Tethers - Part 2

By Oluwatoni Adesanya

Tinfoil-Tim: Special thanks to 3n10la! (@eniolaearthguardian) who commented translations on the previous Tethers post. If you haven’t already you might want to check out her comments on Part 1, and hopefully she leaves one on this post! 

I’d seen the look of disappointment- quite frankly, embarrassment- on my parents’ faces when, in front of the whole village, it was declared I’d been the first person in 60 orbits to fail the Test. The disapproving, disgusted glares from my so-called community every time I’d passed anyone in the streets. The malevolent mocking and imitations of my poor accent by everyone from the young children to the oldest rung and replayed in my head, over and over, day and night, waking or asleep. The constant questioning from the elders as to why I couldn’t speak the language of my people. It had all been too much.

I dragged myself out of my reverie and focused back in on Demola, who was staring at me as he watched a poor dishevelled creature trying to make sense of what was going on. He invited me to respond with those same expressive eyes, the ones that made me fall for him years ago, as if inviting me to respond.

So I did. Not in our language, the tongue of our foremothers, but the language of our planet, Safikani.

He'd perked up as I opened my mouth, but when the common tongue pushed its way out of my mouth it washed away whatever traces of friendliness or kinship that remained between us. His whole face fell, and I could only wonder what he must make of me, this supposedly Faranali girl who couldn’t speak her own distinctive language.

Well, I didn’t have to wonder very long. He spoke then, full of disgust, accusation creeping into his tone as he slipped into perfect Universal.

“So I suppose it was true what they said, The state tried to help you and you turned them down. You left us, without even making an effort.”

I felt myself descending into desperation. I couldn’t lose the last person from my colonial life who would look at me kindly, who would still care where I was 5 orbits into the future.

“No, it’s not like that, I swear. I tried! I tried but I just couldn’t ever get it, I-”

“Why not? We all went to the same school, learned the same things. Why can't you speak it like us? Why couldn't you just speak it and STAY?” he pleaded. As I looked at him, the tears forming in his eyes reflected in the late afternoon starlight. They were the only thing we had in common.

I couldn’t blame him. In our colony it was the highest dishonour to “shun” the language of our foremothers. It was the ultimate betrayal, and here he was, trying to reconcile the person who was his childhood best friend, and this traitor who had disowned her own language despite offers of help.

How was he to know?

He took several deep breaths, stealing all my air as he tried to ground himself.

“I guess you're not to blame. If your parents had spoken it to you, you might have picked up something.”

There it was. The final toll.

How could I tell him that my parents, travelling the planet for most of their young lives themselves knew just enough Faranali to pass the Test? How could I tell him that their knowledge of the language was stunted, flawed, rudimentary at best?

That they had tried but couldn’t help me nearly enough?

That it was a failure on the government, the education system, anyone but me?

I couldn't. So I just watched as he made his excuses and walked away, another link severed, joining the threads in the air.