Spice Pogrom

by Connie Willis

  “Is Hutchins in there with him?” Chris said, coming down the stairs toward her.

  “No. About half an hour ago he said he had something he had to do and left.”

  Chris looked at her watch. “Oh, dear, I’m supposed to meet Stewart for lunch, and I don’t dare leave Mr. Okeefenokee alone.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Charmaine said, blowing on her fingernails. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

  “I thought you had a date.”

  “ ‘Had’ is right,” she said, jabbing the fingernail-polish stylus in the direction of the landing. “He didn’t come up here to find me. He came up because he figured with all this overcrowding there’d be lots of real-estate contracts to draw up. And marriage contracts. Only he can’t seem to tell the difference.” She jammed the cap on the stylus. “He wanted to know if I’d be interested in a lease option. That’s where you get to move in before you close the deal, if there’s a closing. Go on. Don’t be late for your lunch.”

  “All right,” Chris said, wondering what had made Hutchins run off like that. “Let Mr. Okeefenokee do anything he wants, but whatever you do, don’t let him go shopping.”

  The bullet was jammed with people carrying flight bags and looking exhausted. Getting off at the ginza, she almost lost her shoe again. This time, since Hutchins wasn’t there, she curled her toes and jammed them against the end of the shoe, and it stayed on, but just barely, and she got such a cramp in her foot that she could hardly walk.

  The ginza was jammed with bicycles and people carrying huge, bulky suitcases who had a tendency to stop suddenly in the middle of the footwalk to stare at the city far above. It took nearly fifteen minutes to get the half block from the bullet to the Garden of Meditation.

  Stewart was standing outside, tapping his foot and looking at his watch. “Where have you been?” he said. “I’ve been waiting half an hour.”

  “I couldn’t get into my bathroom,” she said. “Molly and Bets…”

  “Those two cunning moppets I saw on the phone yesterday?” Stewart said, taking her arm and steering her into the restaurant’s anteroom. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two such adorable little girls.”

  “They’re circus midgets,” Chris said, but Stewart didn’t hear her.

  He was waving wildly at a waitress. “For heavens’ sake, take your shoes off, so if they do have a table we can sit right down. I don’t have much time. If you’d been on time we could have gotten right in, but now we’ll probably have to wait.” He pulled his shoes off and started through the crowd to find the waitress.

  Chris took her shoes off and gave them to the pretty Japanese attendant. She flexed her cramping toes. I should get tap shoes with straps, like those “two charming moppets,” she thought.

  (Lose your shoe in the bullet again?) Hutchins said at her ear, and she whirled around, but there was no one behind her but the attendant and a wizened old woman who couldn’t seem to find her shoes.

  “No,” Chris said. The attendant was looking at her oddly, which meant she had spoken aloud again. She clamped her mouth shut and said silently, (Where are you?)

  (At Luigi’s. Sorry to run off this morning, but Charmaine told me about a job waiting tables, and I thought I’d better check it out. I can’t keep taking breakfast money out of your purse forever. Is Okee with you?)

  (No, I got Charmaine to watch him, but you’re not going to be staying long enough to worry about breakfast. I’m going to have Stewart find you and Mr. Okeefenokee another apartment this afternoon and…)

  Stewart came back, elbowing his way past the wrinkled crone, who was still rummaging through the shoes. “They gave our table to somebody else fifteen minutes ago,” he said accusingly, “and they won’t have anything else for an hour and a half. We’ll have to eat at the sushi counter.” He led her through the crowd to the wooden counter and scanned it for seats. “Have you ever seen such a mob?”

  “Yes,” Chris said. “In line for my bathroom. Stewart, since I talked to you yesterday, Mr. Okeefenokee…”

  “There aren’t two seats together,” he said, pointing at the only empty stools, which were separated by an exhausted-looking man with a camera and a shuttle bag, “which is what happens when you aren’t on time for your reservations.” He motioned her toward one of the stools, sat down on the other, and handed her a menu. A waitress appeared immediately. Stewart snatched the menu out of Chris’s hands. “I’ll have the jiffy lunch. What is it?”

  “Eel. It comes with fries.”

  “I’ll have that, and she’ll have the sushi salad.”

  “I want you to come home with me this afternoon,” Chris said across the exhausted-looking man, who had propped his arms on the sushi counter. “You’ve got to talk to Mr. Okeefenokee. Yesterday he—”

  “Okeefenokee?” Stewart said, with the same horrified look he’d had on the phone the day before. “I have asked you repeatedly to learn the correct pronunciation of his name. You obviously don’t realize how delicate our relationship with the Eahrohhs is right now or you wouldn’t…”

  “I’m sorry, Stewart, but Mr. Ohghhi…” She automatically opened her hand to look at what wasn’t written there anymore.

  (Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh,) Hutchins said.

  “Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh,” Chris said. “Yesterday he brought home—”

  (How delicate is the relationship with the Eahrohhs right now?) Hutchins said.

  “Well?” Stewart said. “Don’t just stop in the middle of a sentence like that. What did he bring home?”

  (Ask him,) Hutchins said insistently. (Ask him what he means by a delicate relationship.)

  (How do you know what’s he’s saying?) Chris said. (I thought these subvocalizers only picked up what the person said under his breath.)

  (It does. You’re subvocalizing what Stewart’s saying. Okee says that happens when the person’s upset.)

  (I am not upset,) Chris thought. (And would you please stop eavesdropping on this conversation?)

  (No. Ask him how the negotiations are going. This is important, Chris. Please.)

  “I took the time for this lunch because you told me you had to talk to me,” Stewart said, “and now all you do is sit there staring into space.’” “I’m sorry, Stewart,” Chris said.

  (Please,) Hutchins said.

  “How are the negotiations going, Stewart?” she said. The exhausted-looking man was lying in his sushi.

  “We’ve had a breakdown in communications. Nothing for you to worry about, though. In fact, it may work to your benefit. The Japanese have decided that because the negotiations are taking longer than we expected, they’ll match the compensation NASA’s been paying. Which is only fair since this mess is their fault. If they’d allowed NASA to build the size shuttle base they wanted, this overcrowding problem would never have happened.”

  (What kind of breakdown in communications?) Hutchins said.

  “What kind of breakdown in communications?” Chris said.

  “It seems the Eahrohhsian the Japanese team thought was their headman isn’t in charge, after all, or he used to be and isn’t anymore or something. Their concept of roles is apparently different from ours.”

  “Yes,” Chris said, thinking of Molly asking Mr. Okeefenokee to get her a role in Spielberg’s movie.

  “This mix-up could jeopardize the whole space program, and the American linguistics team is furious. They want to transfer the Eahrohhsians down to Houston immediately, where they can use translation computers to…”

  (Immediately?) Hutchins said, but Chris had already said it out loud.

  “If they can get the Japanese to agree to it. I think they will as soon as they’ve had time to save face. Two or three more days at the most, and Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh will be out of your life forever.”

  And so will Hutchins, Chris thought.

  The waitress came back with Stewart’s eel and a check, which she stuck under the fingers of the sleeping man. “We’re out of sushi salad,” the wait
ress said. “We got tacos and Hungarian goulash. Do you want one of them?”

  “Two or three more days, and you’ll have your apartment back and we can think seriously about going condo. But in the meantime, you’ve got to make sure you don’t do anything to upset Ohghhifoehnnahigrheeh. The smallest thing, and our chances of negotiating a space program could blow up in our faces.”

  (Let him do anything he wants,) Hutchins said. (I don’t care what it is. Rape and pillage. Anything.)

  “Oh, shut up!” Chris said.

  “Look, don’t take it out on me,” the waitress said. “It’s not my fault we’re out of the sushi salad.” She flounced off.

  “I realize having to share your apartment with an alien has been a strain,” Stewart said stiffly, “but you didn’t have to yell at the waitress.”

  “I didn’t,” she said, thinking furiously at Hutchins (This is all your fault. Go away and don’t say one more word to me.)

  “Who were you yelling at, then?” Stewart said. “Me?”

  “No,” Chris said, “Mr. Ohghhifoehnn…” She stopped and waited, listening. Hutchins didn’t say anything. Good, she thought, I’m glad he’s gone. The waitress reappeared and lifted the sleeping man’s head up so she could take the sushi board out from under him. She pointedly did not look at Chris. “Yesterday the alien brought home…”

  “Can I have the check, please?” Stewart said. “And wrap this up so I can take it with me.” He slapped down a credit card and slid off the stool. Three people dived for it. “I’ve got to be back at the office by fourteen-thirty.” Chris struggled through the crowd after him. By the time she made it to the anteroom, he had found his shoes in the jumble by the door and was pulling them on. “Let him bring home anything he wants,” he said, bending down to tie his shoelaces. “And whatever he wants to do, let him do it. I don’t care what it is. It’s only for a couple of days.”

  Chris waited for Hutchins to say, even rape and pillage? but he didn’t. He’d gone away, and in a couple of days he really would have gone away because Mr. Okee-fenokee would have been transferred down to Houston, and he wouldn’t be able to use the excuse anymore that Mr. Okeefenokee wanted him to stay, and she’d never see him again.

  “Now,” Stewart said, straightening up. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  Chris looked around the suddenly quiet anteroom. There was no one in it except the attendant, who was patiently lining up pairs of shoes by the door. The old woman who’d been in there before must have found her shoes.

  “Well?” Stewart said.

  “I wanted to talk to you about all the things Mr. Ohghhi… the alien’s been buying, but yesterday after I talked to you, I had a long talk with him, and he promised not to buy anything else. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

  He looked worried. “Are you sure you should have done that? You don’t want to do anything that might…”

  “Upset negotiations?” Chris said. The waitress brought Stewart his credit card and a cardboard container with a metal handle. Two teenaged girls wearing “Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind” T-shirts came in and began looking for their shoes. “I’m sure I did the right thing. Don’t worry. It won’t upset your negotiations. I’ll go along with anything he wants.”

  “Good,” he said, putting his credit card away. “Oh, and listen, when this is all over, I want you to come over and look at the apartment next to Mother’s. With the compensation we could buy it and sublet yours.”

  He and the teenaged girls left together, and Chris started looking for her shoes. They weren’t there. “Very busy. Much shoes,” the attendant said in a passable imitation of the way Mr. Okeefenokee used to talk. “Not steal. Wrong take.”

  Chris thought of Hutchins diving bravely into the bullet to rescue her shoe. You could get my shoes back for me, she thought at him. “Where are you?”

  There wasn’t any answer. “Wrong take. You mine,” the attendant said, and removed her getas, which were no more than a size four.

  “Not fit. Wear size eight,” Chris said in a passable imitation of the way she had talked to Mr. Okeefenokee before she met Hutchins, and wished again that he were here.

  The attendant finally found her a pair of disposable tabis. The thick, toed socks were better than nothing, she thought, and smiled and thanked the attendant, but before she had gone twenty steps, she had come to the conclusion that they weren’t. She stepped up in a doorway and tried to massage her crushed instep. It was only half a block to the bullet platform, but she would never make it. And even if she did, she’d be crippled for life by the crowd on the bullet.

  She leaned out as far as she could from the doorway and peered down the crowded ginza, trying to spot a shoe vendor. There was everything else: a man selling mylar balloons with a picture of the Eahrohhs’ ship on them, a Sony outlet selling chip recorders, a flower vendor with a backpack full of cherry blossoms shouting, “Hana! Cheap!”

  Mr. Okeefenokee would love it here, she thought, and remembering that she had told Charmaine she’d be back by sixteen o’clock gave her the courage to step back down onto the footwalk, where the balloon man stepped squarely on her foot.

  She retreated back up into the doorway to peer the other way. I wonder how far Mitsukoshi’s Department Store is, she wondered. They’d have shoes.

  (It’s ten blocks,) Hutchins said in her ear. (We’ll have to take the bullet.)

  She knew he was miles away and using the subvocalizer again, but the feeling that he was right behind her was irresistible. She turned around. He was standing there, holding a pair of red spike heels by the straps. “You’re lucky Charmaine wears a size eight,” he said, and handed them to her. “I know these aren’t great, but they’re not size fours either. And when we get back to Mitsukoshi’s, Okee says he’ll buy you a new pair.”

  “Mitsukoshi’s?” she said, balancing herself against the doorway to take the tabis off. “You left Okee alone at Mitsukoshi’s?”

  “I had to come get you. Your exact words, as I recall, were, ‘Where the hell is Hutchins? I don’t have any shoes.’ Do you realize you subvocalize when you’re upset?”

  “Yes,” she said ruefully, and wondered what else he’d heard her think. She stepped into the shoes, which were at least six inches high, and bent down to velcro the red straps.

  “Don’t worry about Okee,” Hutchins said. “He’s not alone. I left him with Charmaine. At the makeup counter. She was trying out blusher colors on the top of his head.”

  “What were you doing at Mitsukoshi’s? I thought you had a job interview.”

  “I did,” he said, and helped her out of the doorway. She stepped warily onto the footwalk. It seemed a long way down. “I went in at noon, and Luigi was pretty busy, so he told me to come back this afternoon. You didn’t subvocalize what Stewart said when you told him he had to find Okee and me an apartment, which means you’re not upset, which must mean he said he would. Which means—”

  “I’m starving to death,” Chris said. “I didn’t get any lunch.”

  Hutchins bought her a tempura dog on a stick, and she focused her attention on eating it and keeping her balance for the half block to the bullet platform.

  “Is Stewart coming over this afternoon to move Okee and me to another apartment or to throw me out?” Hutchins said after they had pushed their way through to the edge of the platform.

  “Here comes the bullet,” Chris said, looking at her feet so the spindly heels wouldn’t catch in the narrow space between the platform and the magnetic rail. The bullet slid to a stop, and the people behind pushed forward. Chris stumbled and looked down at her feet.

  “Come on!” Hutchins yelled, and yanked her up onto the bullet by both arms as the doors closed. They slid shut with a whoosh, and she found herself pinned between a lady with a shopping bag and Hutchins. He was still gripping her arms.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “What did Stewart say?”

  “Why do you have to ask?” she sa
id, still looking at her feet. “You listened in on the whole conversation.”

  “Not that part,” he said. “Charmaine asked what I thought of this makeup she was trying on, and the next thing I knew you were hollering for your shoes.” He let go of her and put his arms around her.

  “Hey,” the woman with the shopping bag said, “quit shoving.” She hoisted her shopping bag up into her arms, a movement that had the effect of squashing Chris and Hutchins closer together.

  “Look,” Hutchins said, “I should have told you this morning and now it’s probably too late, but it’s important that Okee and I stay where we are. I’m not talking about the hammock. I tried to get one of Mr. Nagisha’s overnight leases, but he’s booked up through next week, so I asked Charmaine if I could bunk on one of her steps. She said she’s got a friend moving in with her, but I’ll see if her lawyer friend will let me sleep on the landing. The important thing is that Okee stay in his room and do whatever it is he’s planning on doing. When did Stewart say he was moving Okee out?”

  “He didn’t,” she said.

  “Good,” he said, sounding relieved. “Maybe he won’t have found anything by tonight and—”

  “I didn’t tell Stewart.”

  “What?”

  She looked up. Charmaine’s shoes put her on a level with him, and when she looked up, it was straight into his eyes. “I didn’t tell him Okee sublet the apartment to you.”

  “Why not?”

  “The negotiations are at a very delicate stage,” she said, trying not to look at him. She didn’t dare duck her head, because they were so close that his lips might brush her forehead, and if she turned her head, he would be whispering in her ear, just as he had been with the subvocalizer. “It’s only for a couple of days and…” And I was afraid I’d never see you again, she thought, and then tried to stifle the thought so Hutchins wouldn’t hear her. She would have taken the subvocalizer off if she could, but her arms were pinned against his chest, and she was afraid to move them for fear it would bring her closer to him. “Why is it so important that you and Mr. Okeefenokee stay?” she said.