Fantasy fiction; Utopian fiction; Utopias -- Fiction
During the closing years of the century great progress had been made, on
the earth, in the method of talking by arbitrary signs and motions.
The movements of the body and limbs and the great variety of facial
expressions were all so well adapted to the ideas to be represented that
it was comparatively easy for an intelligent person to learn to make
known many of his thoughts. As our studies progressed day after day
it began to dawn on me that Mona, in spite of the disadvantage of not
knowing our spoken language, was learning faster than I was. I was
somewhat chagrined at this at first, but it finally turned out to my
advantage, for the doctor announced one day that Mona had acquired all
he knew and could thenceforth teach me if I pleased. Here was a bond
of sympathy that I had not looked for, but I was glad enough to avail
myself of it, and delighted to find that Mona was also pleased with
the plan. With her for a teacher it did not take me long to finish.
Her graceful movements made poetry of the language, and the web she was
weaving around my heart was strengthened every hour.
As Mona gradually learned to express herself to our comprehension we
began to ask her questions about herself and her history. The doctor,
being less under the spell of her charms than I was, showed a greater
curiosity, and one of the first things he asked was:
“When do you expect the other members of your family home?”
Mona was at first puzzled, but saw his meaning as soon as the motions
were repeated, and answered with a few simple signs:
“I have no friends to come home. I am alone.”
The expression we put into our faces told her of our sorrow and sympathy
better than any words, and the doctor continued:
“But these other houses! Surely they are not all empty?”
“Yes,” she replied, “their inmates are all gone. I am the only
inhabitant left.”
And then she told us from time to time that there were no other villages
anywhere in the moon and that she was absolutely the last of her race.
Our method of conversation was not free enough to allow her to tell us
how she had discovered the truth of this astounding information, and
there were a thousand other questions for whose answers we were obliged
to wait, but not forever.
The doctor and I talked freely to each other now, and playfully said
a great many things to Mona, who, though she did not understand them,
laughed with us and gave us much pleasure with her easy, unembarrassed
manner and piquant ways. And she not only jabbered away with hands and
face in the manner we had taught her, but she did not cease also to make
life bright for us by repaying us in our own coin and talking to us in
her natural, delicious way. With such music in the house life could not
be dull.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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