Andre Norton - The Science Fiction anthology

“Is that difficult to learn?” he asked, touching the instrument.

“The ulerin is extremely difficult,” the boy said importantly. “It takes years and years of practice. And you’ve got to have the touch to begin with. Not many do. All our family have the touch, my brother Irik most of all. He’s in Barshwat, studying to be a famous musician.”

Clarey looked at the ulerin with unmistakable wistfulness.

“Care to try it?” the boy asked. “But, mind, you have to pay for any bladders you burst.”

“I shall be very careful,” Clarey said, taking the instrument reverently in his hands. He had never touched a musical instrument before—an Earth instrument would have been no less unfamiliar, no more wonderful. Gently he began to pluck and bang and blow, in imitation of the way the boy had done, and, though the sounds that came out didn’t have the same smoothness, still they didn’t fall harshly on his ears. The others stopped talking and listened; it would have been difficult for them to do otherwise, as he was unable to find the muting device.

“Sounds like the death wail of a hix,” Piq sibilated, but he added grudgingly, “Foreigner or not, I have to say this for him—he’s got the touch.”

“Yes, he’s got the touch,” others agreed. “You always can tell.”

Rini smiled at Clarey. “I believe you do. I’ll teach you to play, if you like.”

“I would, very much.” Clarey was about to offer to pay for the lessons; then he remembered that, though this would have been the right thing on Earth, it would be wrong on Damorlan. “If it is not too much trouble,” he finished.

“It’s the kind of trouble I like.” The boy twisted his nose at Clarey. “Sometime you can hide the reserved books for me.”

After the guests had gone, Clarey insisted on helping the women with the putting away. “Well, as long as Embelsira has a pair of brawny arms to help her,” the widow yawned, “I might as well be getting along to my pallet. I seem to get more and more tired these days—old age, I expect. One day I’ll be so tired I’ll never wake up and Embelsira’ll be alone and what’ll she do, poor thing? Who can live on a librarian’s salary? Now, on two librarians’ salaries—”

“Mother,” Embelsira interrupted furiously, “you go to bed!”

She did, hurriedly.

“Don’t worry, Embelsira,” Clarey said. “She will be weaving away for decades yet. Everybody says she’s the best weaver in the district,” he added, to change the subject.

“Yes,” Embelsira said as they gathered all the oddments the guests had left, “she’s been offered a lot of money to go work in Zrig. But she won’t leave Katund; she was born here, and so were her parents.”

“I do not blame her for wanting to stay,” he said. “It’s a very—homelike place.”

She sighed. “To us it is, but I don’t suppose someone who’s city born and bred would feel the same way. I know you won’t let yourself stay buried here forever, and what will I—what will Mother and I ever do without you?”

“It is—very kind of you to say so,” he replied. “I am honored.”

The girl—she was still young enough to be called a girl, though no longer in her first youth—looked up at him. Blue eyes could be pleasing in their way. “Why are you always so stiff, so cold?”

“I am not cold,” he said honestly. “I am—afraid.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of. You’re safe, among friends, no matter what you may have done back where you came from.”

“But I have done nothing back there,” he said. “Nothing at all. Perhaps that is the trouble with me.”

She looked up at him and then away. “Then isn’t it about time you started to do something?”

The next time he went to Barshwat he took a lot of luggage with him, because, besides the artifacts and the flora and fauna, he brought cold pastries for the colonel. The colonel ate one in silence, then said, “Try to get the recipe.”

“By the way,” said Clarey, “the X-T boys made a few mistakes. The bugg isn’t an insect; it’s a bird. And the lule isn’t a bird; it’s a flower. And the paparun isn’t a flower; it’s an insect.”

“Oh, well, I guess they’ll be able to straighten that out,” the colonel said, licking crumbs from his thick fingers. “We do our jobs and they do theirs.” He reached for another pastry.

“Take good care of the bugg,” Clarey said. “He likes his morning seed mixed with milk; his evening seed with wine. His name is Mirti. He’s very tame and affectionate. I—said I was bringing him to my aunt....” He paused. “You are going to take him back alive, aren’t you? You’d get so much more information that way.”

“Wouldn’t dream of hurting a hair—a feather—no, it is a hair, isn’t it?—of the little fellow’s head.”

Clarey looked out of the window at the purple night sky. Then he turned back to the colonel. “I’ve been taking music lessons,” he said defiantly.

“Fine! Every man should have a hobby!”

“But I’ve no music license.”

“Come now, Clarey. You still don’t seem to realize you’re on Damorlan, not Earth. Not a blooded intelligence man yet! There aren’t any guilds on Damorlan, so enjoy yourself.”

“Speaking of that, did you find out about—er—Earthmen and—”

“Yes, I’d meant to drop you a note, but it seemed rather odd information for your aunt to be giving you. It’s absolutely all right, old chap. Go ahead, have your bit of fun.”

Clarey was unreasonably annoyed. “I wasn’t thinking of what you’re thinking. I mean—well, Katund is a village and the native morality is very strict in these matters.”

“Afraid I don’t quite follow you.”

Clarey bit his finger. “Well,” he finally admitted, “the truth of the matter is I’d like to get married.”

The colonel was extremely surprised. “A legal arrangement! Is it absolutely necessary? How about the females that the innkeeper’s so anxious to have you—ah—meet?”

Clarey didn’t know how to explain. “Their standards of cleanliness....” he began, and stopped. Then he started again: “I suppose I’d like a permanent companion.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any real reason why you shouldn’t enter into a legal liaison while you’re here,” said the colonel. “After all, it isn’t as if the two races could interbreed. That could be decidedly awkward. Who’s the lucky little lady?”

“My landlady’s daughter,” Clarey said.

“Your boss, eh? Flying high, aren’t you, old chap?” His massive hand descended on Clarey’s shoulder. Then he grew serious. “Can she cook like her mother?”

“Even better.”

“My boy,” the colonel said solemnly, “you have my unqualified blessing. And when I ask you to save me a piece of the wedding cake, I ask from the heart.”

So, when Clarey went back to Katund, he asked Embelsira to marry him and she accepted. The whole village turned out for the wedding. Clarey managed to take some vocpix of the ceremonies for the X-Ts with a finger unit. I ought to get a handsome wedding present for this, he thought.

And, to his surprise, on the wedding day, an elaborate jewel-studded toilet service did arrive from Barshwat—with the affectionate regards of his aunt, who was too ill to travel. They tie up everything, he thought, but he knew it was a little more than simply remembering to pick up a loose end. The toilet set was vulgar, ostentatious, hideous—obviously selected with loving care and Terrestrial taste.

Everybody in Katund and a lot of people from the surrounding country came to look at it. It seemed to establish his eligibility beyond a doubt. “Never thought ‘Belsira’d do it, and at her age, too,” Piq was heard to comment. “But it looks like she really got herself a catch. What’s a little weakness in the dome-top when there’s money, too?”