Nandi had already gone before I’d even gotten up. The Azu-nah seem to make a habit of moving very, very quietly. It’s a little disconcerting, but it makes for an excellent roommate. I folded my sleeping bag, tided the rest of my things, and headed outside.
My determination to stay positive didn’t last terribly long. All throughout the morning meal, various clan members started asking me questions. This didn’t bother me at first. They were innocuous enough questions. I happily answered them. In retrospect that may not have been the best approach, since my answers only seemed to encourage more questions, and more questioners. Soon I was inundated.
Does it hurt to stand so straight/tall? How can I smell with such a tiny nose? How do I run fast with no claws on my feet? Why don’t I have a tail? What are the bumps on my chest? Can I move my ears? Why not? Why are my eyes “colorless”? Am I cold, since I wear so many coverings all the time? Why haven’t I gotten any tattoos? Do I have an azuku? Why is my skin so soft? Was it true that I made water every day, but I was not sick? Why don't I hunt?
I eventually excused myself and fled down to the beach to get away from all the questions. Nandi followed me. He seemed to understand that I was feeling a bit out of my depth.
“The Azu-nah are of Sukil,” he said matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything. At my blank expression he continued. “We are filled with curiosity.” He went on to say that the Azu-nah had always been curious about me, but I had so little command of the language they did not know how to ask. And my learning with Kohric, and then the physical and mental demands of the move had kept me more isolated.
“You shape breath well, now. Kohric will still teach, but now you are more of D’Keda,” Nandi explained. “Curiosity grows, and so many D'Keda ask questions.” He said it in an odd, laughing way, as if it was so obvious he found it funny I hadn’t already anticipated something like this.
I swallowed my irritation and tried to go about the rest of my day. The questions kept coming, though. Not as may as at breakfast, but when I joined a foraging party to help gather food, they pestered me about my clothes again, and asked why I could not eat the same foods as they could. At dinner they asked why I was only one color all over, and if my siblings were spotted or striped. And in the evening, when I was trying to sketch a little sand creature on the beach, there were more questions as to what all of my equipment was, why did I need it, whether they could eat it or make something of it, and many others.
I went to bed early, and woke up in the morning with a headache, still off-balance.
The barrage continued at breakfast. It was like being under siege. I didn’t know how to get away, and I felt badly that I wanted to escape at all. But all the whys and hows were making it very difficult to squelch the whiney, needy inner Tee that kept moaning about how alone and alien I am on Minerva. All the things that felt alien about the planet seemed to press down on me and interrupt my thoughts. They weren’t like Earth. They were different. Everything here is different. I kept having moments where I started longing for home, and even had a flicker of, “why did I come here?”
That pissed me off. I mean, come on! I spent a month without even seeing another human in Tanzania. I trained in a super-isloated Antarctic base with only me and one other person amidst a hundred miles of ice and nothing. Not to mention the last year training for Minerva at the lunar outpost. This should be no different. I should be prepared for the isolation, even relish it. It suits me, after all.
But, the whiny little inner-Tee wheedled, there’s a difference between being alone and being the alien under a microscope. I’m used to observing and being somewhat removed from the subject I observe. I don’t think I was really prepared for my subject to jump up and start taking notes on me back. Sharing knowledge was to be expected, but somehow this feels different. Lonely.
I fled breakfast and found an isolated patch of beach to sit and think for a while. It was Eyani who eventually found me. I don’t know if it was his withdrawn nature, or some kind of empathy for me, but when he came and sat next to me, he didn’t utter a word.
We stared down at the blue-green water together, and I tried to decide what to do next.
Was bound to happen eventually, I suppose. I think anyone in a new environment goes through this phase, and it's probably just that much more intense for Tee since she's on a completely alien world. Best we can hope for is that with time, the D'Keda will begin to understand her better and all the questions will die down. Then she can calm down and hopefully begin to feel at least somewhat integrated.
ReplyDeleteSomething of my own experience, and it happens often. The children in my classes are always rubbing my arms with their hands, because my arms are hairy. Sometimes they ask me why my hair is "gold," or why my nose is "big." It's kind of endearing, and I enjoy answering those sorts of questions from a "sharing knowledge" and teaching point of view. Perhaps, if Tee was able to change her attitude and resolve, she would feel better, but I know how hard that can be when you're all by yourself... :(
Been bummed since I read this. I grok Tee.
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