For the first time in her life, Tarb spoke Terran to a Terrestrial. She
formed the words slowly and carefully: "Sorry we must leave, but we have
to go to jail."
She looked to Stet for approval ... and didn't get it. He started to
explain something quickly to the woman. Every time she'd heard him speak
Terran, Tarb thought, he seemed to be introducing, explaining or
apologizing.
It turned out that, through some oversight, the usually thoughtful
Terran police department had neglected to inform the Fizbian consul that
one of his people had been incarcerated, for the young man had already
been tried, found guilty of assault plus contempt of court, and
sentenced to pay a large fine. However, after Stet had given his version
of the circumstances to a sympathetic judge, the sum was reduced to a
nominal one, which the _Times_ paid.
"But I don't see why you should have paid anything at all," Bloxx
protested ungratefully. "I didn't do anything wrong. You should have
made an issue of it."
"According to Earth laws, you did do wrong," Stet said wearily, "and
this is Earth. What's more, if we take the matter up, it will naturally
get into print. You don't want your employers to hear about it, do
you--even if you don't care about making Fizbians look ridiculous to
Terrestrials?"
"I suppose I wouldn't like FizbEarth to find out," Bloxx conceded. "As
it is, I'll have to do some fast explaining to account for my not having
shown up for nearly a week. I'll say I caught some horrible Earth
disease--that'll scare them so much, they'll probably beg me to take
another week off. Though I do wish you fellows over at the _Times_ would
answer your mail sooner. I'm a regular subscriber, you know."
* * * * *
"But the same kind of thing's going to happen over and over again, isn't
it, Stet?" Tarb asked as a taxi took them back to the hotel in which
most of the _Times_ staff was domiciled. "If privacy doesn't exist on
Earth, it's bound to keep occurring."
"Eh?" Stet took his attention away from her toes with some difficulty.
"Some Earth people like privacy, too, but they have to fight for it.
Violations aren't legally punishable--that's the only difference."
"Then surely the Terrestrials would understand about us, wouldn't they?"
she asked eagerly. "If they knew how strongly we felt about privacy,
maybe they wouldn't violate it--not as much, anyway. I'm sure they're
not vicious, just ignorant. And you can't just keep on getting Fizbians
out of jail each time they run up against the problem. It would be too
expensive, for one thing."
"Don't worry," he said, pressing her toes. "I'll take care of the whole
thing."
"An article in the paper wouldn't really help much," she persisted
thoughtfully, "and I suppose you must have run at least one already. It
would explain to the Fizbians that Terrestrials don't regard invasion of
privacy as a crime, but it wouldn't tell the Terrestrials that Fizbians
do. We'll have to think of--"
"You're surely not going to tell me how to run my paper on your first
day here, are you?"
He tried to take the sting out of his words by twining his toes around
hers, but she felt guilty. She had been presumptuous. Probably there
were lots of things she couldn't understand yet--like why she shouldn't
polish her eyeballs in public. Stet had finally explained to her that,
while Terrestrial women did make up in public, they didn't scour their
irises, ever, and would be startled and horrified to see someone else
doing so.
"But I was horrified to see them raking their feathers in public!" Tarb
had contended.
"Combing their hair, my dear. And why not? This is their planet."
That was always his answer. _I wonder_, she speculated, _whether he
would expect a Terrestrial visitor to Fizbus to fly ... because, after
all, Fizbus is our planet._ But she didn't dare broach the question.
However, if it was presumptuous of her to make helpful suggestions the
first day, it was more than presumptuous of Stet to ask her up to his
rooms to see his collection of rare early twentieth-century Terrestrial
milk bottles and other antiques. So she just told him courteously that
she was tired and wanted to go to roost. And, since the hotel had a
whole section fitted up to suit Fizbian requirements, she spent a more
comfortable night than she had expected.
She awoke the next day full of enthusiasm and ready to start in on the
great work at once. Although she might have been a little too forward
the previous night, she knew, as she took a reassuring glance in the
mirror, that Stet would forgive her.
* * * * *
In the office, she was, at first, somewhat self-conscious about Drosmig,
who hung insecurely from his perch muttering to himself, but she soon
forgot him in her preoccupation with duty. The first letter she picked
up--although again oddly unlike the ones she'd read in the paper on
Fizbus--seemed so simple that she felt she would have no difficulty in
answering it all by herself:
_Heidelberg_
_Dear Senbot Drosmig:_
_I am a professor of Fizbian History at a local university. Since
my salary is a small one, owing to the small esteem in which the
natives hold culture, I must economize wherever I can in order to
make both ends meet. Accordingly, I do my own cooking and shop at
the self-service supermarket around the corner, where I have found
that prices are lower than in the service groceries and the food no
worse._
_However, the manager and a number of the customers have objected
to my shopping with my feet. They don't so much mind my taking
packages off the shelves with them, but they have been quite
vociferous on the subject of my pinching the fruit with my toes.
Unripe fruit, however, makes me ill. What shall I do?_
_Sincerely yours,_
_Grez B'Groot_
Tarb dictated an unhesitating reply:
Dear Professor B'Groot:
Why don't you explain to the manager of the store that Fizbians
have wings and feet rather than arms and hands?
I'm sure his attitude and the attitudes of his customers will
change when they learn that your pinching the fruit with your feet
is not mere pedagogical eccentricity, but the regular practice on
our planet. Point out to him that your feet are covered and,
therefore, more sanitary than the bare hands of his other
customers.
And always put on clean socks before you go shopping.
Helpfully yours,