Boston Beau Dancer decided to join us on our trip planetside "to size up the local sucker stock" as he put it. No one on the Baraboo, except the advance and the route man, had ever been to Chyteew before, and Boston Beau wanted to get the lay of the land. Fish Face and I were friendly because we didn’t want to give ourselves away. It was not easy. At the lot near Marthaan, we bid Tick Tock good-bye, then the three of us set out on foot toward the tall buildings. The Asthu, the natives ruling Chyteew, are built along the general proportions of an ostrich egg, although considerably taller, and with thick, blunt-toed legs and thin, four-fingered arms. Several times, walking down one of the many business malls in Marthaan, Boston Beau deliberately stepped in front of one of the egg-shaped creatures. The Asthu would bump into Boston Beau, utter a rapid, incomprehensible apology, then waddle on.
Boston Beau would grin and mutter "Ripe. So ripe."
I frowned at him after he had bumped into his fourth pedestrian. "Why are you doing that?"
He cocked his head at the push of the crowd working its way into a business exchange. "Look at their eyes, Warts. Small and practically at the sides of their round head-ends. They can’t see directly in front. Can you imagine what a man like Jack Jack [a card shark] can do to these people?" He cackled, then waved goodbye to us as he followed the push into the business exchange. "I think I’ll check out what they like to do with their credits."
We waved back, then I stopped Fish Face and turned toward him. "Can you imagine what Boston Beau’s gang will do here?"
Fish Face nodded without changing expression. Then he pointed toward one of the creatures dressed in white belts who appeared to be directing foot traffic at one of the mall intersections. I felt slightly sick when I realized that the Asthu needed traffic cops to keep pedestrians from running into each other. "There’s a copper. Let’s find out where his station is."
We walked up to the egg in white belts and I began. "Could you tell me where the police station is?"
I was standing directly in front of the officer, and he rotated until he brought one of his eyes around to face me. It went wide, then he staggered backward a step. "Mig ballooma!"
"Police station?" I tried again.
Slightly recovered, the officer took a step toward us, scanned with one eye, then the other. "Egger bley sirkis."
"What?"
The officer pointed at me, then at Fish Face. "Sirkis, sirkis, dether et?"
Fish Face poked me in the arm. "Listen, he’s saying circus." The tiny mouth on the egg rapidly became much larger, then the entire body dipped back and forth, "Sirkis! Sirkis!" As the bodies began piling up at the intersection, the officer reached beneath one of his white belts and pulled out a red and white card. "Sirkis!"
I looked at it, then turned to Fish Face. "It’s an advanced reserve ticket for the show." I turned back to the officer and nodded. "Yes, circus. Police station?"
He tucked the card back under his belt, then held up his hands.
"Nethy bleu et poleece stayshun duma?" A lane of traffic mistook the officer’s hand gesture for a signal and began piling into the cross-lane flow. "Gaavuuk!" The officer scanned around once, then waded into the bodies, shouting, pointing, and shoving. After a few minutes of this, traffic began flowing again, and the officer returned. He pointed at a door a few paces from the corner. "Agwug, tuwhap thubba."
I pointed in the direction of the door. "Police station?"
He held up his arms again in that gesture that was probably a shrug, thereby causing the halted lane to pile into the cross-lane again. "Ah, gaavuuk! Nee gaavuuk!" Back he went to untangle the bodies. Fish Face pulled at my arm and pointed at the door.
"I think we better go before the copper comes back. Think that’s the station?"
I shrugged. "Let’s try it anyway." We walked the few steps to the door. On the door was painted a variety of incomprehensible lines, dots, squiggles, and smears. Toward the bottom was spelled out, "English Spoke Hear." I nodded, then turned to Fish Face. "It’s an interpreter." I pushed open the door and we entered a cramped, windowless stall. In the back, behind a low counter, one of the egg-shaped creatures was leaning in a corner.
Fish Face tapped me on the shoulder. "Is he asleep?"
I walked over to the counter and tapped on it. "Excuse me?" No response. I knocked harder. "Excuse me, do you speak English?"
The egg opened the eye facing me, started a bit, blinked, then went big in the mouth. "Sirkis!" He stood and reached under the wide brown belt he wore and pulled out an advanced reserve ticket. "Sirkis!"
I nodded. "Yes, we’re with the circus." I turned to Fish Face. "Stretch Dirak and the advance have done quite a job." I turned hack. "Do you speak English?"
The mouth went big again as the eyes squinted. "English spoke hear."
"What’s your name!"
"Name are Doccor-thut, well, sirs." Doccor-thut dipped forward in the good egg’s version of a bow.
I smiled. "We need an interpreter."
"English spoke hear."
"Yes, can you come with us? We want to go to the police station."
Doccor-thut rotated a bit, went down behind the counter and came up again carrying a book. He held it up to one eye and began paging through it. "Police… police… hmmmm. Regulation of community affairs… community… community, ah… hmmmm… station… hmmm." Doccor-thut put the hook down and faced an eye toward me. "You want to operate a radio?"
Fish Face placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let me give it a try." He wiggled a finger at Doccor-thut. "Come with me."
Doccor-thut pressed a button, part of the countertop slid open, and he walked through the opening. He followed Fish Face to the door, and I brought up the rear. Out in the mall, Fish Face pointed at the traffic cop. "Police."
Doccor-thut aimed an eye at Fish Face. "You want police radio?"
Fish Face shook his head. "Take us to the police’s boss."
Doccor-thut went back to the book. "Boss… circular protuberance or knoblike swelling—"
Fish Face took the book. "Allow me!" He found the definition he wanted, faced the book at Doccor-thut, then pointed with his finger. "Boss. Supervisor, employer."
And so on.
These kinds of translation misunderstandings provided the foundation for such exchanges in "Enemy Mine" as the following:
…Any minute we could be washed off that sandbar. "Jerry, you’re being silly about that rod. You know that."
"Surda." The Drac sounded contrite if not altogether miserable.
"Ess?"
"Ess eh surda?"
Jerry remained silent for a moment. "Davidge, gavey not certain not is?"
I sorted out the negatives. "You mean possible, maybe, perhaps ?"