Nest of Worlds by Marek S. Huberath

whites learn to use special deodorants, extra-strength. Ian has booklets that give advice about body odor. Isn’t that true, Ian?” She turned to her husband. “They say white women have a different kind of period, and that’s the reason they stink even worse than the men,” she added.
    Fatima blanched, which accentuated the pimples on her face. Massmoudieh looked around helplessly.
    “Actually, no, it’s the reds who stink,” said Zef, running a palm along his fiery red comb, which had been stiffened with egg white. “Me, for example. I’m a regular polecat if I don’t clean my nose out properly. The smell comes from my snot.” He put a finger in, extracted a gray ball, and flicked it on the tablecloth in Phyllis’s direction.
    Ra Mahleiné giggled.
    Zef pulled another missile from his nostril. This time, by accident, he hit Haifan’s newspaper.
    “Whites ought to keep to themselves,” declared Phyllis, setting aside all innuendo when the third ball of snot landed on the edge of her plate.
    “I’m only getting rid of my body odor,” Zef said apologetically.
    Unfortunately his barrage didn’t cease with that, so everyone had to leave the table before the next course.

28
    When Ra Mahleiné later warmed up a couple of slices of pizza for the two of them, she almost dropped the pan, she was laughing so hard.
    “Yes, he dealt with her,” Gavein said. “Stupid people ought to be put in reservations.”
    “Absolutely not. They make you feel good. You know, in Lavath I had no idea the reds hated us so much.”
    “And the blacks who came from Llanaig had the same experience. Though I think social segregation in Lavath was taken less seriously than it is here.”
    “I never considered the reds or grays worse than us.”
    “I know. Or even blacks.” He smiled at her.
    “You see? I married you precisely to put myself in a better mood.”
    “And did it work?”
    “I’m not complaining.”
    Their conversation was continued in bed. The pizza burned.

29
    The next day, he didn’t go to the bookstore.
    Early in the morning, Wilcox called and asked Gavein if someone could fill in for him. He said he had to finish reading some book. Gavein didn’t object.
    They went down to the dining room. Ra Mahleiné settled on the sofa, covered herself with a blanket, and watched television as she knitted.
    Edda was ironing her sheets. Zef was deep in thought over some lecture notes, sitting cross-legged in the armchair but not thinking it necessary to remove his shoes. Gavein smiled, beholden to the young man for having come to the rescue.
    “I didn’t know you knew them, Dave,” Edda said, with a long, hard look.
    “I knew only Ian. He took care of an official matter for me. Then he gave me his card and an invitation. That’s all.”
    “Dave. Forgive them for last evening. We’ve had enough tragedy. Don’t start it again, like a magnet. Magda, tell him not to start it again.”
    Ra Mahleiné lifted her eyes from her knitting. She didn’t like to be interrupted when she counted loops. She muttered something.
    Gavein sighed and said, “Edda, please, this is absurd. If you want, we’ll move.”
    “Magdalena,” Zef said, not shortening her Davabel name, because he liked the sound of it, “tell your husband he should feel proud, instead of complaining, that others think him so powerful.”
    “Would you please stop it? It’s so stupid,” Ra Mahleiné exclaimed, returning her eyes to her work.
    Edda left without a word.
    “Don’t let my mother get under your skin, Dave. She exaggerates.”
    “You were in good form yesterday.”
    “I’m not doing badly today,” he laughed, making as if to pick his nose again.
    But Gavein could see that something was bothering the young man. He asked what it was.
    Zef answered with a question. “Why do you two both dress the same? Jeans and a flannel shirt.”
    “What?”
    “You look younger than you should, and that Magdalena of yours, Dave, she’s a knockout. If she