The Companions

by Sheri S. Tepper

  “But not all of you follow him,” she said, insistently.

  “No. Not all of us.”

  “Then you differ.”

  I considered this. “As I said, in ideas. We struggle with identity. If we aren’t worrying about who we are, we are busy telling everyone what we aren’t. We fret about our mortality. If we aren’t grieving over the fact we’re eventually going to die, we’re courting death because life doesn’t please us. I have heard people say that if it weren’t for the afterlife promised by their particular religion, they couldn’t bear to go on living.”

  “That must be confusing,” whispered the Phaina. “If they can’t bear life, why would they want more of it?”

  “It is confusing, yes. Mankind pretends to love nature but destroys it wherever he goes. We claim that life is sacred, but we leave it no room in which to exist. Not long ago, even when we said every human is unique and holy, our children were taught which types of unique and holy humans were the best and which they should hate.”

  “Not long ago?”

  “Before we met outsiders, people not of Earth. Now we don’t learn to hate humans anymore.”

  “Just outsiders, eh?” She laughed, a truly amused sound. “You. How are you different from most?”

  “I’m an arkist. We’re suspicious of following anyone. We like to figure things out for ourselves. When we look at ourselves in the mirror, we know we aren’t the wisest or best creatures in the galaxy; we also know we aren’t nothing. When we consider that we will die, we struggle to do something with the time we have. We don’t confuse heedless and selfish proliferation of our race with reverence for life. We know that other creatures are sometimes better than we are. We try to learn from them.”

  She nodded to herself, eyelids flickering. “We find you puzzling, you humans, for we have never seen a race quite like yours. Dogs, now, are a different thing. We do know of a race that much resembles this representation of dogs.”

  “Really! Where are they? What are they called?”

  “They are called the Simusi, and they live a great distance from here, near my Guardian House…”

  Her voice trailed off, and I actually blurted, without thinking, “What’s a Guardian House?”

  Her upper arms rippled. “Certain areas of the galaxy are…protected by the elder races from incursion by marauders or vandals. Those of us who guarantee the defense of such places—the Phain, the Yizzang, among others—maintain Guardian Houses in the neutral zones between these areas and occupied space. Most Phaina grown past childhood are assigned to spend one time out of ten at a Guardian House.”

  She hummed again, a very thoughtful, quiet hum, then asked me a whole string of questions. What were my favorite animals next to dogs? What had the arkists done to save elephants? Whales? Foxes? I probably said a good deal more than I needed to, for she kept finding things to ask. When she ran out of questions, which she did, eventually, she asked if I would like to see Phainic animals, and I said yes, I would very much enjoy that. She set a date in five days’ time.

  I, meantime, went back to the garden, uprooted the rest of the Earth plants that no one ever looked at, and planted the seeds that had been identified for me. They grew with great vigor, breaking the surface of the soil overnight and springing upward over a foot a day thereafter. As I was going into the garden a couple of days later, just to see how much they had grown, I noticed a Phaina standing at the gate, looking in and immediately decided she was “my” Phaina, coming to see how the garden grew. I went to the gate, but by the time I reached it, she had gone.

  She did, however, come for me on the appointed day, and I went with her to meet the animals of their world. Since she had no “name” as we think of names, I addressed her as Sannasee, which means honored female, and she called me the same—very much nicer than vermin, acceptable or otherwise. We walked down the street, around a few curves, and entered a park. It may have been the same park as the one across the road from the embassy, or perhaps just a stretch of natural forest, which was what it looked like.

  “You spoke of your relationship with dogs,” she said. “These coming to meet us are the same friends for us as dogs for you.”

  Through the woods came a monstrous furry mass, a great fanged and clawed six-legged beast which reared upon its hind legs and extended the other two pair as if in greeting, and whuffed at us. He was much larger than any dog I had ever seen, about the size of a big bear, but he smelled doggish, so I greeted him as I would have one of the sanctuary dogs, using my sparse Phain-ildar vocabulary to say something like, “I greet you and wish you well.”

  Beside me, the Phaina stirred. I thought perhaps she was going to correct my accent or tell me it was inappropriate to speak to animals, but she didn’t. Instead, she also greeted the creature, using almost the same words I had used. The beast, which she told me was a P’narg, purred at her, then at me—a noise like a large engine turning over—turned around and lumbered off in a six-legged waddle, while from another direction a collection of brightly colored scaled, winged creatures descended upon us. These were only the first of many encounters during the afternoon. At first slightly apprehensive, I grew steadily more comfortable with the creatures, who seemed to have no fear of me or of the Phaina, and to be perfectly at home with our two species.

  The Phaina, several of whom I saw moving among the animals, were equally at ease. Through the ’pute, I asked my guide if this was a special place or if the animals lived here naturally. She said it was just a part of nature, that all Phain dwelling places (which is how the ’pute translated it) had nature flowing through and around them. I asked how many centuries it had taken to establish this balance, and the Phaina, after a moment’s hesitation, said, “On this world, after many maraquar, it is still being established. You are perceptive to realize it is purposeful. We remain uncertain how many Phain may be allowed to be born on this world to live in harmony. It is possible we are already too many, and some of us must make the difficult choice.”

  “To leave,” I said sadly, even then reluctant to leave their world myself. “That would be very difficult.”

  “Or to die,” she said, “which is often less so.”

  I was shocked, though I hoped I did not show it, and I remembered the remark. On the way home, staring at my feet in order not to step on the creepers, I realized that the street wasn’t paved with stones. The stones were of an exposed layer of lava that had cracked over time. They had, so to speak, grown there. When I got back to the embassy, I looked up maraquar. It means something like era, or age, anything from a few dozen years to a few hundred thousand.

  The Phaina’s use of the word harmony had inspired me to ask about music, and she invited me to hear some. From that time on, though I continued to work in the embassy garden, I spent a great deal of time with the Sannasee, listening to music, talking with animals, learning about trees, and watching processions and rituals. It was always the Phain who took part in them.

  “Would it be impolite to ask what they are doing?” I asked one day while we were watching several groups of Phain make their cadenced and chanted way along a road.

  “They are praying,” she said.

  Without thinking, I asked, “What do they pray for?”

  “Since your people were allowed to come here, they pray for you,” she said. “For your people.”

  I could not think of anything to ask at that point that would not have seemed rude, but her words joggled something in my mind, and it occurred to me in that instant that in all our walking about, I had not seen a single wall that shut off one open space from the general space. There were no walled gardens in any place I had gone except the embassy itself. When I returned to the embassy, I went to the ambassador’s office and asked to speak to him privately for a few moments. I felt strongly that I must do so, though without any clear idea why. I told him the Phaina who had met with me had showed me their town or city or settlement, that I thought the exhibit was purposeful, not casual. I said s
he had identified plants for me. I said she had come to the gate to observe what was happening to the garden. I said, “Ambassador, I urge you to get a permanent staff member in here who is interested in plants and animals, and do everything you can to make the space around this embassy bloom. Also, you should tear down the garden wall.”

  He smiled at me in a condescending way, and with a flash of insight I realized Paul had spoken to him about me, as Paul often did, explaining that I was useful though not very bright.

  “Dear Madam Delis,” he murmured in a kindly, avuncular voice, “when I was sent here, I was given priorities by Worldkeeper, oh, such a great list of priorities that it would bore you to even look at it! I’m terribly sorry, but gardening is not even on the list. And as for the wall, we have no authority to tear it down. It was built for security reasons.”

  “I apologize for wasting your time,” I said stiffly. “I had assumed you wanted the Phain to look on us with respect.”

  “Respect,” he said. “Respect? Are you saying that they will not respect us unless we become diggers in the soil? Unless we open ourselves to attack?” He laughed, a complacent, avuncular laugh.

  Despite his manner, I answered his question. “It seems extremely likely that their respect turns on exactly such a decision.” I honestly wasn’t sure, though I would have bet my own life on it.

  He smiled at me kindly, patted my hand, and bid me have a nice day.

  It was a nice day, as were those that followed. I saw the Phaina several times more. On the day before we were to leave, I thanked her for her time and courtesies.

  “It is the least we can do,” she said. I thought she sounded quite sad about it. “A way of atonement to one with exceptional dalongar.”

  I didn’t know the word, but I let it go by. “You have nothing to atone to me for. You have been kindness itself.”

  She started to say something, then turned away, leaving me no more confused than I had been most of the time on her planet. That time on Tsaliphor was the best and loveliest time I have ever had, anywhere, and that world is the only planet I had visited that I wept to leave.

  Several months later, back on Earth, Paul and his coworkers finished their work on the Phain language and issued a report that included, in an appendix at the back, the statement that the Phain language was replete with words and phrases referring to “dalongar” of persons, situations, places. Some of these words and phrases were applied to the names of worlds and people, identifying degrees of “dalongar.”

  I remembered the Phaina using the word, so I looked it up in the Phain-ildar glossary. The word dalongar was sometimes used as a prefix or word root, signifying places or peoples with whom the Phain would trade. Paul had translated dalongar as protocol or custom, which made no sense to me at all. At a meeting of arkists, after the report was issued, a man associated with the diplomatic corps told me I had been among the last human persons to be allowed on Tsaliphor. The Phain had severed any formal relationships with Earth as well as any Earth-settled planet because of human “discourtesy.” After hearing that, I stayed awake night after night, wondering what I’d done wrong while I was there, talked to the wrong animal or planted the wrong thing in the wrong place. It seemed to me that I’d walked on eggs to be polite.

  I confessed to Gainor that the whole thing might be my fault. Gainor, however, had recently spoken to his friend, the Tharstian who kept trying to convert him to Mahalusianism. (I should remark here that Tharstians were not quite an old race, but getting there, though they still went about meddling in others’ affairs and making gratuitous suggestions as to how we might improve ourselves.) The Tharstian had friends among the Phain and was told by some of them that the Earthian ambassador had been warned about his discourtesy, and the ambassador hadn’t paid attention.

  I shook my head at Gainor. “He really didn’t pay attention to things, Gainor. I tried to tell him about the garden, for example, but he simply wasn’t listening at all. Besides, I think Paul’s translation of dalongar was wrong. It doesn’t mean protocol at all. I think it must mean courtesy or respect in the context of equilibrium or symmetry…”

  “Weren’t our people courteous and respectful?” he asked, surprised.

  “To the Phain, I’m sure they were, but the Phain are only one part of their world. Being polite only to the Phain is like someone being polite to my face while stepping on my feet. Our people were not respectful of their totality, their world.” I described how the Phain city had been shoehorned into the natural one without disturbing it, then I described the embassy garden, so called. “The land we sat on was dead, Gainor. And our people killed it.”

  He harrumphed. “If you could see the implications of that, the ambassador certainly should have been able to see it!”

  “Well, he didn’t. I didn’t like him. I liked the Phain, though. The Phaina, anyhow. I never met a male one.”

  “According to my Tharstian friend, the males were assigned to provide us with information because our staff was male. It’s the Phaina who really run things.”

  “Well of course,” I said, half to myself. “That was obvious.” The Phaina dealt with the world, the Phain dealt with art and religion. The Phain could deal with art and religion only because the Phaina kept the world in balance.

  Gainor frowned. “After talking to my Tharstian friend, I read your report again. I’m now wondering if you weren’t the one who carried the Phain’s warning when you told the ambassador about the garden.”

  “Me? No one told me to warn him. No one ever told me to say anything.”

  “Perhaps you were simply unaware of being told. Somehow the Phain knew the message had been delivered, and they knew the ambassador had paid no attention. Your meeting with him is the only possible conversation that could have been it. In future, if you should feel impelled to deliver a manifesto, sweetheart, get a message to me somehow, and I’ll see that the fools listen!”

  Gainor’s group continued to pay me well, and since I had few expenses, I invested most of it as Shiela Alred advised, along with the money I received when I turned twenty-five. Needless to say, I didn’t talk about investments with Paul. By that time I was participating in sanctuary decisions and had been elected to the very private board of directors of the ark movement—always referred to simply in that way, no capital letters, no emphasis, and no publicity if avoidable. We did everything we could to foster the impression that there were only a few active but impotent arkists who had succeeded in preserving half a dozen unimportant species on tiny little worlds that nobody wanted because, as was largely true, they were too far from normal space-lanes to be economical to settle. Whenever we spoke to the public, we were dull. When people attacked us, we did not respond; if we had to respond, we whined that our little sanctuary for the speckled waddling beetle wasn’t hurting anyone, then we went on and on about mating habits of the speckled waddling beetle until they gave up in disgust.

  By that time, I had become very close to some of the people who really made the ark movement possible, Shiela among them, though she insisted on worrying about me, which made me most uncomfortable.

  “Why don’t you socialize, Jewel? There’s a very pleasant man, one of our people, who’s quite taken with you. I’m his emissary. He wonders if you would accompany him to dinner?”

  “Thanks, Shiela. But no. I’m just not interested.”

  It was true. I was not even interested enough to wonder who the pleasant man might be. I still woke every morning with Witt’s smell in my nostrils. It annoyed and infuriated me, which made me contrite for being annoyed and infuriated. It quite wore me out. One minute I wished him back, the next I was carrying on an imaginary and very angry conversation with him. I decided to focus on a set of pleasant things I could recall about our relationship, a string of memory beads, the way people used to tell beads in some of the old religions. Five nice things: our times training Quick and Busy; the first time he took me to a wonderful restaurant; the time he helped me at the kennel whe
n Jon Point was sick; the time…I gave up on the idea because it took me so long to come up with five things to remember that didn’t end up making me furious at him.

  And at myself! We had never thought ahead to either of our lives alone. He would finish his schooling. We would go off planet, and he would manage the Hessing empire, if he had to, from somewhere else. I would continue preserving what could be preserved. Perhaps we would have children. Neither of us had thought of being alone, what we would do, what we really wanted. Then he was gone, and I ricocheted around until falling into my current pocket, almost by chance. The fact that it was an interesting pocket, one that was sometimes vital, was a good thing, but it had one great inadequacy. No matter what I did, or where I went, or how successful that might be, I felt no anticipation of delight. The only dream that moved me to joy was the vain and ridiculous fantasy that the Phain would invite me back to Tsaliphor.

  Aunt Hatty may have been right when she said my life would have been different if Matty had lived, even though I’d resented her saying so. Matty might have helped me find a better way. I stood before my mirror at the sanctuary and wondered what she would say to me if I could summon her up. She would see shadow nests in my face, though otherwise it was, I suppose, a decent face. Witt had said so.

  Shiela often called me “lovely,” but anyone young and healthy was lovely to her. I couldn’t find any character in the mirror. It was just a face, with rather large gray eyes and quite a lot of eyelashes. The eyebrows had a good, clean shape. I had always felt my mouth was too large, but my nose was reasonable, not fat, not bumpy. My skin was my worst feature, very pale, easily burned, a strange shade of skin in our time. Almost everyone now is light to medium brown, all the human former skin colors mixed and stirred until very few people are very dark or very pale. Still, both Delis and Matty had carried the pale strain from ancient Scandinavian ancestors, and it popped out in me, a thin, pale skin that showed every flick of emotion. At the moment, it was blotchy because I was tired and troubled, but then, since Shiela was wearing the same face, she’d no doubt understand.