¤ Vera's story ¤

part 2: A good Samaritan

by Neishai

Much had happened in the three years since her first trip through space-time.

Initially, she had found herself wandering and alone on streets teeming with humans, but none spoke any language she had ever heard before. Much of the first year had been spent just learning to survive. In that time, she had been forced to beg for food because she didn't even know how to inquire about a job.

It was very difficult for the young American to swallow that last shred of pride to beg for scraps like a stray dog, but her efforts finally paid off.

One day a stranger emerging from a drugstore stopped to watch as Vera stood a step away from the storefront, her red, chapped hands held out to each passerby. There was a glimmer in the girl's eye that might have been mistaken for fever, but the set of her jaw was one of determination, even though most people had ignored her very presence, swerving wide to avoid running into her.

The shopper, a kind-faced woman, stopped by Vera and smiled. Encouraged, the young woman gestured with her outstretched hand. With a thick accent, she said, "Please. Spare change?" It was then that the woman noticed the cut of the beggar's clothing. The long coat was a faded green color, fabric strong yet well-worn. The style was none she had seen, as were her boots, which were cut from some chemically-treated animal skin.

"I have none to spare, I'm sorry," she said with a shake of the head.

Vera could not understand all of the words, but she knew their meaning. With a nod, she turned away. I have to get something, she thought with a grimace. I haven't had a meal all day. Come to think of it, did I get anything to eat yesterday? She sighed as she found herself continually denied and even shunned.

The woman watched in dismay as her fellow citizens neglected this person in need, someone so obviously alien to her surroundings. She's so young, she thought, seeing the girl's hope flicker in her vibrant eyes, and yet, accepting of her current situation, as if it's only temporary. You have a plan young one, don't you? I must see that you are given the opportunity to succeed! She stepped up to the girl and took her by the arm. "I'm Nyoco," she said. She gestured back with her free hand, indicating that they should get out of the stream of traffic. The girl nodded. She tapped her chest and repeated, "Nye-o-ko. Nyoco. Mn?"

Vera's eyes shifted back and forth, as if she were reading something. "Ah," she grinned. "Vera," she said, pointing to herself. She flipped a greasy ringlet behind her ear, hoping irrationally that she might be looking at her first employer in this god-forsaken land. The chilly autumn wind pulled the lock of hair free and whipped it around, as if a small child had gleefully decided to play with it.

She watched her elder, a woman likely to be in her forties, expectantly. She was a fairly nondescript person in general with wavy, slightly frizzy brown hair streaked with grey across her hairline, of normal height with the slight hunch of a woman used to working or bending over projects. Her weathered face was marked with wrinkles born of long days spent in deep concentration. While nothing special, her clothing giving no indication of a specific career, the cloth was certainly newer and cleaner than Vera's. She could be this woman in twenty years!

Nyoco's eyes crinkled. "Come with me," she beckoned with her hands, turning back several times as she walked, to make sure Vera was following. She led the way down several city blocks to a residential section of town. While not exactly seedy, the neighborhood had seen better days. Most houses were weathered, bricks garnished with algae and paint flaking from panels, but weed-choked yards were neat, as if the residents cared about their home but had neither the time nor energy to improve their living space.

How common a sight is this? she thought wryly. I could be in Anytown, USA if I didn't know any better. But somehow, despite everything she had been taught, she did know better. It was not just the different language, but subtle differences between the world she knew and this one, which made her certain that she was somewhere … else. Not Earth. She couldn't explain it. There were slight differences in the people's facial features, gestures, even in the technology.

"Ah, here we are." Nyoco lead Vera up the stone-block stairs to her home, a building of which there was little variation from its peers. Inside was much like the outside. The organized, almost tidy piles of laundry, garbage, and dishes were substantial, as if Nyoco took care of them when she absolutely needed to, instead of daily. The carpet had not been vacuumed in weeks; the windows, foggy with a thin layer of soot, needed cleaning.

"It's not much," Nyoco said, waving her arm at the front room, a conjoined living room, dining room, and kitchen. She sighed wearily. "I hardly have enough time to get as much done as I do when I get up, go to work, come home, and eat dinner, then go to bed again. So the dishes and the laundry pile up, the garbage doesn't get taken out…" she trailed off after having gestured toward the sink, laundry hamper, and garbage in turn. "Like I said, I don't have much, but there'd be a roof over your head, meals, some money…"

Vera did not understand Nyoco's words, as before, but the woman's gestures made clear her disgust in the living conditions. The woman was tired, that was also evident. She studied the room, assessing what needed to be done. White doors, huh?. Partway up the door was a darkish smear where hands had obviously been using the door's edge to open and shut the portal, instead of the handle. I know how to get that off. And the windows. Grease-cutter. Do they even have vacuum cleaners here? Ugh, the garbage will be the first to go...

She cleared her vision after a few moments and looked up at Nyoco, who was studying her closely. Is that a look of disgust on Vera's face? Nyoco wondered. She began to feel doubt, shame, and even indignation well up inside until Vera stepped up to the woman and put a hand on her shoulder. Though she spoke in her own language, American English, her meaning was obvious: "I'll help you."

It was then that Vera became a willing servant, a maid, because that was all she knew how to do in this alien world. She washed dishes, cleaned surfaces, and scrubbed clothing, everything she already knew how, but like most teenagers, normally hated to do.

But somehow, because it was Nyoco, she didn't mind at all.

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When she finally learned to speak in Nyoco's native tongue, understanding between them came like a forest fire in the hottest part of summer. Wonder and delight spread in epic proportions; suddenly a tension the two women had not noticed before had broken. Smiles came more easily, and finally Vera could discuss her 'plan.'

"I just want to travel," Vera said one day with a sparkle in her eye. "I have seen the newness of everything I see, yet people are always the same wherever I go."

Nyoko had seen many times how Vera absorbed everything around her, and at times reflected everything good that Nyoko had once forgotten: in her expression, her eyes ... and her words, her creative (or perhaps simply exotic) way of shaping words. Nevertheless, the woman recognized her talent and realized how she might captivate others.

"You must become a journalist," she said, nodding. "You can travel the world -- worlds," she amended, "for anyone can travel to distant planets, with enough money." She sighed. "I could never pay you enough to get offworld, but here a journalist can make plenty to do so, and more. And so, Vera, I will teach you to write."

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