Free Hellspark by Janet Kagan

basics, weren’t you? Well, they aren’t hello, good-bye, please, thank you
    , and
    Where’s the bathroom
    ?”
    “They aren’t?” Alfvaen came immediately to her feet. “Jenji is that different from Siveyn?”
    “Not in the sense you mean,” Tocohl said, “but Hellspark language lessons always start with the proxemics and kinesics of a new language. The earliest of the old Hellspark proverbs is ‘The dance is sweeter than the song.’
    “Let me give you a practical demonstration.” Tocohl glanced down, indicated a broad yellow stripe that halved the tapestry beneath their feet. “Stand with your toes touching that. If at all possible, I want you to remain with your toes touching that, and I want you to tell me what you’re feeling while I talk to you.”
    Alfvaen, despite her puzzled look, arranged herself carefully. Tocohl took a step forward and greeted her formally in Siveyn. Alfvaen responded instantly in kind.
    “Look at your toes,” Tocohl said.
    “Still on the line, but I…”
    “Bear with me. How did I greet you?”
    Alfvaen gave this some thought. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Tocohl. You greeted me as if you were Siveyn, you know that.”
    “Aggressively? As if I were a long-lost friend?”
    “Neither. As if you were… Tocohl. Just as you are.”
    Tocohl pursed her lips slightly. “All right. Keep your toes on the line. I’m going to do it again.”
    This time the language she chose was Jannisetti, and it required a step backward on Tocohl’s part to greet
    Alfvaen formally.
    Alfvaen had clearly learned her hello, please
    , and thank you in Jannisetti, for she responded in good kind to the greeting. Her accent was impeccable, but she stepped a full two inches across the line.
    “Toes,” said Tocohl. Alfvaen looked down, her eyes widening in astonishment.
    “Why did you step forward?”
    “I don’t know,” she said, stepping back to stare at the line as if it had somehow moved from under her.
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    “Try again,” Tocohl said. Alfvaen fixed a corner of her eye on the line and readied herself visibly.
    Again Tocohl greeted her formally in Jannisetti, and again Alfvaen moved forward. This time, however, she caught herself in midstep.
    With great deliberation, she set her foot back, glared at Tocohl, and responded to her greeting in clipped tones. Then suddenly her anger was gone, lost in the interest she gave to her feet.
    “First lesson,” Tocohl said. “Why were you angry?”
    “You backed away from me, as if I were diseased.” She was still staring at her feet.
    “No,” said Tocohl, “I did not. I greeted you in exactly the same way in both Siveyn and Jannisetti.’
    “But you didn’t, Tocohl. In Jannisetti, you—” She closed her mouth abruptly. She stared up at
    Tocohl “On Jannisetti, they all backed away from me!”
    “Are you that offensive?” Tocohl grinned at her. “I didn’t think so.”
    “You thought so in Jannisetti! You backed away! Why, Tocohl?”
    Shifting back to Siveyn, Tocohl said, “I’ll show you the emotional equivalent of what you did to the
    Jannisetti in Siveyn. Try toeing that line through this… !” she challenged. Once more, she greeted Alfvaen in her own language. While the words were formal, her movements were not—instead of the requisite one step forward, Tocohl took two.
    And Alfvaen instantly backed away from her.
    Tocohl waited patiently where she was, making no further move that could be interpreted as aggressive.
    After a long moment, Alfvaen again looked down at her toes, taking in the distance she had moved from her mark. She said, “You came at me!”
    “And why do you suppose the Jannisetti all stepped back?”
    Alfvaen stared at her feet in an embarrassed fashion. “Oh, Tocohl,” she said at last, “do you mean that every time I said hello—and thought I said it in a friendly way in their own tongue—I was… jumping at them the way you jumped at me?”
    “I’m afraid so, yes.”
    “But why