Read Online Alien Child by Pamela Sargent - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pamela Sargent
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about me and what he’s found out in the library. We want to be friends, Llipel. It must be a time of togetherness for us now.”
Llipel retracted her claws. Nita stepped toward her and handed her the chain. Llipel hung it around her neck while watching Nita warily. “I knew that a time would come for you to know of Sven. I did not think—”
“But why didn’t you tell me before? Why did you keep it a secret?”
Llipel leaned against the wall. “I should not have gone to the cold room. I could not say to you that Llare had revived the boy only a short time before I went there. Llare was frightened and did not tell me of that error until I had made the same mistake with you. Our time of separateness was upon us then, and we did not often speak. It took much for Llare to tell me of the deed, and much for me to tell Llare of what I had done.” Llipel adjusted the chain. “I could tell you of my own mistake, but not Llare’s, not as long as Llare would not allow me to tell of it. I promised— no. I do not think your people have a word for it. It is a kind of pledge, but more than that. It is saying one will not speak of a thing and then entering a time of silence about it.”
How many other secrets had Llipel promised to keep? Nita walked past her guardian and entered the cafeteria. The fruit juice, bread, and cheese she had taken from a slot earlier still sat on the table near the window where she had left them. She walked toward the table, picked up the food, and dumped it into the recycler’s round opening; she had lost her appetite.
Llipel had followed her into the room. Nita sank into a chair; her guardian sat down on the floor near her. “Is that the only reason you didn’t tell me,” Nita said, “that you made a kind of promise to Llare that you wouldn’t say anything about Sven?”
“That came later, what you call a promise. We brought you out to care for you, but our own time of separateness had come. Llare took you both for a time, and then I would bring you here, but there was much trouble in caring for one, and more with two. We learned it would be easier if each of us cared for one of you.”
Nita could understand that; the screens had told her of how long her kind remained helpless and dependent when young. “But when we were older,” she said, “when we could do some things for ourselves—couldn’t you have told us then?”
“The screens said that young ones of your kind might be brought together for play and learning. It was strange to hear that, for I felt a need for my separateness and a time to hear only my own thoughts. But you were not of my kind, so I did not know your needs. When you came to say words, to crawl and stand and walk a little, Llare would leave the boy with me for a time, or I would take you to Llare. Sometimes you played, and other days you stayed apart, but then a day came when the boy struck you and hurt you before I could stop it. I feared that you were harmed.”
Nita thought of what Sven had told her. Did their violent time come upon them so soon, even before they were fully grown?
“I told Llare of what Sven had done,” Llipel continued. “We agreed that it was not your time of togetherness, whatever the mind said. We knew also that—” She fell silent for a moment. “We did not want either of you harmed by the other. It was best to keep you apart after that.”
“Sven told me what he learned about our people.” Her throat tightened. “I suppose you already know what he’s found out. He told me how they fought, how one group would kill another, about their weapons.”
“We knew,” Llipel responded. “We hoped that this time would not come for you, because the mind said that your kind had times without fighting. But we soon saw our mistake. We kept you apart, and then learned that you were in a time of forgetfulness—you had no memory of your togetherness.”
“That isn’t quite true,” Nita said. “I think I did recall something, but I
Llipel retracted her claws. Nita stepped toward her and handed her the chain. Llipel hung it around her neck while watching Nita warily. “I knew that a time would come for you to know of Sven. I did not think—”
“But why didn’t you tell me before? Why did you keep it a secret?”
Llipel leaned against the wall. “I should not have gone to the cold room. I could not say to you that Llare had revived the boy only a short time before I went there. Llare was frightened and did not tell me of that error until I had made the same mistake with you. Our time of separateness was upon us then, and we did not often speak. It took much for Llare to tell me of the deed, and much for me to tell Llare of what I had done.” Llipel adjusted the chain. “I could tell you of my own mistake, but not Llare’s, not as long as Llare would not allow me to tell of it. I promised— no. I do not think your people have a word for it. It is a kind of pledge, but more than that. It is saying one will not speak of a thing and then entering a time of silence about it.”
How many other secrets had Llipel promised to keep? Nita walked past her guardian and entered the cafeteria. The fruit juice, bread, and cheese she had taken from a slot earlier still sat on the table near the window where she had left them. She walked toward the table, picked up the food, and dumped it into the recycler’s round opening; she had lost her appetite.
Llipel had followed her into the room. Nita sank into a chair; her guardian sat down on the floor near her. “Is that the only reason you didn’t tell me,” Nita said, “that you made a kind of promise to Llare that you wouldn’t say anything about Sven?”
“That came later, what you call a promise. We brought you out to care for you, but our own time of separateness had come. Llare took you both for a time, and then I would bring you here, but there was much trouble in caring for one, and more with two. We learned it would be easier if each of us cared for one of you.”
Nita could understand that; the screens had told her of how long her kind remained helpless and dependent when young. “But when we were older,” she said, “when we could do some things for ourselves—couldn’t you have told us then?”
“The screens said that young ones of your kind might be brought together for play and learning. It was strange to hear that, for I felt a need for my separateness and a time to hear only my own thoughts. But you were not of my kind, so I did not know your needs. When you came to say words, to crawl and stand and walk a little, Llare would leave the boy with me for a time, or I would take you to Llare. Sometimes you played, and other days you stayed apart, but then a day came when the boy struck you and hurt you before I could stop it. I feared that you were harmed.”
Nita thought of what Sven had told her. Did their violent time come upon them so soon, even before they were fully grown?
“I told Llare of what Sven had done,” Llipel continued. “We agreed that it was not your time of togetherness, whatever the mind said. We knew also that—” She fell silent for a moment. “We did not want either of you harmed by the other. It was best to keep you apart after that.”
“Sven told me what he learned about our people.” Her throat tightened. “I suppose you already know what he’s found out. He told me how they fought, how one group would kill another, about their weapons.”
“We knew,” Llipel responded. “We hoped that this time would not come for you, because the mind said that your kind had times without fighting. But we soon saw our mistake. We kept you apart, and then learned that you were in a time of forgetfulness—you had no memory of your togetherness.”
“That isn’t quite true,” Nita said. “I think I did recall something, but I
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