'Do the Israeli and Bantu hide their faces when they eat?'
'No.'
Jeannette rose from the table.
T cannot eat with this thing over my face. I would feel ashamed.'
'But... I have to wear my eating cap,' he said with a shaky voice. 'I couldn't keep my food down.'
She spoke a phrase in a language he did not know. But the unfamiliarity did not conceal the bewilderment and hurt.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'But that's the way it is. That's the way it should be.'
Slowly, she sat down again. She put the cap on.
'Very well, Hal. But I think we must talk about this later. This makes me feel as if I am isolated from you. There is no closeness, no sharing in the good things that life has given us.'
'Please don't make any noise while your're eating,' he said. 'And if you must speak, swallow all your food first. I've turned my face when a wog was eating before me, but I couldn't close my ears.'
'I'll try not to make you sick,' she said. 'Just one question. How do you keep your children quiet when they're eating?'
'They never eat with adults. Rather, the only adults at their tables are gapts. And these soon teach them the proper behavior.'
'Oh.'
The meal passed in silence except for the unavoidable sound of cutlery on plate. When Hal finished, he took off his cap.
'Ah, Jeannette, you are a rare cook. The food is so good I almost felt sinful that I should be enjoying it so much. The soup was the best I ever tasted. The bread was delicious. The salad was superb. The steak was perfect.'
Jeannette had removed her cap first. Her meal was scarcely touched. Nevertheless, she smiled.
'My aunts trained me well. Among my people, the female is taught at an early age all that will please a man. All.'
He laughed nervously and, to cover his uneasiness, lit a cigarette.
Jeannette asked if she might try a cigarette, too.
'Since I am burning, I may as well smoke,' she said, and she giggled.
Hal wasn't sure – of what she meant, but he laughed to show her that he wasn't angry with her about the eating caps.
Jeannette lit her own cigarette, drew in, coughed, and rushed to the sink for a glass of water. She came back with her eyes streaming, but she at once picked up the cigarette and tried again. In a short time, she was inhaling like a veteran.
'You have amazing imitative powers,' Hal said. 'I've watched you copying my movements, heard you mimic my speech. Do you know that you pronounce American as well as I do?'
'Show or tell me something once, and you seldom have to do it again. I'm not claiming a superior intelligence, however. As you said, I have an instinct for imitation. Not that I'm not capable of an original thought now and then.'
She began chattering lightly and amusingly about her life with her father, sisters, and aunts. Her good spirits seemed genuine; apparently, she was not talking just to conceal the depression caused by the incident at mealtime. She had a trick of raising her eyebrows as she laughed. They were fascinating, almost bracket-shaped. A thin line of black hair rose from the bridge of her nose, turned at right angles, curved slightly while going over the eye sockets, and then made a little hook at the ends.
He asked her if the shape of her eyebrows was a trait of her mother's people. She laughed and replied that she inherited it from her father, the Earthman.
Her laughter was low and musical. It did not get on his nerves, as his ex-wife's had. Lulled by it, he felt pleasant. And every time he thought of how this situation might end and his spirits sagged, he was pulled back into a better mood by something amusing she said. She seemed to be able to anticipate exactly what he needed to blunt any gloominess or sharpen any gaiety.
After an hour, Hal rose to go into the kitchen. On his way past Jeannette, he impulsively ran his fingers through her thick, wavy black hair.
She raised her face and closed her eyes, as if she expected him to kiss her. But, somehow, he could not. He wanted to but just couldn't bring himself to make the first move.
'The dishes will have to be washed,' he said. 'It would never do for an unexpected visitor to see a table set for two. And another thing we'll have to watch. Keep the cigarettes hidden and the rooms aired out frequently. Now that I've been 'Metered, I'm supposed to have renounced such minor unrealities as smoking.'
If Jeannette was disappointed, she did not show it. She at once busied herself in cleaning up. He smoked and speculated about thechances of getting ginseng tobacco. She so enjoyed the cigarettes that he could not stand the idea of her missing out on them. One of the crewmen with whom he had good relations did not smoke but sold his ration to his mates. Maybe a wog could act as middleman, buy from the sailor, and pass it on to Hal. Fobo might do it, but the whole transaction would have to be handled carefully. Maybe it wasn't worth the risk...
Hal sighed. Having Jeannette was wonderful, but she was beginning to complicate his life. Here he was, contemplating a criminal action as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
She was standing before him, hands on her hips, eyes shining.
'Now, Hal, maw namoo, if we only had something to drink, it would make a perfect evening.'
He got to his feet. 'Sorry. I forgot you wouldn't know how to make coffee.'
'No. No. It is the liquor I am thinking of. Alcohol, not coffee.'
'Alcohol? Great Sigmen, girl, we don't drink! That'd be the most disgust–'
He stopped. She was hurt. He mastered himself. After all, she couldn't help it. She came from a different culture. She wasn't even, strictly speaking, all human.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'It's a religious matter. Forbidden.'
Tears filled her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake. She put her face into her hands and began to sob. 'You don't understand. I have to have it. I have to.'
'But why?'
She spoke from behind her fingers. 'Because during my imprisonment, I had little to do but entertain myself. My captors gave me liquor; it helped to pass the time and make me forget how utterly homesick I was. Before I knew it, I was an – an alcoholic'
Hal clenched his fists and growled, 'Those sons of... bugs!'
'So you see, I have to have a drink. It would make me feel better, just for the time being. And later, maybe later, I can try to overcome it. I know I can, if you'll help me.'
He gestured emptily. 'But – but where can I get you some?' His stomach revolted at the idea of trafficking in alcohol. But, if she needed it, he'd try his best to get it.
Swiftly, she said, 'Perhaps Fobo could give you some.'
'But Fobo was one of your captors! Won't he suspect something if I come asking for alcohol?'
'He'll think it's for you.'
'All right,' he said, somewhat sullenly, and at the same time guiltily because he was sullen. 'But I hate for anybody to think I drink. Even if he is just a wog.'