The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [80]
"Which is worse," she asked levelly, reaching past him to put her dishes on the counter, "to be insulted or to be defended?"
Emilio stopped scrubbing, not used to having his mind read, and rested his hands on the sink but resumed resolutely a moment later. "Forget it," he said again, without looking at her.
"It is said that the Sephardim taught pride to the Spaniards," she commented. "I apologize. That was inappropriate. It won’t happen again."
When he turned, she was gone. He swore violently under his breath and wondered, not for the first time, what had ever made him believe he might have the temperament of a priest. Finally, he straightened his shoulders, ran wet hands through his hair and walked back into the common room.
"I am not a complete jerk," he informed the table formally, and having caught their attention with that, he assured them, "but I could be if I made an honest effort." Through their surprised laughter, he begged pardon of Father Pace for taking offense and Alan reiterated his own regrets as well.
Emilio took his place at the table again and waited until the others seemed engrossed in the after-dinner talk before he leaned slightly toward Sofia, sitting on his left. "Derech agav," he said quietly, "yeish arba-esrei achshav."
"I stand corrected," she said, echoing Alan Pace. Her eyes were sparkling, although she didn’t look at him directly. "You’re rolling the r’s a little but otherwise the accent is quite good." By the way, he’d said casually in Sephardic Hebrew that would almost have passed for that of an Israeli native, it’s fourteen now.
And if Jimmy Quinn and Anne Edwards and D. W. Yarbrough noticed Sofia’s face, because they were all alert to such things for different reasons, they also realized later that this was the last time Emilio Sandoz sat next to the young woman for nearly a year.
16
THE STELLA MARIS:
2031, EARTH-RELATIVE
IT WAS FIVE months into the voyage when Emilio heard a knock at his door after dinner one night. "Yes?" he called quietly.
Jimmy Quinn stuck his head into the room. "Got a minute?"
"Let me check my schedule." Emilio sat up cross-legged on his bed and consulted an appointment book made of air. "Tuesday? Eleven-fifteen?"
Grinning, Jimmy came all the way in, closing the door behind him. He looked around the little room, never having been inside it before. "Same as mine," he commented. A narrow bunk, a desk and chair, a terminal networked to the ship’s backup computer system. One difference: a crucifix on the wall. "Jeez, you keep it bright in here! Hot, too. I feel like I’m at the beach."
The priest narrowed his eyes sensuously and shrugged. "What can I say? Latinos like it sunny and warm." But he turned down the light panels to make Jimmy more comfortable and flicked off the display on the ROM tablet he’d been reading, setting it aside. "Have a seat."
Jimmy swiveled the chair away from the desk and sat looking around for a while. "Emilio," he said, "can I ask you something? A personal question?"
"Of course, you may ask," Sandoz said a little warily. "I don’t promise I will answer."
"How do you stand it?" Jimmy suddenly burst out in a strangled whisper. "I mean, I’m going crazy! Look, I hope this doesn’t embarrass you, because I sure as hell am embarrassed, but even D.W. is starting to look good to me! Sofia made it real clear that she’s not interested and—"
Emilio held up a hand, not wanting further details. "Jim, you knew what the crew complement was when you volunteered. And I’m sure you did not believe that Ms. Mendes was included for your convenience—"
"Of course not!" Jimmy said, indignant because he had entertained a certain low-level expectation of life’s possibilities in that direction. "I just didn’t know how hard it would be."
"So to speak," Sandoz murmured, eyes sliding away, a smile flickering on his lips.
"So to speak. God, this is awful!" Jimmy laughed, wrapping his long arms around his head and contracting into a coil of mortification. Then his limbs uncurled and he looked back at the