The Domestic Yapoo – Chapter 9.2

Soma and Pigmy

As Rin’ichirou was silently crying out in agony for Clara on the lowermost part of the cylinder, Clara was enjoying a friendly chat in the guest reception hall on the top floor. An abstract painting “Tableau” hung on the wall, and there was a potted plant in the corner with the most curiously large petalled flowers that thrilled her nose with their pleasant fragrance. A birdcage hung from one of the branches; a parrot with brightly patterned wings of purple and yellow titled its head and watched Clara with unmoving eyes. Exquisite instrumental music played from an electric gramophone set into the inner wall but Clara, despite being born in Germany and well-versed in music, did not recognise the beautiful symphony.

The five of them had sat down in a circle. The dog Pneuma stretched out at Pauline’s feet. The men’s bright clothing had seemed bizarre to Clara at first but as she got used to it, it began to seem no different than the red of the dragoon’s uniform: not strange at all, and, in fact, rather beautiful.

There was none of the awkwardness that she had feared. Pauline paid her attention as befit her role as hostess of course, but Clara found that she immediately hit it off with the straight-forward and cheerful Doris who was of a similar age to her. She had a way of opening herself up, such as when she said, “I feel like we’ve known each other forever. I have no doubt she’s an aristocrat. I knew it as soon as I saw her. We’ll dispense with formalities and call you by your first name, Clara, and we hope you’ll do the same for us in return. No one would mind that, would they?”

As an expert in ancient history, Cecil naturally had a particular interest in and emotional involvement with Clara’s tale of wandering through the 20th century Earth, while William began to display more than affection for her and was awfully friendly. When they had left the ship’s hold earlier, they had crossed paths in the corridor with two negroes. The negroes had prostrated themselves on the floor in a row. As they went around, Clara had begun to return the courtesy but William had taken her by the hand and stopped her. He reminded her that humans didn’t need to show respect to demihumans. Every time she spoke or did something strange out of ignorance, he would kindly correct her and her memories returned.

“Although knowledge and a difference of two thousand years lies between us, still I feel as if I’m being welcomed into the home of a close friend,” thought Clara.

Although Clara had been troubled by not speaking to Rin’ichirou before she left, she was sure he was now clothed and sleeping which gave her peace of mind and allowed her to banish all worry for him from her thoughts. William’s masculine charm was slowly filling the place where it had been.

She told the story of how she had seen the UFO crash and found Pauline inside it but, whether consciously or unconsciously, she only spoke of her own actions and never so much as mentioned Rin’ichirou’s name. Her audience must have thought she was the one who brought Pauline back to her senses. Cecil asked many questions about her life on 20th century Earth and the accident that had caused her memory loss but Pauline deflected by saying, “Clara hasn’t calmed down enough to talk about that yet. We should wait until her memories return and she has reclaimed her sense of self before asking about that, shouldn’t we?”

William supported her. “She’s right. More importantly, our first priority is finding Clara’s home planet. I will find it for you, Clara,” he said, looking earnest.

“Thank you. I can’t express how happy it would make me to return home with all of your kind assistance. I can’t answer any questions about the accident that happened to me on Earth. I can, however, talk about my journey. Or at least, I can go into detail if the opportunity arises in the future, but for now I’m quite worn out…”

To this, Pauline said, “Why don’t you have some soma? It should give you some strength and might also jog your memory.” She made a sign at Doris.

Doris understood immediately and whispered into her wrist mike. “Bring the soma.”

A servant entered carrying a tray with place settings on it. With the exception of a different number being on his chest, he was identical in appearance to the two blacks who were dealing with Rin’ichirou. On his chest was a number 2. Then, suddenly, a voice from the side tore apart the pleasant tranquillity of the symphony.

Clara’s ears were assaulted by a shrill voice saying, “It’s soma, soma, soma time! Soma!” It was the parrot.

What on earth could soma be? Perhaps a drink? As she was mulling this over, a round table slid into the room by itself from somewhere and came to a stop perfectly in the middle of where the five of them sat in a circle. In the centre of the table stood a pole as thin as a matchstick and as long as a pencil. Beside it was standing a doll about forty centimetres tall that was holding the pole in its right hand like a lever while its left hand was inside a large bag that was on its back. It was a tabletop ornament of Santa Claus. Was the white beard perhaps real? It wore a red three-cornered hat, a red overcoat trimmed with white fur, and black boots. If it had been twenty times its current size, it would look almost exactly like the real thing.

The servant placed five empty cups on the tabletop.

Once that had been done, the Santa figure let go of the pole with its right hand and quickly advanced. Its movements were not at all awkward like a doll. Clara was impressed by this elaborate automaton.

“I’ll have two,” said Pauline, “and my guest will have three.”

The doll bowed, its white beard shaking, and took round tablets from the white sack on its back, placing the requested amount in each of their cups.

“Two for me,” said Doris.

“Me too,” said Cecil.

“I don’t need any,” said William.

It seemed that the tablets were given out according to each person’s preference, much like sugar cubes for coffee. The doll went from one person to the next, bowing and placing the requested number of tablets into each cup. Then the waiting servant poured from the pot, filling the cups with a green coloured liquid from which steam rose. A sweet-smelling fragrance permeated the room.

“Have you remembered about soma? Everyone drinks it to make their sweat smell pleasant,” explained William as he sipped on his drink. “Soma is also known as humanity’s honey… Once a year, tens of thousands of blossoms open on the giant tree Yggdrasil on the plant Midgard and aero pygmies collect the nectar from these flowers… Yes, I can see your memory is returning. Well, do you like it?”

“The reason Draper-san is so concerned about this, Clara,” said Pauline with a laugh, “is because he intends to take you all over EHS with him as he searches for your home planet. He simply cannot survive a single day without soma. So if you say that you hate it, he won’t have any idea what to do. However, if you say you do like it, you must prepare yourself to join him for soma at least five times a day while you journey…”

After tentatively taking small sips to begin with, Clara finished the drink with gusto. It tasted similar to the American Coca Cola she had become acquainted with since the Allies began occupation of West Germany, but with a far more subtle and refined taste.

“Now I’ve had it, I remember soma’s taste perfectly. I liked it and drinking it now brought back many memories… I can assure you I still like it,” said Clara, while looking at the handsome young man beside her and smiling.

“Bless soma,” exclaimed William, smiling with his whole face, “and bless you too, Clara.”

Next Clara turned to Cecil and said, “Don’t they say that it tastes like Coca Cola to 20th century people?”

“Coca Coca?” The others assembled didn’t recognise the name but Cecil, always pleased to have an opportunity to show off his knowledge of ancient history, answered, “Yes, there was a drink that was popular in the late prehistoric period called Coca Cola. I only know about it from books but it must have been quite the experience if you got to taste it during your travels. And you say it tastes like soma…? However, I don’t believe Coca Cola was quite as much a part of daily life as soma is for us. If we disregard the matter of taste for a moment, wouldn’t something like hot chocolate, coffee or tea be a more accurate analogue? Our language scholars say that we get our phrase ‘soma time’ from the ancient ‘teatime’.”

“Exactly as you say. It’s coming back to me how integral soma is to daily life soma,” was Clara’s forced reply.

The figure on top of the table moved slightly, shaking its chains.

“This doll must have very intricate mechanisms.”

Clara realised she must have said something else wrong judging by the strange expressions on everyone’s faces. William grabbed up the doll in his sunburned hand, carried it over and then held it out before her on his open palm.

“It’s not a machine. It’s a kind of table pygmy called a bag porter or a spice santa. It’s a device we use to serve spice tablets when it’s time to drink soma. Don’t you remember?”

The doll in its red overcoat stood up on the white palm of his hand, turned towards her and bowed respectfully. Was it that gesture or the splendid harmony of its white beard and the wrinkles at the corner of its eyes and on its forehead that created such a rich facial expression…It was too delicate to be a doll. It must be living. It was a dwarf. So this was a table pygmy? They had spoken of an aero pygmy too earlier. At the time, Clara had pictured something like a honeybee but apparently these little dwarves were known as pygmies. Miniature humans like the kind that lived on Lilliput in the story Gulliver’s Travels… To think that such fantastical creatures existed two thousand years in the future! Was there a planet populated by these dwarves in the far off Sirius system that these people had come from?

“It’s slowly coming back to me now. Pygmies… there are many other types used for all kinds of things, aren’t there?” bluffed Clara.

“Of course, the applications for pygmies are endless.”

As William spoke, Clara realised that this dwarf dressed up like Santa Claus with its beard and splendid face had yellowish skin and her mind suddenly became clouded. When the handsome young man’s hand returned the dwarf to the tabletop, it toddled back to the pole in the centre. Then the round table began to move on its own – no, it was being piloted by the dwarf that was using the lever to steer it.

“They’re over here too,” said Pauline, taking down the parrot cage and showing Clara. “These are called cage slaves but you can only see the female at the moment.”

Ordinarily the bottoms of birdcages were filthy but this one sparkled. Clara could see a dwarf inside it, the same size as the santa, wearing armour and a helmet like a medieval knight painted purple and yellow to match the plumage of the parrot. It carried a shovel that looked like a toy spoon and used it to scoop up the soft faeces that had just dropped from the bottom of the parrot. It dropped it into a hole and then scrubbed where the faeces had been. It seemed there were two layers to the bottom of the cage. Although the bird’s droppings wouldn’t be anything to a normal sized human, to the dwarf it was quite a large pile and necessitated a lot of work… Then another hole opened in a corner of the cage’s bottom and an identical male emerged. It used a device similar to a well sweep to collect water from the lower tap into a bucket, then to haul it up with great effort to fill the water bowl in the upper cage.

“This pair are slaves that serve the parrot,” the owner of the parrot explained. “Their master is ill-tempered and could lash out with beak or claw at any moment so the only time they remove their armour is when they are safe within their own nest. So, do you remember now?”

Cage slaves that made their nest on the cage’s second concealed bottom where the bird’s dropping fell, subordinate to their master parrot while also taking care of themselves… Judging from the way they worked, they seemed no different to miniature humans endowed with intelligence and yet they were kept in these conditions…

“A slave lives in that flowerpot as well. It’s called a flower pygmy,” added Cecil.

Clara was astounded and couldn’t furnish a reply; Doris mistook her surprise for amusement and, taking her pegasus whip from out of her leather boot, she indicated to the gramophone in the wall where even now was coming the beautiful notes of the symphony’s third movement.

She said, “Even that portable orchestra has one.”

“That gramophone… or is it a radio…?”

“Well, that’s one way to think about it.”

Then Doris laughed. She had used her wrist mike at some point and ordered a servant with strong arms to come to the room. He lifted the gramophone from the wall and set it down in front of Clara, then opened it. It looked like a large suitcase with a handle attached. The lid opened and…

“See, little musicians.”

“Oh my!”

Clara had tried to hide her surprise but she couldn’t help letting out a shout and the company fell to laughing. It was neither a gramophone nor a radio. Inside the box were seated around fifty small musicians, each in formal wear, each with an instrument, and each playing along accurately to the swing of the conductor’s baton. Not one musician broke their concentration as their ceiling was lifted and five large faces peeked inside. An orchestra of dwarves inside a suitcase…

“Well? Do you remember now?” asked Doris, smiling at Clara with her eyes even as she swung her whip to instruct the servant to return the orchestra to where it came from. Once the lid was closed, the boy gripped the handle in his thick hand and let the case dangle on its side.

Without thinking, Clara said, “Oh no! Will they be alright like that?” She was worried that the dwarves inside would slide down and be crushed.

“There’s a gravity board fixed to the bottom of the case so that they’ll be fine no matter which way it’s held,” explained William from beside her. “This ship is equipped with one too. All spaceships use gravity boards.”

“Ah yes, of course. I remember the word gravity board,” said Clara, trying with difficulty to come to grips with everything.

“You’ve remembered all about pygmies now?” asked Pauline. It seemed she was trying to pre-empt any of Clara’s strange exclamations by explaining in advance.

“To an extent. I’d like to inquire as to which planet they are born on, though. A planet like Lilliput…”

“It seems like you already remember. That is, after all, the real name of the fishing pond. Way to go!” Doris was delighted.

“That’s right, the largest producer of pygmies are the farms on Lilliput. Your memory really is coming back.”

Unaware of the relationship between the planet’s name and Gulliver’s Travels , Pauline knew that Clara wasn’t a citizen of EHS and was mystified as to how she could have known this. Either way, it was a stroke of luck and she used the opportunity to expand upon the topic.

“There are other planets that have pygmy pastures but Lilliput has wild pygmies. I’m sure the reason you remember this is that in the past you have gone pygmy fishing there.”

“I have no doubt at all now that Clara is nobility,” said William happily.

“What causes their small size?” asked Clara.

“Diminished yapoo are a fixed variant.”

“Diminished… So they were originally human but then they were shrunk…”

“Absolutely not. They’re not at all human.”

“Oops, I meant to say ‘they were originally yapoo’… so they’re shrunken yapoo.”

“That’s right. They’re 5% of their original size.”

Clara’s thoughts were primarily preoccupied with the process of shrinking and so she had corrected herself without much thought. Although she wasn’t conscious of it yet, she had already accepted the fact that yapoo were an animal quite distinct from humans and was speaking of them as such.

“I know!” said the Draper youth, having thought of something. He turned his beaming face to Doris and said, “Let’s decide that thing we were talking about earlier with pygmies.”

“Fine by me,” said Doris.

“What are you talking about? Decide what?” asked Pauline and the young man blushed.

“Well, Doris and I were fighting over who gets to throw Clara-san a welcome party on Aberdeen after you.”

“If we decide it by a pygmy duel, the survivor is allowed to gift Clara a present.”

Pauline, the rightful heir to the head of the Jansen family after her mother, spoke up. “I’ll stake the curio I obtained recently as a dowry on my chosen fighter being the last to remain – even though it is a decorative ship.”

“If I win,” said Doris, not quite ready to accept defeat yet, “I’ll let Clara choose her favourite horse from my stable.”

“That’s the best idea to help equus-riding Clara remember yap horses,” responded Pauline.

“I’ll have to think of a present too,” said Earl Draper’s hus, flicking back his golden braid.

Chapter 9.3