Harriet looked out her window at the nearby playground. The children there were almost all human. Something had to be done to encourage the Tofa youngsters to play outside during the purple season. Unless something in the environment this time of year was actually bad for them, which would be hard to test for safely.
A knock on the infirmary door interrupted her thoughts. It must be a Tofa knocking. Their knuckles stuck up more and made a sharper sound. From the direction of the sound, it was no adult knocking. Harriet hurried over to open the door. Sure enough, it was one of the Tofa Twin-Bred. His leg was bleeding.
“Can you fix me?”
“Patch you right up. Then your body will fix itself. Come on in.” The youngster followed her, limping. “How’d you do that? And what’s your name?”
“I made a mistake running around the courtyard. I ran too fast around a corner. My name is Poo-lat. What is yours?”
“Harriet Gaho. Chief Nurse. You can call me Nurse Gaho, or just Nurse. When you grow up, you can call me Harriet. Up on that table, now.”
The blood was a rich brown. She had seen soil that color. She wondered if other Tofarna animals had blood the same color, and whether it provided some camouflage when the animal was wounded. But surely a predator could smell the blood? She took a discreet sniff. Hard to say. The usual burnt-toast odor had an added hint of blackberry jam, but that was just how Tofa smelled when they hurt themselves, even something like a sprain with no blood showing. Of course, how it smelled to her didn’t count for much.
Harriet cleaned the abrasion as gently as she could. A Tofa could not visibly wince, but he did flinch.
“So, Poo-lat. Why were you running around the courtyard?”
“We were taking turns, seeing whether the ones with long legs could get all the way around faster. We found out being taller makes the corners harder.”
“Well, try and take your corners a little slower, at least until that heals up. The bandage will let air in and keep dirt and water out, so you can leave it on for a few days. It’ll prevent infection as well. Have you learned about infections yet?”
“Not in school. My mother said something about them once. They make injuries worse?”
“Yes, and they can cause other problems. They used to make humans cough and sneeze, before we learned how to stop it. Have you seen a sneeze?”
"Yes. In an old movie my sister likes. It was like this." Poo-lat attempted to demonstrate a sneeze. It sounded like no sneeze she had ever heard or dreamt of, but she gave him points for trying.
“Off you go, now. Carefully!”
Poo-lat turned to go, then turned back. “Thank you for helping me fix myself.” He turned again and left.
Harriet cleaned up after her patient and sat down at her desk, her mouth twitching now and again into a smile.
* CONFIDENTIAL *
CLEARANCE CLASS 3 AND ABOVE
LEVI Status Report, 9-15-78
Executive Summary
. . . It has been verified that Tofa do have reactions to odors, or at least, reactions consistent with response to odor. The particulars have been, to date, somewhat unpredictable. . . .
Peggy came running up to Ren-tak, holding a handful of vanilla beans. “I'm going to help bake a cake! Don’t these smell good?”
Ren-tak started back. “Good? That? I do not see you laughing. Seriously? Or are you teasing again?”
Peggy’s mouth tightened, and she gave a warning sniff. Ren-tak hastily held up two of his hands. Once Peggy set to wailing, it could be the work of an afternoon to soothe her. “Please! I did not mean to hurt your feelings. Thank you for wanting to share with me . . . .”
Truth broke through diplomacy. “But really — that smells so bad!”
Peggy opened her mouth. Ren-tak covered his ears.
Mara ordered the dispensary to stock a wide range of aroma sticks. The dispensary chief found it hard to track down some of the varieties that appealed to Tofa senses. While both human and Tofa enjoyed cut apple, pepper, and cinnamon, and the smell of ground coffee created a passion in the Tofa Twin-Bred little short of addiction, the stick manufacturers produced only small, novelty amounts of skunk scent and methane emission.
Veda heard laughter and started to smile, then stopped when she realized there was no accompanying whistle. She went to investigate.
Jimmy was rocking back and forth on the floor, laughing too hard to speak. Peer-tek stood near him. He was wearing Veda’s shower cap, Jimmy’s overcoat, and Veda’s bedroom slippers.
He turned as Veda came in. “You wear clothes. Jimmy wears clothes. Why does Jimmy laugh when I wear clothes?”
Veda kept her face sober with an effort. My turn to be a diplomat, she thought. “Peer-tek, honey, you don’t need clothes. And you’ve never worn them before. Naturally Jimmy was — surprised.” She gave Jimmy a furtive nudge with her foot.
“Are clothes about needing? Why does Jimmy need clothes? Why do you?”
“Well.” This should be interesting. Maybe she’d end up a nudist. She could tell everyone her son talked her into it. “Humans get cold more easily than Tofa. I think. And besides — it’s an old human custom, covering certain body parts. You know which. And Tofa don’t have those. At least, not all the time.”
Peer-tek’s posture spoke of stubbornness. “I do not see why I should not wear clothes. Whether I need to or not. I see you trying on outfits. You enjoy the variety. You have fun. I want to do the same.”
Veda shrugged. “Peer-tek, you may borrow my clothes, as long as you ask — which you did not do this time. And as long as you’re careful with them. And Jimmy — you’ve laughed long enough. You’re hurting your brother’s feelings.”
Jimmy stood up. “Aw, Peer, don’t take it that way. Here — let’s go find you a better hat.”
They went off to ransack Jimmy’s closet.
* CONFIDENTIAL *
CLEARANCE CLASS 3 AND ABOVE
LEVI Status Report, 10-1-78
Executive Summary
Conformity to Species Norms
Some of the young Tofa have been found to be experimenting with copying human customs, including the use of clothing. It has been decided that this should be discouraged, as development of any such habit would add another dimension of difference between Tofa Twin-Bred and the Tofa with whom they will eventually be communicating. . . .
“STAN!”
Mara’s assistant sighed and got up from his desk. That particular indignant bellow usually meant a problem with a status report. He brought his tablet with him, the latest draft on the screen.
“It has been decided??”
Stan called up the message. “The Tofa Relations Department —”
“The Tofa Relations Department apparently presumes that the children are idiots. Has it occurred to any of them that there can be a difference between a habit and an amusing novelty? Or that we could actually explain to the children that Tofa should not wear clothes outside the Project grounds? Is it for some reason essential that the twins should regard us as stuffy, overbearing killjoys?”
Stan backed out of Mara’s office and started drafting a tactful memo.
Conformity to Species Norms (revised)
Some of the young Tofa have been found to be experimenting with copying human customs, including the use of clothing. They will be cautioned to confine this behavior to the Project environment. . . .
As the novelty faded, the Tofa Twin-Bred shed their borrowed garb, although Fin-gar retained some interest in the design of ensembles for the female humans. His fashions became quite the rage.
“Mama Laura? May I use some of your makeup?”
Laura was surprised. Judy had not shown much interest in “girly” activities. She had not realized that Judy even knew what makeup was.
“Sure, honey. Here — let me find you some that would be just right.” She thought it prudent not to hand over anything too difficult to replace. “Don’t get any of it on the furniture, all right? And show me once y
ou’re done!”
Judy nodded and hurried off to the bathroom with her hands full.
Laura went back to her knitting and her flute music broadcast. She had lost track of time when, half an hour later, Judy presented herself, beaming in triumph.
Laura dropped her knitting. Judy had blended every powder and liquid into a paste, somewhere between tan and khaki in color, and spread it over her face thickly enough to obscure almost every feature. Even her lips were covered.
“What in the world!?”
Judy was startled. “Don’t you like it? I look like La-ren!” Laura thought she could detect some trembling of the coated lips.
“Oh, darling, it’s just fine! It’s very clever. I didn’t know what you were planning, that’s all. Here, let’s take a picture. And then why don’t you wash it off before it gets all over everything.”
“I have to show La-ren first! La-ren! Look what I did!” Off she ran to find her twin.
One thing became clear as the Twin-Bred grew. If there was another species besides homo sapiens that made, responded to and even required music, that species was not the Tofa.
“Judy, why are you moving your foot up and down?”
Judy looked up, surprised. “Just listen! How can you not?”
La-ren listened, but could find no clue to Judy’s behavior in the odd background noise the media box was generating.
The situation grew that much more peculiar when Laura came sweeping into the room with an unfamiliar sideways motion, turning partly around and back again, clapping her hands from side to side. As if things were not strange enough, Judy went running up to Laura, and Laura scooped her up and held her to her breast as they spun round and round, Judy laughing with delight.
Could he somehow be dreaming? Was this what dreaming felt like?
Mara worked on a cartoon of several human Twin-Bred dancing ecstatically, while their Tofa twins stood nearby holding all their hands over their sound receptors. “It’s fascinating. And no, Levi, I am not using that word promiscuously these days! . . . We already see distinctly human traits in the Tofa Twin-Bred and Tofa-like behavior in the human Twin-Bred. But when it comes to music, there’s no crossover. The human Twin-Bred love music and dancing as much as any children, and the Tofa Twin-Bred don’t get it at all.”
“Then we know not to try to win the Tofa over with campfire songs. . . . So, you’ll be able to see how the twins respond to something they’re unable to share.”
It was Judy and La-ren’s (and many other twins’) seventh birthday. Laura had made their favorite cakes, and both children were pleasantly stuffed. Laura’s father, Councilman Petter, had shown up for the occasion, and was watching benevolently from the one large armchair.
La-ren sat Judy down in the living room and told her to close her eyes. “Mama Laura and Grandpa Harold helped me find you a birthday present. Please wait here.”
Judy sat, squirming in anticipation. Suddenly the room filled with the sound of drumming. Then a pulsing melody joined the percussion. Judy bounced up and down. She started drumming with her hands on her knees. She felt La-ren grab her hands for a moment, as something settled onto her lap.
As La-ren let go, Judy opened her eyes and saw a pair of drums on her lap, sized just right. Laura stood beside La-ren, beaming. Judy tentatively patted the drum on the left and felt its vibration on her leg. She started drumming harder and harder, laughing, jabbing her head up and down to the beat. La-ren stood over her, whistling. Grandpa Harold clapped in time. Laura tiptoed off to the kitchen to wipe her eyes.
* CONFIDENTIAL *
CLEARANCE CLASS 3 AND ABOVE
LEVI Status Report, 5-15-79
Executive Summary
. . . The behavior of the two species where visual artistic representation is concerned does not diverge to the extent of their appreciation of music. However, there are aspects of the artistic production of each species that cannot be perceived and/or appreciated by the other. These differences are greater as between Tofa Twin-Bred and the human Project staff, but exist to some extent between human and Tofa Twin-Bred. . . .
“Poo-lat, come look at my picture!”
Poo-lat obediently came and looked. He projected puzzlement. “Is that a farla tree? It is not the normal color. Are you imagining a different color?”
Sally was indignant. “It is the right color! Stevie, isn’t it the right color?”
Stevie scratched his head. “Looks right to me.”
Fel-lar joined the cluster of art critics. “No, Poo-lat is right. That is not the color of farla trees.” He paused. “But you humans think it is. There must be a reason."
The craft room supervisor hustled over. “What’s all the fuss about?”
Fel-lar explained. The man pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Well, I’m with Sally and Stevie, as far as how it looks to me. It must be because the paint is made by humans and formulated to fit their vision. Color isn’t as simple as you’d think. The way we match pigments to reproduce the colors of light — we do it to fit the way our eyes process color. And apparently, your eyes and our eyes do that differently.”
Sally nodded, a satisfied victor. “Then it is the right color.” Poo-lat started to speak, then gave up and returned to his own painting.
Serena, host mother, poked her head into the rec room, attracted by the peals of laughter and accompanying whistles. “What’s so funny?”
Ruthie ran over carrying the sketch pad. “Look what Jan-tel drew! See how it goes back and forth when you do this? First it’s a chicken, and then it looks like Stevie! And then it looks like a chicken again! Stevie’s a chicken, Stevie’s a chicken. . . .”
Serena wrinkled her forehead. “It sounds like you’re talking about an optical illusion. But I can’t see it. Not the chicken part.”
“Look here!”
Serena looked again. This time, as Ruthie pointed, she could see a tantalizing hint of a second image — but nothing clear or recognizable. “I guess it’s one of your twin things. As long as you’re having fun.” She kissed Ruthie's forehead, blew a kiss to Jan-tel, and went back to her comfortable chair and her chat group.
Five minutes later, she was interrupted again. “Mo-om! Now he’s making me a chicken! Make him stop it!” She sighed as she hauled herself back up. A mother’s work was never done.
Mara was listening to music. She had done so more often of late, intrigued by the profound gulf between human and Tofa response to this stimulus. It might be worth exploring whether the Tofa would find the calm polyphonies of Bach, the atonal mathematics of Schoenberg, and the passionate romanticism of Rachmaninoff equally unappealing. She suspected there might be some negative correlation between music that humans found most emotionally stirring and music the Tofa found more tolerable.
Tonight she had chosen that most directly manipulative of genres, the soundtracks to old Terran movies. She had even left her office fairly early in the evening, so as to listen in the relative comfort and privacy of her quarters.
As the swelling choral waves of The Mission swept over her, it occurred to Mara that she was happy. It was a thought to be handled delicately, unlikely to survive attention, let alone examination. She left it to float somewhere just below consciousness, and sank back into the music.
Chapter 19
Melly careened around the corner and down the corridor, and plowed into long thin legs. Jak-rad plucked her up and juggled her from arm to arm to arm. She shrieked with delight. Veda ran up panting, apologetic. “I just can’t keep up with her! I didn’t know she’d be such a workout. Jimmy and Peer-tek weren’t so wild!”
Jak-rad bowed to one side. “We Tofa have always been a good influence on our human siblings.”
Melly wriggled to be put down. Then she held her plump body as tall as she could, stiffened, bent sideways and crowed, “We wurr uh good IN-fl-ins!”
Jak-rad whistled so loud that Melly clapped her hands over her ears.
Laura and Veda walked along the river near the wood
s. Veda set the pace, a brisk one suiting the still-chilly weather. Chief Nurse Gaho was spending her day off babysitting Melly: she had told Veda that she rather missed having three-year-olds running around, and wanted to take advantage of the only one currently available.
Laura, panting a bit, searched for a topic that would let Veda do the talking. “I noticed you sitting with one of the Tofa host mothers in the dining hall yesterday. Is that something you do often?”
Veda unconsciously slowed down, which suited Laura even better. “That was rather odd. I was just putting my tray down when she came up, introduced herself — Lo-ta-se, her name was — and asked if she could join me. In very good Terran. I was certainly surprised, but I didn’t see why she shouldn’t.”
“Did you talk? What did you talk about?”
“At first, it was just chit-chat. The food, what the twins were up to, how Melly was doing. Then it was where I came from, my background. She rather led the conversation, asking questions. After a while, I decided it was time I took my turn. I asked her if she wouldn’t mind telling me how she came to sign up.”
“What did she say?”
“Well, she went Tofa on me, you could say. Up until then, she’d been somehow minimizing how — alien — she looked, her posture and movements and such. And she said it would be difficult to explain. Then she looked at me, quite directly, and said she was sure it would be the same for me. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.”
The two had slowed almost to a stop. Laura gestured toward a nearby bench, but Veda shook her head and sped up again. Laura grimaced and caught up to her.
“Then what happened?”
“Oh, we finished eating without saying much. She left first, thanking me for talking to her. Do you know, I think she — or maybe one of the others, I couldn’t tell — did the same thing with Tilda the next day. I doubt they got much out of her.”