“Kuh . . .” it said. Ofelia stared. Had one of her creatures carried that word to this one? Had they really understood that her words were language?
“Cold,” she said. Then she patted the side of the box. “Freezer. The freezer makes cold.”
“Kuh . . . ghrihzhuh . . .” The second sound, clearly different from the first, sounded like nothing Ofelia had said. She tried to remember her exact words. Freezer. Freezer makes cold. Was that an attempt at “freezer”?
“Freezer,” she said, stretching it out. “Freezer makes cold.” Slowly, distinctly.
“Ghrihzhuh aaaaks kuh,” Bluecloak said, separating each word as carefully as she had. Did that mean it was trying to say what she said? She wanted to think that. She had believed it of children.
“Freezer,” she said again. She opened it again, reached in, and took out a package of food. She held up the package of food. “Food in freezer.”
“Dhuh ih ghrihzhuh,” it said. It reached in and took out another package. “Dhuh . . .” Clearly a question, but the intonation was the opposite of her own, dropping instead of rising.
“Food,” she agreed. Of course it couldn’t understand “food” yet. But Bluecloak seemed so much more responsive than the original creatures. Was this why they had brought it? If they were anything like her own people, if the first ones who found her were scouts of some kind, then Bluecloak might be a specialist of some kind. A specialist in languages?
Bluecloak put its package back in the freezer and turned away. Ofelia replaced her own and shut the lid. Bluecloak had moved to the row of sinks. It touched the faucet control. Of course it would want to know more words; children learning to talk were that way too. They didn’t want to practice until they got one word right; they wanted to learn the names of everything they saw.
Ofelia turned the water on. “Water,” she said, putting her hand in it. Bluecloak put its talons in the water.
“Yahtuh,” it said, producing a sort of gurgled snarl at the beginning of the word.
“Waah-ter,” Ofelia said, again stretching it out. Bluecloak moved its talons from the water to the control.
“Aaaks yahtuh . . .” with the dropping intonation that she suspected meant a question.
Ofelia tried to back her mind up: if “ghrihzhuh aaaaks kuh” meant “freezer makes cold” then maybe “aaaaks” was the closest it could come to “make.” In that case, it had just said “make water.” Ofelia felt smug. It wasn’t that hard, to someone who had dealt with generations of babies learning to talk. She was too old to learn their language, but they could learn hers.
“Make water on,” she said, turning the control to strengthen the stream. “Water
“Aaaaks yahtuh on.” Ofelia was surprised; the “on” sounded quite accurate. Why couldn’t it say “make” if it could say “on”? Bluecloak tapped the control. “Aaaaks yahtuh on.”
Ofelia turned the control again. Bluecloak dipped its head. Approval? Agreement? Thanks? She didn’t know.
“Aaaaks yahtuh awk.” Make water . . . awk? Off. Ofelia turned the control.
“Water off,” she said. Again that bob of the head, then Bluecloak turned away, clearly searching the room for something it expected. Something the others had told it about, no doubt, but which of the many things? Ofelia decided on the obvious, and went to the door. When it followed, she pointed out the light switches, then up to the ceiling lights.
“Lights,” she said. Then, with a touch, “Lights off. Lights on.” Its “l” trilled, a wavering sound prolonged beyond anything Ofelia had heard before. “Llllahtsss.” The word ended in an explosive tss. “Llllahtsss on. Aaaaks lllahtsss awk.” Ofelia turned them off. Bluecloak reached out and turned them back on, repeating its new phrases: “lights off; lights on.” Then it tapped the switch itself, not hard enough to trigger the control.
“Switch,” Ofelia said. “Light switch. Switch turns lights on and off.” She said it slowly, a careful pause after each word.
The creature attempted a sound. Ofelia recognized only the “chuh” of the word’s end; whatever the creature had heard and tried to reproduce didn’t resemble “swih” at all. The creature cocked its head at her, and she tried again. “Switch” did not lend itself to the slow stretching she had used on the other words: when she tried to slow it down, her own version didn’t sound right to her.
This time Bluecloak produced “khuhtch.” That must be the best it could do. Ofelia could accept that, for now. It was a lot closer than she’d come to making most of their sounds.
“Khuhtch aaaaks lllahtsss.”
Ofelia translated as she would for a toddler’s speech. Switch makes lights? Now how was she going to explain that the switch didn’t make the light, but controlled it? Did she need to explain that yet? If she didn’t, she’d have more trouble later on—she knew that from experience. She’d already gone astray when she’d agreed that the faucet controls made the water on or off.
