Nela thought, from the midst of an icy calm, that if one scattered some facial features at the top of an immense stalk of bent celery, it would resemble what confronted them. Without panic (even while reminding herself she would undoubtedly have hysterics later) she studied the creature as she waited for Bertran to respond. In cases of surprise or emergency, it was easier to let Bertran do the talking because even if she spoke, he would invariably interrupt her.
“What did you want to talk about?” asked Bertran, his voice betraying no apprehension, though he felt it. It had been a long time since he’d been startled over anything—working circus tended to make one almost startle-proof—but this thing had appeared when he was already feeling somewhat off balance, and there was a definite yaw in his perceptions.
The Alien took a moment before answering, “We have come from a far place. We would like to talk with you about—our presenting a Boon.”
The creature’s face wasn’t much. A small vertical orifice that emitted speech, another two or three triangular depressions of ambiguous purpose, several roundish ones that glinted rather like eyes, or at least more like eyes than anything else. It had a strong vegetal smell, also. A summery smell. Heavy, but not unpleasant. Like mown hay and gardenias over a faint breath of rain-wet soil.
“We’ve got some time,” said Bertran. “If you’d like to come to our trailer.” He rather wanted to get out of sight, preferring that this encounter continue without witnesses. The instinct to hide was a holdover from childhood, when any new or possibly embarrassing thing needed to be considered in private before the twins were forced to deal with it in the public gaze. Even if the Alien proved dangerous, it would be better to meet that danger in private. So his blood said, hammering in his ears, no matter what cautions his brain urged upon him.
The Alien nodded. Since it had no neck, the whole body bobbed, almost a curtsy, the four bottom legs folding and unfolding like springs. They were set at right angles to the body, like insect legs, and looked tacked on. Assembled. Like a plastic toy. Fit pegs A, one through four, into holes B, likewise.
The twins moved toward their trailer, at first tentatively, then picking up speed as the thing trundled closely behind. Nela hoped the other sideshow people were still involved with their meeting. If this parade was observed, she and Bertran would never hear the end of it. My God, that time the baby goat from the animal act had become enamored of Bertran and had followed them home, they had been baa-ed at by their colleagues for days! What would they say about this?
The creature had some trouble getting into the trailer. Human-type steps were obviously not spaced well for its legs. Once inside, however, it managed to curve itself into a chair and tuck its bottom appendages beneath and around it, out of the way, showing that it knew what chairs were for, though it obviously needed one of a different shape.
“My name is m’dk’v*dak’dm#,” [Muh-click-duhk-click-vuh-rasp-dak-click-duhm-gurgle] the thing said, making a chain of mechanical and consonantal sounds.
“I’m afraid I’d find that a little hard to say,” said Bertran with his most studiedly charming smile. He patted at the sweat along his hairline with an immaculate handkerchief. His breath was slowing. Both he and Nela were growing calmer. The thing did not seem threatening at all. “Would you mind if we called you Celery.” He put the handkerchief before his mouth to hide the fact he was nervously chewing his lower lip.
“Celery,” the Alien said in a musing voice. “Vegetable. Comestible. Considered worthy. Valued. Often associated with ritual or holiday occasions shared with kin and close friends. In some cuisines, a customary ingredient. No inimical implications. Why not Celery.”
Bertran nodded and smiled in automatic response as he and Nela moved to their usual places on the small couch across from the single chair. There were some folding chairs in the closet, for occasions when they had more company, but usually the couch, the chair, and the dining table with its two benches were all they needed for seating during tour. They had a larger trailer back home, one they had bought when they stopped sharing with Aunt Sizzy. This small one seemed suddenly very crowded, overwhelmed with aroma and presence.
“To what do we owe the honor of meeting you?” asked Nela, deciding simultaneously on participation and formality.
Celery considered this for a moment. “You are the most … the most similar-to-us being with language we have found on this planet. Since we are constrained by the death of our late, illustrious, much valued comrade to provide your planet a Boon, we sought a similar-to-us to hear our offer. Our sensitivity is so great, we cannot deal with those who are not similar to us.”
Nela and Bertran didn’t need to look at one another to share the questions both of them felt. Bertran’s left arm was across Nela’s shoulders, where it usually was. Nela’s hands were folded in her lap. Their thighs were pressed together, not too tightly. Their heart beat as one. Their breathing was slow, controlled. They understood one another’s feelings completely.
“Explain, please,” asked Bertran. “We don’t quite understand.”
“We share certain attributes,” said Celery, its gesture including them and itself. “The persons on this planet are, almost
