Arabella of Mars(7)
“La!” Beatrice fanned herself. “You Martian girls are so headstrong!”
Arabella smiled wryly at the observation. “If you were to ask my mother, my upbringing on Mars has completely ruined me for polite society.” She grimaced as she recalled the many whispered conversations she’d overheard between her parents late at night, her mother calling her a “wild child” and demanding to take her, Fanny, and Chlo? back to Earth to prevent her sisters turning out as she had. Mother had prevailed in that argument, in the end, and Arabella supposed that she would eventually have her way in this one as well. “Truly, I am not suited for England. How I wish I could return to the land of my birth!”
At this Simon finally joined in the conversation. “I cannot imagine pining for Mars,” he said. “It seems a horrid place, cold and dry and crawling with those dreadful natives.”
“I would much rather be there than England,” Arabella countered. “It is so warm and damp all the time here, and every thing is so impossibly heavy! And I find the soil unbearably filthy, unlike the clean dry sand found on so much of Mars. The first time I saw an earthworm I was horrified.”
Simon seemed about to reply with some heat, but Beatrice stayed him with a meaningful glance. “Have you ever met a Martian native?” she asked Arabella brightly.
“Oh, yes. I was practically raised by Martians! My nanny, or itkhalya as we call them, was a Martian named Khema.”
Simon frowned even more deeply. “A great crab as a nanny? Surely it would rouse up nightmares in the child.”
“It is an insult to compare a Martian to a crab,” Arabella snapped. But when she saw the shocked expression on Beatrice’s face at her outburst, she realized that once again she had committed a faux pas. English manners were so very easily bruised! “However,” she continued in an attempt at conciliation, “now that I have seen a crab, I must agree that there is some slight resemblance around the eyes and mouth-parts, and like the crab Martians are covered in a hard carapace. But Martians do not scuttle about in such a lowly fashion as the Earth crab; they stand tall, as we do, and like us they have but two arms and two legs. And they are as possessed of intellect, morals, and judgement as we.” She stared out the window at the clear blue sky, remembering. “What adventures we had together!”
As well as her duties of care, protection, and companionship, which she had always performed without fault, Khema had educated Arabella and Michael in Martian culture, history, geography, and all the practical arts. Many days and not a few nights had been spent in the trackless desert, learning how to find one’s way, identifying edible plants and animals, and springing ambushes upon each other.
Arabella loved Khema dearly, but she often wondered if she might still be on Mars if her itkhalya had demanded less of her. After Arabella had fallen into the gorosh-shrub, she and her sisters had departed for Earth within the month, leaving Michael behind as his father’s assistant.
“So you speak their language?” Beatrice said, interrupting Arabella’s reminiscences.
Arabella blinked away memories and returned her attention to her cousin. “You say that as though there were only one Martian language. They have their nations, clans, and tribes just as we do, each with its own language or dialect. I did learn to speak a few words of my itkhalya’s tribal language, though it is frightfully difficult for us to make the kh sound properly. But most Martians who work with Englishmen speak quite passable English.”
“How wonderful it must be,” said Simon in a bitter tone, “to have so many Martian servants at your beck and call.”
“I consider Khema more of a friend and companion than a servant,” Arabella replied. “It is true that she was in my family’s employ, but the bond between us was quite sincere and affectionate.”
“Money,” Simon shot back with a resentful tone, “can create the appearance of affection.”
At that statement, Arabella noticed that Beatrice’s face fell momentarily into rueful contemplation. But then she brightened—albeit somewhat artificially—and said, “I am sure your nanny’s tender feelings were entirely genuine. But what of the male of the species? I have heard that Martian warriors are fierce and savage.”
“Though war is a frequent occurrence between the Martian nations,” Arabella replied, “there has been peace between Martians and English for many years. In any case,” she continued with a small smile, “among the Martians, it is the females who are the warriors.” Simon and Beatrice both expressed shock and disbelief at this. “I swear to you that what I say is true,” Arabella reassured them. “The Martian female is larger and more powerful than the male, and—though the English often refuse to believe this—Martians consider the female to be more suitable by temperament to the warrior’s life. Indeed, my own itkhalya is well known among her people as a strategist.” To herself, Arabella reflected that this was one of the ways in which Martian culture was superior to that of the English. Sometimes she even thought that, if she had no alternative but to be born female, she would rather have been a Martian.
At that moment Sophie, in the next room, began to wail and fuss, and Beatrice excused herself to tend to her. Arabella, seeing an opportunity to converse with her in private, excused herself as well.
Once Sophie’s immediate needs had been tended to and Beatrice had begun to rock and comfort the child, Arabella seated herself on the sofa next to her. “Forgive me if I am being impertinent,” she said, “but I cannot help but notice that Mr. Ashby seems … rather vexed. I hope that my presence here is not a burden to you.”