"Our voices are wrong. Pitch effects meaning for them. You've noticed
there's no pitch difference between their male and female voices.
Their language is tied to one section of the scale; a full octave of
it is above the range of even Ann's voice. They can shape our words
though, if they're willing. Basic English may appeal to the princess
when she condescends to take it seriously."
"They could have picked up more than we suspect. They could have been
eavesdropping outside the camp."
"No, Ed. Mijok would have known and told us."
"Yeah--Fido. Can hardly speak freely in front of him now."
"Don't think anything you wouldn't want him to hear."
"Paul, I swear, sometimes you're worse than Doc." But Spearman wanted
to cancel the ill temper of the remark, and added: "You know, I
thought _I_ knew something about Basic English--we all had drill
enough in it. Beats me, the things Doc can do with it--the man's a
wizard."
Paul was silent with unappeased annoyance. It was true: Mijok appeared
to be a natural student too, already far beyond Basic English in a
week of keen listening. "Nan," Paul said, "how did you like Mijok's
humming when you were singing for us yesterday evening?"
"Good." She flashed him an almost cheerful smile. But when Ann spoke
of her singing--and in the singing itself--there was, in spite of her,
an aching wordless reminder of the violin gone silent. Her voice was
sweet but without strength or resonance, and she took no ardent
pleasure in using it. Her love was the violin--covered as well as
might be in the comparative safety of the lifeboat, waiting for a
distant day. If the day ever came (Sears had already dissected out,
dried, and oiled some long leg-tendon fibers of a deerlike animal in a
humble experiment aimed chiefly at Ann's morale)--if the day came,
there would still be no piano, no answering of other strings, no
splendid cry of brass. Crude wood winds, perhaps, sometime.... "Yes,
he was good," said Ann, smiling. "Organ point in the tonic, and right
in our own scale. Once he even upped to the dominant. Instinct, huh?
Sounded good, Paul, even with you trying to fill in the middle."
"Hell, I didn't think you heard me," Spearman snorted.
"You kind of stood out," she said, "because Mijok was much better on
pitch, my good man. It did sound hollow without something to fill in.
He was on A-flat below the bass clef and no fooling.... _Why_ haven't
we seen other giants?"
"We got something on that this morning. I guess it was while you were
in swimming. Each giant male has an inviolate hunting territory, and
they don't trespass. Definite breeding season: the month before the
rains. That was five or maybe six red-moon changes ago. Mijok wasn't
too clear on the count--doesn't like mathematics much better than I
do. The women go where they please, in small groups, with the children
who still need care, but I gather the males are expected to stay in
their own private grounds until the Red-Moon-before-the-Rains."