Зенна Гендерсон - The Anything Box

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"Oh," said Splinter, thoughtfully. "Then there are kids on the other sideof the wall, aren't there?"
"Yes, there must be young Linjeni," said Serena. "I guess you could callthem children."
Splinter slid down to the bottom of the little watercourse and flopped downon his stomach. He pressed his cheek to the sand and peered through a tiny gapleft under the fence where it crossed the stream bed. "I can't see anybody,"he said, disappointed.
They started back up the hill toward their quarters, walking silently,Splinter's hand whispering along the wall.
"Mommie?" Splinter said as they neared the patio.
"Yes, Splinter?"
"That fence is to keep them in, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Serena.
"It doesn't feel like that to me," said Splinter. "It feels like it's toshut me out."
Serena suffered through the next days with Thorn. She lay wide-eyed besidehim in the darkness of their bedroom, praying as he slept restlessly,struggling even in his sleep— groping for a way.
Tight-lipped, she cleared away untouched meals and brewed more coffee. Herthoughts went hopefully with him every time he started out with new hope andresolution, and her spirits flagged and fell as he brought back dead end,stalemate and growing despair. And in-between times, she tried to keepSplinter on as even a keel as possible, giving him the freedom of the QuartersArea during the long, sunlit days and playing with him as much as possible inthe evenings.
One evening Serena was pinning up her hair and keeping half an eye onSplinter as he splashed in his bath. He was gathering up handsful of foamingsoap bubbles and pressing them to his chin and cheeks.
"Now I hafta shave like Daddy," he hummed to himself. "Shave, shave,shave!" He flicked the suds off with his forefinger. Then he scooped up a bigdouble handful of bubbles and pressed them all over his face. "Now I'm Doovie.I'm all over fuzzy like Doovie. Lookit, Mommie, I'm all over—" He opened hiseyes and peered through the suds to see if she was watching. Consequently,Serena spent a busy next few minutes helping him get the soap out of his eyes.When the tears had finally washed away the trouble, Serena sat towelingSplinter's relaxed little body.
"I bet Doovie'd cry too, if he got soap in his eyes," he said with a sniff."Wouldn't he, Mommie?"
"Doovie?" said Serena, "Probably. Almost anyone would. Who's Doovie?"
She felt Splinter stiffen on her lap. His eyes wandered away from hers."Mommie, do you think Daddy will play with me a-morrow?"
"Perhaps." She captured one of his wet feet. "Who's Doovie?"
"Can we have pink cake for dessert tonight? I think I like pink—"
"Who's Doovie?" Serena's voice was firm. Splinter examined his thumbnailcritically, then peered up at Serena out of the corner of his eye.
"Doovie," he began, "Doovie's a little boy."
"Oh?" said Serena. "A play-like little boy?"
"No," Splinter whispered, hanging his head. "A real little boy. A Linjenilittle boy." Serena drew an astonished breath and Splinter hurried on, hiseyes intent on hers. "He's nice people, Mommie, honest! He doesn't say badwords or tell lies or talk sassy to his mother. He can run as fast as Ican—faster, if I stumble. He—he—," his eyes dropped again. "I like him—" Hismouth quivered.
"Where did—-how could—I mean, the fence—" Serena was horrified andcompletely at a loss for words.
"I dug a hole," confessed Splinter. "Under the fence where the sand is. Youdidn't say not to! Doovie came to play. His mommie came, too. She's pretty.Her fur is pink, but Doovie's is nice and green. All over!" Splinter got
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excited. "All over, even where his clothes are! All but his nose and eyes and
ears and the front of his hands!"
"But Splinter, how could you! You might have got hurt! They might have—"
Serena hugged him tight to hide her face from him.
Splinter squirmed out of her arms. "Doovie wouldn't hurt anyone. You know
what, Mommie? He can shut his nose! Yes, he can! He can shut his nose and fold
up his ears! I wish I could. It'd come in handy. But I'm bigger'n he is and I
can sing and he can't. But he can whistle with his nose and when I try, I just
blow mine. Doovie's nice!"
Serena's mind was churning as she helped Splinter get into his night
clothes. She felt the chill of fear along her forearms and the back of her
neck. What to do now? Forbid Splinter's crawling under the fence? Keep him
from possible danger that might just be biding its time? What would Thorn say?
Should she tell him? This might precipitate an incident that—
"Splinter, how many times have you played with Doovie?"
"How many?" Splinter's chest swelled under his clean pajamas. "Let me
count," he said importantly and murmured and mumbled over his fingers for a
minute. "Four times!" he proclaimed triumphantly. "One, two, three, four whole
times!"
"Weren't you scared?"
"Naw!" he said, adding hastily, "Well, maybe a little bit the first time. I
thought maybe they might have tails that liked to curl around people's necks.
But they haven't," disappointed, "only clothes on like us with fur on under."
"Did you say you saw Doovie's mother, too?"
"Sure," said Splinter. "She was there the first day. She was the one that
sent all the others away when they all crowded around me. All grownups. Not
any kids excepting Doovie, They kinda pushed and wanted to touch me, but she
told them to go away, and they all did 'cepting her and Doovie."
"Oh Splinter!" cried Serena, overcome by the vision of his small self
surrounded by pushing, crowding Linjeni grownups who wanted to "touch him."
"What's the matter, Mommie?" asked Splinter.
"Nothing, dear." She wet her lips. "May I go along with you the next time
you go to see Doovie? I'd like to meet his mother."
"Sure, sure!" cried Splinter. "Let's go now. Let's go now!"
"Not now," said Serena, feeling the reaction of her fear in her knees and
ankles. "It's too late. Tomorrow we'll go see them. And Splinter, let's not
tell Daddy yet. Let's keep it a surprise for a while."
"Okay, Mommie," said Splinter. "It's a good surprise, isn't it? You were
awful surprised, weren't you?"
"Yes, I was," said Serena. "Awful surprised."
Next day Splinter squatted down and inspected the hole under the fence.
"It's kinda little," he said. "Maybe you'll get stuck."
Serena, her heart pounding in her throat, laughed. "That wouldn't be very
dignified, would it?" she asked. "To go calling and get stuck in the door."
Splinter laughed. "It'd be funny," he said. "Maybe we better go find a
really door for you."
"Oh, no," said Serena hastily. "We can make this one bigger."
"Sure," said Splinter. "I'll go get Doovie and he can help dig."
"Fine," said Serena, her throat tightening. Afraid of a child, she mocked
herself. Afraid of a Linjeni—aggressor —invader, she defended.
Splinter flattened on the sand and slid under the fence. "You start
digging," he called. "I'll be back!"
Serena knelt to the job, the loose sand coming away so readily that she
circled her arms and dredged with them.
Then she heard Splinter scream.
For a brief second, she was paralyzed. Then he screamed again, closer, and
Serena dragged the sand away in a frantic frenzy. She felt the sand scoop down
the neck of her blouse and the skin scrape off her spine as she forced herself
under the fence.
Then there was Splinter, catapulting out of the shrubbery, sobbing and
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screaming, "Doovie! Doovie's drownd-ing! He's in the go'fish pond! All underthe water! I can't get him out! Mommie, Mommie!"
Serena grabbed his hand as she shot past and towed him along, stumbling anddragging, as she ran for the goldfish pond. She leaned across the low wall andcaught a glimpse, under the churning thrash of the water, of green mossy furand staring eyes. With hardly a pause except to shove Splinter backward andstart a deep breath, she plunged over into the pond. She felt the burning biteof water up her nostrils and grappled in the murky darkness for Doovie—feelingagain and again the thrash of small limbs that slipped away before she couldgrasp them.
Then she was choking and sputtering on the edge of the pond, pushing thestill-struggling Doovie up and over. Splinter grabbed him and pulled as Serenaheaved herself over the edge of the pond and fell sprawling across Doovie.'
Then she heard another higher, shriller scream and was shoved off Doovieviciously and Doovie was snatched up into rose pink arms. Serena pushed herlank, dripping hair out of her eyes and met the hostile glare of the rose pinkeyes of Doovie's mother.
Serena edged over to Splinter and held him close, her eyes intent on theLinjeni. The pink mother felt the green child all over anxiously and Serenanoticed with an odd detachment that Splinter hadn't mentioned that Doovie'seyes matched his fur and that he had webbed feet.
Webbed feet! She began to laugh, almost hysterically. Oh Lordy! No wonderDoovie's mother was so alarmed.
"Can you talk to Doovie?" asked Serena of the sobbing Splinter.
"No!" wailed Splinter. "You don't have to talk to play."
"Stop crying, Splinter," said Serena. "Help me think. Doovie's motherthinks we were trying to hurt Doovie. He wouldn't drown in the water.Remember, he can close his nose and fold up his ears. How are we going to tellhis mother we weren't trying to hurt him?"
"Well," Splinter scrubbed his cheeks with the back of his hand. "We couldhug him—"
"That wouldn't do, Splinter," said Serena, noticing with near panic thatother brightly colored figures were moving among the shrubs, drawingcloser—"I'm afraid she won't let us touch him."
Briefly she toyed with the idea of turning and trying to get back to thefence, then she took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
"Let's play-like, Splinter," she said. "Let's show Doovie's mother that wethought he was drowning. You go fall in the pond and I'll pull you out. Youplay-like drowned and I'll—I'll cry."
"Gee, Mommie, you're crying already!" said Splinter, his face puckering.
"I'm just practicing," she said, steadying her voice. "Go on."
Splinter hesitated on the edge of the pond, shrinking away from the waterthat had fascinated him so many times before. Serena screamed suddenly, andSplinter, startled, lost his balance and fell in. Serena had hold of himalmost before he went under water and pulled him out, cramming as much of fearand apprehension into her voice and actions as she could. "Be dead," shewhispered fiercely. "Be dead all over!" And Splinter melted so completely inher arms that her moans and cries of sorrow were only partly make-believe. Shebent over his still form and rocked to and fro in her grief.
A hand touched her arm and she looked up into the bright eyes of theLinjeni. The look held for a long moment and then the Linjeni smiled, showingeven, white teeth, and a pink, furry hand patted Splinter on the shoulder. Hiseyes flew open and he sat up. Doovie peered around from behind his mother andthen he and Splinter were rolling and tumbling together, wrestling happilybetween the two hesitant mothers. Serena found a shaky laugh somewhere inamong her alarms and Doovie's mother whistled softly with her nose.
That night, Thorn cried out in his sleep and woke Serena. She lay in thedarkness, her constant prayer moving like a candle flame in her mind. Shecrept out of bed and checked Splinter in his shadowy room. Then she knelt and
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opened the bottom drawer of Splinter's chest-robe. She ran her hand over the
gleaming folds of the length of Linjeni material that lay there—the material
the Linjeni had found to wrap her in while her clothes dried. She had given
them her lacy slip in exchange. Her fingers read the raised pattern in the
dark, remembering how beautiful it was in the afternoon sun. Then the sun was
gone and she saw a black ship destroyed, a home craft plunging to incandescent
death, and the pink and green and yellow and all the other bright furs
charring and crisping and the patterned materials curling before the last
flare of flame. She leaned her head on her hand and shuddered.
But then she saw the glitter of a silver ship, blackening and fusing,
dripping monstrously against the emptiness of space. And heard the wail of a
fatherless Splinter so vividly that she shoved the drawer in hastily and went
back to look at his quiet sleeping face and to tuck him unnecessarily in.
When she came back to bed, Thorn was awake, lying on his back, his elbows
winging out.
"Awake?" she asked as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Yes." His voice was tense as the twang of a wire. "We're getting nowhere,"
he said. "Both sides keep holding up neat little hoops of ideas, but no one is
jumping through, either way. We want peace, but we can't seem to convey
anything to them. They want something, but they haven't said what, as though
to tell us would betray them irrevocably into our hands, but they won't make
peace unless they can get it. Where do we go from here?"
"If they'd just go away—" Rena swung her feet up onto the bed and clasped
her slender ankles with both hands.
'That's one thing we've established." Thorn's voice was bitter, "They won't
go. They're here to stay—like it or not."
"Thorn—" Rena spoke impulsively into the shadowy silence. "Why don't we
just make them welcome? Why can't we just say, 'Come on in!' They're travelers
from afar. Can't we be hospitable—"
"You talk as though the afar was just the next county—or state!" Thorn
tossed impatiently on the pillow.
"Don't tell me we're back to that old equation— Stranger equals Enemy,"
said Rena, her voice sharp with strain. "Can't we assume they're friendly? Go
visit with them—talk with them casually—"
"Friendly!" Thorn shot upright from the tangled bedclothes. "Go visit!
Talk!" His voice choked off. Then carefully calmly he went on. "Would you care
to visit with the widows of our men who went to visit the friendly Linjeni?
Whose ships dripped out of the sky without warning—"
"Theirs did, too." Rena's voice was small but stubborn. "With no more
warning than we had. Who shot first? You must admit no one knows for sure."
There was a tense silence; then Thorn lay down slowly, turned his back to
Serena and spoke no more.
"Now I can't ever tell," mourned Serena into her crumpled pillow. "He'd die
if he knew about the hole under the fence."
In the days that followed, Serena went every afternoon with Splinter and
the hole under the fence got larger and larger.
Doovie's mother, whom Splinter called Mrs. Pink, was teaching Serena to
embroider the rich materials like the length they had given her. In exchange,
Serena was teaching Mrs. Pink how to knit. At least, she started to teach her.
She got as far as purl and knit, decrease and increase, when Mrs. Pink took
the work from her, and Serena sat widemouthed at the incredible speed and
accuracy of Mrs. Pink's furry fingers. She felt a little silly for having
assumed that the Linjeni didn't know about knitting. And yet, the other
Linjeni crowded around and felt of the knitting and exclaimed over it in their
soft, fluty voices as though they'd never seen any before. The little ball of
wool Serena had brought was soon used up, but Mrs. Pink brought out hanks of
heavy thread such as were split and used in their embroidery, and after a
glance through Serena's pattern book, settled down to knitting the shining
brilliance of Linjeni thread.
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Before long, smiles and gestures, laughter and whistling, were not enough,
Serena sought out the available tapes—a scant handful—on Linjeni speech and
learned them. They didn't help much since the vocabulary wasn't easily applied
to the matters she wanted to discuss with Mrs. Pink and the others. But the
day she voiced and whistled her first Linjeni sentence to Mrs. Pink, Mrs. Pink
stumbled through her first English sentence. They laughed and whistled
together and settled down to pointing and naming and guessing across areas of
incommunication.
Serena felt guilty by the end of the week. She and Splinter were having so
much fun and Thorn was wearier and wearier at each session's end.
"They're impossible," he said bitterly, one night, crouched forward tensely
on the edge of his easy chair. "We can't pin them down to anything."
"What do they want?" asked Serena. "Haven't they said yet?"
"I shouldn't talk—" Thorn sank back in his chair. "Oh what does it matter?"
he asked wearily. "It'll all come to nothing anyway!"
"Oh, no, Thorn!" cried Serena. "They're reasonable human—" she broke off at
Thorn's surprised look. "Aren't they?" she stammered. "Aren't they?"
"Human? They're uncommunicative, hostile aliens," he said. "We talk
ourselves blue in the face and they whistle at one another and say yes or no.
Just that, flatly."
"Do they understand—" began Serena.
"We have interpreters, such as they are. None too good, but all we have."
"Well, what are they asking?" asked Serena.
Thorn laughed shortly. "So far as we've been able to ascertain, they just
want all our oceans and the land contiguous thereto."
"Oh, Thorn, they couldn't be that unreasonable!"
"Well I'll admit we aren't even sure that's what they mean, but they keep
coming back to the subject of the oceans, except they whistle rejection when
we ask them point-blank if it's the oceans they want. There's just no
communication." Thorn sighed heavily. "You don't know them like we do, Rena."
"No," said Serena, miserably. "Not like you do."
She took her disquiet, Splinter, and a picnic basket down the hill to the
hole next day. Mrs. Pink had shared her lunch with them the day before, and
now it was Serena's turn. They sat on the grass together, Serena crowding back
her unhappiness to laugh at Mrs. Pink and her first olive with the same
friendly amusement Mrs. Pink had shown when Serena had bit down on her first
pirwit and had been afraid to swallow it and ashamed to spit it out.
Splinter and Doovie were agreeing over a thick meringued lemon pie that was
supposed to be dessert.
"Leave the pie alone, Splinter," said Serena. "It's to top off on."
"We're only tasting the fluffy stuff," said Splinter, a blob of meringue on
his upper lip bobbing as he spoke.
"Well, save your testing for later. Why don't you get out the eggs. I'll
bet Doovie isn't familiar with them either."
Splinter rummaged in the basket, and Serena took out the huge camp salt
shaker.
"Here they are, Mommie!" cried Splinter. "Lookit, Doovie, first you have to
crack the shell—"
Serena began initiating Mrs. Pink into the mysteries of hard-boiled eggs
and it was all very casual and matter of fact until she sprinkled the peeled
egg with salt. Mrs. Pink held out her cupped hand and Serena sprinkled a
little salt into it. Mrs. Pink tasted it.
She gave a low whistle of astonishment and tasted again. Then she reached
tentatively for the shaker. Serena gave it to her, amused. Mrs. Pink shook
more into her hand and peered through the holes in the cap of the shaker.
Serena unscrewed the top and showed Mrs. Pink the salt inside it.
For a long minute Mrs. Pink stared at the white granules and then she
whistled urgently, piercingly. Serena shrank back, bewildered, as every bush
seemed to erupt Linjeni. They crowded around Mrs. Pink, staring into the
shaker, jostling one another, whistling softly. One scurried away and brought
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back a tall jug of water. Mrs. Pink slowly and carefully emptied the salt fromher hand into the water and then upended the shaker. She stirred the waterwith a branch someone snatched from a bush. After the salt was dissolved, allthe Linjeni around them lined up with cupped hands. Each received—as though itwere a sacrament—a handful of salt water. And they all, quickly, not to lose adrop, lifted the handful of water to their faces and inhaled, breathingdeeply, deeply of the salty solution.
Mrs. Pink was last, and, as she raised her wet face from her cupped hands,the gratitude in her eyes almost made Serena cry. And the dozens of Linjenicrowded around, each eager to press a soft forefinger to Serena's cheek, athank-you gesture Splinter was picking up already.
When the crowd melted into the shadows again, Mrs. Pink sat down, fondlingthe salt shaker.
"Salt," said Serena, indicating the shaker.
"Shreeprill," said Mrs. Pink.
"Shreeprill?" said Serena, her stumbling tongue robbing the word of itsliquidness. Mrs. Pink nodded.
"Shreeprill good?" asked Serena, groping for an explanation for the justfinished scene.
"Shreeprill good," said Mrs. Pink. "No shreeprill, no Linjeni baby.Doovie—Doovie—" she hesitated, groping. "One Doovie—no baby." She shook herhead, unable to bridge the gap.
Serena groped after an idea she had almost caught from Mrs. Pink. Shepulled up a handful of grass. "Grass," she said. She pulled another handful."More grass. More. More." She added to the pile.
Mrs. Pink looked from the grass to Serena.
"No more Linjeni baby. Doovie—" She separated the grass into piles. "Baby,baby, baby—" she counted down to the last one, lingering tenderly over it"Doovie."
"Oh," said Serena, "Doovie is the last Linjeni baby? No more?"
Mrs. Pink studied the words and then she nodded. "Yes, yes! No more. Noshreeprill, no baby."
Serena felt a flutter of wonder. Maybe—maybe this is what the war was over.Maybe they just wanted salt. A world to them. Maybe—
"Salt, shreeprill," she said. "More, more more shreeprill, Linjeni gohome?"
"More more more shreeprill, yes," said Mrs. Pink. "Go home, no. No home.Home no good. No water, no shreeprill."
"Oh," said Serena. Then thoughtfully, "More Linjeni? More, more, more?"
Mrs. Pink looked at Serena and in the sudden silence the realization that they were, after all, members of enemy camps flared between them. Serena triedto smile. Mrs. Pink looked over at Splinter and Doovie who were happilysampling everything in the picnic basket. Mrs. Pink relaxed, and then shesaid, "No more Linjeni." She gestured toward the crowded landing field."Linjeni." She pressed her hands, palm to palm, her shoulders sagging. "Nomore Linjeni."
Serena sat dazed, thinking what this would mean to Earth's High Command. Nomore Linjeni of the terrible, devastating weapons. No more than those that hadlanded—no waiting alien world ready to send reinforcements when these shipswere gone. When these were gone—no more Linjeni. All that Earth had to do nowwas wipe out these ships, taking the heavy losses that would be inevitable,and they would win the war— and wipe out a race.
The Linjeni must have come seeking asylum—or demanding it. Neighbors whowere afraid to ask—or hadn't been given time to ask. How had the war started?Who fired upon whom? Did anyone know?
Serena took uncertainty home with her, along with the empty picnic basket.Tell, tell, tell, whispered her feet through the grass up the hill. Tell andthe war will end. But how? she cried out to herself. By wiping them out orgiving them a home? Which? Which?
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Kill, kill, kill grated her feet across the graveled patio edge. Kill the
aliens—no common ground—not human —all our hallowed dead.
But what about their hallowed dead? All falling, the flaming ships—the
homeseekers—the dispossessed—the childless?
Serena settled Splinter with a new puzzle and a picture book and went into
the bedroom. She sat on the bed and stared at herself in the mirror.
But give them salt water and they'll increase—all our oceans, even if they
said they didn't want them. Increase and increase and take the world—push us
out —trespass—oppress—
But their men—our men. They've been meeting for over a week and can't
agree. Of course they can't! They're afraid of betraying themselves to each
other. Neither knows anything about the other, really. They aren't trying to
find out anything really important. I'll bet not one of our men know the
Linjeni can close their noses and fold their ears. And not one of the Linjeni
knows we sprinkle their life on our food.
Serena had no idea how long she sat there, but Splinter finally found her
and insisted on supper and then Serena insisted on bed for him.
She was nearly mad with indecision when Thorn finally got home.
"Well," he said, dropping wearily into his chair. "It's almost over."
"Over!" cried Serena, hope flaring, "Then you've reached—"
"Stalemate, impasse," said Thorn heavily. "Our meeting tomorrow is the
last. One final 'no' from each side and it's over. Back to bloodletting."
"Oh, Thorn, no!" Serena pressed her clenched fist to her mouth. "We can't
kill any more of them! It's inhuman—it's—"
"It's self-defense," Thorn's voice was sharp with exasperated displeasure.
"Please, not tonight, Rena. Spare me your idealistic ideas. Heaven knows we're
inexperienced enough in warlike negotiations without having to cope with
suggestions that we make cute pets out of our enemies. We're in a war and
we've got it to win. Let the Linjeni get a wedge in and they'll swarm the
Earth like flies!"
"No, no!" whispered Serena, her own secret fears sending the tears flooding
down her face. "They wouldn't! They wouldn't! Would they?"
Long after Thorn's sleeping breath whispered in the darkness beside her,she lay awake, staring at the invisible ceiling. Carefully she put the wordsup before her on the slate of the darkness.
Tell—the war will end.
Either we will help the Linjeni—or wipe them out. Don't tell. The
conference will break up. The war will goon.
We will have heavy losses—and wipe the Linjeni out.
Mrs. Pink trusted me.
Splinter loves Doovie. Doovie loves him.
Then the little candle flame of prayer that had so nearly burned out in hertorment flared brightly again and she slept.
Next morning she sent Splinter to play with Doovie. "Play by the goldfish
pond," she said. "I'll be along soon."
"Okay, Mommie," said Splinter. "Will you bring some cake?" Slyly, "Doovie
isn't a-miliar with cake."
Serena laughed. "A certain little Splinter is a-miliar with cake, though!
You run along, greedy!" And she boosted him out of the door with a slap on the
rear.
" 'By, Mommie," he called back.
" 'By, dear. Be good."
"I will."
Serena watched until he disappeared down the slope of the hill, then she
smoothed her hair and ran her tongue over her lips. She started for the
bedroom, but turned suddenly and went to the front door. If she had to face
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even her own eyes, her resolution would waver and dissolve. She stood, hand onknob, watching the clock inch around until an interminable fifteen minutes hadpassed—Splinter safely gone—then she snatched the door open and left.
Her smile took her out of the Quarters Area to the Administration Building.Her brisk assumption of authority and destination took her to the conferencewing and there her courage failed her. She. lurked out of sight of the guards,almost wringing her hands in indecision. Then she straightened the set of herskirt, smoothed her hair, dredged a smile up from some hidden source ofstrength, and tiptoed out into the hall.
She felt like a butterfly pinned to the wall by the instant unwinkingattention of the guards. She gestured silence with a finger to her lips andtiptoed up to them.
"Hello, Turner. Hi, Franiveri," she whispered.
The two exchanged looks and Turner said hoarsely, "You aren't supposed tobe here, ma'am. Better go."
"I know I'm not," she said, looking guilty—with no effort at all. "ButTurner, I—I just want to see a Linjeni." She hurried on before Turner's openmouth could form a word. "Oh, I've seen pictures of them, but I'd like awfullyto see a real one. Can't I have even one little peek?" She slipped closer tothe door. "Look!" she cried softly, "It's even ajar a little already!"
"Supposed to be," rasped Turner. "Orders. But ma'am, we can't—""Just one peek?" she pleaded, putting her thumb in the crack of the door."I won't make a sound." She coaxed the door open a little farther, her hand creeping inside,
fumbling for the knob, the little button.
"But ma'am, you couldn't see 'em from here anyway."
Quicker than thought, Serena jerked the door open and darted in, pushingthe little button and slamming the door to with what seemed to her a thunderthat vibrated through the whole building. Breathlessly, afraid to think, shesped through the anteroom and into the conference room. She came to a scaredskidding stop, her hands tight on the back of a chair, every eye in the roomon her. Thorn, almost unrecognizable in his armor of authority and severity,stood up abruptly.
"Serena!" he said, his voice cracking with incredulity. Then he sat downagain, hastily.
Serena circled the table, refusing to meet the eyes that bored intoher—blue eyes, brown eyes, black eyes, yellow eyes, green eyes, lavender eyes.She turned at the foot of the table and looked fearfully up the shining expanse.
"Gentlemen," her voice was almost inaudible. She cleared her throat."Gentlemen." She saw General Worsham getting ready to speak—his face harshlyunfamiliar with the weight of his position. She pressed her hands to thepolished table and leaned forward hastily.
"You're going to quit, aren't you? You're giving up!" The translators bentto their mikes and their lips moved to hers. "What have you been talking aboutall this time? Guns? Battles? Casualty lists?We'll-do-this-to-you-if-you-do-that-to-us? I don't know! . . ." she cried,shaking her head tightly, almost shuddering, "… I don't know what goes on athigh level conference tables. All I know is that I've been teaching Mrs. Pinkto knit, and how to cut a lemon pie . . ." she could see the bewilderedinterpreters thumbing their manuals ". . . and already I know why they're hereand what they want!" Pursing her lips, she half-whistled, half-trilled in herhalting Linjeni, "Doovie baby. No more Linjeni babies!"
One of the Linjeni started at Doovie's name and stood up slowly,his lavender bulk towering over the table. Serena saw the interpretersthumbing frantically again. She knew they were looking for a translation ofthe Linjeni "baby." Babies had no place in a military conference.
The Linjeni spoke slowly, but Serena shook her head. "I don't know enoughLinjeni."
There was a whisper at her shoulder. "What do you know of Doovie?" And a
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pair of earphones were pushed into her hands. She adjusted them with trembling
fingers. Why were they letting her talk? Why was General Worsham sitting there
letting her break into the conference like this?
"I know Doovie," she said breathlessly. "I know Doovie's mother, too.
Doovie plays with Splinter, my son— my little son." She , twisted her fingers,
dropping her head at the murmur that arose around the table. The Linjeni spoke
again and the metallic murmur of the earphones gave her the translation. "What
is the color of Doovie's mother?"
"Pink," said Serena.
Again the scurry for a word—pink—pink. Finally Serena turned up the hem of
her skirt and displayed the hem of her slip—rose pink. The Linjeni sat down
again, nodding.
"Serena," General Worsham spoke as quietly as though it were just another
lounging evening in the patio. "What do you want?"
Serena's eyes wavered and then her chin lifted.
"Thorn said today would be the last day. That it was to be 'no' on both
sides. That we and the Linjeni have no common meeting ground, no basis for
agreement on anything."
"And you think we have?" General Worsham's voice cut gently through the
stir at the naked statement of thoughts and attitudes so carefully concealed.
"I know we do. Our alikenesses outweigh our differences so far that it's
just foolish to sit here all this time, shaking our differences at each other
and not finding out a thing about our likenesses. We are fundamentally the
same—the same—" she faltered. "Under God we are all the same." And she knew
with certainty that the translators wouldn't find God's name in their books.
"I think we ought to let them eat our salt and bread and make them welcome!"
She half smiled and said, "The word for salt is shreeprill."
There was a smothered rush of whistling from the Linjeni, and the lavender
Linjeni half rose from his chair but subsided.
General Worsham glanced at the Linjeni speculatively and pursed his lips.
"But there are ramifications—" he began.
"Ramifications!" spat Serena. "There are no ramifications that can't
resolve themselves if two peoples really know each other!"
She glanced around the table, noting with sharp relief that Thorn's face
had softened.
"Come with me!" she urged. "Come and see Doovie and Splinter
together—Linjeni young and ours, who haven't learned suspicion and fear and
hate and prejudice yet. Declare a—a—recess or a truce or whatever is necessary
and come with me. After you see the children and see Mrs. Pink knitting and we
talk this matter over like members of a family—Well, if you still think you
have to fight after that, then—" she spread her hands.
Her knees shook so as they started downhill that Thorn had to help her
walk.
"Oh, Thorn," she whispered, almost sobbing. "I didn't think they would. I
thought they'd shoot me or lock me up or—"
"We don't want war. I told you that," he murmured. "We're ready to grab at
straws, even in the guise of snippy females who barge in on solemn councils
and display their slips!" Then his lips tightened. "How long has this been
going on?"
"For Splinter, a couple of weeks. For me, a little more than a week."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried—twice. You wouldn't listen. I was too scared to insist. Besides,
you know what your reaction would have been."
Thorn had no words until they neared the foot of the hill, then he said,
"How come you know so much? What makes you think you can solve—"
Serena choked back a hysterical laugh. "I took eggs to a picnic!"
And then they were standing, looking down at the hole under the fence.
"Splinter found the way," Serena defended. "I made it bigger, but you'll
have to get down—flat."
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She dropped to the sand and wiggled under. She crouched on the other side,
her knees against her chest, her clasped hands pressed against her mouth, and
waited. There was a long minute of silence and then a creak and a grunt and
Serena bit her lips as General Worsham inched under the fence, flat on the
sand, catching and jerking free halfway through. But her amusement changed to
admiration as she realized that even covered with dust, scrambling awkwardly
to his feet and beating his rumpled clothing, he possessed dignity and
strength that made her deeply thankful that he was the voice of Earth in this
time of crisis.
One by one the others crawled under, the Linjeni sandwiched between the
other men and Thorn bringing up the rear. Motioning silence, she led them to
the thicket of bushes that screened one side of the goldfish pond.
Doovie and Splinter were leaning over the edge of the pond.
'There it is!" cried Splinter, leaning perilously and pointing. "Way down
there on the bottom and it's my best marble. Would your Mommie care if you got
it for me?"
Doovie peered down. "Marble go in water."
"That's what I said," cried Splinter impatiently. "And you can shut your
nose …" he put his finger to the black, glistening button ". , . and fold
your ears," he flicked them with his forefinger and watched them fold. "Gee!"
he said admiringly. "I wish I could do that."
"Doovie go in water?" asked Doovie.
"Yes," nodded Splinter. "It's my good taw, and you won't even have to put
on swimming trunks—you got fur."
Doovie shucked out of his brief clothing and slid down into the pond. He
bobbed back up, his hand clenched.
"Gee, thanks." Splinter held out his hand and Doovie carefully turned his
hand over and Splinter closed his. Then he shrieked and flung his hand out.
"You mean old thing!" yelled Splinter. "Give me my marble! That was a slippy
old fish!" he leaned over, scuffling, trying to reach Doovie's other hand.
There was a slither and a splash and Splinter and Doovie disappeared under the
water.
Serena caught her breath and had started forward when Doovie's anxious face
bobbed to the surface again. He yanked and tugged at the sputtering, coughing
Splinter and tumbled him out onto the grass. Doovie squatted by Splinter,
patting his back and alternately whistling dolefully through his nose and
talking apologetic-sounding Linjeni.
Splinter coughed and dug his fists into his eyes.
"Golly, golly!" he said, spatting his hands against his wet jersey.
"Mommie'll sure be mad. My clean clothes all wet. Where's my marble, Doovie?"
Doovie scrambled to his feet and went back to the pond. Splinter started to
follow, then he cried. "Oh, Doovie, where did that poor little fish go? It'll
die if it's out of the water. My guppy did."
"Fish?" asked Doovie.
"Yes," said Splinter, holding out his hand as he searched the grass with
intent eyes. "The slippy little fish that wasn't my marble."
The two youngsters scrambled around in the grass until Doovie whistled and
cried out triumphantly, "Fish!" and scooped it up in his hands and rushed it
back to the pond.
"There," said Splinter. "Now it won't die. Looky, it's swimming away!"
Doovie slid into the pond again and retrieved the lost marble.
"Now," said Splinter. "Watch me and I'll show you how to shoot."
The bushes beyond the two absorbed boys parted and Mrs. Pink stepped out.
She smiled at the children and then she saw the silent group on the other side
of the clearing. Her eyes widened and she gave an astonished whistle. The two
boys looked up and followed the direction of her eyes.
"Daddy!" yelled Splinter. "Did you come to play?" And he sped, arms
outstretched, to Thorn, arriving only a couple of steps ahead of Doovie who
was whistling excitedly and rushing to greet the tall lavender Linjeni.
Serena felt a sudden choke of laughter at how alike Thorn and the Linjeni
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looked, trying to greet their offspring adequately and still retain theirdignity.
Mrs. Pink came hesitantly to the group to stand in the circle of Serena'sarm. Splinter had swarmed up Thorn, hugged him with thoroughness and slid downagain. "Hi, General Worsham!" he said, extending a muddy hand in a belatedremembrance of his manners. "Hey, Daddy, I'm showing Doovie how to playmarbles, but you can shoot better'n I can. You come show him how."
"Well—" said Thorn, glancing uncomfortably at General Worsham.
General Worsham was watching the Linjeni as Doovie whistled and fluted overa handful of bright-colored glassies. He quirked an eyebrow at Thorn and thenat the rest of the group.
"I suggest a recess," he said. "In order that we may examine new mattersthat have been brought to our attention."
Serena felt herself getting all hollow inside, and she turned her face awayso Mrs. Pink wouldn't see her cry. But Mrs. Pink was too interested in thecolorful marbles to see Serena's gathering, hopeful tears.
Something Bright
Do you remember the Depression? That black shadow across time? That hurtingplace in the consciousness of the world? Maybe not. Maybe it's like asking doyou remember the Dark Ages. Except what would I know about the price of eggsin the Dark Ages? I knew plenty about prices in the Depression.
If you had a quarter—first find your quarter—and five hungry kids, youcould supper them on two cans of soup and a loaf of day-old bread, or twoquarts of milk and a loaf of day-old bread. It was filling—in an afterthoughtykind of way—nourishing. But if you were one of the hungry five, you eventuallybegan to feel erosion set in, and your teeth ached for substance.
But to go back to eggs. Those were a precious commodity. You savored themslowly or gulped them eagerly —unmistakably as eggs—boiled or fried. That'sone reason why I remember Mrs. Klevity. She had eggs for breakfast! And everyday! That's one reason why I remember Mrs. Klevity.
I didn't know about the eggs the time she came over to see Mom, who hadjust got home from a twelve-hour day, cleaning up after other people at thirtycents an hour. Mrs. Klevity lived in the same court as we did. Courtesy calledit a court because we were all dependent on the same shower house and twotoilets that occupied the shack square in the middle of the court.
All of us except the Big House, of course. It had a bathroom of its own andeven a radio blaring "Nobody's Business" and "Should I Reveal" and had ceilinglights that didn't dangle nakedly at the end of a cord. But then it reallywasn't a part of the court. Only its back door shared our area, and even thatwas different. It had two back doors in the same frame—a screen one and a wooden one!
Our own two-room place had a distinction, too. It had an upstairs. One roomthe size of our two. The Man Upstairs lived up there. He was mostly only thesound of footsteps overhead and an occasional cookie for Danna.
Anyway, Mrs. Klevity came over before Mom had time to put her shopping bagof work clothes down or even to unpleat the folds of fatigue that dragged herface down ten years or more of time to come. I didn't much like Mrs. Klevity.She made me uncomfortable. She was so solid and slow-moving and so nearlyblind that she peered frighteningly wherever she went. She stood in thedoorway as though she had been stacked there like bricks and a dress drawnhastily down over the stack and a face sketched on beneath a fuzz of hair. Uskids all gathered around to watch, except Danna who snuffled wearily into myneck. Day nursery or not, it was a long, hard day for a four-year-old.
"I wondered if one of your girls could sleep at my house this week." Hervoice was as slow as her steps.
"At your house?" Mom massaged her hand where the shopping bag handles hadcrisscrossed it. "Come in. Sit down." We had two chairs and a bench and two
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apple boxes. The boxes scratched bare legs, but surely they couldn't scratch a
stack of bricks.
"No, thanks." Maybe she couldn't bend! "My husband will be away several
days and I don't like to be in the house alone at night."
"Of course," said Mom. "You must feel awfully alone."
The only aloneness she knew, what with five kids and two rooms, was the
taut secretness of her inward thoughts as she mopped and swept and ironed in
other houses. "Sure, one of the girls would be glad to keep you company."
There was a darting squirm and LaNell was safely hidden behind the swaying of
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