And Now the News by Theodore Sturgeon

easy ways—sprawling all over the place, letting their young speak up at will, the shameless admission that they had a patois of their own—that none of these things had been able to do. Without losing his implacable dignity by any slightest change of expression, he yet found himself blushing. Then he scowled and let the childish display turn to a flush of anger. He would be glad, he thought furiously, when he had the heart of this culture in the palm of his hand, to squeeze when he willed; then there would be an end to these hypocritical amenities and they would learn who could be humiliated.
    But these three faces, the boy’s so open and unconscious of wrong, Tanyne’s so strong and anxious for him, Nina—that face, that face of Nina’s—they were all utterly guileless. He must not let them know of his embarrassment. If they had planned it, he must not give them the satisfaction. If they had not planned it, he must not let them suspect his vulnerability.
    With an immense effort of will, he kept his voice low; still, it was harsh. “I think,” he said slowly, “that we on Kit Carson regard the matter of privacy perhaps a little more highly than you do.”
    They exchanged an astonished look, and then comprehension dawned visibly on Tanyne’s ruddy face. “You don’t eat together!”
    Bril did not shudder, but it was in his word: “No.”
    â€œOh,” said Nina, “I’m
so
sorry!”
    Bril thought it wise not to discover exactly what she was sorry about.
    He said, “No matter. Customs differ. I shall eat when I am alone.”
    â€œNow that we understand,” said Tanyne, “go ahead. Eat.”
    But they
sat
there!
    â€œOh,” said Nina, “I wish you spoke our other language; it would be so easy to explain!” She leaned forward to him, put out her arms, as if she could draw meaning itself from the air and cast it over him. “Please try to understand, Bril. You are very mistaken about one thing—we honor privacy above almost anything else.”
    â€œWe don’t mean the same thing when we say it,” said Bril.
    â€œIt means aloneness with oneself, doesn’t it? It means to do things, think or make or just be, without intrusion.”
    â€œUnobserved,” said Bril.
    â€œSo?” replied Wonyne happily, throwing out both hands in a gesture that said
quod erat demonstrandum
. “Go on then—eat! We won’t look!” and helped the situation not at all.
    â€œWonyne’s right,” chuckled the father, “but as usual, a little too direct. He means we can’t look, Bril. If you want privacy,
we can’t see you
.”
    Angry, reckless, Bril suddenly reached to the tray. He snatched up a goblet, the one she had indicated as water, thumbed a capsule out of his belt, popped it into his mouth, drank and swallowed. He banged the goblet back on the tray and shouted, “Now you’ve seen all you’re going to see.”
    With an indescribable expression, Nina drifted upward to her feet, bent like a dancer and touched the tray. It lifted and she guided it away across the courtyard.
    â€œAll right,” said Wonyne. It was precisely as if someone had spoken and he had acknowledged. He lounged out, following his mother.What
had
been on her face? Something she could not contain; something rising to that smooth surface, about to reveal outlines, break through … anger? Bril hoped so. Insult? He could, he supposed, understand that. But—laughter?
Don’t make it laughter
, something within him pleaded.
    â€œBril,” said Tanyne.
    For the second time, he was so lost in contemplation of the woman that Tanyne’s voice made him start.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œIf you will tell me what arrangements you would like for eating, I’ll see to it that you get them.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t know how,” said Bril bluntly. He threw his sharp, cold