The Anything Box

egg with salt. Mrs. Pink held out her cupped hand and Serena sprinkled a
little salt into it. Mrs. Pink tasted it.
She gave a low whistle of astonishment and tasted again. Then she reached
tentatively for the shaker. Serena gave it to her, amused. Mrs. Pink shook
more into her hand and peered through the holes in the cap of the shaker.
Serena unscrewed the top and showed Mrs. Pink the salt inside it.
For a long minute Mrs. Pink stared at the white granules and then she
whistled urgently, piercingly. Serena shrank back, bewildered, as every bush
seemed to erupt Linjeni. They crowded around Mrs. Pink, staring into the
shaker, jostling one another, whistling softly. One scurried away and brought
ABC Amber Palm Converter,http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
back a tall jug of water. Mrs. Pink slowly and carefully emptied the salt fromher hand into the water and then upended the shaker. She stirred the waterwith a branch someone snatched from a bush. After the salt was dissolved, allthe Linjeni around them lined up with cupped hands. Each received—as though itwere a sacrament—a handful of salt water. And they all, quickly, not to lose adrop, lifted the handful of water to their faces and inhaled, breathingdeeply, deeply of the salty solution.
Mrs. Pink was last, and, as she raised her wet face from her cupped hands,the gratitude in her eyes almost made Serena cry. And the dozens of Linjenicrowded around, each eager to press a soft forefinger to Serena's cheek, athank-you gesture Splinter was picking up already.
When the crowd melted into the shadows again, Mrs. Pink sat down, fondlingthe salt shaker.
"Salt," said Serena, indicating the shaker.
"Shreeprill," said Mrs. Pink.
"Shreeprill?" said Serena, her stumbling tongue robbing the word of itsliquidness. Mrs. Pink nodded.
"Shreeprill good?" asked Serena, groping for an explanation for the justfinished scene.
"Shreeprill good," said Mrs. Pink. "No shreeprill, no Linjeni baby.Doovie—Doovie—" she hesitated, groping. "One Doovie—no baby." She shook herhead, unable to bridge the gap.
Serena groped after an idea she had almost caught from Mrs. Pink. Shepulled up a handful of grass. "Grass," she said. She pulled another handful."More grass. More. More." She added to the pile.
Mrs. Pink looked from the grass to Serena.
"No more Linjeni baby. Doovie—" She separated the grass into piles. "Baby,baby, baby—" she counted down to the last one, lingering tenderly over it"Doovie."
"Oh," said Serena, "Doovie is the last Linjeni baby? No more?"
Mrs. Pink studied the words and then she nodded. "Yes, yes! No more. Noshreeprill, no baby."
Serena felt a flutter of wonder. Maybe—maybe this is what the war was over.Maybe they just wanted salt. A world to them. Maybe—
"Salt, shreeprill," she said. "More, more more shreeprill, Linjeni gohome?"
"More more more shreeprill, yes," said Mrs. Pink. "Go home, no. No home.Home no good. No water, no shreeprill."
"Oh," said Serena. Then thoughtfully, "More Linjeni? More, more, more?"
Mrs. Pink looked at Serena and in the sudden silence the realization that they were, after all, members of enemy camps flared between them. Serena triedto smile. Mrs. Pink looked over at Splinter and Doovie who were happilysampling everything in the picnic basket. Mrs. Pink relaxed, and then shesaid, "No more Linjeni." She gestured toward the crowded landing field."Linjeni." She pressed her hands, palm to palm, her shoulders sagging. "Nomore Linjeni."
Serena sat dazed, thinking what this would mean to Earth's High Command. Nomore Linjeni of the terrible, devastating weapons. No more than those that hadlanded—no waiting alien world ready to send reinforcements when these shipswere gone. When these were gone—no more Linjeni. All that Earth had to do nowwas wipe out these ships, taking the heavy losses that would be inevitable,and they would win the war— and wipe out a race.
The Linjeni must have come seeking asylum—or demanding it. Neighbors whowere afraid to ask—or hadn't been given time to ask. How had the war started?Who fired upon whom? Did anyone know?
Serena took uncertainty home with her, along with the empty picnic basket.Tell, tell, tell, whispered her feet through the grass up the hill. Tell andthe war will end. But how? she cried out to herself. By wiping them out orgiving them a home? Which? Which?
ABC Amber Palm Converter,http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Kill, kill, kill grated her feet across the graveled patio edge. Kill the
aliens—no common ground—not human —all our hallowed dead.
But what about their hallowed dead? All falling, the flaming ships—the
homeseekers—the dispossessed—the childless?
Serena settled Splinter with a new puzzle and a picture book and went into
the bedroom. She sat on the bed and stared at herself in the mirror.
But give them salt water and they'll increase—all our oceans, even if they
said they didn't want them. Increase and increase and take the world—push us
out —trespass—oppress—
But their men—our men. They've been meeting for over a week and can't
agree. Of course they can't! They're afraid of betraying themselves to each
other. Neither knows anything about the other, really. They aren't trying to
find out anything really important. I'll bet not one of our men know the
Linjeni can close their noses and fold their ears. And not one of the Linjeni
knows we sprinkle their life on our food.
Serena had no idea how long she sat there, but Splinter finally found her
and insisted on supper and then Serena insisted on bed for him.
She was nearly mad with indecision when Thorn finally got home.
"Well," he said, dropping wearily into his chair. "It's almost over."
"Over!" cried Serena, hope flaring, "Then you've reached—"
"Stalemate, impasse," said Thorn heavily. "Our meeting tomorrow is the
last. One final 'no' from each side and it's over. Back to bloodletting."
"Oh, Thorn, no!" Serena pressed her clenched fist to her mouth. "We can't
kill any more of them! It's inhuman—it's—"
"It's self-defense," Thorn's voice was sharp with exasperated displeasure.
"Please, not tonight, Rena. Spare me your idealistic ideas. Heaven knows we're
inexperienced enough in warlike negotiations without having to cope with
suggestions that we make cute pets out of our enemies. We're in a war and
we've got it to win. Let the Linjeni get a wedge in and they'll swarm the
Earth like flies!"
"No, no!" whispered Serena, her own secret fears sending the tears flooding
down her face. "They wouldn't! They wouldn't! Would they?"
Long after Thorn's sleeping breath whispered in the darkness beside her,she lay awake, staring at the invisible ceiling. Carefully she put the wordsup before her on the slate of the darkness.
Tell—the war will end.
Either we will help the Linjeni—or wipe them out. Don't tell. The
conference will break up. The war will goon.
We will have heavy losses—and wipe the Linjeni out.
Mrs. Pink trusted me.
Splinter loves Doovie. Doovie loves him.
Then the little candle flame of prayer that had so nearly burned out in hertorment flared brightly again and she slept.
Next morning she sent Splinter to play with Doovie. "Play by the goldfish
pond," she said. "I'll be along soon."
"Okay, Mommie," said Splinter. "Will you bring some cake?" Slyly, "Doovie