“Why?”
“Because they know enough about our customs to know that masculine gender means the head of the house. It’s logical if you look at it correctly.”
Thorby wondered. Who was head of the Family? Father? Or Grandmother? Of course, when the Chief Officer issued an order, she signed it “By Order of the Captain,” but that was just because . . . no. Well, anyhow —
Thorby suddenly suspected that the customs of the Family might be illogical in spots. But the Captain was speaking. “We don’t actually eat with them; that’s another fiction. You’ll be served a green, slimy liquid. Just raise it to your lips; it would burn out your gullet. Otherwise –” Captain Krausa paused while a Losian scorcher avoided the end of his nose. “Otherwise listen so that you will know how to behave next time. Oh yes! — after I ask how old my host’s son is, you’ll be asked how old you are. You answer ‘forty.’ ”
“Why?”
“Because that is a respectable age, in their years, for a son who is assisting his father.”
They arrived and seemed still to be in public. But they squatted down opposite two Losians while a third crouched nearby. The screen between them was the size of a kerchief; Thorby could see over it. Thorby tried to look, listen, and learn, but the traffic never let up. It shot around and cut between them, with happy, shrill racket.
Their host started by accusing Captain Krausa of having lured him into a misdeed. The interpreter was almost impossible to understand, but he showed surprising command of scurrilous Interlingua. Thorby could not believe his ears and expected that Father would either walk out, or start trouble.
But Captain Krausa listened quietly, then answered with real poetry — he accused the Losian of every crime from barratry to mopery and dopery in the spaceways.
This put the meeting on a friendly footing. The Losian made them a present of the thorium he had already paid, then offered to throw in his sons and everything he possessed.
Captain Krausa accepted and gave away Sisu, with all contents.
Both parties generously gave back the gifts. They ended at status quo, each to retain as a symbol of friendship what each now had: the Losian many hundredweight of verga leaf, the Trader slugs of thorium. Both agreed that the gifts were worthless but valuable for reasons of sentiment. In a burst of emotion the Losian gave away his son and Krausa made him (her) a present of Thorby. Inquiries followed and it was discovered that each was too young to leave the nest.
They got out of this dilemma by having the sons exchange names and Thorby found himself owner of a name he did not want and could not pronounce. Then they “ate.”
The horrid green stuff was not only not fit to drink, but when Thorby inhaled, he burned his nostrils and choked. The Captain gave him a reproving glance.
After that they left. No good-bys, they just walked off. Captain Krausa said meditatively while proceeding like a sleepwalker through the riot of traffic, “Nice people, for fraki. Never any sharp dealing and absolutely honest I often wonder what one of them would do if I took him up on one of those offers. Pay up, probably.”
“Not really!”
“Don’t be sure. I might hand you in on that half-grown Losian.”
Thorby shut up.
Business concluded. Captain Krausa helped Thorby shop and sight-see, which relieved Thorby, because he did not know what to buy, nor even how to get home. His foster father took him to a shop where Interlingua was understood. Losians manufacture all sorts of things of extreme complexity, none of which Thorby recognized. On Krausa’s advice Thorby selected a small polished cube which, when shaken, showed endless Losian scenes in its depths. Thorby offered the shopkeeper his tokens; the Losian selected one and gave him change from a necklace of money. Then he made Thorby a present of shop and contents.
Thorby, speaking through Krausa, regretted that he had nothing to offer save his own services the rest of his life. They backed out of the predicament with courteous insults.