"H. Beam Piper - Naudsonce" - читать интересную книгу автора (Piper H Beam)

The natives seemed shocked. She repeated the gesture and the word, then turned and addressed Paul
Meillard. "You."

"Me," Meillard said, pointing to himself. Then he said, "You," to Luis Gofredo. It went around the contact
team; when it came to him, he returned it to point of origin.

"I don't think they get it at all," he added in a whisper.

"They ought to," Lillian said. "Every language has a word for self and a word for person-addressed."
"Well, look at them," Karl Dorver invited. "Six different opinions about what we mean, and now the
band's starting an argument of their own."

"Phase Two-A," Lillian said firmly, stepping forward. She pointed to herself. "MeтАФLillian Ransby. Lillian
RansbyтАФme name. YouтАФname?"

"Bwoooo!" the spokesman screamed in horror, clutching his staff as though to shield it from profanation.
The others howled like a hound-pack at a full moon, except one of the short-tunic boys, who was
slapping himself on the head with both hands and yodeling. The horncrew hastily swung their piece
around at the Terrans, pumping frantically.

"What do you suppose I said?" Lillian asked.

"Oh, something like, 'Curse your gods, death to your king, and spit in your mother's face,' I suppose."

"Let me try it," Gofredo said.

The little Marine major went through the same routine. At his first word, the uproar stopped; before he
was through, the natives' faces were sagging and crumbling into expressions of utter and heart-broken
grief.

"It's not as bad as all that, is it?" he said. "You try it, Mark."

"MeтАж MarkтАж HowellтАж" They looked bewildered.

"Let's try objects, and play-acting," Lillian suggested. "They're farmers; they ought to have a word for
water."

They spent almost an hour at it. They poured out two gallons of water, pretended to be thirsty, gave each
other drinks. The natives simply couldn't agree on the word, in their own language, for water. That or else
they missed the point of the whole act. They tried fire, next. The efficiency of a steel hatchet was
impressive, and so was the sudden flame of a pocket-lighter, but no word for fire emerged, either.

"Ah, to Nifflheim with it!" Luis Gofredo cried in exasperation. "We're getting nowhere at five times light
speed. Give them their presents and send them home, Paul."

"Sheath-knives; they'll have to be shown how sharp they are," he suggested. "Red bandannas. And
costume jewelry."

"How about something to eat, Bennet?" Meillard asked Fayon.