Shadow-of-Light-Turning said, “Flowers-in-the-Sun has been telling me about her day.”
“What about your other grandchildren?” Mist asked. “Don’t they have news also?”
“They keep to themselves,” Shadow-of-Light-Turning responded. “They’re practicing mouth-to-ear.”
“I don’t see why they have to practice mouth-to-ear,” Mist answered. “We can’t hear them anyway. Are they hiding things from each other now?”
Shadow-of-Light-Turning made the gesture which meant Mist was being argumentative and unreasonable as usual. “My dying wish is that my granddaughter will not be poor and isolated as her mother is,” she signed, casting a disgusted glance at Mist’s blue marriage scarf. “Can’t you wear the scarf of our caste?” Shadow-of-Light-Turning asked. Although Mist had used the green embroidery thread of the science cast throughout the scarf, her husband’s mother was still not appeased. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself for being so strong-willed? And look at your daughter! The girl has no bracelets on her arms, no caste-cap, no jewelry around her calves, no gems around her neck and ankles. When I see her coming home from school, capless, like an outcaste child, I cannot bear the shame.”
This woman has nothing else on her mind, Mist thought and signed, “She has not decided yet what caste-cap to wear.”
Her husband’s mother didn’t say the obvious, that a child should not have to choose her caste.
Ninety-eight people lived in the family compound, including servants—none of whom belonged to Ion. As a mere superintendent of standards and weights in the agricultural department, and that only because of his mother’s influence, Ion was not well paid. His family had tolerated his love-match marriage to a woman not of his work caste, but his co-workers had not. Neither the traders nor the scientists he worked with considered Ion truly qualified for the inter-caste job –in this case a position which was both scientific and trade-related. And neither did the sub-caste of regulators consider him part of their network. He found peace and acceptance, however, among his family.
Mist, on the other hand, was accepted by the other traders. (Traders, being expedient, valued networks and friendships.) But grudgingly tolerated by her mother-in-law’s household who continually reminded her that Ion had given up an advantageous marriage to a woman of the science caste to marry her.
It didn’t help matters that because of the initial upheaval in both families, both Ion and Mist flatly refused to accept monies or gifts from their relatives. Such were the dangers of love-matches.
Shadow-of-Light-Turning finished listing Mist’s many flaws and walked away without the requisite gesture of respect. Mist and Flowers-in-the-Sun exchanged knowing glances and Mist thought to herself, My little sunshine. My only female ally among my enemies. A minute later, the green entry lights of the family compound gates flashed: three long beams, two quick ones, then six quick ones. Ion’s pattern: he was home. Waiting to surprise Ion when he entered their area of the house, Mist stood by the door of their family apartment holding the “orange” in her outstretched cupped hands.
But Ion did not immediately come up to their apartment. When he finally arrived upstairs, he told Mist his mother had intercepted him.
“She believes Flowers-in-the Sun should get the implants,” he signed, then after a pause, he added, “And I agree with her.”
Mist could not answer him: the “orange” was in her hand. But she glared into his dark eyes until he turned his face away.
Mist put the “orange” in the food closet and walked over to her husband, slowly and deliberately. She forced him to look at her by raising them directly in front of his face. Her hands were so close they almost touched his nose. Then she made the signs which meant, “No. Once again, my opinion does not matter.”
“Your mother has taught you many things,” Ion signed. “Chief of all is how to be an alarmist. The operation will not harm our daughter. Already she is alone, even among her cousins.”
“Because I worry about our daughter, I’m an alarmist?” Mist exclaimed. “Isn’t our heritage important to you?”
Ion made a gesture with his right hand that took in the entire house. “Compare” he signed. “Mother’s house and Mother-in-Law’s house. Do not the compartments of our siblings overflow with riches? Have not both families gotten even richer since their implants? The universe is getting smaller. English is the common language of the Federation universe. And it’s ‘mouth-spoken,’ not signed. Of what use are traders who do not speak the lingua franca? Shouldn’t the thing be done?”
“You sound like your mother.”
“It is the only time I have ever sounded like her.”
Mist nodded. Ion had always stood by her in family quarrels. “But why agree with her now?” she asked.
“My agreement is not with her,” he signed, raising his eyebrow.
It dawned on Mist what Ion was saying. “Flowers-in-the-Sun requested the implants?”
Ion held his wife’s hands tightly and gently pulled them away from his face, towards the ground. He then released her hands, kissed her and signed, “Children come of age.”
Mist pulled her hands from his. “But when she was here with your mother," she told him, “she smiled at me as if she agreed with me. How could she change her mind so quickly?”
“Obviously, she’s been thinking about it for a while. You know how she is. She’s like us and yet not like us. She thinks as we do, but she likes fitting in.” He grinned. “Should not traders learn to ‘accept change’?”
For a moment, Mist was confused. Ion had used the Aqueduct sign which meant “coin” instead of the one which meant “alteration.” Then she remembered the various meanings of the English word ‘change.’ It was an effective bilingual pun which only a student of English would understand. And the joke only proved her point. The Aqueduct people, to whom Ion and Mist belonged, were linguists par excellence.
“You see,” she signed. “Look at your joke. ‘Change’ and ‘change.’ Does this not show that we are good at adapting, that we are an intelligent people, that it’s not necessary to implant and mouth-speak? Has not our culture taught us how to survive in a world of sound-speakers?”
Ion kissed her finger tips. Then he signed, “What can be done? I have given up my birth-livelihood. We have lived by integrity and we have been happy. But we have not been successful in our financial lives. Let our child live her life. Mist, my love, think: Don’t you want Flowers-in-the-Sun to find her place in the world?”
“Our world, yes. Not theirs. Flowers-in-the-Sun was born here, not on Earth.”
“She’s a smart child. She says she wants to show the Federation our knowledge. She says she will use their ways to show them our ways. Can you not see her wisdom in this?”
“But why should she cut her throat?”
With one dismissive gesture, Ion indicated that his wife was being unduly worried. He signed that he had seen enough implanted people. The cutting was a small thing, nothing for her to get so worked up about. He repeated again that he and Mist had been dreamers, that they had sacrificed their lives to love. But the child wanted what the child wanted and shouldn’t children receive what they ask for?
