The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [180]
There was no way for the foreigners to know how misleading all of this was, how unusual Supaari was. A self-made man, Supaari was not reticent about his early life and his present status, and since all the surviving members of the Jesuit party came from cultures on Earth that value such people and disdain hereditary privilege, they were prepared to see him in a somewhat heroic light, a plucky boy who’d made good.
Alan Pace might have been better equipped to handle the class aspects of Rakhati society, since Britain still retained some traits of a culture that takes good breeding seriously. Alan might have understood how truly marginal Supaari was, how little access he had to real sources of power and influence, and how much he might crave such access. But Alan was dead.
WHEN, TOWARD THE end of Partan, it was time to see the Jana’ata off after those first extraordinary weeks, the entire population of Kashan, alien and native, accompanied Supaari to the dock or hung from terraces to call farewells and toss flowers on the water and float long scented ribbons in the wind.
"Sipaj, Supaari!" Anne said quietly as he prepared to cast off, the chatter and press of Runa all around them. "May someone show you how our people say farewell to those we feel fond of?"
He was touched that she should wish this. "Without hesitation, Ha’an," he said in the low and slightly rumbling voice she was now familiar with. Anne motioned him to bring his head closer and he stooped low, not knowing what to expect. She rose on her toes and her arms went around his neck and he felt her tighten the pressure slightly before she let him go. When she drew back, he noticed that her blue eyes, almost normal in color, were glistening.
"Someone hopes you will come back here soon and safely, Supaari," she said.
"Someone’s heart will be glad to be with you again, Ha’an." He was, Supaari realized with surprise, reluctant to leave her. He climbed down into the powerboat cockpit and looked up at the others of her kind, each one different, each a separate and peculiar puzzle. Suddenly, because Ha’an wished it, Supaari was moved to please the others, and so at last made a decision he’d found troublesome. He looked around and found the Elder. "Someone will make arrangements for you to visit Gayjur," he told D.W. "There are many things to be considered, but someone will think on how this may be done."
"WELL, MY DARLING children," Anne announced gaily, shaking off the sadness of Supaari’s departure as his powerboat disappeared around the north bend of the river and the Runa began moving back up to their apartments, "it is time for you and me to have a little talk about sex."
"Memory fails," said Emilio, straight-faced, and Marc laughed.
"What if we had a review session?" Jimmy suggested helpfully. Sofia smiled and shook her head, and Jimmy’s heart rose but then went obediently back where it belonged.
"What’s this about sex?" George asked, shushing Askama and turning to look at Anne.
"Good grief, woman, is that all you ever think about?" D.W. demanded.
Anne grinned like the Cheshire cat as they started up the cliffside together. "Wait until you guys find out what Supaari told me yesterday!" The path narrowed at that point and they strung out into a line, Askama chattering to George about some long, elaborate story they’d been making up together until she saw Kinsa and Fayer, and the children took off to play.
"It seems, my darlings, that we have been caught in a web of sexism, but so have our hosts," Anne told them when they arrived at the apartment. It was filled with Runa, but endless cross talk was normal to them now and she hardly noticed the other conversations. "Jimmy: the Runa think you are a lady, and the mother of us all. Sofia, you are taken to be an immature male. Emilio: an immature female. They don’t know quite what to make of D.W. and Marc and me, but they’re pretty sure George is a male. Isn’t that nice, dear?"
"I’m not sure," George said suspiciously, sinking onto a cushion.