Джек Макдевитт - Translations from The Colosian

I drained my glass. “Are you suggesting we go back?”

“We have a mystery, George.” The fire was dying, and he stared solemnly into the embers. “Would you like,” he asked, “to meet my contact on Melchior?’

“Your contact? You mean you’ve talked to one of them?”

“Where did you think I get my information? Yes: I know a man runs a bookshop.” He angled his watch to read it. “It's getting dark there now. Sun's down, and it’ll be a little while-before Encubus comes up.”

We put on our robes and masks, strolled out into the store room, past stacks of paneling and trim (he was, at the time, repairing his porch), opened the storm door, and stepped onto a blue shale walkway, lined with white bark trees. (It was not the glade into which we’d emerged the first time. “How the hell,” I asked, “do you do that?” But he only looked amused.) We were in front of a weaver’s shop, a graceful structure of gray stone and glass, illuminated by candles.

Three or four persons (I don’t know what else to call them) were seated on a bench across a garden, under an oil street lamp. They looked at us curiously, but continued their conversation. The night sky was overcast: it would remain gloomy even after the planet rose.

Klein took a moment to get his bearings, and then started off briskly. “Don’t let anyone get a good look at you,” he said. “If they realize you’re wearing a mask, they get nervous. I tried showing my face to an elderly citizen on a bench, and he almost had apoplexy. In the end, I gave up and decided to steal what I needed. Chaser caught me at it.”

“Chaser? Is that the book dealer?” He nodded. “It’s a strange name.”

“Those are the third and fourth syllables.” Klein strode contentedly along the bush-lined street. “I wanted history books, and a couple of general reference works. I saw some likely prospects through the window of his shop, and tried to appropriate them. He caught me.

“It was a bad moment. He grabbed me by the shoulder. I jumped a foot, the mask came off, and Chaser backed into a stand of cheap novels.”

“What happened then?”

“You ever see a fullsize devil, horns, cloven hoofs, and sharp white teeth, fall over a load of books? I started laughing: I couldn’t help myself. I mean, if Old Nick has anything, it’s supposed to be dignity.

“But he was between me and the door. I’d gone down too, and I was looking at his fangs and ruby eyes through a crosshatch of table legs and struts.”

“What did you do?”

”I said hello. And he laughed. It was part snort and part belch, but I know a belly laugh when I hear one.”

We’d veered off the walkway, pushed through some ferns, and entered a cul-de-sac. It was a circular courtyard, overgrown with heavy foliage, and ringed with smoking lamps. The bookstore lay directly opposite the entrance to the courtyard: it was a modest, wood frame building, with volumes stacked against a half-dozen windows on two floors. Outside, more books were bunched on tables, under neat handlettered signs identifying their category. “The bargain basement,” Harvey remarked.

When the shop had emptied, we went inside. I was too nervous to examine the packed shelves, despite my curiosity. We passed into an interior room, and came face to face with the bookseller.

He sat, or crouched, at a desk of polished stone. One horn was broken, his fur was drab, and he wore heavy steel-rimmed glasses. His eyes were not quite as Klein had described them; rather, they were of a red-flecked gray hue, yet not at all menacing. They rested on us momentarily; his lips rolled back slowly to reveal long, white, gently curving teeth. “Klein,” he said, rising, “you shouldn’t go walking about like that. Your mask is inadequate; it will attract attention.”

Harvey laughed. “Chaser thinks it has an idiot expression.”

I removed my own headpiece and looked at it. It would fool nobody in good light, up close. Off the face and away from the eyes, of course, it had no expression at all. “He must mean you , Harvey; not the mask.”

Chaser understood, clapped my shoulder, gave us all another look at his dental work, and disappeared in back. I heard bolts thrown on doors. Then he returned with a decanter and three glasses.

The drink was alcoholic, a warm wine that suggested macadamia nuts. Chaser raised the glass that Klein had filled for him, and studied Klein with (I thought) genuine affection. “I’m glad you came back, Harvey,” he said. He broke the name in half, leaned heavily on the first syllable, and pronounced it with a gurgle.

Klein introduced me. Chaser grunted his pleasure, and clasped my wrist, old-Roman style. “I was unsure whether to believe Harvey,” he said, “when he told me there were others like himself.” To my surprise, he downed his drink in what appeared to be a salute to the species.

“We saw Antigone several weeks ago,” said Klein, giving it its Colosian title. '

“And did you like it?”

“Yes,” I said. “It is a very powerful play.”

“I saw it myself on closing night.” Chaser’s voice was a kind of musical rumble. “The staging was a bit wooden for my taste. They have a director over in Qas Anaba…“

While he talked, I was struck by the familiarity of his gestures, and his opinions. I frowned at Klein: an alien culture is supposed to be alien , different values, incomprehensible logic, and all that. Chaser emphasized points by jabbing the air with his index finger, cupped his chin in one palm while he pondered questions of literary merit, and sighed helplessly in the face of views which he considered irredeemably wrongheaded.

Klein raised an eyebrow, and said, “I have yet to find a thoughtful being who would not have appreciated Antigone, who would not have understood its point.” Chaser nodded. “Maybe,” he continued, “we have fewer options than we think. Things that make sense, probably make sense everywhere.”

“Chaser,” I said, “tell me about Aulis Tyr.”

The bookdealer stared moodily at his drink. “He is the first of playwrights, George. His work has been equaled by one or two, but never surpassed. Even now, after so many centuries, he remains extremely popular. The summer theaters here and at Qas Anaba each do one of his plays every year. People come from quite far away to see the performances.”

“Your theater group,” I said, “is quite accomplished.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, they would have to be to handle that kind of drama.”

“I agree,” he said. “Tyr is quite demanding of an actor. And a director. But the result, when it is done properly, is quite moving.”

From a shelf in an adjoining room, he produced two large leather volumes. “Unfortunately, we've lost most of his work. Two centuries after his death, the Colosians were overrun by barbarians. The idiots burned everything…” He passed me the books and turned to Klein; “Do you have a dramatist of similar stature?”

Harvey needed no thought for that one. “Shakespeare,” he said, almost offhandedly. That’s what happens when you ask a physicist a significant question.

“Shakespeare.” Chaser tasted the name, and shrugged. “George, you may keep the books.”

“Thank you.”

“And whatever else you can carry.” His eyes narrowed. “But I know you will wish to repay me in kind.”

“How?”

“I would like very much to read your Shakespeare. And I know you would find considerable pleasure in giving so fine a gift.”

“Okay,” I said. “And maybe I'll throw in Neil Simon while I’m at it.”

Chaser’s interest, which was already intense, deepened still more. “Who is Neil Simon? Another Shakespeare?”