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26. BLACK MARKET BEAUTY; A Berry Blue Matter.
Hika Andrews = Mr. Andrews.
Bah sanh = thank you.

I come in from some random wandering around, not very productive. Eenunh has left a note under one of my sneakers laying on the edge of the bed hollow.

I'm able to read, "Meet. Soda's. Quit time."

Meeting at Soda's at the time Eenunh gets off.

She came all the way here from the plant nursery on the east side, to leave a note?

I decide not to worry... yet... I worry. Words on paper. No... urgency. When and where, and who. Neither what nor why. The thought of Soda and Thin Man balances my care with the pleasure of their company.

I'm able to read the numbering of passage-ways now so I get lost less often. Getting lost, finding my way back, I'm learning Entemannh Garibe. I'm able to go straight there, with one stop-off in Ravenswood, West Virginia... LOL... meaning I still got lost. I got turned around, found my path again, and there at the end of the passage-way, silhouetted in blue sky light, I see the shapely form of Eenunh... pacing, arms crossed.

I come out, take her in my arms and we spin twice like ball-room dancers! She goes with me, plays along, is full of grace! Her beautiful face is smiling, receives my kiss... and stops. She says, in English, her human voice, quietly, in my right ear,

"There's... something... I told Soda... so she would know... that... I didn't tell you."

The words hang in the air. 'Something'. 'Told'. 'Didn't tell.' 'Told'. 'Didn't tell.'

She leans back, looking in my eyes. She's taking my right hand, towing me casually toward Soda's door. She's prattling about her day. I'm sure I'm not expected to respond. It's prattle for any listeners. There are people moving in the halls. We go right in. I admire the finish on their spindle-door, the smooth operation as I close it. Ours scrape.

Soda is her usual smiling self. Thin Man's not in the room. Tinuh and Eevannh are. I get double hugged!

Eenunh sits. Soda leans forward. She and Eenunh, and Tinunh, are looking at Eevannh. What is up?

"I heard... my Mother... talking," the little girl says, "to my father. The commannh (police) are looking for someone who sold..." and she describes the berries we... my family collected!

What's... the problem?

She goes on.

"Once they started asking questions they found three pharmacies had the pain medicine people were looking for, but the records didn't match up with what they got, officially from..." she names what I take to be a city (Something Garibe; I don't interrupt to ask), and an official... source... for pharmaceuticals.

I knew about your trek to the mountains." She looks at Eenunh, Tinunh and me. "I suspected maybe that was why, and you... were who.

I didn't say anything to my Mother. I learned that lesson when I spoke openly about you, Hika (Mr.) Andrews, and it turned into you having to move out of Tinunh's house. My apologies for that. It still bothers me that talking too freely, even with my Mother, could cause such problems. I've known Tinunh all my life. I'd never seen her so consistently happy, so light-hearted for her own self. She's always positive in her outlook, always makes people laugh, but... this was something more. When I found out you were the reason why I was very happy for... the family." She looks at Sodaensus. They smile at each other, nod in affirmation.

I've learned to be more attentive to what is said, without appearing to be. I don't casually make inquiries to elicit more information. Often the question I don't ask gets answered if I'm patient to let someone talk and tell it. I think and pretend not to be too interested. Mother wants to talk about what my father tells her. I listen... I didn't used to. It was boring. Now I encourage her with simple comments, casual comments. She likes to talk. My Mother has become more inquisitive, since I stopped telling her everything about my life. I'm learning to... give her more information about my day without telling ANYTHING about anyone else! I don't think she's completely fooled but..."

They all laugh! Eevannh just grins, her joke having landed!

Soda seems to be hearing this for a second time. Either she's not surprised, or just a good poker player. But Eenunh told me in the hall that she had told Soda something she didn't tell me. Soda questions our little friend. Apparently this conversation was overheard today. Her father is a prosecutor, or something, affiliated with the Police Courts, the Koobahbahnnh. Table talk, 'How was your day dear?' discussion, something casually mentioned.

"Tinunh and I tell each other everything," the girl goes on. "She told me about your trek. I noticed her skin was darker and she told me about sunbathing. She didn't tell me about the berries. We came to my house after school today, and I told her what my father told my mother. She stopped dead in her tracks! I bumped into her! I knew. I pushed her and we went to the living room and listened, pretending to do homework. I made sure Tinunh was facing away from my parents. She wears her heart in her face. My father didn't seem to have anything more to say on the subject. We waited for a quiet moment. I just looked in her eyes and I knew. I made a fake... happy... face. She got control of her face, which was not a pretty sight!" She pushes Tinunh's head at the temple! They all laugh!

"We didn't say anything else about it there. You never know who is listening and where your words might go without you."

Soda grins broadly. It's a verbatim quote of the warning she's given us all, more than once. 'Where your words go without you.'

"We visited Eenunh at the nursery. Tinunh told her enough to alert her. She told us to come to Soda's, tell her. And... here we are."

She sits back. Soda sits back. Almost immediately she sits forward.

"This is why we're secretive," she says. "A word, a single word, can go from your mouth to a random ear, be spoken anew somewhere, and circle around to find you."

'Loose lips sink ships!' I think to myself.

She pauses. "You girls have done us great service by getting this news to us immediately.
Now, ...you won't speak of it outside this room, of course, and what I need to talk about is something you don't need to know.
So I want you to go now while the adults talk."

She stands, brushes fingertips, formally, with the little girls. I think I see a... respectful exchange of faces, Soda and Eevannh, like two professionals meeting at work. Then they hug. I see a little girl, and a loving adult. The little girl looks up at Soda, adds, "Congratulations!" touches Soda's stomach, as they part. She knows. Soda grins, touches her shoulder. Eenunh is looking at the floor, looks concerned. I wonder if she knows... about Soda and Thin Man. In all the rush I forgot to tell her. Of course she knows. She and Soda have become more than attorney/client; they're friends. I wonder... if she knows. Tinunh's face is concerned, brightens when our eyes meet.

I get double-hugged. "Bah sahn," (Thank you,)" I say quietly to Eevannh. Tinunh stands back, arms akimbo on her hips, grinning, watching another hug. Eevannh steps back. Tinunh hugs me again. She leans, hugs her mother. They go. I sit.

Soda smiles at us. She's quiet.

Eenunh speaks, looking at me, saying, "I sold the berries. We... had three bags, full, a lot of berries. I had... remembered... making that trek... with my husband, at that time of year. We... needed value... in the system. He... knew how to get some. The berries were most abundant then. I don't remember collecting as many when we went... back then. But I remember he made me be quiet about it, in the doing and after we came home. He took small amounts and sold them. He told me he sold them to pharmacies." She looks at me, explains,

"They're... very... potent chemistry. People use them for... for recreation... to get out of their heads, just silly with a little of the blue juice, totally... unconscious with too much.
I had to get rid of them quickly while they were fresh!
I went to the first pharmacy, asked for the pain medicine. He said he had it but only a little, because of the war, and they would only sell it if I really needed it. Everyone wants to ease their aches and pains, but some need it more than others. Who can tell who is who? Pharmacists have to make that judgment, often without a doctor's analysis. There are only two doctors here, because of the war.
That pharmacist didn't seem... the type to... make a deal with. I didn't get a... good feeling with him. I told him I'd get over my aches without the medicine.
So I went to another one. We talked, and I did get a good feeling. She told me she only had a little, some people really need it. I liked her concern for the Emoilihn, that she couldn't give them what they needed. I told her I could get berries.
She looked around to see that people were busy, consumers, co-workers, not listening. She invited me to come to the back. It's not unusual to consult with a consumer about their needs, to determine what medication might be best, what a doctor recommended if they'd consulted one. She said she could set up her lab to process them. I told her I had the berries with me. She wanted them. I said, 'All of them?' She said, 'Yes, of course.'
Then I pulled out the bag and she...her eyes got very big! She expected... I think other people do it... bring berries illegally... but not bags full as big as that one. She got over her shock, said she'd process them that night. We agreed on a price, a... very good price. She... She paid me, partially, with credits. I saw that she got them from her own purse. She said she'd have to pay me each week and we agreed not to write anything down, just to keep it in our heads."

I'd seen Eenunh spending credits, little coins, at the grocery store, the bakery. It took a lot of them to buy anything, and time, for me, having to look at each one to confirm its value, which made the 'account system' practical. She was adept at putting a handful on a counter, sorting them. It seemed to be a less common way of transacting business, the debit 'card' account number being 'easier' somehow. But people seemed to round up their charges with credits, the coins. I wondered at all those receipts, how they stored them, where they 'paid' the debt, or how we received payment for work out in the waters, my 'tips' at the pub. When she paid with credits, exclusively, I didn't see receipts made, slipped into a drawer, handed to a... consumer. Sometimes you got credits in change. The account system likes round numbers. 'Keep the change!' is often heard, credits viewed as more trouble than they're worth. I've found them in the hall, on the floor of pubs, people not interested in picking them up.

"I didn't want to go through the stress with other pharmacists," Eenunh says, "so I told her I had some more. She asked how much. I told her two more bags. She was scared then. I thought she might back out of the whole deal. She settled down. She said she would contact another pharmacist and see. She did. I came back the next day with another bag. She sent me home for the third one. We got the value in our heads. I go back occasionally to get paid. It became cumbersome. I changed bags of berries to bags of credits, and hid them on a top shelf in the end of the bed hollow. It was just a supplement to income, just to know I had it if we needed it. I had to manage income to pay services, trash, laundry, cleaning, water, keep most of my shopping in the documented commerce. I found ways to use the credits, small grocery trips, luxuries like baked goods. A pair of socks, underwear. But... it has been stressful. Shop-keepers ask why I use so many. I tell them my family and I saved them up too long."

She turns to Soda, apologizes for throwing this... this... curve ball, this new problem in the mix.

Soda smiles, says, "We'll work through it. Everyone understands desperation. We've all been there. You didn't sell them to just anyone for 'recreational' use. You put them into the system. Everyone complains that all the pharmaceuticals go to the cities, tribute north and south, and out in the country we get very little."

It was some days later Eenunh comes home with Soda. She stays for dinner, and tells us,

"I... visited your pharmacist after you told me about it, and planted the story in her head that two soldiers had come with berries to sell. There were a hundred soldiers here before The Waters. She said she had the medicine, but only a little, and some needed it badly. I told her I'd get over my aches and pains and left. I never go to that pharmacy. The one I do go to, and went to a few days later, told me the story of the two soldiers. She told me she only had a little. I waited a long time to go to a third pharmacy. She said she only had a little, what they sent us. I told her the two soldiers story. She said she had heard it but that would be illegal. I'm pretty sure that story will come back, if we're ever questioned. We'll deal with whatever comes."

I look upon my beautiful Black Marketer with renewed awe. I wonder why she didn't take me into her confidence. I realize only now that I never knew what happened to the berries, obtained at such price, the overnight trek, to and from. A pack of pawed threats in the desert darkness! Killer squirrel! We were... covert... with our fire, Tinunh even taking great pains to return the stones she'd gathered to the holes where she found them laying, scattering ashes. Hiding from the passing vehicle on the foggy White Road.

I take her hand. "We're going to be okay," I tell her, in Emoilihn. I repeat it in English.

She is not comforted, a smile that consoles me... but not herself. We're going to be okay. We're going to be okay.