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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31980-h.zip b/31980-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d3f125 --- /dev/null +++ b/31980-h.zip diff --git a/31980-h/31980-h.htm b/31980-h/31980-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..292d55b --- /dev/null +++ b/31980-h/31980-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1781 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rough Translation, by Jean M. Janis + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.p1 { margin-left: 80%; } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft1 { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; + margin-top: 0.2em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rough Translation, by Jean M. Janis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rough Translation + +Author: Jean M. Janis + +Illustrator: Hunter + +Release Date: April 14, 2010 [EBook #31980] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUGH TRANSLATION *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction December 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="525" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>Rough Translation</h1> +<p> </p> +<h2>By JEAN M. JANIS</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Illustrated by Hunter</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>Don't be ashamed if you can't +blikkel any more. It's because +you couldn't help framishing.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft1"><img src="images/image_s1.jpg" alt="S" width="55" height="50" /></div> +<p>hurgub," said the +tape recorder. "Just like +I told you before, Dr. +Blair, it's krandoor, so don't expect +to vrillipax, because they +just won't stand for any. They'd +sooner framish."</p> + +<p>"Framish?" Jonathan heard his +own voice played back by the +recorder, tinny and slightly nasal. +"What is that, Mr. Easton?"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> know. Like when you +guttip. Carooms get awfully bevvergrit. +Why, I saw one actually—"</p> + +<p>"Let's go back a little, shall +we?" Jonathan suggested. "What +does shurgub mean?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause while the +machine hummed and the recorder +tape whirred. Jonathan +remembered the look on Easton's +face when he had asked him that. +Easton had pulled away slightly, +mouth open, eyes hurt.</p> + +<p>"Why—why, I <i>told</i> you!" he +had shouted. "Weeks ago! What's +the matter? Don't you blikkel +English?"</p> + +<p>Jonathan Blair reached out +and snapped the switch on the +machine. Putting his head in his +hands, he stared down at the top +of his desk.</p> + +<p>You learned Navajo in six +months, he reminded himself +fiercely.</p> + +<p>You are a highly skilled +linguist. What's the matter? +Don't you blikkel English?</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> +<p>e groaned and started searching +through his briefcase for +the reports from Psych. Easton +must be insane. He must! Ramirez +says it's no language. Stoughton +says it's no language. And <i>I</i>, +Jonathan thought savagely, say +it's no language.</p> + +<p>But—</p> + +<p>Margery tiptoed into the study +with a tray.</p> + +<p>"But Psych," he continued +aloud to her, "Psych says it <i>must</i> +be a language because, they say, +Easton is <i>not</i> insane!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear," sighed Margery, +blinking her pale blue eyes. +"That again?" She set his coffee +on the desk in front of him. "Poor +Jonathan. Why doesn't the Institute +give up?"</p> + +<p>"Because they can't." He +reached for the cup and sat glaring +at the steaming coffee.</p> + +<p>"Well," said his wife, settling +into the leather chair beside him, +"<i>I</i> certainly would. My goodness, +it's been over a month now since +he came back, and you haven't +learned a thing from him!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we've learned some. And +this morning, for the first time, +Easton himself began to seem +puzzled by a few of the things +he was saying. He's beginning to +use terms we can understand. +He's coming around. And if I +could only find some clue—some +sort of—"</p> + +<p>Margery snorted. "It's just +plain foolish! I knew the Institute +was asking for trouble when +they sent the <i>Rhinestead</i> off. How +do they know Easton ever got +to Mars, anyway? Maybe he did +away with those other men, cruised +around, and then came back +to Earth with this made-up story +just so he could seem to be a +hero and—"</p> + +<p>"That's nonsense!"</p> + +<p>"Why?" she demanded stubbornly. +"Why is it?"</p> + +<p>"Because the <i>Rhinestead</i> was +tracked, for one thing, on both +flights, to and from Mars. Moonbase +has an indisputable record +of it. And besides, the instruments +on the ship itself show—" +He found the report he had been +searching for. "Oh, never mind."</p> + +<p>"All right," she said defiantly. +"Maybe he did get to Mars. +Maybe he did away with the +crew after he got there. He knew +the ship was built so that one +man could handle it in an emergency. +Maybe he—"</p> + +<p>"Look," said Jonathan patiently. +"He didn't do anything of the +sort. Easton has been checked so +thoroughly that it's impossible to +assume anything except, (a) he +is sane, (b) he reached Mars and +made contact with the Martians, +(c) this linguistic barrier is a result +of that contact."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="43" height="40" /></div> +<p>argery shook her head, +sucking in her breath. "When +I think of all those fine young +men," she murmured. "Heaven +only knows what happened to +them!"</p> + +<p>"You," Jonathan accused, +"have been reading that columnist—what's-his-name? +The one +that's been writing such claptrap +ever since Easton brought the +<i>Rhinestead</i> back alone."</p> + +<p>"Cuddlehorn," said his wife. +"Roger Cuddlehorn, and it's not +claptrap."</p> + +<p>"The other members of the +crew are all alive, all—"</p> + +<p>"I suppose Easton told you +that?" she interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he did."</p> + +<p>"Using double-talk, of course," +said his wife triumphantly. At +the look on Jonathan's face, she +stood up in guilty haste. "All +right, I'll go!" She blew him a +kiss from the door. "Richie and +I are having lunch at one. Okay? +Or would you rather have a tray +in here?"</p> + +<p>"Tray," he said, turning back +to his desk and his coffee. "No, +on second thought, call me when +lunch is ready. I'll need a break."</p> + +<p>He was barely conscious of the +closing of the door as Margery +left the room. Naturally he didn't +take her remarks seriously, but—</p> + +<p>He opened the folder of pictures +and studied them again, +along with the interpretations by +Psych, Stoughton, Ramirez and +himself.</p> + +<p>Easton had drawn the little +stick figures on the first day of +his return. The interpretations all +checked—and they had been +done independently, too. There +it is, thought Jonathan. Easton +lands the <i>Rhinestead</i>. He and the +others meet the Martians. They +are impressed by the Martians. +The others stay on Mars. Easton +returns to Earth, bearing a message.</p> + +<p>Question: What is the message?</p> + +<p>Teeth set, Jonathan put away +the pictures and went back to +the tape on the recorder. "Yes," +said his own voice, in answer to +Easton's outburst. "I do—er—blikkel +English. But tell me, Mr. +Easton, do you understand me?"</p> + +<p>"Under-stand?" The man +seemed to have difficulty forming +the word. "You mean—" +Pause. "Dr. Blair, I murv you. +Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"Murv," repeated Jonathan. +"All right, you murv me. Do you +murv this? I do not always murv +what you say."</p> + +<p>A laugh. "Of course not. How +could you?" Suppressed groan. +"Carooms," Easton had murmured, +almost inaudibly. "Just when +I almost murv, the kwakut goes +freeble."</p> + +<p>Jonathan flipped the switch on +the machine. "Murv" he wrote +on his pad of paper. He added +"Blikkel," "Carooms" and "Freeble." +He stared at the list. He +should understand, he thought. +At times it seemed as if he did +and then, in the next instant, he +was lost again, and Easton was +angry, and they had to start all +over again.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>ighing, he took out more +papers, notes from previous +sessions, both with himself and +with other linguists. The difficulty +of reaching Easton was unlike +anything he had ever before +tackled. The six months of Navajo +had been rough going, but +he had done it, and done it well +enough to earn the praise of Old +Comas, his informant. Surely, he +thought, after mastering a language +like that, one in which the +student must not only learn to +imitate difficult sounds, but also +learn a whole new pattern of +thought—</p> + +<p>Pattern of thought. Jonathan +sat very still, as though movement +would send the fleeting clue +back into the corner from which +his mind had glimpsed it.</p> + +<p>A whole new frame of reference. +Suppose, he toyed with the +thought, suppose the Martian +language, whatever it was, was +structured along the lines of Navajo, +involving clearly defined +categories which did not exist in +English.</p> + +<p>"Murv," he said aloud. "I +murv a lesson, but I blikkel a +language."</p> + +<p>Eagerly, Jonathan reached +again for the switch. Categories +clearly defined, yes! But the categories +of the Martian language +were not those of the concrete or +the particular, like the Navajo. +They were of the abstract. Where +one word "understand" would do +in English, the Martian used +two—</p> + +<p>Good Lord, he realized, they +might use hundreds! They +might—</p> + +<p>Jonathan turned on the machine, +sat back and made notes, +letting the recorder run uninterrupted. +He made his notes, this +time, on the feelings he received +from the words Easton used. +When the first tape was done, he +put on the second.</p> + +<p>Margery tapped at the door +just as the third tape was ending. +"In a minute," he called, +scribbling furiously. He turned +off the machine, put out his cigarette +and went to lunch, feeling +better than he had in weeks.</p> + +<p>Richie was at the kitchen sink, +washing his hands.</p> + +<p>"And next time," Margery was +saying, "you wash up before you +sit down."</p> + +<p>Richie blinked and watched +Jonathan seat himself. "Daddy +didn't wash his hands," he said.</p> + +<p>Margery fixed the six-year-old +with a stern eye. "Richard, don't +be rude."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="400" height="555" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Well, he didn't." Richie sat +down and reached for his glass +of milk.</p> + +<p>"Daddy probably washed before +he came in," said Margery. +She took the cover off a tureen, +ladled soup into bowls and passed +sandwiches, pretending not to +see the ink-stained hand Jonathan +was hiding in his lap.</p> + +<p>Jonathan, elated by the promise +of success, ate three or four +sandwiches, had two bowls of +soup and finally sat back while +Margery went to get coffee.</p> + +<p>Richie slid part way off his +chair, remembered, and slid back +on again. "Kin I go?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Please may I be excused," +corrected his father.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>ichie repeated, received a +nod and ran out of the dinette +and through the kitchen, +grabbing a handful of cookies +on the way. The screen door +banged behind him as he raced +into the backyard.</p> + +<p>"Richie!" Margery started after +him, eyes ablaze. Then she +stopped and came back to the +table with the coffee. "That boy! +How long does it take before +they get to be civilized?" Jonathan +laughed. "Oh, sure," she +went on, sitting down opposite +him. "It's funny to you. But if +you were here all day long—" +She stirred sugar into her cup. +"We should have sent him to +camp, even if it would have +wrecked the budget!"</p> + +<p>"Oh? Is it that bad?"</p> + +<p>Margery shuddered. "Sometimes +he's a perfect angel, and +then—It's unbelievable, the +things that child can think of! +Sometimes I'm convinced children +are another species altogether! +Why, only this morning—"</p> + +<p>"Well," Jonathan broke in, +"next summer he goes to camp." +He stood up and stretched.</p> + +<p>Margery said wistfully, "I suppose +you want to get back to +work."</p> + +<p>"Ummmm." Jonathan leaned +over and kissed her briefly. "I've +got a new line of attack," he said, +picking up his coffee. He patted +his wife's shoulder. "If things +work out well, we might get away +on that vacation sooner than we +thought."</p> + +<p>"Really?" she asked, brightening.</p> + +<p>"Really." He left the table and +went back to his den.</p> + +<p>Putting the next tape on the +machine, he settled down to his +job. Time passed and finally +there were no more tapes to listen +to.</p> + +<p>He stacked his notes and +began making lists, checking +through the sheets of paper for +repetitions of words Easton had +used, listing the various connotations +which had occurred to Jonathan +while he had listened to +the tapes.</p> + +<p>As he worked, he was struck +by the similarity of the words +he was recording to the occasional +bits of double-talk he had +heard used by comedians in theaters +and on the air, and he allowed +his mind to wander a bit, +exploring the possibilities.</p> + +<p>Was Martian actually such a +close relative to English? Or had +the Martians learned English +from Easton, and had Easton +then formed a sort of pidgin-English-Martian +of his own?</p> + +<p>Jonathan found it difficult to +believe in the coincidence of the +two languages being alike, unless—</p> + +<p>He laughed. Unless, of course, +Earthmen were descended from +Martians, or vice versa. Oh, well, +not my problem, he thought +jauntily.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> +<p>e stared at the list before +him and then he started to +swear, softly at first, then louder. +But no matter how loudly he +swore, the list remained undeniably +and obstinately the same:</p> + +<p><b>Freeble—Displeasure (Tape 3)</b></p> + +<p><b>Freeble—Elation (Tape 4)</b></p> + +<p><b>Freeble—Grief (Tape 5)</b></p> + +<p>"How," he asked the empty +room, "can a word mean grief +and elation at the same time?"</p> + +<p>Jonathan sat for a few moments +in silence, thinking back +to the start of the sessions with +Easton. Ramirez and Stoughton +had both agreed with him that +Easton's speech was phonemically +identical to English. Jonathan's +trained ear remembered +the pronunciation of "Freeble" +in the three different connotations +and he forced himself to +admit it was the same on all +three tapes in question.</p> + +<p>Stuck again, he thought gloomily.</p> + +<p>Good-by, vacation!</p> + +<p>He lit a cigarette and stared +at the ceiling. It was like saying +the word "die" meant something +happy and something sad at one +and the same, like saying—</p> + +<p>Jonathan pursed his lips. Yes, +it could be. If someone were in +terrible pain, death, while a thing +of sorrow, could also mean release +from suffering and so become +a thing of joy. Or it could +mean sorrow to one person and +relief to another. In that case, +what he was dealing with here +was not only—</p> + +<p>The crash of the ball, as it +sailed through the window behind +his desk, lifted Jonathan +right from his chair. Furious, his +elusive clue shattered as surely +as the pane of glass, he strode to +the window.</p> + +<p>"Richie!"</p> + +<p>His son, almost hidden behind +the lilac bush, did not answer.</p> + +<p>"I see you!" Jonathan bellowed. +"Come here!"</p> + +<p>The bush stirred slightly and +Richie peeped through the leaves. +"Did you call me, Daddy?" he +asked politely.</p> + +<p>Jonathan clamped his lips shut +and pointed to the den. Richie +tried a smile as he sidled around +the bush, around his father, and +into the house.</p> + +<p>"My," he marveled, looking at +the broken glass on the floor inside. +"My goodness!" He sat +down in the leather chair to +which Jonathan motioned.</p> + +<p>"Richie," said his father, when +he could trust his voice again, +"how did it happen?"</p> + +<p>His son's thin legs, brown and +wiry, stuck out straight from the +depths of the chair. There was a +long scratch on one calf and numerous +black-and-blue spots +around both knees.</p> + +<p>"I dunno," said Richie. He +blinked his eyes, deeper blue than +Margery's, and reached up one +hand to push away the mass of +blond hair tumbling over his +forehead. He was obviously trying +hard to pretend he wasn't in +the room at all.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_j.jpg" alt="J" width="22" height="40" /></div> +<p>onathan said, "Now, son, +that is not a good answer. +What were you doing when the +ball went through the window?"</p> + +<p>"Watching," said Richie truthfully.</p> + +<p>"How did it <i>go</i> through the +window?"</p> + +<p>"Real fast."</p> + +<p>Jonathan found his teeth were +clamped. No wonder he couldn't +decode Easton's speech—he +couldn't even talk with his own +son!</p> + +<p>"I mean," he explained, his patience +wavering, "you threw the +ball so that it broke the window, +didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean it to," said +Richie.</p> + +<p>"All right. That's what I wanted +to know." He started on a +lecture about respect for other +people's property, while Richie +sat and looked blankly respectful. +"And so," he heard himself +conclude, "I hope we'll be more +careful in the future."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Richie.</p> + +<p>A vague memory came to Jonathan +and he sat and studied +his son, remembering him when +he was younger and first starting +to talk. He recalled the time +Richie, age three, had come bustling +up to him. "Vransh!" the +child had pleaded, tugging at his +father's hand. Jonathan had gone +outside with him to see a baby +bird which had fallen from its +nest. "Vransh!" Richie had crowed, +exhibiting his find. "Vransh!"</p> + +<p>"Do I get my spanking now?" +asked Richie from the chair. His +eyes were wide and watchful.</p> + +<p>Jonathan tore his mind from +still another recollection: the old +joke about the man and woman +who adopted a day-old French +infant and then studied French +so they would be able to understand +their child when he began +to talk. Maybe, thought Jonathan, +it's no joke. Maybe there +<i>is</i> a language—</p> + +<p>"Spanking?" he repeated absentmindedly. +He took a fresh +pencil and pad of paper. "How +would you like to help with +something, Richie?"</p> + +<p>The blue eyes watched carefully. +"Before you spank me or +after?"</p> + +<p>"No spanking." Jonathan +glanced at the Easton notes, +vaguely aware that Richie had +suddenly relaxed. "What I'm going +to do," he went on, "is say +some words. It'll be a kind of +game. I'll say a word and then +you say a word. You say the +first word you think after you +hear my word. Okay?" He cleared +his throat. "Okay! The first +word is—house."</p> + +<p>"<i>My</i> house."</p> + +<p>"Bird," said Jonathan.</p> + +<p>"Uh—tree." Richie scratched +his nose and stifled a yawn.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_d.jpg" alt="D" width="38" height="40" /></div> +<p>isappointed, Jonathan +reminded himself that Richie +at six could not be expected to +remember something he had said +when he was three. "Dog."</p> + +<p>"Biffy." Richie sat up straight. +"Daddy, did you know Biffy had +puppies? Steve's mother showed +me. Biffy had four puppies, Daddy. +<i>Four</i>!"</p> + +<p>Jonathan nodded. He supposed +Richie's next statement would be +an appeal to go next door and +negotiate for one of the pups, and +he hurried on with, "Carooms."</p> + +<p>"Friends," said Richie, eyes +still shining. "Daddy, do you +suppose we could have a pup—" +He broke off at the look on Jonathan's +face. "Huh?"</p> + +<p>"Friends," repeated Jonathan, +writing the word slowly and unsteadily. +"Uh—vacation."</p> + +<p>"Beach," said Richie cautiously, +still looking scared.</p> + +<p>Jonathan went on with more +familiar terms and Richie slowly +relaxed again in the big chair. +From somewhere in the back of +his mind, Jonathan heard Margery +say, "Sometimes I think +they're a different species altogether." +He kept his voice low +and casual, uncertain of what he +was thinking, but aware of the +fact that Richie was hiding something. +The little mantel clock +ticked drowsily, and Richie began +to look sleepy and bored as +they went through things like +"car" and "school" and "book." +Then—</p> + +<p>"Friend," said Jonathan.</p> + +<p>"Allavarg," yawned Richie. +"No!" He snapped to, alert and +wary. "I mean <i>Steve</i>."</p> + +<p>His father looked up sharply. +"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Richie.</p> + +<p>"Richie," said Jonathan, +"what's a Caroom?"</p> + +<p>The boy shrugged and muttered, +"<i>I</i> dunno."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you do!" Jonathan +lit a cigarette. "What's an Allavarg?" +He watched the boy bite +his lips and stare out the window. +"He's a friend, isn't he?" coaxed +Jonathan. "<i>Your</i> friend? Does he +play with you?"</p> + +<p>The blond head nodded slowly +and uncertainly.</p> + +<p>"Where does he live?" persisted +Jonathan. "Does he come over +here and play in your yard? Does +he, Richie?"</p> + +<p>The boy stared at his father, +worried and unhappy. "Sometimes," +he whispered. "Sometimes +he does, if I call him."</p> + +<p>"How do you call him?" asked +Jonathan. He was beginning to +feel foolish.</p> + +<p>"Why," said Richie, "I just +say 'Here, Allavarg!' and he +comes, if he's not too busy."</p> + +<p>"What keeps him busy?" Such +nonsense! Allavarg was undoubtedly +an imaginary playmate. +This whole hunch of his was utter +nonsense. He should be at +work on Easton instead of—</p> + +<p>"The nursery keeps him busy," +said Richie. "Real busy."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_j.jpg" alt="J" width="22" height="40" /></div> +<p>onathan frowned. Did +Richie mean the greenhouse +down the road? Was there a Mr. +Allavarg who worked there? +"Whose nursery?"</p> + +<p>"Ours." Richie wrinkled his +face thoughtfully. "I think I better +go outside and play."</p> + +<p>"<i>Our</i> nursery?" Jonathan +stared at his son. "Where is it?"</p> + +<p>"I think I better go play," said +Richie more firmly, sliding off the +chair.</p> + +<p>"Richard! <i>Where</i> is the nursery?"</p> + +<p>The full lower lip began to +tremble. "I can't tell you!" +Richie wailed. "I promised!"</p> + +<p>Jonathan slammed his fist on +the desk. "Answer me!" He knew +he shouldn't speak this way to +Richie; he knew he was frightening +the boy. But the ideas racing +through his mind drove him to +find out what this was all about. +It might be nothing, but it also +might be—"Answer me, Richard!"</p> + +<p>The child stifled a sob. "Here," +he said weakly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Here</i>? Where?"</p> + +<p>"In my house," said Richie. +"And Steve's house and Billy's +and all over." He rubbed his eyes, +leaving a grimy smear.</p> + +<p>"All right," soothed Jonathan. +"It's all right now, son. Daddy +didn't mean to scare you. Daddy +has to learn these things, that's +all. Just like learning in school."</p> + +<p>The boy shook his head resentfully. +"<i>You</i> know," he accused. +"You just forgot."</p> + +<p>"What did I forget, Richie?"</p> + +<p>"You forgot all about Allavarg. +He told me! It was a different +Allavarg when you were +little, but it was almost the same. +You used to play with <i>your</i> Allavarg +when you were little like +me!"</p> + +<p>Jonathan took a deep breath. +"Where did Allavarg come from, +Richie?"</p> + +<p>But Richie shook his head +stubbornly, lips pressed tight. "I +promised!"</p> + +<p>"Richie, a promise like that +isn't a good one," pleaded Jonathan. +"Allavarg wouldn't want +you to disobey your father and +mother, would he?"</p> + +<p>The child sat and stared at +him.</p> + +<p>This was a very disturbing +thought and Jonathan could see +Richie did not know how to deal +with it.</p> + +<p>He pressed his momentary advantage. +"Allavarg takes care of +little boys and girls, doesn't he? +He plays with them and he looks +after them, I'll bet."</p> + +<p>Richie nodded uncertainly.</p> + +<p>"And," continued Jonathan, +smiling what he hoped was a winning, +comradely smile at his son, +"I'll bet that Allavarg came from +some place far, far away, didn't +he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Richie softly.</p> + +<p>"And it's his job to be here +and look after the—the nursery?" +Jonathan bit his lip. Nursery? +Earth? Carooms—Martians? His +head began to ache. "Son, you've +got to help me understand. Do +you—do you murv me?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_r.jpg" alt="R" width="36" height="40" /></div> +<p>ichie shook his head. "No. +But I <i>will</i> after—"</p> + +<p>"After what?"</p> + +<p>"After I grow up."</p> + +<p>"Why not now?" asked Jonathan.</p> + +<p>The blond head sank lower. +"Because you framish, Daddy."</p> + +<p>His father nodded, trying to +look wise, wincing inwardly as +he pictured his colleagues listening +in on this conversation. "Well—why +don't you help me so I +<i>don't</i> framish?"</p> + +<p>"I can't." Richie glanced up, +his eyes stricken. "Some day, Allavarg +says, <i>I'm</i> going to framish, +too!"</p> + +<p>"Grow up, you mean?" hazarded +Jonathan, and this time +his smile was real as he looked at +the smudged eyes and soft round +cheeks. "Why, Richie," he went +on, his voice suddenly husky, +"it's fun to be a little boy, but +there'll be lots to do when you +grow up. You—"</p> + +<p>"I wish I was Mr. Easton!" +Richie said fiercely.</p> + +<p>Jonathan held his breath. +"What about Mr. Easton?"</p> + +<p>Richie squirmed out of the +chair and clutched Jonathan's +arm. "Please, Daddy! If you let +Mr. Easton go back, can I go, +too? Please? Can I?"</p> + +<p>Jonathan put his hands on his +son's shoulders. "Richie! What +do you know about Mr. Easton?"</p> + +<p>"Please? Can I go with him?" +The shining blue eyes pleaded up +at him. "If you don't let him go +back pretty soon, he's going to +framish again! Please! Can I?"</p> + +<p>"He's going to framish," nodded +Jonathan. "And what then?" +he coaxed. "What'll happen after +he framishes? Will he be able +to tell me about his trip?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> dunno," said Richie. "I dunno +how he <i>could</i>. After you framish, +you don't remember lots +of things. I don't think he's even +gonna remember he <i>went</i> on a +trip." The boy's hands shook +Jonathan's arm eagerly. "Please, +Daddy! Can I go with him?"</p> + +<p>"No!" Jonathan glared and released +his hold on Richie. Didn't +he have troubles enough without +Richie suggesting—"About the +nursery," he said briskly. "Why +is there a nursery?"</p> + +<p>"To take care of us." Richie +looked worried. "Why can't I +go?"</p> + +<p>"Because you can't! Why don't +they have the nursery back +where Allavarg came from?"</p> + +<p>"There isn't any room." The +blue eyes studied the man, looking +for a way to get permission +to go with Mr. Easton.</p> + +<p>"No room? What do you +mean?"</p> + +<p>Richie sighed. Obviously he'd +have to explain first and coax +later. "Well, you know my +school? You know my teacher +in school? You know when my +teacher was different?" He peered +anxiously at Jonathan, and +suddenly the man caught on.</p> + +<p>"Of course! You mean when +they split the kindergarten into +two smaller groups because there +were too many—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="41" height="40" /></div> +<p>is voice trailed off. Too +many. Too many what? Too +many Martians on Mars? Growing +population? No way to cut +down the birth rate? He pictured +the planet with too many +people. What to do? Move out. +Take another planet. Why didn't +they just do that? He put the +question to Richie.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said his son wisely, "they +couldn't because of the framish. +They <i>did</i> go other places, but +everywhere they went, they framished. +And after you framish, +you ain't—<i>aren't</i> a Caroom any +more. You're a Gunderguck and +of course—"</p> + +<p>"Huh?"</p> + +<p>"—and a Caroom doesn't like +to framish and be a Gunderguck," +continued Richie happily, +as though reciting a lesson learned +in school. "He wants to be a +Caroom <i>all</i> the time because it's +better and more fun and you +know lots of things you don't remember +after you get to be a +Gunderguck. Only—" he paused +for a gulp of air—"only there +wasn't room for <i>all</i> the Carooms +back home and they couldn't find +any place where they could be +Carooms all the time, because of +the framish. So after a long time, +and after they looked all over all +around, they decided maybe it +wouldn't be so bad if they sent +some of their little boys and girls—the +ones they didn't have room +for—to some place where they +could be Carooms longer than +most other places. And <i>that</i> +place," Richie said proudly, "was +right here! 'Cause <i>here</i> there's +almost as much gladdisl as back +home and—"</p> + +<p>"Gladdisl?" Jonathan echoed +hoarsely. "What's—"</p> + +<p>"—and after they start growing +up—"</p> + +<p>"Gladdisl," Jonathan repeated, +more firmly. "Richie, what is +it?"</p> + +<p>The forehead puckered momentarily. +"It's something you +breathe, sort of." The boy shied +away from the difficult question, +trying to remember what +Allavarg had said about gladdisl. +"Anyway, after the little boys +and girls start to grow up and +after they framish and be Gundergucks, +like you and Mommy, +the Carooms back home send +some <i>more</i> to take their places. +And the Gundergucks who used +to be Carooms here in the nursery +look after the new little—"</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" +Jonathan interrupted suspiciously. +"I thought you said +Allavarg looks after them."</p> + +<p>"He does. But there's so many +little Carooms and there aren't +many Allavargs and so the Gundergucks +have to help. You +help," Richie assured his father. +"You and Mommy help a little +bit."</p> + +<p>Big of you to admit it, old +man, thought Jonathan, suppressing +a smile. "But aren't you +<i>our</i> little boy?" he asked. He +had a sudden vision of himself +addressing the scientists at the +Institute: "And so, gentlemen, +our babies—who, incidentally, +are really Martians—<i>are</i> brought +by storks, after all. Except in +those cases where—"</p> + +<p>"The doctor brought me in a +little black bag," said Richie.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="36" height="40" /></div> + +<p>he boy stood silent and studied +his father. He sort of remembered +what Allavarg had +said, too. Things like You <i>mustn't +ever tell</i> and <i>It's got to be a +secret</i> and <i>They'd only laugh at +you, Richie, and if they didn't +laugh, they might believe you +and try to go back home and +there just isn't any room.</i></p> + +<p>"I think," said Richie, "I think +I better—" He took a deep +breath. "Here, Allavarg," he called +in a soft, piping voice.</p> + +<p>Jonathan raised his head. +"Just what do you think you're +doing—"</p> + +<p>There was a sound behind him, +and Jonathan turned startledly.</p> + +<p>"Shame on you," said Allavarg, +coming through the broken +window.</p> + +<p>Jonathan's words dropped +away in a faint gurgle.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said Richie. +"Don't be dipplefit."</p> + +<p>"It's a mess," Allavarg replied. +"It's a krandoor mess!" He waved +his arm in the air over Jonathan's +head. "And don't think +I'm going to forget it!" The insistent +hiss of escaping gas hovered +over the moving pellet in +his hand. "Jivis boy!"</p> + +<p>Jonathan coughed suddenly. +He got as far as "Now look here" +and then found that he could +neither speak nor move. The gas +or whatever it was stung his eyes +and burned in his throat.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you just freeble +him?" Richie asked unhappily. +"You're using up all your gladdisl! +Why don't you freeble him +and get me another one?"</p> + +<p>"Freeble, breeble," grumbled +Allavarg, shoving the capsule directly +under Jonathan's nose. +"Just like you youngsters, always +wanting to take the easy way +out! Gundergucks don't grow on +blansercots, you know."</p> + +<p>Jonathan felt tears start in +his eyes, partly from the fumes +and partly from a growing realization +that Allavarg was sacrificing +precious air for him. He +tried to think. If this was gladdisl +and if this would keep a man +in the state of being a Caroom, +then—</p> + +<p>"There," said Allavarg, looking +unhappily at the emptied +pellet. He shook it, sniffed it and +finally returned it to the container +at his side.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," Richie whispered. +"But he kept askin' me and askin' +me."</p> + +<p>"There, there," said Allavarg, +going to the window. "Don't fret. +I know you won't do it again." +He turned and looked thoughtfully +at Jonathan. He winked at +Richie and then he was gone.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_j.jpg" alt="J" width="22" height="40" /></div> +<p>onathan rubbed his eyes. +He could move now. He +opened his mouth and waggled +his jaws. Now that the room +was beginning to be cleared of +the gas, he realized that it had +had a pleasant odor. He realized—</p> + +<p>Why, it was all so simple! Remembering +his sessions with Easton, +Jonathan laughed aloud. So +simple! The message? <i>Stay away +from Mars! No room there! They +said I could come back if I gave +you the message, but I have to +come back alone because there's +no room for more people!</i></p> + +<p>No room? Nonsense! Jonathan +reached for the phone, dialled the +Institute and asked for Dr. +Stoughton. No room? On the +paradise that was Mars? Well, +they'd just have to make room! +They couldn't keep that to themselves!</p> + +<p>"Hello, Fred?" He leaned back +in his chair, feeling a surge of +pride and power. Wait till they +heard about this! "Just wanted +to tell you I solved the Easton +thing. Just a simple case of hapsodon. +You see, Allavarg came +and gave me a tressimox of gladdisl +and now that I'm a Caroom +again—What? What do you +mean, what's the matter? I said +I'm not a Gunderguck any +more." He stared at the phone. +"Why, you spebberset moron! +What's the matter with you? +Don't you blikkel English?"</p> + +<p>From the depths of the big +chair across the room, Richie +giggled.</p> + +<p class="p1"><b>—JEAN M. JANIS</b></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="300" height="132" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rough Translation, by Jean M. Janis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUGH TRANSLATION *** + +***** This file should be named 31980-h.htm or 31980-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/9/8/31980/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Janis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rough Translation + +Author: Jean M. Janis + +Illustrator: Hunter + +Release Date: April 14, 2010 [EBook #31980] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUGH TRANSLATION *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction December 1954. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + Rough Translation + + + By JEAN M. JANIS + + + Illustrated by Hunter + + + Don't be ashamed if you can't blikkel any more. It's because + you couldn't help framishing. + + * * * * * + + + + +"Shurgub," said the tape recorder. "Just like I told you before, Dr. +Blair, it's krandoor, so don't expect to vrillipax, because they just +won't stand for any. They'd sooner framish." + +"Framish?" Jonathan heard his own voice played back by the recorder, +tinny and slightly nasal. "What is that, Mr. Easton?" + +"_You_ know. Like when you guttip. Carooms get awfully bevvergrit. +Why, I saw one actually--" + +"Let's go back a little, shall we?" Jonathan suggested. "What does +shurgub mean?" + +There was a pause while the machine hummed and the recorder tape +whirred. Jonathan remembered the look on Easton's face when he had +asked him that. Easton had pulled away slightly, mouth open, eyes +hurt. + +"Why--why, I _told_ you!" he had shouted. "Weeks ago! What's the +matter? Don't you blikkel English?" + +Jonathan Blair reached out and snapped the switch on the machine. +Putting his head in his hands, he stared down at the top of his desk. + +You learned Navajo in six months, he reminded himself fiercely. + +You are a highly skilled linguist. What's the matter? Don't you +blikkel English? + + * * * * * + +He groaned and started searching through his briefcase for the reports +from Psych. Easton must be insane. He must! Ramirez says it's no +language. Stoughton says it's no language. And _I_, Jonathan thought +savagely, say it's no language. + +But-- + +Margery tiptoed into the study with a tray. + +"But Psych," he continued aloud to her, "Psych says it _must_ be a +language because, they say, Easton is _not_ insane!" + +"Oh, dear," sighed Margery, blinking her pale blue eyes. "That again?" +She set his coffee on the desk in front of him. "Poor Jonathan. Why +doesn't the Institute give up?" + +"Because they can't." He reached for the cup and sat glaring at the +steaming coffee. + +"Well," said his wife, settling into the leather chair beside him, +"_I_ certainly would. My goodness, it's been over a month now since he +came back, and you haven't learned a thing from him!" + +"Oh, we've learned some. And this morning, for the first time, Easton +himself began to seem puzzled by a few of the things he was saying. +He's beginning to use terms we can understand. He's coming around. And +if I could only find some clue--some sort of--" + +Margery snorted. "It's just plain foolish! I knew the Institute was +asking for trouble when they sent the _Rhinestead_ off. How do they +know Easton ever got to Mars, anyway? Maybe he did away with those +other men, cruised around, and then came back to Earth with this +made-up story just so he could seem to be a hero and--" + +"That's nonsense!" + +"Why?" she demanded stubbornly. "Why is it?" + +"Because the _Rhinestead_ was tracked, for one thing, on both flights, +to and from Mars. Moonbase has an indisputable record of it. And +besides, the instruments on the ship itself show--" He found the +report he had been searching for. "Oh, never mind." + +"All right," she said defiantly. "Maybe he did get to Mars. Maybe he +did away with the crew after he got there. He knew the ship was built +so that one man could handle it in an emergency. Maybe he--" + +"Look," said Jonathan patiently. "He didn't do anything of the sort. +Easton has been checked so thoroughly that it's impossible to assume +anything except, (a) he is sane, (b) he reached Mars and made contact +with the Martians, (c) this linguistic barrier is a result of that +contact." + + * * * * * + +Margery shook her head, sucking in her breath. "When I think of all +those fine young men," she murmured. "Heaven only knows what happened +to them!" + +"You," Jonathan accused, "have been reading that +columnist--what's-his-name? The one that's been writing such claptrap +ever since Easton brought the _Rhinestead_ back alone." + +"Cuddlehorn," said his wife. "Roger Cuddlehorn, and it's not +claptrap." + +"The other members of the crew are all alive, all--" + +"I suppose Easton told you that?" she interrupted. + +"Yes, he did." + +"Using double-talk, of course," said his wife triumphantly. At the +look on Jonathan's face, she stood up in guilty haste. "All right, +I'll go!" She blew him a kiss from the door. "Richie and I are having +lunch at one. Okay? Or would you rather have a tray in here?" + +"Tray," he said, turning back to his desk and his coffee. "No, on +second thought, call me when lunch is ready. I'll need a break." + +He was barely conscious of the closing of the door as Margery left the +room. Naturally he didn't take her remarks seriously, but-- + +He opened the folder of pictures and studied them again, along with +the interpretations by Psych, Stoughton, Ramirez and himself. + +Easton had drawn the little stick figures on the first day of his +return. The interpretations all checked--and they had been done +independently, too. There it is, thought Jonathan. Easton lands the +_Rhinestead_. He and the others meet the Martians. They are impressed +by the Martians. The others stay on Mars. Easton returns to Earth, +bearing a message. + +Question: What is the message? + +Teeth set, Jonathan put away the pictures and went back to the tape on +the recorder. "Yes," said his own voice, in answer to Easton's +outburst. "I do--er--blikkel English. But tell me, Mr. Easton, do you +understand me?" + +"Under-stand?" The man seemed to have difficulty forming the word. +"You mean--" Pause. "Dr. Blair, I murv you. Is that it?" + +"Murv," repeated Jonathan. "All right, you murv me. Do you murv this? +I do not always murv what you say." + +A laugh. "Of course not. How could you?" Suppressed groan. "Carooms," +Easton had murmured, almost inaudibly. "Just when I almost murv, the +kwakut goes freeble." + +Jonathan flipped the switch on the machine. "Murv" he wrote on his +pad of paper. He added "Blikkel," "Carooms" and "Freeble." He stared +at the list. He should understand, he thought. At times it seemed as +if he did and then, in the next instant, he was lost again, and Easton +was angry, and they had to start all over again. + + * * * * * + +Sighing, he took out more papers, notes from previous sessions, both +with himself and with other linguists. The difficulty of reaching +Easton was unlike anything he had ever before tackled. The six months +of Navajo had been rough going, but he had done it, and done it well +enough to earn the praise of Old Comas, his informant. Surely, he +thought, after mastering a language like that, one in which the +student must not only learn to imitate difficult sounds, but also +learn a whole new pattern of thought-- + +Pattern of thought. Jonathan sat very still, as though movement would +send the fleeting clue back into the corner from which his mind had +glimpsed it. + +A whole new frame of reference. Suppose, he toyed with the thought, +suppose the Martian language, whatever it was, was structured along +the lines of Navajo, involving clearly defined categories which did +not exist in English. + +"Murv," he said aloud. "I murv a lesson, but I blikkel a language." + +Eagerly, Jonathan reached again for the switch. Categories clearly +defined, yes! But the categories of the Martian language were not +those of the concrete or the particular, like the Navajo. They were of +the abstract. Where one word "understand" would do in English, the +Martian used two-- + +Good Lord, he realized, they might use hundreds! They might-- + +Jonathan turned on the machine, sat back and made notes, letting the +recorder run uninterrupted. He made his notes, this time, on the +feelings he received from the words Easton used. When the first tape +was done, he put on the second. + +Margery tapped at the door just as the third tape was ending. "In a +minute," he called, scribbling furiously. He turned off the machine, +put out his cigarette and went to lunch, feeling better than he had in +weeks. + +Richie was at the kitchen sink, washing his hands. + +"And next time," Margery was saying, "you wash up before you sit +down." + +Richie blinked and watched Jonathan seat himself. "Daddy didn't wash +his hands," he said. + +Margery fixed the six-year-old with a stern eye. "Richard, don't be +rude." + +[Illustration] + +"Well, he didn't." Richie sat down and reached for his glass of milk. + +"Daddy probably washed before he came in," said Margery. She took the +cover off a tureen, ladled soup into bowls and passed sandwiches, +pretending not to see the ink-stained hand Jonathan was hiding in his +lap. + +Jonathan, elated by the promise of success, ate three or four +sandwiches, had two bowls of soup and finally sat back while Margery +went to get coffee. + +Richie slid part way off his chair, remembered, and slid back on +again. "Kin I go?" he asked. + +"Please may I be excused," corrected his father. + + * * * * * + +Richie repeated, received a nod and ran out of the dinette and through +the kitchen, grabbing a handful of cookies on the way. The screen door +banged behind him as he raced into the backyard. + +"Richie!" Margery started after him, eyes ablaze. Then she stopped and +came back to the table with the coffee. "That boy! How long does it +take before they get to be civilized?" Jonathan laughed. "Oh, sure," +she went on, sitting down opposite him. "It's funny to you. But if you +were here all day long--" She stirred sugar into her cup. "We should +have sent him to camp, even if it would have wrecked the budget!" + +"Oh? Is it that bad?" + +Margery shuddered. "Sometimes he's a perfect angel, and then--It's +unbelievable, the things that child can think of! Sometimes I'm +convinced children are another species altogether! Why, only this +morning--" + +"Well," Jonathan broke in, "next summer he goes to camp." He stood up +and stretched. + +Margery said wistfully, "I suppose you want to get back to work." + +"Ummmm." Jonathan leaned over and kissed her briefly. "I've got a new +line of attack," he said, picking up his coffee. He patted his wife's +shoulder. "If things work out well, we might get away on that vacation +sooner than we thought." + +"Really?" she asked, brightening. + +"Really." He left the table and went back to his den. + +Putting the next tape on the machine, he settled down to his job. Time +passed and finally there were no more tapes to listen to. + +He stacked his notes and began making lists, checking through the +sheets of paper for repetitions of words Easton had used, listing the +various connotations which had occurred to Jonathan while he had +listened to the tapes. + +As he worked, he was struck by the similarity of the words he was +recording to the occasional bits of double-talk he had heard used by +comedians in theaters and on the air, and he allowed his mind to +wander a bit, exploring the possibilities. + +Was Martian actually such a close relative to English? Or had the +Martians learned English from Easton, and had Easton then formed a +sort of pidgin-English-Martian of his own? + +Jonathan found it difficult to believe in the coincidence of the two +languages being alike, unless-- + +He laughed. Unless, of course, Earthmen were descended from Martians, +or vice versa. Oh, well, not my problem, he thought jauntily. + + * * * * * + +He stared at the list before him and then he started to swear, softly +at first, then louder. But no matter how loudly he swore, the list +remained undeniably and obstinately the same: + +Freeble--Displeasure (Tape 3) + +Freeble--Elation (Tape 4) + +Freeble--Grief (Tape 5) + +"How," he asked the empty room, "can a word mean grief and elation at +the same time?" + +Jonathan sat for a few moments in silence, thinking back to the start +of the sessions with Easton. Ramirez and Stoughton had both agreed +with him that Easton's speech was phonemically identical to English. +Jonathan's trained ear remembered the pronunciation of "Freeble" in +the three different connotations and he forced himself to admit it was +the same on all three tapes in question. + +Stuck again, he thought gloomily. + +Good-by, vacation! + +He lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling. It was like saying the +word "die" meant something happy and something sad at one and the +same, like saying-- + +Jonathan pursed his lips. Yes, it could be. If someone were in +terrible pain, death, while a thing of sorrow, could also mean release +from suffering and so become a thing of joy. Or it could mean sorrow +to one person and relief to another. In that case, what he was dealing +with here was not only-- + +The crash of the ball, as it sailed through the window behind his +desk, lifted Jonathan right from his chair. Furious, his elusive clue +shattered as surely as the pane of glass, he strode to the window. + +"Richie!" + +His son, almost hidden behind the lilac bush, did not answer. + +"I see you!" Jonathan bellowed. "Come here!" + +The bush stirred slightly and Richie peeped through the leaves. "Did +you call me, Daddy?" he asked politely. + +Jonathan clamped his lips shut and pointed to the den. Richie tried a +smile as he sidled around the bush, around his father, and into the +house. + +"My," he marveled, looking at the broken glass on the floor inside. +"My goodness!" He sat down in the leather chair to which Jonathan +motioned. + +"Richie," said his father, when he could trust his voice again, "how +did it happen?" + +His son's thin legs, brown and wiry, stuck out straight from the +depths of the chair. There was a long scratch on one calf and numerous +black-and-blue spots around both knees. + +"I dunno," said Richie. He blinked his eyes, deeper blue than +Margery's, and reached up one hand to push away the mass of blond hair +tumbling over his forehead. He was obviously trying hard to pretend he +wasn't in the room at all. + + * * * * * + +Jonathan said, "Now, son, that is not a good answer. What were you +doing when the ball went through the window?" + +"Watching," said Richie truthfully. + +"How did it _go_ through the window?" + +"Real fast." + +Jonathan found his teeth were clamped. No wonder he couldn't decode +Easton's speech--he couldn't even talk with his own son! + +"I mean," he explained, his patience wavering, "you threw the ball so +that it broke the window, didn't you?" + +"I didn't mean it to," said Richie. + +"All right. That's what I wanted to know." He started on a lecture +about respect for other people's property, while Richie sat and looked +blankly respectful. "And so," he heard himself conclude, "I hope we'll +be more careful in the future." + +"Yes," said Richie. + +A vague memory came to Jonathan and he sat and studied his son, +remembering him when he was younger and first starting to talk. He +recalled the time Richie, age three, had come bustling up to him. +"Vransh!" the child had pleaded, tugging at his father's hand. +Jonathan had gone outside with him to see a baby bird which had fallen +from its nest. "Vransh!" Richie had crowed, exhibiting his find. +"Vransh!" + +"Do I get my spanking now?" asked Richie from the chair. His eyes +were wide and watchful. + +Jonathan tore his mind from still another recollection: the old joke +about the man and woman who adopted a day-old French infant and then +studied French so they would be able to understand their child when he +began to talk. Maybe, thought Jonathan, it's no joke. Maybe there _is_ +a language-- + +"Spanking?" he repeated absentmindedly. He took a fresh pencil and pad +of paper. "How would you like to help with something, Richie?" + +The blue eyes watched carefully. "Before you spank me or after?" + +"No spanking." Jonathan glanced at the Easton notes, vaguely aware +that Richie had suddenly relaxed. "What I'm going to do," he went on, +"is say some words. It'll be a kind of game. I'll say a word and then +you say a word. You say the first word you think after you hear my +word. Okay?" He cleared his throat. "Okay! The first word is--house." + +"_My_ house." + +"Bird," said Jonathan. + +"Uh--tree." Richie scratched his nose and stifled a yawn. + + * * * * * + +Disappointed, Jonathan reminded himself that Richie at six could not +be expected to remember something he had said when he was three. +"Dog." + +"Biffy." Richie sat up straight. "Daddy, did you know Biffy had +puppies? Steve's mother showed me. Biffy had four puppies, Daddy. +_Four_!" + +Jonathan nodded. He supposed Richie's next statement would be an +appeal to go next door and negotiate for one of the pups, and he +hurried on with, "Carooms." + +"Friends," said Richie, eyes still shining. "Daddy, do you suppose we +could have a pup--" He broke off at the look on Jonathan's face. +"Huh?" + +"Friends," repeated Jonathan, writing the word slowly and unsteadily. +"Uh--vacation." + +"Beach," said Richie cautiously, still looking scared. + +Jonathan went on with more familiar terms and Richie slowly relaxed +again in the big chair. From somewhere in the back of his mind, +Jonathan heard Margery say, "Sometimes I think they're a different +species altogether." He kept his voice low and casual, uncertain of +what he was thinking, but aware of the fact that Richie was hiding +something. The little mantel clock ticked drowsily, and Richie began +to look sleepy and bored as they went through things like "car" and +"school" and "book." Then-- + +"Friend," said Jonathan. + +"Allavarg," yawned Richie. "No!" He snapped to, alert and wary. "I +mean _Steve_." + +His father looked up sharply. "What's that?" + +"What?" asked Richie. + +"Richie," said Jonathan, "what's a Caroom?" + +The boy shrugged and muttered, "_I_ dunno." + +"Oh, yes, you do!" Jonathan lit a cigarette. "What's an Allavarg?" He +watched the boy bite his lips and stare out the window. "He's a +friend, isn't he?" coaxed Jonathan. "_Your_ friend? Does he play with +you?" + +The blond head nodded slowly and uncertainly. + +"Where does he live?" persisted Jonathan. "Does he come over here and +play in your yard? Does he, Richie?" + +The boy stared at his father, worried and unhappy. "Sometimes," he +whispered. "Sometimes he does, if I call him." + +"How do you call him?" asked Jonathan. He was beginning to feel +foolish. + +"Why," said Richie, "I just say 'Here, Allavarg!' and he comes, if +he's not too busy." + +"What keeps him busy?" Such nonsense! Allavarg was undoubtedly an +imaginary playmate. This whole hunch of his was utter nonsense. He +should be at work on Easton instead of-- + +"The nursery keeps him busy," said Richie. "Real busy." + + * * * * * + +Jonathan frowned. Did Richie mean the greenhouse down the road? Was +there a Mr. Allavarg who worked there? "Whose nursery?" + +"Ours." Richie wrinkled his face thoughtfully. "I think I better go +outside and play." + +"_Our_ nursery?" Jonathan stared at his son. "Where is it?" + +"I think I better go play," said Richie more firmly, sliding off the +chair. + +"Richard! _Where_ is the nursery?" + +The full lower lip began to tremble. "I can't tell you!" Richie +wailed. "I promised!" + +Jonathan slammed his fist on the desk. "Answer me!" He knew he +shouldn't speak this way to Richie; he knew he was frightening the +boy. But the ideas racing through his mind drove him to find out what +this was all about. It might be nothing, but it also might be--"Answer +me, Richard!" + +The child stifled a sob. "Here," he said weakly. + +"_Here_? Where?" + +"In my house," said Richie. "And Steve's house and Billy's and all +over." He rubbed his eyes, leaving a grimy smear. + +"All right," soothed Jonathan. "It's all right now, son. Daddy didn't +mean to scare you. Daddy has to learn these things, that's all. Just +like learning in school." + +The boy shook his head resentfully. "_You_ know," he accused. "You +just forgot." + +"What did I forget, Richie?" + +"You forgot all about Allavarg. He told me! It was a different +Allavarg when you were little, but it was almost the same. You used to +play with _your_ Allavarg when you were little like me!" + +Jonathan took a deep breath. "Where did Allavarg come from, Richie?" + +But Richie shook his head stubbornly, lips pressed tight. "I +promised!" + +"Richie, a promise like that isn't a good one," pleaded Jonathan. +"Allavarg wouldn't want you to disobey your father and mother, would +he?" + +The child sat and stared at him. + +This was a very disturbing thought and Jonathan could see Richie did +not know how to deal with it. + +He pressed his momentary advantage. "Allavarg takes care of little +boys and girls, doesn't he? He plays with them and he looks after +them, I'll bet." + +Richie nodded uncertainly. + +"And," continued Jonathan, smiling what he hoped was a winning, +comradely smile at his son, "I'll bet that Allavarg came from some +place far, far away, didn't he?" + +"Yes," said Richie softly. + +"And it's his job to be here and look after the--the nursery?" +Jonathan bit his lip. Nursery? Earth? Carooms--Martians? His head +began to ache. "Son, you've got to help me understand. Do you--do you +murv me?" + + * * * * * + +Richie shook his head. "No. But I _will_ after--" + +"After what?" + +"After I grow up." + +"Why not now?" asked Jonathan. + +The blond head sank lower. "Because you framish, Daddy." + +His father nodded, trying to look wise, wincing inwardly as he +pictured his colleagues listening in on this conversation. "Well--why +don't you help me so I _don't_ framish?" + +"I can't." Richie glanced up, his eyes stricken. "Some day, Allavarg +says, _I'm_ going to framish, too!" + +"Grow up, you mean?" hazarded Jonathan, and this time his smile was +real as he looked at the smudged eyes and soft round cheeks. "Why, +Richie," he went on, his voice suddenly husky, "it's fun to be a +little boy, but there'll be lots to do when you grow up. You--" + +"I wish I was Mr. Easton!" Richie said fiercely. + +Jonathan held his breath. "What about Mr. Easton?" + +Richie squirmed out of the chair and clutched Jonathan's arm. "Please, +Daddy! If you let Mr. Easton go back, can I go, too? Please? Can I?" + +Jonathan put his hands on his son's shoulders. "Richie! What do you +know about Mr. Easton?" + +"Please? Can I go with him?" The shining blue eyes pleaded up at him. +"If you don't let him go back pretty soon, he's going to framish +again! Please! Can I?" + +"He's going to framish," nodded Jonathan. "And what then?" he coaxed. +"What'll happen after he framishes? Will he be able to tell me about +his trip?" + +"_I_ dunno," said Richie. "I dunno how he _could_. After you framish, +you don't remember lots of things. I don't think he's even gonna +remember he _went_ on a trip." The boy's hands shook Jonathan's arm +eagerly. "Please, Daddy! Can I go with him?" + +"No!" Jonathan glared and released his hold on Richie. Didn't he have +troubles enough without Richie suggesting--"About the nursery," he +said briskly. "Why is there a nursery?" + +"To take care of us." Richie looked worried. "Why can't I go?" + +"Because you can't! Why don't they have the nursery back where +Allavarg came from?" + +"There isn't any room." The blue eyes studied the man, looking for a +way to get permission to go with Mr. Easton. + +"No room? What do you mean?" + +Richie sighed. Obviously he'd have to explain first and coax later. +"Well, you know my school? You know my teacher in school? You know +when my teacher was different?" He peered anxiously at Jonathan, and +suddenly the man caught on. + +"Of course! You mean when they split the kindergarten into two smaller +groups because there were too many--" + + * * * * * + +His voice trailed off. Too many. Too many what? Too many Martians on +Mars? Growing population? No way to cut down the birth rate? He +pictured the planet with too many people. What to do? Move out. Take +another planet. Why didn't they just do that? He put the question to +Richie. + +"Oh," said his son wisely, "they couldn't because of the framish. They +_did_ go other places, but everywhere they went, they framished. And +after you framish, you ain't--_aren't_ a Caroom any more. You're a +Gunderguck and of course--" + +"Huh?" + +"--and a Caroom doesn't like to framish and be a Gunderguck," +continued Richie happily, as though reciting a lesson learned in +school. "He wants to be a Caroom _all_ the time because it's better +and more fun and you know lots of things you don't remember after you +get to be a Gunderguck. Only--" he paused for a gulp of air--"only +there wasn't room for _all_ the Carooms back home and they couldn't +find any place where they could be Carooms all the time, because of +the framish. So after a long time, and after they looked all over all +around, they decided maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they sent some of +their little boys and girls--the ones they didn't have room for--to +some place where they could be Carooms longer than most other places. +And _that_ place," Richie said proudly, "was right here! 'Cause _here_ +there's almost as much gladdisl as back home and--" + +"Gladdisl?" Jonathan echoed hoarsely. "What's--" + +"--and after they start growing up--" + +"Gladdisl," Jonathan repeated, more firmly. "Richie, what is it?" + +The forehead puckered momentarily. "It's something you breathe, sort +of." The boy shied away from the difficult question, trying to +remember what Allavarg had said about gladdisl. "Anyway, after the +little boys and girls start to grow up and after they framish and be +Gundergucks, like you and Mommy, the Carooms back home send some +_more_ to take their places. And the Gundergucks who used to be +Carooms here in the nursery look after the new little--" + +"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" Jonathan interrupted suspiciously. "I +thought you said Allavarg looks after them." + +"He does. But there's so many little Carooms and there aren't many +Allavargs and so the Gundergucks have to help. You help," Richie +assured his father. "You and Mommy help a little bit." + +Big of you to admit it, old man, thought Jonathan, suppressing a +smile. "But aren't you _our_ little boy?" he asked. He had a sudden +vision of himself addressing the scientists at the Institute: "And so, +gentlemen, our babies--who, incidentally, are really Martians--_are_ +brought by storks, after all. Except in those cases where--" + +"The doctor brought me in a little black bag," said Richie. + + * * * * * + +The boy stood silent and studied his father. He sort of remembered +what Allavarg had said, too. Things like You _mustn't ever tell_ and +_It's got to be a secret_ and _They'd only laugh at you, Richie, and +if they didn't laugh, they might believe you and try to go back home +and there just isn't any room._ + +"I think," said Richie, "I think I better--" He took a deep breath. +"Here, Allavarg," he called in a soft, piping voice. + +Jonathan raised his head. "Just what do you think you're doing--" + +There was a sound behind him, and Jonathan turned startledly. + +"Shame on you," said Allavarg, coming through the broken window. + +Jonathan's words dropped away in a faint gurgle. + +"I'm sorry," said Richie. "Don't be dipplefit." + +"It's a mess," Allavarg replied. "It's a krandoor mess!" He waved his +arm in the air over Jonathan's head. "And don't think I'm going to +forget it!" The insistent hiss of escaping gas hovered over the moving +pellet in his hand. "Jivis boy!" + +Jonathan coughed suddenly. He got as far as "Now look here" and then +found that he could neither speak nor move. The gas or whatever it was +stung his eyes and burned in his throat. + +"Why don't you just freeble him?" Richie asked unhappily. "You're +using up all your gladdisl! Why don't you freeble him and get me +another one?" + +"Freeble, breeble," grumbled Allavarg, shoving the capsule directly +under Jonathan's nose. "Just like you youngsters, always wanting to +take the easy way out! Gundergucks don't grow on blansercots, you +know." + +Jonathan felt tears start in his eyes, partly from the fumes and +partly from a growing realization that Allavarg was sacrificing +precious air for him. He tried to think. If this was gladdisl and if +this would keep a man in the state of being a Caroom, then-- + +"There," said Allavarg, looking unhappily at the emptied pellet. He +shook it, sniffed it and finally returned it to the container at his +side. + +"I'm sorry," Richie whispered. "But he kept askin' me and askin' me." + +"There, there," said Allavarg, going to the window. "Don't fret. I +know you won't do it again." He turned and looked thoughtfully at +Jonathan. He winked at Richie and then he was gone. + + * * * * * + +Jonathan rubbed his eyes. He could move now. He opened his mouth and +waggled his jaws. Now that the room was beginning to be cleared of the +gas, he realized that it had had a pleasant odor. He realized-- + +Why, it was all so simple! Remembering his sessions with Easton, +Jonathan laughed aloud. So simple! The message? _Stay away from Mars! +No room there! They said I could come back if I gave you the message, +but I have to come back alone because there's no room for more +people!_ + +No room? Nonsense! Jonathan reached for the phone, dialled the +Institute and asked for Dr. Stoughton. No room? On the paradise that +was Mars? Well, they'd just have to make room! They couldn't keep that +to themselves! + +"Hello, Fred?" He leaned back in his chair, feeling a surge of pride +and power. Wait till they heard about this! "Just wanted to tell you I +solved the Easton thing. Just a simple case of hapsodon. You see, +Allavarg came and gave me a tressimox of gladdisl and now that I'm a +Caroom again--What? What do you mean, what's the matter? I said I'm +not a Gunderguck any more." He stared at the phone. "Why, you +spebberset moron! What's the matter with you? Don't you blikkel +English?" + +From the depths of the big chair across the room, Richie giggled. + + --JEAN M. JANIS + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rough Translation, by Jean M. 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