The Nutcracker Coup (6 page)

Since that was all that worried

Clarence, that was all right.

In the end, Marianne found that being an ethnologist was considerably more interesting than being a diplomat...especially during a revolution.

She and Nick, with Tatep, had taken time off from their mutual studies to choose this year’s Christmas tree-from Halemtat’s reserve. “Why,” said Marianne, bemused at her own reaction,

“do I feel like I’m cutting a Christmas tree with Thomas Jefferson?”

“Because you are,” Nick said. “Even Thomas Jefferson did ordinary things once in a while.

Chances are, he even hung out with his friends....” He waved. “Hi, Tatep. How goes the revolution?”

For answer, Tatep rattled the length of his body.

“Good,” said Nick.

“I may have good news to share with you at the Christmas party,” added the Rejoicer.

“Then we look forward to the Christmas party even more than usual,” said Marianne.

“And I brought a surprise for Marianne all the way from Dirt,” Nick added. When Marianne lifted an eyebrow, he said, “No, no hints.”

“Share?” said Tatep.

“Christmas Eve,” Nick told him. “After you’ve shared your news, I think.”

###

Nick had arrived at last, along with Tatep and Chornian and Chaylam and their kids.

Surprisingly, Nick stepped in between verses to wave the Ad Hoc Christmas Chorus to silence.

“Attention, please,” he shouted over the hubbub. “Attention, please! Tatep has an announcement to make.” When he’d finally gotten silence, Nick turned to Tatep and said, “You have the floor.”

Tatep looked down, then looked up again at Nick.

“I mean,” Nick said, “go ahead and speak. Marianne’s not the only one who’ll want to know your news, believe me.”

But it was Marianne Tatep chose to address.

“We’ve all been to see Halemtat,” he said. “And Halemtat has agreed: no one will be clipped again unless five people from the same village agree that the offense warrants that severe a punishment.

We will chose the five, not Halemtat. Furthermore, from this day forward, anyone may say anything without fear of being clipped. Speaking one’s mind is no longer to be punished.”

The crowd broke into applause. Beside Tatep, Nick beamed.

Tatep took a piece of parchment from his pouch. “You see, Marianne? Halemtat signed it and put his bite to it.”

“How did you get him to agree?”

“We laughed at him-and we cracked our nutcrackers in the palace courtyard for three days and three nights straight, until he agreed.”

Chornian rattled. “He said he’d sign anything if we’d all just go away and let him sleep.” He hefted the enormous package he’d brought with him and rattled again. “Look at all the shelled nuts we’ve brought for your Christmas party!”

Marianne almost found it in her heart to feel sorry for Halemtat. Grinning, she accepted the package and mounded the table with shelled nuts. “Those are almost too important to eat,” she said, stepping back to admire their handiwork. “Are you sure they oughtn’t go into a museum?”

“The important thing,” Tatep said, “is that I can say anything I want.” He popped one of the nuts into his mouth and chewed it down. “Halemtat is a talemtat,” he said, and rattled for the sheer joy of it.

“Corten looks like he’s been eating too much briarwood,” said Chornian-catching the spirit of the thing.

Not recognizing the expression, Marianne cast an eye at Nick, who said, “We’d say, ‘Been eating a lemon.’“

One of Chornian’s brood sat back on his/her haunches and said, “I’ll show you Halemtat’s guards-”

The child organized its siblings with much pomp and ceremony (except for the littlest who couldn’t stop rattling) and marched them back and forth. After the second repetition, Marianne caught the rough import of their chant: “We’re Halemtat’s guards/We send our regards/We wish you nothing but ill/Clip! we cut off your quill!”

After three passes, one child stepped on another’s tail and the whole troop dissolved into squabbling amongst themselves and insulting each other. “You look like Corten!” said one, for full effect.

The adults rattled away at them. The littlest one, delighted to find that insults could be funny, turned to

Marianne and said, “Marianne! You’re spineless!”

Marianne laughed even harder. When she’d caught her breath, she explained to the child what the phrase meant when it was translated literally into Standard. “If you want a good Dirt insult,”

she said, mischievously, “I give you ‘birdbrain.’“ All the sounds in that were easy for a Rejoicer mouth to utter-and when Marianne explained why it was an insult, the children all agreed that it was a very good

insult indeed.

“Marianne is a birdbrain,” said the littlest.

“No,” said Tatep. “Halemtat is a birdbrain, not Marianne.”

“Let the kid alone, Tatep,” said Marianne. “The kid can say anything it wants!”

“True,” said Tatep. “True!”

They shooed the children off to look for their presents under the tree, and Tatep turned to Nick.

“Share, Nick-your surprise for Marianne.”

Nick reached under the table. After a moment’s searching, he brought out a large bulky parcel and hoisted it onto the table beside the heap of Halemtat nuts. Marianne caught a double-handful before they spilled onto the floor.

Nick laid a protective hand atop the parcel. “Wait,” he said. “I’d better explain. Tatep, every family has a slightly different Christmas tradition-the way you folks do for Awakening. This is part of my family’s Christmas tradition. It’s not part of Marianne’s Christmas tradition-but, just this once, I’m betting she’ll go along me.” He took his hand from the parcel and held it out to Marianne. “Now you can open it,” he said.

Dropping the Halemtat nuts back into their pile, Marianne reached for the parcel and ripped it open with enough verve to satisfy anybody’s Christmas unwrapping tradition. Inside was a box, and inside the box a jumble of gaudy cardboard tubes-glittering in stars and stripes and polka dots and even an entire school of metallic green fish. “Fireworks!” said Marianne. “Oh, Nick....”

He put his finger to her lips. “Before you say another word-you chose today to celebrate Christmas because it was the right time of the Rejoicer year. You, furthermore, said that holidays on Dirt and the other human worlds don’t converge-”

Marianne nodded.

Nick let that slow smile spread across his face. “But they do. This year, back on Dirt, today is the Fourth of July. The dates won’t coincide again in our lifetimes but, just this once, they do.

So, just this once-fireworks. You do traditionally celebrate Independence Day with fireworks, don’t you?”

The pure impudence in his eyes made Marianne duck her head and look away but, in turning, she found herself looking right into Tatep’s bright expectant gaze. In fact, all of the Rejoicers were waiting to see what Nick had chosen for her and if he’d chosen right.

“Yes,” she said, speaking to Tatep but turning to smile at Nick. “After all, today’s Independence

Day right here on Rejoicing, too. Come on, let’s go shoot off fireworks!”

And so, for the next twenty minutes, the night sky of Rejoicing was alive with Roman candles, shooting stars and all the brightness of all the Christmases and all the Independence Days in Marianne’s memory. In the streets, humans ooohed and aaahed and Rejoicers rattled. The pops and bangs even woke Halemtat, but all he could do was come out on his balcony and watch.

A day later Tatep reported the rumor that one of palace guards even claimed to have heard Halemtat rattle. “I don’t believe it for a minute,” Nick added when he passed the tale on to Marianne.

“Me neither,” she said, “but it’s a good enough story that I’d like to believe it.”

“A perfect Christmas tale, then. What would you like to bet that the story of The First Time Halemtat Rattled gets told every Christmas from now on?”

“Sucker bet,” said Marianne. Then the wonder struck her. “Nick? Do traditions start that easily-that quickly?”

He laughed. “What kind of fireworks would you like to have next year?”

“One of each,” she said. “And about five of those with the gold fish-like things that swirl down and then go bam! at you when you least expect it.”

For a moment, she thought he’d changed the subject, then she realized he’d answered her question. Wherever she went, for the rest of her life, her Christmas tradition would include fireworks-not just any fireworks, but Fourth of July fireworks. She smiled. “Next year, maybe
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we should play

Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture as well as The Nutcracker Suite.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said, “The Nutcracker Suite has plenty enough fireworks all by itself-at least your version of it certainly did!”

End