Marek Huberath - Nest of Worlds

“Ian Yacrod Hanning,” he said, presenting himself. Although he would not be moving to Ayrrah for several years yet, he gave his Significant Name in the Ayrrah style. Yacrod belonged to the group of the Names of Man.

“Phyllis Yacrodda ,” said his wife, and they both sat.

“So many whites here!” he remarked, looking around. It was not the most diplomatic beginning, since the Hougassians were opposite him and in their best clothes. Fatima had even gone to the trouble of tying a turban.

“On the other hand,” retorted Haifan, “we never had such reds before.”

Zef put a finger in his nose.

We are indeed an odd group, thought Gavein. Ian is the normal one here. In Davabel there are very few homes where you eat at a table with whites. The people here twist the name Ra Mahleiné, but only because they twist everything. Actually, Magdalena, Magda is not so bad. And out of me they’ve made a Dave.

There was an awkward silence. Zef dug deeper, with pleasure, into his left nostril.

Edda saved the situation by bringing in a bowl of steaming pasta. To eat, Zef had to stop playing with his nose.

“I seem to know you,” said Ian, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “But I can’t place you.” He thought a moment. Gavein didn’t help him. “Dave… that’s it, Dave. You came for paperwork, for a woman named after a cat.”

“That’s correct.”

“So you are Mrs. Dave Throzz?” he asked Ra Mahleiné, who practically spat like a cat, her eyes flashing gold. The gold meant she was angry. And if it was visible even through the lenses of her glasses, she was angry indeed.

It dawned on Ian that he had somehow offended the people around him. He tried to mend things. “I understand you perfectly, Dave. If in my life I discovered such a snowflake, I would protect it like the apple of my eye.”

Speaking so honestly got him into trouble.

“You could keep the snowflake in the freezer,” remarked Phyllis, tight-mouthed.

“I once invited you both to dinner,” Ian said, “and now look, we are neighbors.” He was doing his best.

Phyllis couldn’t let things stand at that. “Dave,” she said, “may I ask you something?”

Gavein nodded.

“People say that blacks have a scent, that reds have none, and that whites stink. Could you tell me if it’s true? You understand, I’m only talking about body odor.”

The barb was well aimed, because Edda and Zef were reds. Gavein had no wish to antagonize either of them. “Absolutely true,” he replied. “And the body odors all change the moment one moves from Davabel to Ayrrah.”

To his wife he whispered, “Let’s take our pizza upstairs.”

“No,” she said. “This is live entertainment, better than the canned stuff on TV. Let’s sit and watch.”

Phyllis went on. “Ian says he can tell when people have just arrived from Davabel. In time, the whites learn to use special deodorants, extra-strength. Ian has booklets that give advice about body odor. Isn’t that true, Ian?” She turned to her husband. “They say white women have a different kind of period, and that’s the reason they stink even worse than the men,” she added.

Fatima blanched, which accentuated the pimples on her face. Massmoudieh looked around helplessly.

“Actually, no, it’s the reds who stink,” said Zef, running a palm along his fiery red comb, which had been stiffened with egg white. “Me, for example. I’m a regular polecat if I don’t clean my nose out properly. The smell comes from my snot.” He put a finger in, extracted a gray ball, and flicked it on the tablecloth in Phyllis’s direction.

Ra Mahleiné giggled.

Zef pulled another missile from his nostril. This time, by accident, he hit Haifan’s newspaper.

“Whites ought to keep to themselves,” declared Phyllis, setting aside all innuendo when the third ball of snot landed on the edge of her plate.

“I’m only getting rid of my body odor,” Zef said apologetically.

Unfortunately his barrage didn’t cease with that, so everyone had to leave the table before the next course.

When Ra Mahleiné later warmed up a couple of slices of pizza for the two of them, she almost dropped the pan, she was laughing so hard.

“Yes, he dealt with her,” Gavein said. “Stupid people ought to be put in reservations.”

“Absolutely not. They make you feel good. You know, in Lavath I had no idea the reds hated us so much.”

“And the blacks who came from Llanaig had the same experience. Though I think social segregation in Lavath was taken less seriously than it is here.”

“I never considered the reds or grays worse than us.”

“I know. Or even blacks.” He smiled at her.

“You see? I married you precisely to put myself in a better mood.”

“And did it work?”

“I’m not complaining.”

Their conversation was continued in bed. The pizza burned.

The next day, he didn’t go to the bookstore.

Early in the morning, Wilcox called and asked Gavein if someone could fill in for him. He said he had to finish reading some book. Gavein didn’t object.

They went down to the dining room. Ra Mahleiné settled on the sofa, covered herself with a blanket, and watched television as she knitted.

Edda was ironing her sheets. Zef was deep in thought over some lecture notes, sitting cross-legged in the armchair but not thinking it necessary to remove his shoes. Gavein smiled, beholden to the young man for having come to the rescue.

“I didn’t know you knew them, Dave,” Edda said, with a long, hard look.

“I knew only Ian. He took care of an official matter for me. Then he gave me his card and an invitation. That’s all.”

“Dave. Forgive them for last evening. We’ve had enough tragedy. Don’t start it again, like a magnet. Magda, tell him not to start it again.”

Ra Mahleiné lifted her eyes from her knitting. She didn’t like to be interrupted when she counted loops. She muttered something.

Gavein sighed and said, “Edda, please, this is absurd. If you want, we’ll move.”

“Magdalena,” Zef said, not shortening her Davabel name, because he liked the sound of it, “tell your husband he should feel proud, instead of complaining, that others think him so powerful.”

“Would you please stop it? It’s so stupid,” Ra Mahleiné exclaimed, returning her eyes to her work.

Edda left without a word.

“Don’t let my mother get under your skin, Dave. She exaggerates.”

“You were in good form yesterday.”

“I’m not doing badly today,” he laughed, making as if to pick his nose again.

But Gavein could see that something was bothering the young man. He asked what it was.

Zef answered with a question. “Why do you two both dress the same? Jeans and a flannel shirt.”

“What?”

“You look younger than you should, and that Magdalena of yours, Dave, she’s a knockout. If she has great legs, as you told me, then why doesn’t she wear black tights like other girls?”

“He told you I have great legs?” asked Ra Mahleiné.

“I might have said something like that,” Gavein confessed.

Ra Mahleiné hmphed. “A few times I put on things like that. It was back in Lavath. And he told me that was the reason he had been avoiding me. The bastard didn’t want to marry me because of the tights. He wanted me all to himself.”

“I’m not just talking about legs,” said Zef. “Why don’t you do your hair in thirty-six braids, and why doesn’t he have a comb like mine?”

“I could shave my head on the sides, all right,” said Gavein. “But where your comb is, that’s where I’m thinnest. There wouldn’t be a lot to look at.”