The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [140]
"Q.E.D.," Jimmy pointed out, waving an arm at the stone walls around them, and there was a round of applause from everyone but Anne.
Emilio laughed but lost the thread of the discussion at that point, as he often did when too many people had strong opinions and expressed them well; he’d always hated seminars. Where’s Askama? he wondered, missing her already. She was with him so continually that he felt as though he had taken over as her parent in some ways, and there were aspects of this strange cross-species pseudofatherhood that were deeply satisfying. But while the VaKashani generally addressed him by name, they also used a kinship term that seemed to make him Askama’s older sibling. And Manuzhai sometimes corrected him rather sharply for inadvertent infractions, as though he were also her child. At the same time, there was a commercial aspect to their relationship having to do with trade goods, and he was not at all clear about what was expected of him.
His status among his human friends was sometimes equally confusing. The first time he’d fallen apart during Mass had been frightening, but neither Marc nor D.W. seemed surprised or upset; they were instead oddly careful with him, as though he were pregnant—that was the only parallel that came to mind. It was Sofia who put words to what he felt. "You are drunk on God, Sandoz," she told him flatly one afternoon, and he realized then that what he had believed to be entirely interior had been more apparent than he could have imagined. He wished he had time to think it all through but there was just too much going on, and even when things slowed up for a while, he tended to meditate on beer and baseball.
A pebble landed on his chest. "Sandoz," said Sofia, "pay attention!"
He rose onto his elbows. "What?"
"The question was, is Ruanja related to the language of the songs?"
"I doubt it. My guess is that they aren’t even close."
"There! You see?" George cried. "I say we try for the city—"
Drawn back into the argument that ensued, Emilio found himself uneasy about going to the city. Things felt so right here. It might simply be an emotional attachment to Askama and her people, but the notion of starting another language so soon was daunting. He’d taken on two and sometimes three languages simultaneously before, but there had always been someone who spoke Latin or English. Without Askama or someone like her, he’d be badly handicapped when he tried the Singers’ language. He waited for a break in the conversation and said, "I think it’s too soon. To go to the city."
It was D.W. who asked, "Why do you say that, son?"
"It’s been seven weeks! I just don’t feel ready for another language and another culture yet. I could do it if I had to, but I’d like to be more solid in Ruanja first. I’m sorry," he apologized suddenly. "I’m holding other people up. It’s okay. I’ll manage. If everyone else wants to move on, we should go."
Marc’s eyes slowly left Emilio’s face and he turned to D.W. "Emilio’s instincts have been reliable so far. We’ve taken one step at a time, and this has worked well. There is still a great deal to be learned here. Rather than rush him," Marc said, pausing to clear his throat, "into another language, we should perhaps settle for a time."
"We came because of the songs," Jimmy insisted stubbornly. "We came to find out about the Singers."
"This is true," Emilio said to Marc, shrugging. He was willing to go or stay.
"Okay, okay." D.W. held up a hand. "We ain’t gonna make the decision tonight, but it’s time to start thinkin’ about what comes next."
"George, I admit that there is a sort of simplicity to Runa thinking, but we barely speak their language and we hardly know them," Emilio pointed out. "What seems like simplemindedness may be our ignorance of their subtlety. And it’s very difficult, sometimes, to tell ignorance from lack of intelligence. We may seem a little dim to the Runa." He flopped back on the cushion.
"Right," Anne confirmed. "Eat that, techno pigs!"
"I’d rather eat that than