And so it had been, to date ...
Once in the city, there were many tedious ceremonies which Jackson had to endure. They stretched on for three days—about par for the course; it wasn’t every day that a traveler from space came in for a visit. So naturally enough every mayor, governor, president, and alderman, and their wives, wanted to shake his hand. It was all very understandable, but Jackson resented the waste of his time. He had work to do, some of it not very pleasant, and the sooner he got started, the quicker it would be over.
On the fourth day he was able to reduce the official nonsense to a minimum. That was the day on which he began in earnest to learn the local language.
A language, as any linguist will tell you, is undoubtedly the most beautiful creation one is ever likely to encounter. But with that beauty goes a certain element of danger.
Language might aptly be compared to the sparkling, ever-changing face of the sea. Like the sea, you never know what reefs may be concealed in its pellucid depths. The brightest water hides the most treacherous shoals.
Jackson, well prepared for trouble, encountered none at first. The main language (Hon) of this planet (Na) was spoken by the overwhelming majority of its inhabitants (En-a-To-Na—literally, men of the Na, or Naians, as Jackson preferred to think of them). Hon seemed quite a straightforward affair. It used one term for one concept, and allowed no fusions, juxtapositions, or agglutinations. Concepts were built up by sequences of simple words (“spaceship” was ho-pa-aie-an—boat-flying-outer-sky). Thus, Hon was very much like Chinese and Annamite on Earth. Pitch differences were employed not only intentionally to differentiate between homonyns, but also positionally, to denote gradations of “perceived realism,” bodily discomfort, and three classes of pleasurable expectation. All of which was mildly interesting but of no particular difficulty to a competent linguist.
To be sure, a language like Hon was rather a bore because of the long word-lists one had to memorize. But pitch and position could be fun, as well as being absolutely essential if one wanted to make any sense out of the sentence units. So, taken all in all, Jackson was not dissatisfied, and he absorbed the language as quickly as it could be given to him.
It was a proud day for Jackson, about a week later, when he could say to his tutor: “A very nice and pleasant good morning to you, most estimable and honored tutor, and how is your blessed health upon this glorious day?”
“Felicitations most ird wunk!” the tutor replied with a smile of deep warmth. “Your accent, dear pupil, is superb! Positively gor nak, in fact, and your grasp of my dear mother tongue is little short of ur nak tai.”
Jackson glowed all over from the gentle old tutor’s compliments. He felt quite pleased with himself. Of course, he hadn’t recognized several words; ird wunk and ur nak tai sounded faintly familiar, but gor nak was completely unknown. Still, lapses were expected of a beginner in any language. He did know enough to understand the Naians and to make himself understood by them. And that was what his job required.
He returned to his spaceship that afternoon. The hatch had been standing open during his entire stay on Na, but he found that not a single article had been stolen. He shook his head ruefully at this but refused to let it upset him. He loaded his pockets with a variety of objects and sauntered back to the city. He was ready to perform the final and most important part of his job.
3
In the heart of the business district, at the intersection of Um and Alhretto, he found what he was looking for: a real-estate office. He entered and was taken to the office of Mr. Erum, a junior partner of the firm.
“Well, well, well, well!” Erum said, shaking hands heartily. “This is a real honor, sir, a very considerable and genuine privilege. Are you thinking of acquiring a piece of property?”
“That was my intention,” Jackson said. “Unless, of course, you have discriminatory laws that forbid your selling to a foreigner.”
“No difficulty there,” Erum said. “In fact, it’ll be a veritable orai of a pleasure to have a man from your distant and glorious civilization in our midst.”
Jackson restrained a snicker. “The only other difficulty I can imagine is the question of legal tender. I don’t have any of your currency, of course; but I have certain quantities of gold, platinum, diamonds, and other objects which are considered valuable on Earth.”
“They are considered valuable here, too,” Erum said. “Quantities, did you say? My dear sir, we will have no difficulties; not even a blaggle shall mit or ows, as the poet said.”
“Quite so,” Jackson replied. Erum was using some words he didn’t know, but that didn’t matter. The main drift was clear enough. “Now, suppose we begin with a nice industrial site. After all, I’ll have to do something with my time. And after that, we can pick out a house.”
“Most decidedly prominex,” Erum said gaily. “Suppose I just raish through my listings here ... Yes, what do you say to a bromicaine factory? It’s in a first-class condition and could easily be converted to vor manufacture or used as it is.”
“Is there any real market for bromicaine?” Jackson asked.
“Well, bless my muergentan, of course there is! Bromicaine is indispensable, though its sales are seasonable. You see, refined bromicaine, or ariisi, is used by the protigash devolvers, who of course harvest by the solstice season, except in those branches of the industry that have switched over to ticothene revature. Those from a steadily—”
“Fine, fine,” Jackson said. He didn’t care what a bromicaine was and never expected to see one. As long as it was a gainful employment of some kind, it filled his specifications.
“I’ll buy it,” he said.
“You won’t regret it,” Erum told him. “A good bromicaine factory is a garveldis hagatis, and menifoy as well.”
“Sure,” Jackson said, wishing that he had a more extensive Hon vocabulary. “How much?”
“Well, sir, the price is no difficulty. But first you’ll have to fill out the ollanbrit form. It is just a few sken questions which ny naga of everyone.”
Erum handed Jackson the form. The first question read: “Have you, now or at any past time, elikated mushkies forsically? State date of all occurrences. If no occurrences, state the reason for transgrishal reduct as found.”
Jackson read no further. “What does it mean,” he asked Erum, “to elikate mushkies forsically?”
“Mean?” Erum smiled uncertainly. “Why, it means exactly what it says. Or so I would imagine.”
“I meant,” Jackson said, “that I do not understand the words. Could you explain them to me?”
“Nothing simpler, Erum replied. “To elikate mushkies is almost the same as a bifur probishkai.”
“I beg your pardon?” Jackson said.
“It means—well, to elikate is really rather simple, though perhaps not in the eyes of the law. Scorbadising is a form of elikation, and so is manruv garing. Some say that when we breathe drorsically in the evening subsis, we are actually elikating. Personally, I consider that a bit fanciful.”