Spice Pogrom

by Connie Willis

  “He might have,” Chris said ruefully. “I didn’t see him buy the bento-bako boxes tonight. Or Fan Tan Fannie’s fan.”

  They both listened to the whooshing roar for a while. “How long does this go on?” Hutchins said finally, in between takeoffs.

  “Sometimes he stops,” Chris said, thinking how she would have felt if she’d had to put up with this and shuttle-lag, too.

  “And sometimes he doesn’t. But either way you have to put up with it because your prospective buyer told you to let him do anything he wants. Has he ever heard him snore?”

  Chris didn’t answer. She was thinking that the next time Stewart tried to put her on hold she should play a tape of Okeefenokee’s snoring.

  “I’ll bet he has,” Hutchins said, answering his own question, “and that’s why he pushed him off on you. Why is he staying here anyway? How come he isn’t with the rest of the Eahrohhs or keeping your boyfriend and his mother awake tonight?”

  “He had to have a place with high ceilings,” she said, and hoped he wouldn’t ask how high Stewart’s mother’s ceilings were. “He has vertical claustrophobia.”

  “Which explains why Okee couldn’t stand to ride the bullet tonight or sit in Luigi’s. Did your prospective buyer tell you that? Face it, he found out about the snoring.”

  “How’th a perthon thuppothed to get any thleep around here?” Molly shouted in Chris’s ear.

  Chris snapped on the light. “You’re the one who wanted to sleep in here,” she said. Molly was standing over her, clutching her rag doll and Bets’s blanket. Bets was rolling up the sleeping bag. “You’re doing thith on purpothe to get rid of uth,” Molly said darkly, and stomped out in her footed pajamas after Bets.

  “She wants to be alone with him so they can—you know!” Bets said loudly, and slammed the door. Chris turned out the light.

  “It’s an ill wind…,” Hutchins said. “I wonder why Okee needs high ceilings. Or if that’s what he really needs.”

  “What do you mean?” Chris said.

  “Remember the incident of the rolls? Maybe he needed sealings, S-E-A-L-I-N-G-S, whatever they are. The Japanese word for ‘ceiling’ is tenjo, but tenjo also means palace. Maybe he really asked for a palace. Have you been in his room since he moved in?”

  “No. He comes out when he wants to talk to me, and when he leaves, he locks the door. The first day when we went shopping in the ginza, I was going to go in and help him put things away, but…”

  “He wouldn’t let you. I know. I offered to go get my bicycle and leave it outside. I wonder what he’s doing in there besides making lift-off noises,” he said thoughtfully. “Do you have a key to his room?”

  “No. I gave him mine. And besides…”

  “I know, your prospective buyer told you to let him do anything he wants to.” He was speaking into a sudden silence from the other room. He stopped talking. “You don’t suppose we woke him up, do you?” he whispered. The whisper made him seem somehow closer.

  Chris didn’t answer. There was another long minute of silence, and another sound started up, high-pitched and rising.

  “What’s that?” Hutchins said. “It’s what he did at Luigi’s. When the stripper came on.”

  “No more sutorippu for him. And no more sake.”

  The sound rose to the same keening note it had in the nightclub and then dropped and rose again. Whether it was because of the high ceilings, though, or because there was a wall between them, it didn’t sound like an air-raid siren this time. It sounded like an impossibly high trumpet, sweet and somehow sad.

  “I think Omiko and her Orbiting Colonies reminded him of his wife,” Chris said.

  “Ummm,” Hutchins said sleepily. “I missed her. That was when I was sleeping on you.”

  “I know,” Chris said.

  “Hutchins?” she said the next time Okee’s solo faded, and was answered by a faint snore that was nothing like Mr. Okeefenokee’s. “Good night,” she said, feeling pleased all over again.

  “I don’t believe you,” Chris heard Bets say from the hall. “Why would he do that?”

  “You don’t have to believe me,” Hutchins said. He was in the hall, too. That meant he had climbed down the ladder past her and it hadn’t even woken her up. She wondered what time it was. “All I said is that if I were Spielberg, I wouldn’t want two million little girls following me around, begging me for a part in my movie. I’d come up to Sony in disguise so I could get close to the aliens and decide which little girl I wanted in the movie. Sort of a close encounter of the Hollywood kind.”

  Chris got up and pulled on a robe.

  “He could be anybody,” Hutchins went on, and Chris wondered what he was talking about. “Me or Okee or one of Mr. Nagisha’s cousins, but whoever he is, he could be watching you right now. He could be giving you a screen test this very minute.”

  “Mr. Nagithya’th couthinth aren’t watching uth. They got thrown out,” Molly said.

  Chris came into the hall. Hutchins was standing against the wall where the piano had been, holding two towels and two shower bottles. Molly and Bets were sitting on the floor in fuzzy robes and bunny slippers looking at a movie magazine. A young man with blond hair whom Chris had never seen before came out of the bathroom, trailing his shower bottle hose, and grinned at Chris as he went out the door.

  “Who was that?” Chris said.

  “Charmaine’s old boyfriend. The lawyer. He moved in this morning,” Hutchins said.

  “Mr. Okeefenokee didn’t sublet another half of my apartment, did he?”

  “No, he’s living on the landing. But, listen, speaking of moving in, I want you to know I really appreciate your letting me stay here last night. I was so lagged, I’d probably be dead this morning if you hadn’t. And I wanted to tell you why I…”

  “Mr. Nagisha’s cousins got evicted,” Bets said, studying a picture in the movie magazine. “We told Mr. Nagisha they were cooking on the stairs in violation of their lease.”

  “You girls won’t even be extras at this rate,” Hutchins said.

  “I don’t believe you,” Molly said. “Thpielberg wouldn’t dreth up like an alien.”

  “I didn’t say he’d dress up like an alien. Maybe he’s dressed up like Charmaine. And if he is, I’ll bet he doesn’t appreciate being called a thlut.”

  “I thtill don’t believe you,” Molly said. “You’re jutht doing thith tho we’ll act nither.”

  “Fine. Don’t believe me. It’s your funeral.”

  “But Mr. Nagisha’s cousins weren’t supposed to use the bathroom till after nine,” Chris said. “What time is it?”

  “Nine-thirty,” Hutchins said. He handed her a towel and a shower bottle. “What time’s this lunch with your prospective buyer?”

  “I’m meeting Stewart at thirteen-thirty,” Chris said stiffly. “Nine-thirty! Then what are you doing in line? You were supposed to be”—she squinted at the schedule on the wall—“seven forty-five.”

  “I traded places with Charmaine. She had a date with her old boyfriend, remember?”

  “We mithed our turn, too,” Molly said. “And it’th all your fault. If you hadn’t kept uth awake with all that thnoring and talking…”

  “Speaking of thnoring,” Hutchins said. “Okee said to give this to you.” He handed her a flat metal disk on a short chain. “You wear it around your neck.” He opened the odd-looking clasp and moved around behind her.

  Chris caught a glimpse of metal under his shirt collar. “When did he buy this?”

  “This morning. He got up early and went out to get rolls and coffee for breakfast.”

  “He went out by himself? What else did he buy? A set of encyclopedias?”

  Hutchins fastened the chain. The disk came right to the hollow between her collar bones and seemed almost to stick there. Chris tried to pull it out to see what was on the back, but the chain was too short. “What is this thing?” she said.

  “There’s an earplug thingee that goes with it,” he said, a
nd dropped it into the palm of her outstretched hand.

  “My mother says we should have stuck cotton in our ears and stayed right where we were last night,” Bets said. “She says possession is nine tenths of the law.”

  “Did you put her up to this?” Chris said to Hutchins.

  “Not me. It’s not a bad argument, though. Go ahead. Put it on.”

  Chris looked warily at the smaller round disk and put it in her ear. “Mr. Okeefenokee didn’t go out again, did he?”

  (No,) Hutchins said. His lips didn’t move. (He’s in the bathroom. And after breakfast .,. Oh, that reminds me.) He dug his hand in his pocket and came up with a handful of crumpled yen. (I had to get money out of your purse to give Okee for the rolls and coffee. This is your change.) He handed it to her.

  Chris looked at the little girls, but they had their heads together over the movie magazine again.

  (After breakfast he’s going back to bed,) Hutchins said, still without opening his mouth. (He says our talking kept him awake last night.)

  She jammed the yen in her pocket, still watching his mouth and wondering if the thing around her neck was some sort of ventriloquist’s device. “What is this thing?”

  (Okee called it something that sounded like “the Everglades,”) Hutchins said. (It picks up subvocalizations and amplifies them so any other person similarly equipped can hear them. Go ahead, say something. Under your breath. Your lips don’t have to move. In fact, all I do is think the words.)

  (He said our talking kept him awake?) Chris said cautiously under her breath, her hand on the disk.

  (Yep. He said tonight we were supposed to use these, which means he wants me to stay here tonight. And besides, if I spend the whole day moving out, I can’t keep an eye on Okee. He’ll probably end up buying a steam calliope.)

  (You’ve done a great job of watching him so far,) she thought. (When did he buy these subvocalizers?)

  “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully, and she could tell by the way the little girls looked up from their movie magazine that he had spoken aloud. It hadn’t sounded markedly different from when he used the subvocalizer, only a little farther away.

  Molly and Bets were watching Hutchins suspiciously. “Well, I don’t know either,” Chris said, as if they had been carrying on a rational conversation, “but I’d say his time in the bathroom is definitely up.” She tapped on the bathroom door. “Mr. Okeefenokee, your time is up.”

  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 wea
ring 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.”