains that drape and blow in the wind. Wide couches with pillows.” She moved her hands and her lips, sketching what she wanted on the compliant air, and he saw what she saw, a nest feathered in ivory and rose, sweet-scented as — so fable had it — a Terran morning. She was wearing a silky gown that flowed behind her on the air, fluttering with her movement as though she were accompanied by soft winds. Her hair was light brown, the great wealth of it piled high on her head with tiny curls escaping at her brow and the nape of her neck. Her eyes were an ageless blue, innocent of anything but pleasure and untroubled by thought.

Roald Few sighed, silently, knowing all about it. This lady looked like the little porcelain woman his wife kept on the table at home. Poor Lady Westriding. She had interested him enormously, and now he pitied her as well. What was it had gone wrong there? he wondered. So many things could happen. He would tell Kinny, his wife, all about it, how they looked, what they said, and Kinny would know. She would tell him the story over supper, how this Roderigo and this Lady Westriding had almost been true lovers, almost a natural pair, but this something else had happened, and now there was this pink lady for the Lord’s bed while the cool blond woman was left all alone. Though perhaps he didn’t leave her alone. There was that possibility, too.

“Rose pink,” he said to Eugenie as he noted it down. “And lots of soft cushions.”

When Roald returned home, his wife, Kinny, was waiting with supper ready to go on the table. Since Marthamay had married Alverd Bee and moved over to the other end of town, Roald and Kinny had been alone sporadically — that is, when none of the children had needed a baby-tender or a home-from-their-own following an argument with a spouse. Arguments with spouses, Roald had taken care to point out to each of his children, were as inevitable as winter but were not life-threatening provided one took a little care in advance. Such as making a habit of going on home to cool off for a day or so when needed, and no insult meant and none taken by either party, just as spring followed winter, so better understanding followed a little cooling off.

Currently none of the children were fighting with their wives or husbands and none of the grandkids were in residence, so he and Kinny had the place to themselves, which pleased him considerably when it happened.

“I made goose with cabbage.” Kinny told him. “Jandra Jellico slaughtered a few geese, and she got on the tell-me to let me know. I hurried right over to get a fat one.”

Roald licked his lips. Spring goose with cabbage was one of his favorite dishes, and Kinny could make it like no one else. It was goose with cabbage had made him look at her in the first place, her with her round little arms and round little face, and it was goose with cabbage had happily punctuated all their seasons together since. Goose with cabbage generally meant a celebration of some kind.

“So, what good thing is going on?” he asked her.

“Marthamay’s pregnant.”

“Well, isn’t that wonderful! There for a bit she was worried.”

“She wasn’t really. It was just her sisters teasing her when the time went by after she and Alverd married and nothing happened.”

“Alverd getting ready to do a little digging, is he?”

“She says yes.” Kinny smiled as she forked a mouthful of cabbage into her rosy mouth, thinking of tall, eager Alverd Bee slaving away down in the winter quarters, digging a new room as every new daddy did. Alverd was likely to be elected mayor of Commons in a week or two, and mayors had little time for such doings. Well and all, the brothers would help him, just as he’d helped them. “So, tell me all about the new people.”