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A story:
She sat there, enraged, and listened to the translator purposefully bungle every sentence her brother said. She never told anyone she knew that other language, English, they were all so proud of. She never said she knew every lie the translator uttered. Her also translated the English wrong, when said back in her language, a language so old it did not have a name. The man was trying to start a fight, and he would succeed if the looks on either man to his sides meant anything. The translator had no expression at all, which made her cautious enough, when she was quite sure he was gleeful inside.
The English man waved a hand to the man he thought had just insulted him. His voice was calm and steady, reminding her of water falling heavily, and in no great hurry, to rocks below. “No need for force, good sir, we can settle this without my blood.”
“He said if you open your lips again….” The translator made the needed embarrassed pause that made him sound uncomfortable translating, though to the pale man it must sound like he was just trying to find the right word in opposite tongue. “that he will feed the land with your blood.”
She raised her dark brows. The sentences didn’t even start to sound the same. Even if she was only still learning the English language, she would have noticed. Words like Sir and blood just didn’t carry the same weight in tones. As it was her brother was wary of the translator already, for it did not sound as if the English speaking man was angry with him. Her brother was not a weak minded male.
“That is mighty powerful words, that he speaks.” Her brother said softly, angry his self, but known for his patients with the ‘insulting‘ foreign men. “Tell the man there is no need for the ground to be fed, that he will get his pelts should he just hand over the money.” The money he spoke of was half the intended price, as the pelts this weak were few and thin, being the summer months and a dry few at that.
The translator, short and round, sweating in the heat of the cannons, turned to the pale man from across the seas and spoke in the voice that also reminded her of the dry angry reptiles she found sucking on the stones in her climb. “He demands ten times the price, and he will give you his prized fur.”
She almost gave herself away by snorting. This was getting ridiculous. “Are you sure we can trust the short man?” She asked softly to her brother, and was surprised when said man had the audacity to translate her words wrong as well.
“The tiny one suggests you be made shorter, by harming your knees.”
She turned her grey eyes on the translator, and said words her brother would have no problem with her speaking, though a female was supposed to stay silent in the event of business. “No need to tell the poor scared man what I say, sir.” She said, though she knew, as her words were hard and cold, that it would sound as a threat as it was accused of being.
The short man, resembling the sanded toad, winced, and shook his balding head slightly when the English asked for a translation. Wise man, but still misleading in his silence. She stood up to her small height. Then paused when the pale man from far away twitched for his weapons, but when he made to move as to shoot her, started to walk away.
“Where are you going, my sister?” Her brother demanded, turning from the confrontation rising to watch her start and walk away.
“I am getting water and leaving, I have thoughts on the high cliffs that need pondering.” She told him, then hesitated long enough to give him a gentle smile. “And, my brother, please request another speaking man, I do not like the eyes of this one.” With that she made a gesture of farewell and started to the shaded area that they dispensed the life giving liquid she would need for her long journey.
She was called Sister, for in all her life she had never needed a more original name. Her father was called Father or Brother or Son or Man, all from different people and depending on what he was to them. She was simply Sister, Daughter, and Girl, for now. When she did her Womanhood journey, Girl would change to Woman, but for now she was content to just be who she was.
She never understood the need of personal names, though many of the people she knew had them. It was now a custom, even in speaking in her language, to call the foreign man by his foreign name, instead of the more casual Man.
“Days to you, Charles Winter.” She greeted the tall man behind the counter that had learned her speak on account of business only. To please the slow learner, she spoke only a few words to him, and usually the same every day. “Water?”
“Oh, Sister.” He spoke haltingly, still unsure of his own tongue , but when she smiled, he smiled back, and in her way, embraced her. “Water to the side, Sister.” He used her name as if an endearment, which she thought was funny, but said nothing of it.
 Exlla · Sat Aug 11, 2007 @ 08:06am · 0 Comments |
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