Chapter 2 On the road to Montana
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We sat on the couch and talked for a long time. Asmedogh left us alone, which I thought was enormously intelligent of him; he'd contributed all he could now, and it was up to us to work the rest out between ourselves.
But he was no longer making moves to leave and get to his beacon. I picked up his water dish and glass and took them back to the kitchen, and set his food down there, too. For a couple of minutes Camilla marveled at the tidiness of his eating and drinking habits, but long before he was done the spectacle had lost its novelty and she'd turned away.
"How long has he been here?" she asked early on.
"Couple of weeks," I told her. "I found him in the woods one day and brought him home with me."
"A couple of weeks," she repeated thoughtfully. "That's just about how much time you told me since your voice ... Oh, Nick," she said in a tone of deep disappointment. "It's him, isn't it, not you at all."
I shook my head vigorously. "It's all me, Camilla," I said. She really needed to believe me. "What happened was that he showed me where I was going wrong. He said something about he could tell I wasn't singing the way I'd been taught, and he kind of gave me a tweak in the head and I suddenly found myself singing like I'd only been able to before in my dreams. Then I figured out for myself what I'd been doing."
She was still looking doubtful.
"Look, Asmedogh wasn't at Turandot. He wasn't in the opera house Sunday. I'm the baritone in this house, not him. I don't think he can even sing."
She laughed, as I'd intended. But the doubt was gone, or mostly.
When she asked me how long I'd known about him I told her the story of my middle-of-the-night emergency surgery and its aftermath the following morning. She was appalled by the whole thing. "You might have killed him, Nick!" she cried. "My God, you have no medical training, how could you have even dared try it?"
"Well, Asmedogh thought I could do it," I said. "He's the one who picked me, and he coached me through it, in advance I mean. As far as that goes, he was going to die anyway, so what'd he have to lose? And I thought I was dreaming the whole thing, I wasn't exactly awake to be judging whether it was wise."
"I guess... ," she said, still dubiously. "He has more control than he told me, doesn't he?"
I shook my head again. "I don't think so. He got me when I was sleeping and encouraged me to see it all as a dream to make it easier for him to persuade me. But it was still persuasion, not command. And in the end it wasn't something I wouldn't have done voluntarily, fully awake, if I'd recognized how important it was."
"You'd have cut him open and sewed him up?" she demanded incredulously.
"To save his life, yes," I answered. "He reminded me that night that he'd 'done me a service, ' that was the way he put it. He meant showing me about my singing. And he asked would I do him one. He says that's the way his, well, his people work it with other species on their home world. A service for a service, an exchange of value. They don't take without giving. Makes them a little better than at least some people I've met. And reminds me just how much I owe you."
She smiled. "Pay me back by helping to make this the Tosca I've always wanted when we get to opening night," she said. "That's the goal."
"Let's make it even better than that."
"Now you're on board," she approved. "But back to Asmedogh, it's hard for me to keep my thoughts on work with him so fresh in my mind. That's not really even his name, is it?"
"No, but it's as close as I can pronounce it," I said. "Can you do any better?"
"I don't think human throats can make some of those sounds. What happens now, though? Is he just stuck here for the rest of his life? Why didn't any of his ... colleagues come get him, see if he was alive after he crashed?"
I explained to her about the die-with-your-ship policy.
Emely
- 18.06.2021
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