“I certainly was, when he telephoned me just now,” Nesseref said. “I was also surprised to learn that a male who has done the Race so many important services should have to inhabit a refugee center because he is unable to find housing for himself, his mate, and his hatchlings.”
“That is unfortunate,” the liaison officer agreed. “I thank you for bringing it to my attention. Perhaps I should speak to someone in the housing authority.”
“I wish you would,” Nesseref said. “I intended to do the same thing myself, but they are likelier to listen to a male from the conquest fleet than to a shuttlecraft pilot without any great connections.”
“Sometimes I think the bureaucrats, especially the ones from the colonization fleet, pay no attention to anyone except themselves,” the liaison officer said. “But what I can do, I shall do: I assure you of that.”
“I thank you,” Nesseref said. “I think I will also make those phone calls myself. Perhaps I can reinforce you. I count Mordechai Anielewicz as a friend, and I am pleased to do whatever I can for him.”
“Well, of course, if he is a friend,” replied the male from the conquest fleet. “I have Tosevite friends myself, so I understand how you feel.”
“Oh, good. I am very glad to hear that,” Nesseref said. “It gives me hope that, in spite of everything, we may yet be able to live alongside the Big Uglies on a long-term basis.” She hesitated. Rather defensively, she added, “We may.” The liaison officer didn’t laugh at her. She feared that was more likely to mean he was polite, though, than that he agreed with her.
“Reuven!” Moishe Russie called from the Lizards’ computer-and-telephone unit. “Come here for a minute, would you? You may be able to give me some help. I hope you can, anyway-I could use some.”
“I’m coming, Father.” Reuven hurried into the front room. “What’s up?” he asked, and then stopped in surprise when he saw Shpaaka, one of the leading Lizard physicians at the Russie Medical College, looking out of the monitor screen at him. He shifted into the language of the Race: “I greet you, superior sir.”
“And I greet you, Reuven Russie,” Shpaaka answered. “It is good to see you again, even if you decided that your superstition precluded you from finishing your studies with us.”
“I thank you. It is good to see you, too.” Seeing Shpaaka reminded Reuven how much he missed the medical college, something he tried not to think about most of the time. Trying not to think about it now, he asked, “How can I help?”
His father coughed a couple of times. “I think I will let Shpaaka explain it to you, as he had begun to explain it to me.”
“Very well,” Shpaaka said, though by his tone it was anything but very well. He looked about as uncomfortable as Reuven had ever seen a male of the Race. It’s something to do with sex, he thought. It has to be. And, sure enough, the Lizard physician said, “I called your father, Reuven Russie, to discuss a case of perversion.”
That made Moishe Russie speak up: “It would be better, Doctor, if you discussed the case itself and let us draw the value judgments, if any.”
“Very well, though I find it difficult to be dispassionate here,” Shpaaka said. “The problem concerns a pair from the colonization fleet, a female named Ppurrin and a male called Waxxa. They were best friends back on Home, and they resumed that close friendship after coming to Tosev 3. Unfortunately, after coming to Tosev 3, both of them also became addicted to ginger, that most pernicious of all herbs.”
“Uh-oh,” Reuven said to his father. “Do I know what’s coming next?”
“Half of it, maybe,” Moishe Russie answered. “That’s about how much I guessed.”
Shpaaka said, “May I continue?” as if they’d talked out of turn during one of his lectures. When they looked back toward the monitor, he went on, “As you might imagine, the two of them began to mate with each other when Ppurrin tasted ginger. And, due to these repeated matings, they have conceived a passion for each other altogether inappropriate for members of the Race. After all, during a proper mating season, how is one partner much different from another?”
“You understand, superior sir, that we Tosevites feel rather differently about such things.” Reuven did his best not to sound anything but dispassionate himself. He didn’t use an emphatic cough. He didn’t burst into laughter, either.
“I said the same thing,” his father remarked.
“Of course I understand that,” Shpaaka said impatiently. “It is exactly why I am consulting with you. You see, Ppurrin and Waxxa are so blatant in their perverse behavior that they seek a formal, exclusive mating arrangement, such as is the custom among your species.”
“They want to get married?” Reuven exclaimed. He said it first in Hebrew, which Shpaaka didn’t follow. Then he translated it into English, a tongue the Lizard physician did know fairly well.
And, sure enough, Shpaaka made the affirmative gesture. “That is exactly what they want to do. Can you imagine anything more disgusting?”
Before answering him, Reuven spoke quickly to his father: “Well, you were right. I didn’t think of that.” Then he returned to the language of the Race and said, “Superior sir, I gather you are not simply punishing them because they use ginger.”
“We could do that,” Shpaaka admitted, “but both of them, aside from this sexual perversion, perform their jobs very well. Still, sanctioning permanent unions of this sort would surely prove destructive of good order. Why, next thing you know, they would probably want to rear their hatchlings themselves and teach them the same sort of revolting behavior.”
This time, Reuven did laugh. He couldn’t help it. He made himself grow serious again, saying, “We Tosevites do not consider any of the behavior you have mentioned to be disgusting, you know.”
“I would agree. It is not disgusting-for Tosevites,” Shpaaka said. “We of the Race found it disgusting in you when we first learned of it, but that was some time ago now. We have come to see that it is normal for your kind. But we do not want our males and females imitating it, any more than you would want your males and females imitating our normal practices.”
“Some of our males might enjoy your mating seasons, while their stamina lasted,” Moishe Russie said. “Most of our females, I agree, would not approve.”
“You are being irrelevant,” Shpaaka said severely. “I had hoped for assistance, not mockery and sarcasm. Except for their drug addiction and perverse attraction to each other, Ppurrin and Waxxa, as I say, are excellent members of the Race.”
“Why not just ignore what they do in private, then?” Reuven asked.
“Because they refuse to keep it private,” Shpaaka answered. “As I told you, they have requested formal recognition of their status. They are proud of what they do, and predict that, on account of ginger, most males and females of the Race on Tosev 3 will eventually find permanent, exclusive sexual partners.”
“Missionaries for monogamy, “Moishe Russie murmured.
Reuven nodded. “What if they are right?” he asked Shpaaka.
His former mentor recoiled in horror. “In that case, the colonists on Tosev 3 will become the pariahs of the Empire when the truth is learned back on Home,” he answered. “I think it altogether likely that the spirits of Emperors past would turn their backs on this whole world as a result.”
He means it, Reuven realized. The Lizards dismissed his religion as a superstition. He sometimes did the same with theirs. Here, that would be a mistake.
He said, “If you do not wish to punish them and you do wish to silence them, why not suggest that they emigrate to one of the independent not-empires? — to the United States, perhaps. Ginger is legal there and”-of necessity, he dropped into English-“they could get married, too.”
“That is a good idea.” Moishe Russie used an emphatic cough. “That is a very good idea. It would get this couple out from under your scales, too, Shpaaka, so they cannot agitate among the colonists any more.”
“Perhaps.” Shpaaka turned an eye turret toward Reuven. “I thank you, Reuven Russie. It is, at any rate, an idea we had not thought of for ourselves. We shall consider it. Farewell.” His image disappeared from the screen.
“Lizards who want to get married!” Reuven turned to his father. Now he could laugh as much as he wanted to, and he did. “I never would have believed that.”
“They’ve made people change a lot since they got to Earth,” Moishe Russie said. “They’re just starting to find out how much they’ve changed, too. As far as they’re concerned, changing us is fine. But they don’t like it so well when the shoe is on the other foot. Nobody does.”
“If they could stamp out ginger, they’d do it in a minute,” Reuven said.
“If we could stamp out alcohol and opium and a lot of other things, a lot of us would do it, too,” his father said. “We’ve never managed it. I don’t think they’ll have an easy time getting rid of ginger, either.”
“You’re probably right, especially since we use it so much in food,” Reuven answered. “One of these days, though, they may try-try seriously, I mean. That will be interesting.”
“There’s one word for it.” Moishe Russie winked. “If these Lizards do get married, who’d give the bride away?”