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20. A PRISON VISIT: The Interpreter.
Entemannh Garibe = Entemannh City.

I go to their house, first, to unload stuff I carried back.

Eenunh opens her pack and I realize she carried all three of the bags of blue berries; not blueberries, but blue berries, white actually, but with blue juice. Eenunh sets them on the floor, and puts another canvas bag down over the top of them, tugs the drawstring closed. She sets them on a bottom shelf, covers them with a towel.

Eenunh had been careful to wash out the blue stains on Tinunh's and my gloves, sitting naked by the stream flowing out of the swimming hole. I was simply lusting nearby. But I noticed the meticulous inspection, making sure those stains were clearly gone. Finally she rinsed her own gloves, taking the right one off, keeping one on, working the leather with a small stone in her bare hand. She lathered up with the stick-soap, washed both hands and up her wrists. When her visual inspection satisfied her, she put the cleaned glove on and washed the other one, opposite hand, left hand doing the scrubbing, letting the water flow over it, draped underwater on a stone at the edge of the stream. She was careful not to have her foot in the water, cautioned me when I got too close to suit her with my own naked feet. There's something important about those berries or she wouldn't have collected them. I think they're the reason we went there; the main reason. There may be other reasons. Sitting naked in the Sun with her would have been the only reason I needed.

I reminisce, replay how I lay my head back, lean on a boulder. It's hot; the stone. I splash a bit of water, upstream from where Eenunh's working, and lay back on it. I close my eyes. The Sun on my face, my shoulders and chest. I worry that my white skin will burn, worry that theirs will. I cover my genitals with my hands, worry about burning. I... feel a little perverse, open my eyes, a bit sunblind, to look at her. She looks at me, smiles, that wonderful face relieved of all tension. I lay back.

The sense that I haven't a care in the world counters with cares I have in the world. If I don't have to leave with Briggs and the L. A., how can I get paid for this three-years of work? I could set up an account, on Earth, have the money put in it there. How would that do me any good here? I could... order stuff... if a future engagement between our peoples is arranged. And surely it will be. I see dollar signs in Briggs' eyes! Hey! The guy came back, not for money; for me! I gotta give him credit! I apologize for all the terrible names I called him that he need never know about! And to his mother. And aspersions on his character and personality. LOL

I need to find out a... a system of... exchange... Emoilihn money system with Earth money system. I could put some money there, some money here. I could import... something... if I can figure out what, something they desire or demand that we have on Earth. I don't know if any alien society has done this before. Surely they have. The dozen civilizations discovered by human explorers in the nearest Sunstar system alone, thanks to the light-drive engine, must surely have... money relations... if not diplomatic relations. I know most are stand-offish, seeing us, the 'invaders' as being an unknown... potential threat!

Briggs can start marketing the cargo at the first orbiting city he comes to, around Mars, others, around Earth or the Moon. If we've got some special stuff it can go to the Earth's surface. But most of it is ores for metals, and... fossil fuels, and having them already in space is far more valuable than putting them down on Earth. They're even profitable setting them down at specific locations on Earth, rather than trying to transport them over the tectonic mess of land masses, the disturbances that erupt at sea at unpredictable moments. Earth's a freakin' mess! You can still burn coal there, for smelting. Not for electricity generation though. We have some coal on the D.L.A. Briggs didn't tell us but I think he found oil on another planet's moon. The planet was too big to land on. But one of its moons wasn't. He did the work himself, machines, impact devices, feedback. We all just stood around, watching, guarding in case something came out of the wild. Nothing did. But... he may know where there's oil. Oil makes humans crazy. They'll go to war for oil, send the children of the poor into the face of guns for oil.

I wonder about the white road, The White Road. Is there a city... are there cities up and down that road to whom Briggs might make a deal right now? Can we do it here, with the authority of our Governments, us as... as representatives? He's a Government-licensed Captain in the Merchant Marine. Does that mean anything in this context? If we can establish a rate of exchange I could have a nice little payday right here! Something to think about. That white vehicle that went by hummed like a water-truck, possibly the same engine, the same power source. I never smell any exhaust fumes. Maybe they don't need to burn things to power vehicles. Maybe they don't need anything Briggs has. Maybe they don't need a money exchange. I'm stuck with money on Earth I can't spend here and don't need there. I'm swatting at ideas I can't know anything definitive about. I chuckle at myself. Mr. Maybe!

Eenunh's there, settling beside me on the boulder. I reach and splash water where she wants to lay. She watches, her naked green body in bright Sunstarlight. She must have heard me chuckle at myself.

"It's funny?" she says, interrogative tone. I open my eyes enough to see her, snuggling in beside me, throwing her left leg over mine.

"Yes, funny," I say, hugging her gently, my arm down her side, my hand settling on her pelvic bone. The Sun is wonderful, warm, not too hot. I worry about sunburn. I doze a bit, awake when my corn-knife falls out of the sheath beneath my right thigh. Eenunh's been dozing too. She looks behind us, says, "Tinunh." rises and steps across me, right hand on my left shoulder, left hand full of gloves. I reach to support her, my left hand on her waist, right on her belly. I hear her go back in the water, regular 'sploosh' noises. She's walking around the edge of the pool, grace, beauty, my mind's eye. I pick up my knife, put it back in the sheath, stand, lean on the boulder. Eenunh is standing by the boulder where Tinunh has rolled onto her back, her right knees up, to Eenunh's left, foot flat on the rock. They're talking, laughing. Tinunh has her left arm folded over her face, to Eenunh's right. I go, step across the dry boulders, get to my underwear, put it on. Eenunh looks over her shoulder. I go up the hill, find my clean socks. Put on my jeans. Tie my work shoes.

It's a memory, but vivid.

Now I'm looking at the dark ceiling of my bed hollow, showered, shaven, having known the pleasures of sitting for a toilet instead of squatting in the woods. Sleep wanted me. I wanted sleep. Now I'm awake, staring. Eenunh's at the door! I know... how do I know? She doesn't knock. She comes in. People don't seem to lock their doors here. She comes over, lays next to me.

"You have to visit Patrick," she says. "It is in the order of the Koobahbahnnh." I know this. Part of the deal is that I will visit Patrick. "Now's a good time to go," she says. I don't want to get up and go anywhere. I want to sleep. I want to kiss Eenunh. Now sleep wants me, and I can't have it. She kisses me on the left corner of my mouth, sits up, tugs at my hand. I spin, sit up. "I'll go with you," she says. Of course. Without a guide I'd get lost and never be found again.

Down the corridor to the ramps, down to the central chamber, off down the long corridor toward the water-truck cavern. Lots of people coming and going, ahead and behind us. At the boathouse and flea market we turn to our right, instead of straight out onto the dock, by the flea market, onto the same size 'dock' that goes south across the space. I look back. The flea market is dark, like there's no one there to brighten the stuff. The water trucks are up on blocks, wheels off the ground. There's a small pool of water out in the center of the floor. Some people are out there, splashing at the edges, fishing with nets! I see greenies, orangies, skinned, and something silvery! Fish fish? Maybe!

We cross by that dock-size walkway to the far side of the cavern, south end of the complex. On the other side there are several water-trucks, the white wheels on them, ramps up out of the floor area, onto a wide three tiered dock there. We go through a large, open spindle-door and through a short corridor. There's bright light, natural light from an opening on the right, from outside, a big round glass window in a long corridor there, off to the right! I see other big round windows down the corridor. There are cops, coming and going, like at the Court facilities. We keep going straight ahead.

A spindle-door is opened for us, Commannh team, and closed behind us. Through the first door we are given bins at a counter, to empty our pockets in. Eenunh puts her purse in mine. The woman cop takes it out, puts it back in the one they gave specifically to her. She blushes, darker green. I think she's already 'greener', perhaps the effect of the sunbathing. There's a conversation. I don't catch it. I put everything but my handkerchief out of my left hip pocket in my bin. The woman takes the bins to two tables. She starts searching through my stuff, taking out my driver's license, looking at the picture, looking at me. I wonder whether it has expired. She's laying things out on the table, Amero bills, ones, fives and tens. My library card. My Veteran's ID. I wonder if she'll find... she's found my 'mad money, five twenty Amero bills.

The man on her team has laid out all Eenunh's things. There's not much. He looks at a white paper, shows it to the woman. He looks at my stuff while she's reading, handles the money, the ID. She speaks to Eenunh. Eenunh speaks to her. He comes to the counter, reaches under, hands us two tags on lanyards. Eenunh puts hers around her neck. I do the same.

Another team comes out of the spindle-door to our right and stands, indicating by arm gestures we are to come through. We go. The man stops me, points to my belt, says something, again I don't catch, but I take it off and hand it to him. That seems to be it. He goes back to the counter with it. The woman gestures for us to go. On we go, corridors, dark, dingy wall application that doesn't brighten unless you wave your hand at it, vigorously, close to it. On the left, spindle-door, cop team outside, cop team inside, a room, tables, a few people sitting in canvas clothes, regular shirts, pants, dresses. One lady and one man in the knit dress and sport-coat attire of the more well-to-do, a despondent young man across the table from them. Cop teams, man, woman, stand against the wall near each table. There are women, children, visitors. The lighting is better, on the walls, the ceiling, the white stuff.

Patrick comes through a spindle-door, cuffed with the one piece cuffing device, is 'placed', bodily, in a seat on a bench at a table by a man, a woman cop watching him, watching us. I go, sit on a bench on the near side, and Eenunh sits, facing away from the table, her left leg at my left hip.

The cops who brought him stand against the wall.

"Who's this?" Patrick asks. I don't like his voice.

"This is... an interpreter..." I tell him, "for the Emoilihn, in case we have to tell them anything."

He doesn't deserve to know her name, or who she is. Who she is? She's my fiance'. I'm not telling his ass that! Eff him!

"Tell 'em I want to get the hell out of this place!" he says, obviously not expecting any answer. Eenunh makes eye contact with me, looks away.

"How are you... housed?" I ask "Do you have a decent bed? Is the food edible? Do you have any freedom to move around?"

"Yeah, we're all in a barracks, like the pod we brought down," he says. "About seven of these... things... and me. Sucks just like the barracks pod." He pauses, looks around, looks at Eenunh.

The woman cop, comes and speaks to Eenunh. She stands up, goes and stands between them. She's repeating everything we've said so far, condensed version, somewhat. What do I know? See? I told you she was an interpreter!

"Any trouble with how you're treated?" I ask.

"You mean other than being buried in this hole? There ain't no air down here. It stinks! They push me everywhere they want me to go! I can't understand them and they can't understand me!" he says. Eenunh is speaking in a quiet voice, repeating interpreting.

"Yes, they should air the place out a little," I say, looking up at the ceiling. I hear Eenunh's voice. "The food?" I ask.

"Green vegetables. Orange vegetables. Some kind of meat. It tastes weird. The meat's okay. Today we had some stuff, looked like rice, with vegetables and little bits of meat. It was good," he says. Eenunh's repeating.

"Yeah!" I say, "I've eaten all of that! It's nutritious. Keep yourself healthy!"

"Can you get me out of here?" Patrick asks.

"I don't see how," I tell him.

"Ask her," he says, pointing with his two cuffed hands toward Eenunh. I don't look in Eenunh's direction, look the opposite way in fact. I notice none of the other canvas-clad prisoners are in cuffs.

"Why are you in cuffs?" I ask.

"They like to push me places! I push back!" Patrick says, grinning. 'Such a clever boy!' I think.

"Well, you'll likely be in cuffs as long as you display any threat to the officers, or other prisoners. You need to chill and do your time. You've got three months, three lunar cycles. They're 27 days here. You've already got some down. You need to cooperate, sleep, eat, work if they offer you work. Ask about it. Your time will pass more quickly if you have something to do. Do you read?" I ask.

"Yeah, yeah I can read," he says.

"I have some books. I can bring you some books maybe. You can read them, pass the time. See if you can work. There's got to be a kitchen," I'm telling him, then worrying about Patrick and knives in a kitchen. "There's probably a laundry. You know how things go in prison." I wonder how he can eff things up in a laundry, sure he can find a way.

"Ask 'em?" he repeats. "How 'na hell am I 'sposed to ask 'em!" he says. I see the signs of an emotive eruption, gesture with my hands for him to settle down. He looks around the room, near and far, settles down. The manacle clicks on the table as he moves his hands.

I ask Eenunh for the word for work, get it, try to teach Patrick to pronounce it. He won't even try.

Speaking to Eenunh, I get the message to the commannh, "His time will pass faster for him if he can work in a laundry."

"What kind of books?" Patrick asks, doesn't wait for an answer, waves his cuffed hands, "Never mind."
"I want out of here!" he says, a bit more loudly.

"Yeah, I don't blame you. But... you know what they say, "Don't do the crime if you can't do the time." Eenunh's interpreting. The cops at the wall are asking Eenunh questions. I listen, can't hear what they say. They go silent again. "She's interpreting what we're saying. They'll probably take you somewhere to work, if it's available. Don't make them push you. Go where they indicate. If it's work, take it. Do it. Pass the time. Don't sit in the barracks and get frustrated."

"Okay, man, just...", I search for words, "Just cooperate, eat, sleep, work if you can. I'll bring you some books. I'm pretty sure they'll let you go at the end of three months. You split that guy's head open. I haven't seen green blood before, or since!" I add. "I saw a lot of it that day. So did lots of other people! You made quite an impression!"

I wonder if part of his sentence should be for hitting me, twice. Maybe they'll keep him six months and give us more time to strategize. No. I can't do that to the little ugly bastard. Give him some hope, some help. Let him get through this and go on to hell.

"Anything else you want to talk about? Anything else I can... do... for ya?" I ask.

"Nah! You ain't done nothin' for me yet!" he says and stands up. He turns and starts walking toward the spindle-door. The man goes after him. The woman is talking with Eenunh, turns to me, gestures toward the door, and follows us out, back the way we came. Back at the counter we're collecting our things. My wallet is put back together. I check for my mad money. It's there. Hundred bucks! By God better be!

The cop team there at the counter and the woman who came out with us are in conversation. A yellow-orange pad is produced, marks made, a copy given to Eenunh, another copy made. She puts it in her purse. They're all smiling. I smile too, gesture for Eenunh to precede me out. She takes my lanyard off of me. I point at hers. She pats it, keeps it, and we leave. Outside again she turns left through that large corridor next to the big round window, glass window. The corridor runs parallel to the one we come through from the apartment to the water-truck cavern, but it has windows! Only cops are moving here. They speak to Eenunh, eye me. I look at her and see the cops stop and look after us. They're either checking out my girl or the alien, Ass Oomam. Either way, an 'ass' is involved. I feel jealousy! LOL. That's okay! You can't have a beautiful woman and expect men not to look!

There are more big round glass windows at intervals. The natural light, to the south, is an aesthetic pleasure. We come finally to an opening out onto the patio. The spindle-door is wide, as wide as the one the water-trucks go out. We turn up another corridor, off to the right, north, back toward our apartments. Few people, no cops. A little ways up, Eenunh turns and hugs me. We stop, stand. She shows me the lanyard with the tag, says, "I get paid... to interpret!" She grins! There's genuine joy in her face. I reach and touch her right cheek. She takes my hand and kisses the heel, the palm. She keeps grinning, turns, heads home. "We can visit every fourth day. We should do it. I get paid! I know Patrick is not your friend, and he is... ugly to you... but..." She leaves that hanging.

Yes, an interpreter, a valuable skill, a person you don't want to make leave your planet as you open diplomatic relations with... ass oomamnnh, the aliens!