“Where?” said Sissix, turning around. Her face softened when she saw the merchant, an old Aandrisk woman seated beneath a small woven canopy, surrounded on three sides by tables full of handmade goods. The woman’s feathers were faded, their frills worn and sparse. Her skin was cracking, like old leather, and though the single garment she wore—a soft pair of pants—was bright and clean, something solemn hung around her scaled shoulders.
Sissix said something to herself in Reskitkish. The sibilant words were lost on Rosemary, but she saw Kizzy’s eyebrows knit together. Sissix pressed a palm toward her companions. “Sorry, ladies, wait here. I’ll try not to be long.” She headed for the merchant, who was too busy stirring a cup of something hot to see Sissix approach.
Rosemary and Kizzy looked at one another. “Do you know what she said?” Rosemary asked.
“My Reskitkish sucks,” Kizzy said. “But she sounded upset. Dunno what she’s up to.” She nodded at a nearby bench. “Guess we’ll chill for a bit.”
They took a seat. Across from them, the merchant looked up at Sissix. The old Aandrisk smiled, but she looked hesitant, as if she were embarrassed about something. Rosemary could see Sissix’s mouth moving, but the words were lost to distance (not that Rosemary could understand the language anyway). As Sissix spoke, her hands wove in subtle patterns, shifting and darting like small flocks of birds. The old woman’s hands moved in response. At first, their respective motions were discordant, but as their conversation continued, they began to mirror one another.
“Do you know Aandrisk hand speak?” Rosemary asked.
Kizzy glanced up from the lock of hair she was braiding. “Not really. Sis taught me a couple of ’em. Just basic stuff. ‘Hello.’ ‘Thanks.’ ‘I enjoy your company but I don’t want to have sex.’ ” She watched Sissix and the merchant for a moment. She shook her head. “I have no idea. They’re way too fast. But Sissix is speaking out loud, too, which is interesting.”
“Why would she speak if she’s using sign language?”
“No, no, it’s not like a sign language. Hand speak doesn’t match up with Reskitkish.”
Rosemary was puzzled. “This is a stupid question, but then what is it? Is it like facial expressions? Or Hanto gestures?”
“No.” Kizzy pulled a ribbon from her pocket and tied off the braid. “Hand speak expresses things that are either too basic to waste words on or too personal.”
“Too personal?”
“Yeah, stuff that’s really important or hard to say. Like about love or hate or stuff you’re scared about. You know how when you have something big to tell someone, you stammer through it or sit in front of your mirror practicing what to say? Aandrisks don’t bother with that. They let the gestures take care of all the awkwards. They figure that big, deep feelings are universal enough to be defined with just a flick of the hand or whatever, even though the events that cause those feelings are unique.”
“That must save them a lot of time,” said Rosemary, wondering how much of her life had been spent trying to find the right words in difficult conversations.
“Seriously. But back in the day, you could also use hand speak while you spoke. It was used to add emphasis to stuff you said out loud, so that folks knew you really meant it. Sissix says you can still use it like that, but it’s old-fashioned, and you only do it in special circumstances.” She nodded toward the stall, where the two Aandrisks were now moving in sync. “What we’re seeing here is Sissix being super respectful. And honest.”
“But she doesn’t know that merchant, right?”
“Dunno. Don’t think so. But that lady’s old, so maybe she’s just being old-fashioned for her sake.”
Rosemary watched the Aandrisks. Their hands moved in a graceful, hurried dance. “How are they matching each other?” she asked.
Kizzy shrugged. “I guess they agree on something.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Like that.”
Sissix had sat down with her back against one of the tables, spreading her legs to either side. The older woman joined her, leaning her back against Sissix’s front. They adjusted their tails accordingly. The old woman leaned her head into Sissix’s chest, her eyes falling shut. Sissix pressed one palm against the old woman’s stomach, holding her close. With her other hand, she spread her fingers wide and ran them up from the old woman’s scalp to the tips of her feathers, tugging the shafts gently as she went. To Human eyes, they looked like reunited lovers behind a bedroom door, not at all like two strangers in a open-air market. Even across the street, the old woman’s face was easy to read. She was in bliss.
Rosemary was bewildered. She knew Aandrisks were uninhibited (by Human standards, she reminded herself), but this went beyond what she was expecting. “Um,” she said. “So…”
“I have no idea,” said Kizzy. “Aandrisks. I don’t even fucking know.” She was silent for a few seconds. “Do you think they’re gonna go for it?” she whispered, leaning forward with childlike curiosity. “I bet they are. Holy shit, is that even legal here? Oh, I hope they don’t.”
But the Aandrisks did not couple, though they continued their spontaneous intimacy for a good half an hour, stroking feathers and nuzzling cheeks, oblivious to the stares of passersby. At one point, two other Aandrisks strolled past without more than a casual glance, as if nothing was going on. Rosemary wasn’t sure if she should avert her eyes or not. Sissix clearly didn’t care who was looking. As Rosemary watched, the peculiarity of the act began to melt away. It was alien, yes, and sudden, but not uncomfortable. There was a weird sort of beauty to it, something about the way their hands moved, the ease with which they touched each other. Baffling as the thought was, Rosemary found herself a little envious—of the old woman or of Sissix, she wasn’t sure. She wished someone would give her that sort of attention on a whim. She wished she were confident enough to give it back.
Finally, there was a flutter from the old woman’s hands. Sissix let go and helped the old woman to her feet. They began looking through the old woman’s wares. A jar of scale scrub was selected. Sissix’s wrist was scanned. A few more words were exchanged, but without hand speak. A normal discussion between customer and merchant, made all the more surreal by what had come before.
The old woman reached up and plucked a feather from her head, wincing as she did so. She held the feather—a faded blue—out to Sissix. Sissix took it, bowing her head low. Her expression was one of gratitude.
“Oh, wow,” said Kizzy, putting her hands over her heart. “I still don’t know what’s going on, but that just made me go all mushy.”
“What?” Rosemary kept her eye on the Aandrisks, as if staring long enough might provide an explanation. “What’s that mean?”
“Have you been in Sissix’s room yet?”
“No.”
“Okay, well, on her wall, there’s this big fancy frame with a mess of Aandrisk feathers hanging from it. Every Aandrisk’s got one, as far as I know. See, if you’re an Aandrisk and somebody really touches your life in some way, you give that person one of your feathers. And then you keep the feathers you get from others as a symbol of how many paths you’ve crossed. Having a lot of feathers on your wall shows that you’ve had an impact on a lot of people. That’s a pretty big life priority for most Aandrisks. But they don’t give feathers out casually, not, like, for helping you carry something or giving you a free drink or whatever. It’s got to be an experience that sticks with you, but it can totally be between strangers. Oh, hey, check it.” Kizzy gestured with her chin toward Sissix, who was giving the old woman one of her own feathers.