Native Tongue

Chapter Seventeen

Nazareth could not have said precisely when her personal involvement with Jordan Shannontry began. She had never had a flirtation, never even a “crush,” and there had been no opportunity for her to learn anything about romance from her husband. One day Jordan was simply her informal backup on duty, always courteous, always as helpful as his limited knowledge of REM34 allowed him to be. And then without any transition that she could identify he was something more, and she found herself always in a kind of breathlessness next to him. Her eyes went more and more to his strong hands as they turned the pages of his books and worked deftly with the microfiches; she knew those hands so intimately that she could see them with her eyes tightly closed… the texture of the skin and its color, the elegance of the joints, the haze of dark soft hair, the bend of the wrists. All of it seemed to her to have an endless fascination so that she could never tire of exploring it again; and when his hands touched her, accidentally or in the course of their joint duties, she went absolutely still, as a rabbit freezes when the owl swoops down upon it. Presumably, this was the “love” about which she had heard so much… she had no real way of knowing. And the negotiations dragged on and on.

Jordan was kind, and that was probably her downfall. She wasn’t accustomed to kindness from men, and had rarely encountered it. The men of her Household, in the brief bits of time they had with her, were simply correct; and she had never had any contact with other men except as an interpreter. The interpreter was paid no more attention than a business machine, especially if she was a woman; after all, as Thomas said so frequently, a circuit will carry any message you want to send over it, but you do not assume from that fact that it understands what you have said. It was his standard response to accusations that the linguists allowed their women to take part in affairs properly reserved for men.

As for small girls interpreting, or women past thirty… they were invisible. Nazareth much doubted that the men they worked with even knew they existed for more than a few seconds at the beginning and end of each negotiation. They disappeared from the male consciousness in just the same way that the miniature earphones — so annoying to the wearer for an instant or two after they were inserted — faded out of awareness.

Jordan Shannontry not only treated her kindly, he paid her compliments. He had remarked once on the tasteful arrangement of her hair. He had mentioned that she had a lovely throat. A lovely throat! On a very bad day, when nothing at all went right and every one of the men at the table was cross and on a nervous hair trigger, Jordan had brought in a yellow rose and laid it across her dictionary. No one had ever given Nazareth a rose before, not even on her wedding day. When she looked at him now, she could scarcely breathe for the thudding of her heart, and since that could well have interfered with her effectiveness as interpreter she was careful not to look at him. Only at his hands; she allowed herself that. She had thrown the yellow rose away, rather than chance its being found no matter how carefully she tried to hide it; there was no way that she could have explained how she had come to have it in her possession.

The day came, as it inevitably had to come, when there was only one more session of negotiations left, one more day when they would sit side by side in the interpreter’s booth. She knew she wouldn’t see him again afterward unless she made some sort of effort herself. What sort, she had no idea… she had heard of “affairs” but was completely ignorant of how they were initiated. One thing she was dead certain of — whatever was done would be done by the man in the situation, not the woman. But surely she had to let him know that she was willing?

She did not let the word “adultery” come into her mind, adultery being an offense second only to murder… she had a feeling that within the Lines it might well be considered more serious than murder. She had gone no further in her imagination than lying in Jordan’s arms, both of them fully and decorously clothed, and perhaps talking together… perhaps his lips might touch her hair. So far, and no further.

All that last day she thought, whenever she was not actually interpreting; but no graceful stratagem came to her, and as the hours passed and she knew that if she didn’t act she would never have another opportunity her anxiety became panic. And that was how it happened that she found herself, walking down the corridor behind her escort to the government car with Jordan beside her, turning suddenly to him and reaching up to whisper into his ear “I love you, Jordan, I love you so very very much!” And then running. Running full tilt past the flabbergasted government aide, and almost leaping into the car. Slamming the door behind her, praying that the driver would hurry.

“Something wrong, Mrs. Chornyak?” the man said when he reached the car. “Never saw a lady linguist take off like that before, I must say. You all right?”

“A little sick at my stomach,” she managed. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” he said. “We’ll get you home, then.”

She waited through that afternoon, having no idea what might happen next, alternately wishing she had done nothing at all and wishing she had done far more, wishing there were someone she could talk to and knowing there was nobody she trusted that much. And it would not be fair, even if she had had someone; whoever it was, by her telling she would have implicated them in what she was about to do. She would not do that.

Every soft signal from the comset made her jump, but none of the calls was for her. And then, a few, minutes after eight o’clock, Rachel found her out in the gardens and told her that Thomas wanted to see her in his office.

“Oh, damn,” said Nazareth, “I’m in no mood to hear about the next contract, or whatever complaints there are on this one, or whatever else Father has to talk about!”

“Really.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m worn out.”

“Nazareth, your father didn’t ask me to come find out if you were willing to go to the office. You know that. He sent me to tell you he was waiting for you there. Please don’t trouble me with your nonsense.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. It was rude of me… I guess I really am tired.”

“No doubt you are,” said Rachel calmly, and went on about her business, saying only, “Don’t keep Thomas waiting now, dear; he doesn’t like that.”

No, he didn’t; that was true. Whatever he wanted, the longer she put off hearing about it the more unpleasant it would be, and so she hurried.

When she opened the door of the room set aside for the Head of the Household, her father was at his desk, as she had anticipated. But she had not been expecting to see Aaron there with him, sitting in the armchair, nor was she expecting the bottle of wine open and already half-empty on the desk. She stopped in the doorway, surprised, and Thomas motioned to her to let the door close and join them.

“Sit down, my dear,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Nazareth was wary instantly; they both had that satisfied expression that went with some new and delightful project that would mean endless annoyance for her but carried some advantage for them. What had they scheduled her for now? Aaron wore an expression that could only be described as a smirk; it had to be something he was really confident she would detest.

“Nice to see you, Natha,” he said, all cordiality and cooing welcome. “You do look lovely.”

There was a time when Nazareth would have explained to him that the reason she was so grubby was because she’d been out working in the gardens when Rachel came to get her, but she no longer bothered. She kept still, and waited to see what they had for her. Work on a frontier colony, maybe? Someplace that would involve a dozen frantic transfers from one means of transport to another? She detested travel, and they both knew that.

She expected something dreadful, but she did not expect what it turned out to be.

“Nazareth,” her father said, “we had a visitor this afternoon.”

“Nice man,” Aaron put in.

“Indeed he is,” said Thomas. “And a gentleman.”

“Well?” asked Nazareth. “Does it concern me, this gentleman? Or is this just a game and I don’t know the opening move?”

“Nazareth, it was Jordan Shannontry.”

Nazareth went very still. What was this?

“Nazareth? Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard you, Father.”

“Have you anything to say?”

“As you said,” she began, cautiously, so cautiously, “he is a nice man. He’s been very helpful. Not like having a real backup, of course, but still it gives me a break now and then. A hard worker.”

“He had a rather disturbing story to tell me, Nazareth,” Thomas said.

“Oh? He did? Did something go wrong? Nobody spoke to me about it, Father — I didn’t know.”

“It had nothing to do with your professional functions.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing at all.” Thomas poured himself some wine and looked at her over the top of the glass, handing the bottle on to Aaron. “According to Shannontry, you ended your working day today by accosting him in the hall — in public! — and blurting into his ear that you ‘loved him very very much’. And then bolting like a badly trained horse.”

“Oh,” she said again. “Oh.”

“ ‘Oh?’ Is that all you have to say? I assume Shannontry would not make up such a wild hairy tale — but you are my daughter. I’ll listen to you if you care to deny it.”

He watched her, and when she said nothing, stunned into total silence and as unable to move as if she’d been fast-frozen, he went on.

“I thought as much. He was completely at a loss, inasmuch as he is a respectable married man with numerous children, and you are alleged to be a respectable married woman, etc. And inasmuch as he cannot conceive of what made you take such a bizarre notion.”

Finally Nazareth could speak, although the hoarse words were not in a voice she recognized as hers.

“He told you… He actually came here, to this house, and he told you!”

Thomas raised his eyebrows, and Aaron looked even more delighted.

“Certainly,” said Thomas. “What would you have expected the poor man to do?”

“I believe, Thomas,” her husband suggested, “that she thought he’d come climbing up a ladder to her window — figuratively speaking, of course, since what he’d have to do is come down through a tunnel — perhaps with a band of strolling musicians warbling lovesongs. Or send a messenger with a note begging her to flee with him to… oh, to Massachusetts at least.”

“Is that what you expected, Nazareth?” asked Thomas gravely. “Are you that much of a fool?”

She bit her lip and hoped she would die, and he kept on.

“Certainly he came here and told me, and I would have been most surprised if he hadn’t! He is well aware of his obligations as a gentleman — and when something as idiotic as this happens, it is a gentleman’s duty to go tell the female’s father of her ridiculous behavior. In his place, any man of breeding would have done precisely what he did. Did you think he would just ignore it, you utter ninny?”

“I didn’t think he would… tattle!”

Thomas sighed, and exchanged a long look with his son-in-law.

“My dear child,” he said, “that is not a very well-chosen word.”

“It seems to me to be exactly the right word.”

“Well, that’s not bright of you. When a young woman misbehaves in the manner that you took it upon yourself to misbehave this afternoon — and I must tell you, Nazareth that I was very surprised — some responsible person witnessing the incident has to inform the family, so that they can decide what to do about the situation. Since Shannontry was, thank God, the only person who knew precisely what you had done, he had no choice but to tell us himself. And I’m certain it wasn’t pleasant for him.”

“He came here,” Nazareth repeated dully, through the fog of his words, “and he told you, and he told Aaron — ”

“Of course not! God, girl, you leap from one stupidity to another like a goat! He came here and he told me, because I am your father, and the Head of this Household. He did not tell your husband; as is quite proper, he left that unpleasant duty to me.”

Thomas had told Aaron! Her own father! The room wavered and twitched before her eyes like a comset screen with interference; things took on the look of flat cardboard cutouts; she stared fixedly at a point behind Thomas’ head. In her ears a single high tone keened unbearably on and on… This world, she thought. This world. Only a male god could have created this repulsive, abominable world.

“Nazareth!”

She didn’t answer, but the vicious slap of the word caught her attention sufficiently that she raised her head a little and looked at her father; it seemed to her that Aaron’s grin had spread all around her like spilled syrup on a steep floor. It came at her from everywhere.

“Nazareth, Jordan gave me his word, as a gentleman and as a man of the Lines, that he had never given you any reason to assume that he was interested in you other than to the extremely limited extent necessary to allow you to function together in the course of your professional duties. He was shocked, and very saddened to find that a woman of your heritage and alleged good breeding would read improper advances into simple courtesy.”

He gave me a rose, Nazareth thought. He said that my throat was lovely… and he gave me a rose. But she did not tell them that. Perhaps he had not told them that.

“I am equally shocked, Nazareth, and equally saddened. I value the reputation and the honor of this house highly, and it is not pleasant to know that you have no concern for either. To have a Chornyak daughter thrust herself upon a man like a common whore… Nazareth, it leaves me speechless.”

AND WHY DO YOU GO ON TALKING, THEN? It was a scream, but it was silent.

“You must realize that you put a fine man — a fine Christian man — in a most awkward position. You repaid his courtesy to you and to this Household with insult, and you shamed us all. And you laid upon Jordan Shannontry a distasteful obligation — which, to his credit, he carried out at once. If I were cruel enough to tell your mother how you have betrayed your upbringing, it would break her heart — she is a decent God-fearing woman, Nazareth Chornyak Adiness! As we are decent God-fearing people one and all beneath this roof! What, in the name of all that’s holy, could you have been thinking of?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Aaron spoke then, still grinning, hugely pleased. “She’s telling the truth, Thomas,” he said. “She really doesn’t know. You have my word for that, and I am in a position to guarantee its accuracy. Her ignorance is impenetrable, in every sense of the word.”

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME?

It was all she could think of. What would they do to her? Take her away from her children? Make up some story? Put her in an institution as they had poor Belle-Anne, and only last month Adam’s troublesome Gillian? She was too old to whip, and she had no money or privilege to be taken away — what would they do? What could they do? And Aaron… he was the injured husband here, when was he going to begin telling her what filth she was?

Thomas must have been thinking the same thing; he said, “Aaron, do you have anything to say to this fool I seem to have married you to?”

Aaron chuckled, and had some more wine. The bottle was empty.

“Your husband is taking this with remarkable calm, I should mention,” Thomas told her. “I know very few men who would have seen it as he does. And I want him to know that I am impressed by his good sense.”

“Well…” Aaron made a deprecating gesture. “Thomas, you’ll have to admit, it’s really funny.”

FUNNY?

“I’m not sure I see that, son.”

“Well, look at her!” Aaron laughed, waving the hand that wasn’t holding the wineglass. “Can you imagine a man like Jordan Shannontry having any interest in a woman like Nazareth? Come on, Thomas — it’s disgusting, sure, but it’s funny. My daughters would have had better sense, infants that they are, but not Nazareth! No sophistication, her hair any old way, God only knows what she was wearing… no grace, no elegance, no conversation, and as much erotic appeal as your average rice pudding…” He was laughing openly now, the hearty laughter of the grownup who watched the tiny baby do one of those “cute” things suitable only for tiny babies.

“I have a feeling I wouldn’t have been able to muster up your sense of objectivity, Aaron,” Thomas said. “If it had been Rachel, for instance. Not that Rachel would have done anything so ludicrous. Rachel has a sharp tongue, but she is not a fool. And she has managed to read one or two books that weren’t grammars in her lifetime.”

Aaron just shook his head, and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I can just see it,” he said weakly, and did his version of the blushing maiden on tiptoe whispering tender confidence into the bashful lover’s ear. “Oh JORdan,” he bleated in falsetto, “I LUUUV you… very… very… much…” He wiped his eyes again. “Oh my God in heaven, Thomas, it’s funny. It’s so damn funny.”

The corners of Thomas’ mouth moved a little, as if something were tugging at them; and he admitted that in fact it did have its comic aspects.

She sat in her chair, numb, carved of wood. She could not feel anything except the laboring of her heart, and she had no desire to. She sat, as her father first chuckled, and then laughed, and finally as the two men leaned back in their chairs and roared at the magnificent hilarity of it all.

“Nazareth… thinking that Shannontry would…”

“That idiot child… thinking… saying…”

She saw no reason to bear any more of it, but she couldn’t move. Her legs wouldn’t obey her. She sat there while they gasped and laughed and presented one another with ever more elaborate descriptions of what it must have been like when she “accosted” Jordan, what the government men must have thought, how she must have looked as she scuttled for cover, and she was nothing but a bruise twisted round a core of shame; but she couldn’t move.

They did at last stop laughing, after she had decided they never would. Thomas made a quick motion of his fingers, and Aaron nodded, set down his wineglass, and left the room, walking past her without so much as a glance.

“Well, Nazareth,” her father said. “That husband of yours is a remarkable man, I must say.”

He settled himself, and straightened in his chair, and looked at her for just a moment with the smile still on his lips. But when he spoke to her again his voice was cold and hard and there was not even the memory of laughter in it.

“Know this, Nazareth Joanna Chornyak Adiness, daughter of my Household,” he said, as if it were an oath. “Know this. Your husband is a man of enormous tolerance, and enormous good sense, to be able to see the very real humor in this. Jordan Shannontry is a man of honor, and he will put it out of his mind — he has handled it exactly as it should have been handled. I have no intention of making anything more of it, either… because it is nothing at all. But… Nazareth, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“Nobody is angry with you. This isn’t worth our anger. It’s just nonsense, foolish stupid nonsense, and evidence of how extraordinarily stupid you can be. But do not ever let it happen again! Hear me, Nazareth — not ever. You will be sharing a room with your cousin Belle-Anne before you can turn around, if ever I hear even a hint of such a thing again.”

“Yes.”

“All it takes to put you where Belle-Anne is is the signature of two adult males of your Household. Don’t you forget that, girl. You can count on me for one of them — and I believe I can count on Aaron for the other.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, now! I do not mean that if a man comes to me to report that you’ve raped him in the halls of Congress we’ll take action against you! I mean that if I ever hear so much as a hint, so much as a rumor at third hand, so much as a whisper, that you’ve in any least way compromised the honor of this Household and the name of Chornyak… do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder. You appear to understand very little. Ignorant female, how dare you behave like a common street trollop!”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know… one can only wonder what you do know! Now get out of here, and go see if you can think of some way to apologize on your knees to your husband, and a way to demonstrate to him your appreciation for his kindness, which you do not deserve.”

“Yes.”

Somehow, she got out of the room and out of the house and fled into the orchards. Safe in the darkness, she put her arms around an apple tree, clinging to it with all her strength as the world swung and dipped around her. After a little while, she realized that she was saying the litany of the Encodings aloud. Over and over again, like a charm against evil. She had bruised her mouth against the tree’s rough bark.

If they had been angry, if they had punished her, she thought she could have borne it. But they weren’t angry. For all Thomas’ fierce exit speech, words he no doubt felt bound “as a gentleman and a linguist” to flay her with, they hadn’t even been cross. She was like a little child, a very little child, that had soiled itself and admired its handiwork. It was a matter for laughter, not discipline, except that you must fix it firmly in the child’s mind that nice people didn’t do such things. For its own good.

It was nothing at all. If she had had the skill and the leisure to write it all down, and to somehow bring it to pass that men would read it, it would only bore them. What a fuss a woman makes over nothing at all; that is what they would say, and they would forget it at once. And there were no words, not in any language, that she could use to explain to them what it was that had been done to her, that would make them stop and say that it was an awful thing that had been done to her.

Nazareth ran her hands over the tree a last time, and stood up to ready herself to go into the house and face Aaron. Carefully, she brushed every trace of the earth and of the apple tree from her skin and from her clothing. She tidied her hair, and disciplined her face to a mask of false calm. She had no reason to give Aaron Adiness any additional scrap to humiliate her with, and she did not intend to.

Nazareth was never again to feel even the smallest stirring of affection, or even of liking, for any male past toddling age. Not even for her own sons.