Pym_ A Novel - Mat Johnson [61]
Hearing the dismissive nature of that sound, I felt for sure we were denied. Worse, I feared we’d caused offense as well. When I asked for the translation, Pym turned back in my direction and said, “Khun Knee says, ‘Go.’ ” There was no question, from Pym’s deflated manner, who this directive was intended for. Him.
“Make sure to tell them you want a pair of the creatures to come with us. A male and a female,” Nathaniel approached my other ear to coax. Among the crew we had already decided that two would be a good number, since one might be misconstrued as a hoax or a genetic anomaly. Apparently, Nathaniel’s current manner seemed too forceful, because Arthur Pym leaned in with his own whisper to me soon after.
“Would you like the guards to discipline them? The Tekelians can be quite … vigorous when motivated,” he said, rubbing an unseen knot in the corner of his balding head that I assume proved this point.
“No thanks,” I said and turned my attention back to Khun Knee.
“Also, we would like to take two of your …” I stumbled here, because the word people didn’t seem to be quite right, “community to accompany us in our employ.”
“Do you intend to purchase slaves from amongst them? Is that what you are implying?” Pym looked at me aghast, casting a rare glance to the others and shuddering at the unthinkable vision: of his gods in the same position he imagined the Creole crew to be in.
“No, no. Never as slaves, not at all,” I continued, carefully. “More like, ambassadors really, to be put in our legal care for the duration of the tour. We’ll pay well.” This rephrased job description seemed to be a bit more palatable to both Pym and eventually the elder Khun Knee, who nodded sagely as if he knew just what we wanted, and just who should do the job.
When the dozen or so potential ambassadors were paraded before us within the hour, we were at a disadvantage in choosing who among them to take as samples of this species, having just that day been introduced to their existence. That said, while we didn’t know much about their alien physiology or beauty standards, it was pretty clear that the gathered specimens were not the most exquisite examples of this remarkable life-form.
“These guys are clearly morons, right? They look retarded,” Jeffree said to me, adding a second note directly to Carlton Damon Carter’s video lens, “I mean that in a literal sense, y’all. Jeffree got no prejudice against the handi-able.”
“They all look like monsters,” Angela whispered, as if they could understand any of this. “How can you tell the difference?”
“They’re a bit irregular in comparison with the others we’ve seen, honey, I’ll agree with Jeffree on that,” Nathaniel said. “But irregular isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It heightens the difference between them and us. It’s dramatic.”
“Inspect their teeth with your fingers, poke a finger into the backs of their mouths to see if they’re missing any,” Captain Jaynes declared, his tone implying that he was both well read and practiced in the art of ice monkey commerce. “Check their hair, make sure it’s not falling out. If they’re sweating, taste it to make sure they’re not salty and sickly. That’s how these things are done.”
Using these traditional methods more and less (luckily none of the creatures were sweating in this ice block), we picked two: a male and, going on the assumption that swollen pectorals were a sign of gender, a female.
Pym, who had spent the proceedings nodding off as he leaned against a far wall, was roused once more when Khun Knee returned. Seeing our selection, the elder gave a polite nod in my direction like a waiter pretending to be pleased with his customer’s order.
“In return,