Amish -- Fiction; Science fiction; Short stories; Space colonies -- Fiction
The Sarki leaned forward to examine Aaron's beard and shaven upper lip,
once; and smiled. The Murnan does not wear such. He looked at Martha
more casually now, seeing that the husband was not disgraced by his
wife's naked face; and remarked on the whiteness of her skin in the same
tones he'd mentioned Wutzchen's remarkable girth.
Aaron asked when the snows would cease, when the earth would thaw. The
Sarki told him, and said that the land here was as rich as manure.
Gradually the talk worked round to problems involving carpenters, nails,
lumber, hinges--and money. Aaron was pleased to discover that the
natives thought nothing of digging a cellar and raising a barn in
midwinter, and that workers could be easily hired.
Suddenly Sarki Kazunzumi stood and slapped his palms together. The tent
flap was shoved open. Bowed servants, who'd shivered outside for over an
hour, placed their master's presents on the sack table, on the twig
floor, even beside Martha on the bed. There were iron knives, a roast
kid, a basket of peanuts, a sack of roasted coffee beans, a string of
dried fruit, and a tiny earthware flask of perfume. There was even a
woolen riga for Aaron, black, suggesting that the Survey had said a bit
to the natives about Amish custom; and there were bolts of
bright-patterned cloth too worldly for aught but quilts and
infant-dresses, brightening Martha's eyes.
Aaron stood to accept the guest gifts with elaborate thanks. Sarki
Kazunzumi as elaborately bemeaned his offerings. "Musa the carpenter
will appear on tomorrow's tomorrow," he said. "You will, the Mother
willing, visit me in Datura tomorrow. We will together purchase lumber
worthy of my friend-neighbor's barn-making. May the Mother give you
strength to farm, Haruna! May the Mother grant you the light of
understanding!"
"_Sannu, sannu!_" Stoltzfoos responded. He stood at the door of his
tent, holding his lantern high to watch the Sarki and his servants ride
off into the darkness.
* * * * *
"_Er iss en groesie Fisch, nee?_" Martha asked.
"The biggest fish in these parts," Aaron agreed. "Did you understand our
talk?"
"The heathen speech is hard for me to learn, Stoltz," Martha admitted,
speaking in the dialect they'd both been reared to. "While you had only
the alien speech to study, I spent my time learning to grow the buglets
and tell the various sorts apart. Besides, _unser guutie Deitschie
Schproech, asz unser Erlayser schwetzt, iss guut genunk fa mier_." (Our
honest German tongue, that our Saviour spoke, is good enough for me).
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account