The Anything Box

embroider the rich materials like the length they had given her. In exchange,
Serena was teaching Mrs. Pink how to knit. At least, she started to teach her.
She got as far as purl and knit, decrease and increase, when Mrs. Pink took
the work from her, and Serena sat widemouthed at the incredible speed and
accuracy of Mrs. Pink's furry fingers. She felt a little silly for having
assumed that the Linjeni didn't know about knitting. And yet, the other
Linjeni crowded around and felt of the knitting and exclaimed over it in their
soft, fluty voices as though they'd never seen any before. The little ball of
wool Serena had brought was soon used up, but Mrs. Pink brought out hanks of
heavy thread such as were split and used in their embroidery, and after a
glance through Serena's pattern book, settled down to knitting the shining
brilliance of Linjeni thread.
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Before long, smiles and gestures, laughter and whistling, were not enough,
Serena sought out the available tapes—a scant handful—on Linjeni speech and
learned them. They didn't help much since the vocabulary wasn't easily applied
to the matters she wanted to discuss with Mrs. Pink and the others. But the
day she voiced and whistled her first Linjeni sentence to Mrs. Pink, Mrs. Pink
stumbled through her first English sentence. They laughed and whistled
together and settled down to pointing and naming and guessing across areas of
incommunication.
Serena felt guilty by the end of the week. She and Splinter were having so
much fun and Thorn was wearier and wearier at each session's end.
'They're impossible,' he said bitterly, one night, crouched forward tensely
on the edge of his easy chair. 'We can't pin them down to anything.'
'What do they want?' asked Serena. 'Haven't they said yet?'
'I shouldn't talk—' Thorn sank back in his chair. 'Oh what does it matter?'
he asked wearily. 'It'll all come to nothing anyway!'
'Oh, no, Thorn!' cried Serena. 'They're reasonable human—' she broke off at
Thorn's surprised look. 'Aren't they?' she stammered. 'Aren't they?'
'Human? They're uncommunicative, hostile aliens,' he said. 'We talk
ourselves blue in the face and they whistle at one another and say yes or no.
Just that, flatly.'
'Do they understand—' began Serena.
'We have interpreters, such as they are. None too good, but all we have.'
'Well, what are they asking?' asked Serena.
Thorn laughed shortly. 'So far as we've been able to ascertain, they just
want all our oceans and the land contiguous thereto.'
'Oh, Thorn, they couldn't be that unreasonable!'
'Well I'll admit we aren't even sure that's what they mean, but they keep
coming back to the subject of the oceans, except they whistle rejection when
we ask them point-blank if it's the oceans they want. There's just no
communication.' Thorn sighed heavily. 'You don't know them like we do, Rena.'
'No,' said Serena, miserably. 'Not like you do.'
She took her disquiet, Splinter, and a picnic basket down the hill to the
hole next day. Mrs. Pink had shared her lunch with them the day before, and
now it was Serena's turn. They sat on the grass together, Serena crowding back
her unhappiness to laugh at Mrs. Pink and her first olive with the same
friendly amusement Mrs. Pink had shown when Serena had bit down on her first
pirwit and had been afraid to swallow it and ashamed to spit it out.
Splinter and Doovie were agreeing over a thick meringued lemon pie that was
supposed to be dessert.
'Leave the pie alone, Splinter,' said Serena. 'It's to top off on.'
'We're only tasting the fluffy stuff,' said Splinter, a blob of meringue on
his upper lip bobbing as he spoke.
'Well, save your testing for later. Why don't you get out the eggs. I'll
bet Doovie isn't familiar with them either.'
Splinter rummaged in the basket, and Serena took out the huge camp salt
shaker.
'Here they are, Mommie!' cried Splinter. 'Lookit, Doovie, first you have to
crack the shell—'
Serena began initiating Mrs. Pink into the mysteries of hard-boiled eggs
and it was all very casual and matter of fact until she sprinkled the peeled
egg with salt. Mrs. Pink held out her cupped hand and Serena sprinkled a
little salt into it. Mrs. Pink tasted it.
She gave a low whistle of astonishment and tasted again. Then she reached
tentatively for the shaker. Serena gave it to her, amused. Mrs. Pink shook
more into her hand and peered through the holes in the cap of the shaker.
Serena unscrewed the top and showed Mrs. Pink the salt inside it.
For a long minute Mrs. Pink stared at the white granules and then she
whistled urgently, piercingly. Serena shrank back, bewildered, as every bush
seemed to erupt Linjeni. They crowded around Mrs. Pink, staring into the
shaker, jostling one another, whistling softly. One scurried away and brought
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back a tall jug of water. Mrs. Pink slowly and carefully emptied the salt fromher hand into the water and then upended the shaker. She stirred the waterwith a branch someone snatched from a bush. After the salt was dissolved, allthe Linjeni around them lined up with cupped hands. Each received—as though itwere a sacrament—a handful of salt water. And they all, quickly, not to lose adrop, lifted the handful of water to their faces and inhaled, breathingdeeply, deeply of the salty solution.
Mrs. Pink was last, and, as she raised her wet face from her cupped hands,the gratitude in her eyes almost made Serena cry. And the dozens of Linjenicrowded around, each eager to press a soft forefinger to Serena's cheek, athank-you gesture Splinter was picking up already.
When the crowd melted into the shadows again, Mrs. Pink sat down, fondlingthe salt shaker.
'Salt,' said Serena, indicating the shaker.
'Shreeprill,' said Mrs. Pink.
'Shreeprill?' said Serena, her stumbling tongue robbing the word of itsliquidness. Mrs. Pink nodded.
'Shreeprill good?' asked Serena, groping for an explanation for the justfinished scene.
'Shreeprill good,' said Mrs. Pink. 'No shreeprill, no Linjeni baby.Doovie—Doovie—' she hesitated, groping. 'One Doovie—no baby.' She shook herhead, unable to bridge the gap.
Serena groped after an idea she had almost caught from Mrs. Pink. Shepulled up a handful of grass. 'Grass,' she said. She pulled another handful.'More grass. More. More.' She added to the pile.
Mrs. Pink looked from the grass to Serena.
'No more Linjeni baby. Doovie—' She separated the grass into piles. 'Baby,baby, baby—' she counted down to the last one, lingering tenderly over it'Doovie.'
'Oh,' said Serena, 'Doovie is the last Linjeni baby? No more?'