He opened the bathroom door and came out, his wispy hair wet and practically invisible. His body looked even lumpier than usual under his Japanese yukata.
Hutchins ducked in. “You could have traded platheth with uth,” Molly shouted after him. “We have a holo-interview thith afternoon.”
“You are wearing your thuwevrherrnghladdis,” Mr. Okeefenokee said, nodding and smiling. It did sound like “the Everglades.”
“Yes, thank you. It’s lovely.” She put her hand up to the disk.
“Have you and Hutchins talked alone?”
“Yes.” She looked at Molly and Bets, but they were immersed in their movie magazine again.
Bets was pointing at a picture. “It does look a little bit like him,” she whispered to Molly. “See how lumpy he is.”
“But what about his batheball cap? Thpielberg alwayth wearth a batheball cap.”
“Good,” Mr. Okeefenokee said. His mouth straightened out and his cheeks turned bright orange. “Now you can get married. Have closing. Hahnahmoon.”
Both girls looked up. “No! I mean, talking alone isn’t enough.” She wished Okee were wearing one of the subvocalizers so they could discuss this privately, but he didn’t seem to be.
(People have to know each other a long time before they get married,) she thought at Okee, but he only smiled at her.
“People have to know each other a long time before they get married,” she said aloud. “They have to …” She hesitated, trying to think of a word that he might understand.
“Thyeeth talking about theckth,” Molly said wisely. “And if you athk me, they’ve already …”
“Nobody asked you,” Chris said. “Why don’t you two go find somebody else you can get evicted?” She shoved them out the door.
“Theckth?” Mr. Okeefenokee said.
Chris tried to think what she could tell him. She couldn’t just say people had to love each other. “Love” was far too nebulous a term, and he’d already heard Charmaine say she loved Sony and her job and the fans painted on her ath. “Last night you were thinking about your wife, weren’t you?” she said, watching for any sign of understanding. To her surprise, he stopped nodding. “And it made you sad?”
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “Sad.”
“And you wished you could talk to her and see her and be close to her.” She put her arms out and brought them back again toward her and hugged herself. “Close.”
“Closing,” he said.
“Not, not closing. Close.”
“Hahnahmoon?”
“No,” she said. “See, when two people love each other, they want to be as near each other as they can, and they …”
“Wife,” he said, “sad,” and screwed his face up.
“Oh, Mr. Okeefenokee, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, but she was too late. He let out a wail like a fire engine.
“What did you do to him?” Hutchins said, coming out of the bathroom.
“He misses his wife,” Chris said.
“She probably told him about sex,” Bets said. She and Molly came back in.
“What did thyee do to you?” Molly said, patting Okee awkwardly on the back.
“You can have our turn in the bathroom if you want,” Bets said, her forefinger stuck in one of her dimples. “We don’t really need a shower.” She held out her shower bottle to him.
Okee stopped wailing and looked at the little girls, an expression on his face that Chris had never seen before. She had no idea how to interpret it, but at least he had stopped keening.
“Here. You can have my rubber duckie. Hith name ith Tham,” Molly said with a sickeningly sweet smile.
Okee continued to look at them for a long moment and then took the yellow duck and the shower bottle and went back into the bathroom.
(How did you do that?) Chris said wonderingly.
(I told them that if I were Spielberg, I’d disguise myself as an alien and do secret screen tests.) It was disconcerting to be watching him grin while he was talking to her. (I thought it might improve their general deportment.)
Chris looked at Molly and Bets, who were whispering about something, curls and hairbows bobbing. “Okay, but we’ll have to hurry,” Bets said, and they ran out of the hall and down the steps. “He’ll be out of the bathroom in a few minutes.”
“You don’t suppose they’ll try to kidnap him and hold him for ransom?” Chris said.
“I hope not,” Hutchins said. (What we talked about last night … have you noticed Okee having trouble understanding any other words?) He had gone back to using the subvocalizer even though there was nobody else left in the hall.
(He can’t seem to tell the difference between closing and close,) she thought (and he has trouble pronouncing some words, like “honeymoon.” He still thinks we’re getting married, but that’s Charmaine’s fault. With all her real-estate talk, I think he’s gotten the idea marriage is something you can go out and buy.) She tried to think. (He doesn’t understand when I tell him he should stop buying things.)
(Has he ever talked to you about the space program thing the Eahrohhs are supposed to be negotiating?)
(No. Stewart said the Japanese linguists had figured out that there was a small core group of officials and a couple of translators and that everybody else was a passenger. Stewart said Okee’s one of the passengers. Noru hito.)
(Noru hito, huh? Did you know that some Japanese words have as many as ten different meanings? Noru hito also means …)
There was a racket on the steps, and Molly and Bets burst in wearing leotards covered with red, white, and blue sequins, and sequined military hats. Bets was carrying a Sony chip recorder. “Ith he out of the bathroom yet?” Molly said breathlessly.
“No,” Hutchins said.
“Good,” Molly said. “We’ll have time to practith.” She adjusted the chin strap on her hat. Bets stuck a music program into the Sony recorder and pushed down the play key. They both positioned themselves in front of the bathroom door, clanking as they walked.
“Those are tap shoes,” Chris said.
“I know,” Hutchins said. “Baby June and Gypsy strike again.”
“Ready and …,” Bets said. “Hop, shuffle, step. Hop, shuffle, step.”
She was late to lunch. Okee had refused to come out of the bathroom until Molly and Bets stopped tap-dancing, and then they demanded their turn in the bathroom. While they were in there, they used the curling iron and blew a fuse. It was almost noon before Chris could have her shower.
By the time she was dressed, Hutchins and Okee had both disappeared. She went out into the hall. Charmaine’s lawyer had set up an ancient Apple and two disk drives on a chair. He had the case off the Apple and was digging around inside and swearing to himself. The old man with the baseball cap was playing solitaire on the top three steps. Molly and Bets were on the landing in pink tutus and ballet slippers, hanging on to the railing as if it were a barre and practicing the ballet positions. The chip recorder was blaring, “The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy,”
“Do you know where Mr. Okeefenokee is?” Chris shouted, and then realized it was a stupid question. If they knew, they would be subjecting him to the Sugarplum Fairy.
“Don’t interrupt uth,” Molly said. “We’re trying to practith.”
“He’s in with Mr. Nagisha,” Charmaine said. She was sitting on the second step from the bottom, watching Mr. Nagisha’s TV and painting fans on her fingernails. She was dressed in a red strapless dress and spike-heeled shoes. “He asked him to explain leases, but I think he’s really hiding from the cast of Swan Lake.”
“Is Hutchins in there with him?” Chris said, coming down the stairs toward her.
“No. About half an hour ago he said he had something he had to do and left.”
Chris looked at her watch. “Oh, dear, I’m supposed to meet Stewart for lunch, and I don’t dare leave Mr. Okeefenokee alone.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Charmaine said, blowing on her fingern
ails. “I don’t have anything better to do.”
“I thought you had a date.”
“ ‘Had’ is right,” she said, jabbing the fingernail-polish stylus in the direction of the landing. “He didn’t come up here to find me. He came up because he figured with all this overcrowding there’d be lots of real-estate contracts to draw up. And marriage contracts. Only he can’t seem to tell the difference.” She jammed the cap on the stylus. “He wanted to know if I’d be interested in a lease option. That’s where you get to move in before you close the deal. If there’s a closing. Go on. Don’t be late for your lunch.”
“All right,” Chris said, wondering what had made Hutchins run off like that. “Let Mr. Okeefenokee do anything he wants, but whatever you do, don’t let him go shopping.”
The bullet was jammed with people carrying flight bags and looking exhausted. Getting off at the ginza, she almost lost her shoe again. This time, since Hutchins wasn’t there, she curled her toes and jammed them against the end of the shoe, and it stayed on, but just barely, and she got such a cramp in her foot that she could hardly walk.
The ginza was jammed with bicycles and people carrying huge, bulky suitcases who had a tendency to stop suddenly in the middle of the footwalk to stare at the city far above. It took nearly fifteen minutes to get the half block from the bullet to the Garden of Meditation.
Stewart was standing outside, tapping his foot and looking at his watch. “Where have you been?” he said. “I’ve been waiting half an hour.”
“I couldn’t get into my bathroom,” she said. “Molly and Bets …”
“Those two cunning moppets I saw on the phone yesterday?” Stewart said, taking her arm and steering her into the restaurant’s anteroom. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two such adorable little girls.”
“They’re circus midgets,” Chris said, but Stewart didn’t hear her.
He was waving wildly at a waitress. “For heavens’ sake, take your shoes off, so if they do have a table we can sit right down. I don’t have much time. If you’d been on time we could have gotten right in, but now we’ll probably have to wait.” He pulled his shoes off and started through the crowd to find the waitress.
Chris took her shoes off and gave them to the pretty Japanese attendant. She flexed her cramping toes. I should get tap shoes with straps, like those “two charming moppets,” she thought.
(Lose your shoe in the bullet again?) Hutchins said at her ear, and she whirled around, but there was no one behind her but the attendant and a wizened old woman who couldn’t seem to find her shoes.
“No,” Chris said. The attendant was looking at her oddly, which meant she had spoken aloud again. She clamped her mouth shut and said silently, (Where are you?)
(At Luigi’s. Sorry to run off this morning, but Charmaine told me about a job waiting tables, and I thought I’d better check it out. I can’t keep taking breakfast money out of your purse forever. Is Okee with you?)
(No, I got Charmaine to watch him, but you’re not going to be staying long enough to worry about breakfast. I’m going to have Stewart find you and Mr. Okeefenokee another apartment this afternoon and …)
Stewart came back, elbowing his way past the wrinkled crone, who was still rummaging through the shoes. “They gave our table to somebody else fifteen minutes ago,” he said accusingly, “and they won’t have anything else for an hour and a half. We’ll have to eat at the sushi counter.” He led her through the crowd to the wooden counter and scanned it for seats. “Have you ever seen such a mob?”
“Yes,” Chris said. “In line for my bathroom. Stewart, since I talked to you yesterday, Mr. Okeefenokee …”
“There aren’t two seats together,” he said, pointing at the only empty stools, which were separated by an exhausted-looking man with a camera and a shuttle bag, “which is what happens when you aren’t on time for your reservations.” He motioned her toward one of the stools, sat down on the other, and handed her a menu. A waitress appeared immediately. Stewart snatched the menu out of Chris’s hands. “I’ll have the jiffy lunch. What is it?”
“Eel. It comes with fries.”
“I’ll have that, and she’ll have the sushi salad.”
“I want you to come home with me this afternoon,” Chris said across the exhausted-looking man, who had propped his arms on the sushi counter. “You’ve got to talk to Mr. Okeefenokee. Yesterday he—”
“Okeefenokee?” Stewart said, with the same horrified look he’d had on the phone the day before. “I have asked you repeatedly to learn the correct pronunciation of his name. You obviously don’t realize how delicate our relationship with the Eahrohhs is right now or you wouldn’t …”
“I’m sorry, Stewart, but Mr. Ohghhi …” She automatically opened her hand to look at what wasn’t written there anymore.
(Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh,) Hutchins said.
“Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh,” Chris said. “Yesterday he brought home—”
(How delicate is the relationship with the Eahrohhs right now?) Hutchins said.
“Well?” Stewart said. “Don’t just stop in the middle of a sentence like that. What did he bring home?”
(Ask him,) Hutchins said insistently. (Ask him what he means by a delicate relationship.)
(How do you know what’s he’s saying?) Chris said. (I thought these subvocalizers only picked up what the person said under his breath.)
(It does. You’re subvocalizing what Stewart’s saying. Okee says that happens when the person’s upset.)
(I am not upset,) Chris thought. (And would you please stop eavesdropping on this conversation?)
(No. Ask him how the negotiations are going. This is important, Chris. Please.)
“I took the time for this lunch because you told me you had to talk to me,” Stewart said, “and now all you do is sit there staring into space.”
“I’m sorry, Stewart,” Chris said.
(Please,) Hutchins said.
“How are the negotiations going, Stewart?” she said. The exhausted-looking man was lying in his sushi.
“We’ve had a breakdown in communications. Nothing for you to worry about, though. In fact, it may work to your benefit. The Japanese have decided that because the negotiations are taking longer than we expected, they’ll match the compensation NASA’s been paying. Which is only fair since this mess is their fault. If they’d allowed NASA to build the size shuttle base they wanted, this overcrowding problem would never have happened.”
(What kind of breakdown in communications?) Hutchins said.
“What kind of breakdown in communications?” Chris said.
“It seems the Eahrohhsian the Japanese team thought was their headman isn’t in charge, after all, or he used to be and isn’t anymore or something. Their concept of roles is apparently different from ours.”
“Yes,” Chris said, thinking of Molly asking Mr. Okeefenokee to get her a role in Spielberg’s movie.
“This mix-up could jeopardize the whole space program, and the American linguistics team is furious. They want to transfer the Eahrohhsians down to Houston immediately, where they can use translation computers to …”
(Immediately?) Hutchins said, but Chris had already said it out loud.
“If they can get the Japanese to agree to it. I think they will as soon as they’ve had time to save face. Two or three more days at the most, and Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh will be out of your life forever.”
And so will Hutchins, Chris thought.
The waitress came back with Stewart’s eel and a check, which she stuck under the fingers of the sleeping man. “We’re out of sushi salad,” the waitress said. “We got tacos and Hungarian goulash. Do you want one of them?”
“Two or three more days, and you’ll have your apartment back and we can think seriously about going condo. But in the meantime, you’ve got to make sure you don’t do anything to upset Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh. The smallest thing, and our chances of negotiating a space program could blow up in our faces.”
&nb
sp; (Let him do anything he wants,) Hutchins said. (I don’t care what it is. Rape and pillage. Anything.)
“Oh, shut up!” Chris said.
“Look, don’t take it out on me,” the waitress said. “It’s not my fault we’re out of the sushi salad.” She flounced off.
“I realize having to share your apartment with an alien has been a strain,” Stewart said stiffly, “but you didn’t have to yell at the waitress.”
“I didn’t,” she said, thinking furiously at Hutchins (This is all your fault. Go away and don’t say one more word to me.)
“Who were you yelling at, then?” Stewart said. “Me?”
“No,” Chris said, “Mr. Ohghhifoehnn …” She stopped and waited, listening. Hutchins didn’t say anything. Good, she thought, I’m glad he’s gone. The waitress reappeared and lifted the sleeping man’s head up so she could take the sushi board out from under him. She pointedly did not look at Chris. “Yesterday the alien brought home …”
“Can I have the check, please?” Stewart said. “And wrap this up so I can take it with me.” He slapped down a credit card and slid off the stool. Three people dived for it. “I’ve got to be back at the office by fourteen-thirty.”
Chris struggled through the crowd after him. By the time she made it to the anteroom, he had found his shoes in the jumble by the door and was pulling them on. “Let him bring home anything he wants,” he said, bending down to tie his shoelaces. “And whatever he wants to do, let him do it. I don’t care what it is. It’s only for a couple of days.”
Chris waited for Hutchins to say, even rape and pillage? but he didn’t. He’d gone away, and in a couple of days he really would have gone away because Mr. Okeefenokee would have been transferred down to Houston, and he wouldn’t be able to use the excuse anymore that Mr. Okeefenokee wanted him to stay, and she’d never see him again.
“Now,” Stewart said, straightening up. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
Chris looked around the suddenly quiet anteroom. There was no one in it except the attendant, who was patiently lining up pairs of shoes by the door. The old woman who’d been in there before must have found her shoes.