Mbaruku fanned his drenched shirt as Faizah led Nyota to a chair.
After dabbing more tears from her eyes, Nyota looked up at him in disbelief, then embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Baba." Faizah conjured yet another tissue from somewhere to replace the saturated one Nyota still held.
His heart swelled. He really did not mind. "Ah, Baby Girl…it's all part of my job. This will dry. Feeling better?"
"I think so." She sat, defeated. "Sorry, I don't know what happened to me."
Faizah handed her yet another tissue, then combed more stray hairs from Nyota's face back into place. "What was it that Spock said? Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim?"
Mbaruku's eyes went heavenwards as Faizah recited her new favorite phrase. His wife grabbed hold of and obsessed whenever she discovered a new favorite anything. He had to admit that the phrase now rolled off Faizah's tongue as if she had been saying it all her life.
Faizah shrugged, silently asking his indulgence as she continued to comfort Nyota. "And what else might a Vulcan say? Maybe that 'The cause was sufficient'? Do not be so hard on yourself. You have been through too much lately. Of course you had to let it out. Even 'mighty Starfleet officers' need their parents sometimes, yes?"
Nyota rolled her eyes, but her attempt at elevating herself above her personal fray of emotions was ruined by a sudden hiccup, some sniffles, and a snort as she hovered between laughter and tears.
Even in his sympathy, Mbaruku could not help laughing, nor could Faizah.
"Baba! Mama!" Nyota protested, sniffling between syllables, but trying hard not to laugh herself through more tears of emotional release. "What happened to my support system here?"
"We are always here, my girl," Faizah assured. "You cannot doubt that, can you?"
Nyota only responded by staring at them, one incredulous eyebrow up.
"Hmmm, she is giving us the 'Vulcan eyebrow'…what do you think?" Faizah said conversationally to Mbaruku.
"I think you're right," Mbaruku replied, hoping to lighten Nyota's mood. "Where did she get that from…?"
Nyota guffawed. Mbaruku sighed, momentary relieved. It was like old times.
"Speaking of Vulcans or, should I say, a Vulcan…," Faizah began. "Nyota, I like him."
Nyota's face lit up. "Honestly?"
"Yes, I do," Faizah nodded. "Very much. Your father is already sick of me telling him what a nice young man I think he is. And he has a green thumb, too!"
Faizah stopped suddenly. Nyota eyebrows flew up in surprise. Mbaruku noted to himself that Spock did have somewhat of a greenish cast to his skin—the other two apparently shared his thought. Suddenly the three broke out laughing.
"You know what I mean!" Faizah protested. "What I am saying is that he can help me in the garden anytime. It would be nice to have someone else in the family who knows how to prune and weed properly. I could use the help!"
"Be careful, Nyota," Mbaruku cautioned. "Once your mother puts him to work, you may never see him again."
Nyota's swollen eyes brightened more. "Oh, no, I won't let that happen!"
Faizah breathed out an exaggerated sigh. "There go my hopes of competent help."
"Mama…I'd be happy to help," Nyota joked, still talking with difficulty after her crying had congested her head.
His poor girl was a mess, Mbaruku noted, but she was still beautiful. Even as upset as she was, he was happy that she maintained her sense of humor.
Faizah laughed and leaned down to hug Nyota one more time before returning to her spot on the bench. Mbaruku returned to his own chair, amused, thinking that Faizah might follow Lady Amanda's example after all by locking up her gardening tools before Nyota could implement any of her "help."
"No, you just rest during this visit home," Faizah encouraged sweetly. "Or if you are bored, you can update our communications station. Neither of us have had a chance to take care of that yet, although it was on your father's list of things to do before you arrived."
"Your mother's household lists require a team of specialists," Mbaruku defended. "I am but one man…"
Faizah imitated the Vulcan Eyebrow Maneuver herself, combining it with a modified Glare of Death.
"Stop!" Nyota laughed. "I'll be happy to take care of the comm system."
Mbaruku favored her with a short, decisive nod of approval. "You are a good and dutiful daughter, Nyota."
"Thank you, Baba."
Suddenly Faizah's head perked up. "Sh! Listen!"
Mbaruku and Nyota turned their heads, trying to discern what had caught Faizah's attention.
"Music…," Faizah said. "I thought I heard it earlier."
A few airy notes made their way to Mbaruku's ears. The Uhuras rarely heard anything beyond their own walls in their peaceful neighborhood. He craned his neck and adjusted his position trying to hear better. "Where is that coming from?"
"It's Spock," Nyota said. "He's playing his ka'athyra. It helps him relax."
A few more seconds went by. "It's beautiful," Faizah said.
Mbaruku, his attention now focused completely on the strangely beautiful alien melody, had to agree. The lower tones were deep, sad, slow. Occasionally a spray of higher-pitched notes answered the lower ones, softly fading away and disappearing. Yet the lower ones continued, persisting, a bass note constant under all the others, which wove in and out of the composition. Finally the song ended with one lone deep whole note, lingering until, despondently, it, too, faded away.
Nyota's eyes again filled with tears that fell into her lap. She made no effort to wipe them away.
From her reaction, Mbaruku reasoned that the work had significance. "Nyota, what was that song?"
She tried to draw herself up though the tears continued to fall. "It's called Separated. It's hard to explain what 'separation' in this sense means to a Vulcan. The closest translation would be 'leaving a piece of yourself behind' in a spiritual sense, or being cut off. But that doesn't even begin to cover it." Her voice began to break again. "Non-telepaths...can't understand...the deeper connections, the kind of bonds that are broken...or the emptiness left behind. It's very traumatic."
Now Faizah's eyes filled with concern. "Is he going to be all right?"
"I don't know... He's still trying to work some things out."
Losing a world, grieving a lost mother... All the preconceptions and beliefs that Mbaruku ever had about Vulcans, all the things he thought he knew, became suspect as he considered the young man in the upstairs room. The comments about cold and reserved Vulcans reinforced by rumor and common belief throughout Mbaruku's life…why had he never questioned them?
Certainly the cultural expressions of dealing with concerns and interests were different between Vulcans and humans in general. That was a given. Now his short acquaintanceship with Spock was chipping away at the Vulcan stereotypes that had engrained themselves in Mbaruku's mind. Why had he ever believed that Vulcans lived empty lives? Clearly they were born, they lived, and they died, and like humans, their lives were filled with a plethora of events and challenges. Because they had outwardly dealt with their responses within a strict framework of logic and emotional restraint, it was easy for humans to make assumptions about what was or was not important from a Vulcan's perspective. Mbaruku had seen examples of Vulcan art and heard Vulcan music before, and he was ashamed to have dismissed the idea that there were Vulcan individuals behind their unique expressions.
From his limited interactions with Spock, he was beginning to understand that their existences were not sterile, lived within black and white. The ka'athyra had told a different story, and the phrases relegating Vulcans to computer-like automatons that haunted his memories seemed like obscenities to him now. Vulcan formality may have masked the spectrum of a complex, fascinating people, but Mbaruku's own assumptions had concealed it.
Within Spock's music was the soul of a being who was searching for equanimity. Each pluck and strum of a string told of Spock's attempt to deal with his losses, mourn them, acknowledge them. It was a window into the depth of a heart that was not the same as Mbaruku's, but it was there, sure as Mbaruku's own.
Another slow, deep-toned composition began, this one without the answer of lighter sequences of notes. It was darker, sadder, bleaker. After several bars, suddenly it stopped, abandoned after a discordant, frustrated spray of notes. The ensuing silence spoke to Mbaruku as much as the music had.
Nyota shook her head before resting her face in her hands. Faizah brow knitted in distress at Mbaruku before she turned to their daughter. "Come. Let us go inside," she whispered. "It's been a difficult morning. We will go to your room. You can lie down for a while. I think we all could use a nap."
Obviously wrung out, Nyota nodded as she got up. Mbaruku gave her a hug and spoke quietly. "Is there anything we can do that would help?"
Nyota shook her head sadly. "He needs peace and rest. Be kind to him."
"We will do our best. And for you?"
More tears welled. "Mama's right. I need to decompress."
He gave her one more hug. "Rest well, Baby Girl."
"Thank you, Baba…"
Mbaruku watched sadly as Faizah put her arm around Nyota to guide her up the pathway toward the house.
Alone with his own thoughts, Mbaruku decided to take Faizah's suggestion. He needed to lie down, "decompress," and reflect on the events of the last 24 hours, his fears of the past two weeks, and the young man Nyota had brought into their lives. After Faizah's tossing and turning, he had not slept well the night before anyway.
He walked the path through Faizah's garden. Faizah had applied her architectural expertise to lay out her garden into a series of outdoor "rooms," creating pleasing living environments. Some were more open, others more hidden, each had a purpose. Some spaces invited social interaction, like the patio, complete with comfortable chairs and low tables along the wall and by the fountain where Faizah's roses grew. Others, tucked within various bushes and smaller trees, were for quiet contemplation. A few whimsical nooks provided visual amusement with their bold splashes of colors or textures.
Then there were the more hidden rooms behind trellises and vines, places to escape the heat and observation, like under the small pergola behind three vine-covered trellises from which Mbaruku's hammock hung. In the comforting shade, he lay down, quieting his mind as he drifted into his nap.
-o0o-
Mbaruku awoke to quiet murmuring. By the sun's traverse across the sky, he guessed that he slept for about two hours, maybe three. Coming to fuller consciousness, he noticed that he was no longer alone.
"Ha, Spokh…nenikau'etek Komekh eh Samekh."
Nyota's voice, down the path a bit, just on the other side of the trellis…
"Gishu ri."
Deep, quiet tones…Spock was with her.
Mbaruku, not wishing to disturb them on their walk by, decided to lie still, hidden in the dark shade behind the vines. He opened one eye very slightly, afraid that even the movement of his eyelid would alert Spock's Vulcan hearing to his presence. That concern might have been exaggerated, but because of all he read about superior Vulcan senses during the past two weeks, he decided to play it safe anyway.
The problem was, instead of continuing along the pathway, Nyota and Spock stopped just on the other side of the trellis.
"Vesht gish nash-veh akarshif fa'punar," Nyota said, stepping closer to Spock. "Vesht fai-tor nash-veh, dungi ki' nenikau'etek au po'latva k'du." Now she was against him, reaching her hands to cradle each side of his face. "Dva-tor tu ri, ha?"
Now Mbaruku chided himself for not making his presence known. He should. It was the right thing to do, but he did not. He wanted to look away, but he could not. Curiosity kept his attention glued to the young pair.
He did not understand Vulcan—the language he was sure that they were using—so, technically, he was not eavesdropping, was he? Still, there was a breach of privacy happening here, but now he was stuck. What could he do without making Nyota and Spock suspicious of his motives? He could pretend that he had been sleeping—well, that part was true, up to a point. However, he had passed that point. As Nyota pressed closer, the opportunity to reveal himself lessened as the situation became more awkward. Why was he being such a coward?
Nyota's voice brightened. "Ashayam, mau tishau ko-veh Mama du. Eh Baba dorli. Dungi-tishau sa-veh lu du weh-paresh-tor sa-veh du. I'korsau sa-veh. Rubah rihagik."
A couple familiar words caught his ear. "Mama"? "Baba"? In that string of vocal mush, Mbaruku picked out those familiar words! Nyota was talking about him! Well, maybe she was talking about Faizah, too, but what was she saying? Funny how his moral compass pointed southward the minute Nyota made him a topic. Mbaruku still kicked himself for compromising his own principles, but now he had to watch. Rationalizing, he decided he would save them all some embarrassment if he remained hidden.
Then, at Nyota's next movement, he decided that he was wrong. She reached for Spock's temple and lightly caressed it. Spock's face relaxed slightly as he tilted his head to look at her, then closed his eyes as he leaned forward and down to touch his forehead to hers. As their foreheads touched, Nyota hands moved down from Spock's neck to his shoulders, then travelled down his arms before she wrapped her own arms firmly around his waist. Spock's hands came up to rest on the sides of her shoulders for moment, then he drew her in closer sliding one hand between her shoulder blades, the other to the small of her back. Nyota exhaled contentedly.
Oh, no…nonononononono! Mbaruku thought, frantic in paternal horror, yet frozen in place by propriety. Please, Lord, let them stop, he prayed. Stop-stop-stop-stop-stop! As much as he did not want to see this, he could not look away. Controlling his breathing was becoming more difficult, but if he did not, he would be caught, and the Uhura women would make him pay, no matter how much he tried to explain his best intentions. He did not want to think about what an aggrieved Vulcan might do.
Meanwhile, Nyota nestled deeper into Spock's chest. "Spokh, dungi ish-veh tek'ik tok-ti. Ashau nash-veh du…"
Her voice was warm, reassuring. Thankfully Spock's eyes remained closed, and he made no other moves on Nyota's person that increased Mbaruku's embarrassment or raised his protective hackles. He almost breathed a sigh of relief—almost.
When Mbaruku peeked again a few seconds later, he almost gasped. What he now saw on Spock face shocked him: vulnerability, pain, the need for comfort. It was unnatural, an expression he never expected to see on a Vulcan, one that Spock probably had never shown to anyone but Nyota, and here Mbaruku was, witness to Spock's private pain. When Spock again opened his eyes, even through their anguish, Mbaruku saw Nyota's love reciprocated.
As Nyota and Spock's foreheads parted, Nyota stood on her toes and kissed him briefly on the lips, then on each cheek before burying her head against his chest again. Spock tilted his head to rest upon hers, his chin nestled in her hair looking for all the world as if he had found his soulmate.
The intimacy of this moment touched Mbaruku in a way he could not explain. It was as beautiful as any he had shared with Faizah throughout their happy marriage. It was scary, as it involved his daughter and an alien. But in their gentle embrace there was love or at least something close to it. Whatever Nyota gave to Spock, he was returning it just as intensely. Mbaruku's previous observations were correct. There was little chance this pair would separate. Mentally and physically, they were matched, bound to each other.
Seeing this side of Spock confirmed to Mbaruku that he understood little about Spock The Individual at all. Still waters ran very deep with this man, which left much to be explored if Mbaruku could dive in far enough to get to know the younger—his "son-in-law-to-be."
He would have to be careful, though. Spock might shut himself off if Mbaruku came on too strong or forced anything. It was up to him, with Faizah's help, to break the dam. Spock was too wounded to initiate anything, and Nyota was too busy being his support.
He needed a plan, but first he needed more research into Vulcan customs. Unfortunately, Spock and Nyota remained on the other side, still standing close. Mbaruku wanted to get out of there, hoping that the younger pair wouldn't initiate anything more physical and—horrors!—that he might actually see that, too! He had already seen quite enough.
Finally, after a few more minutes, Nyota stepped out of Spock's embrace. "Ashayam, dungi-im'roi etek, ha? Kup-glu-vau tu bah-ker wilat vesht ar'kada dular du'asal, Mama eh du, hmm?"
Spock nodded, following Nyota farther down the path. Once the two were out of range, Mbaruku hurried to his feet and made his way as quietly and quickly to the house as he could, leaving the garden entirely to the younger pair.
Author's Note July 21, 2011: Finally, I finished my big client project, and our visiting relatives (though I enjoyed having them) left, which meant I finally had time to return to this story. I post regular updates about my progress (or lack thereof) on my profile page, so if you're impatient and are wondering where your next story update is, you can find information there.
I did not translate what Nyota and Spock were saying in the garden within the chapter, as this tale is from Mbaruku's point of view, and he doesn't speak Vulcan! But, I know some of you would go crazy not understanding what Nyota and Spock were saying, so at the end of this note are the translations. My apologies to any Vulcan grammarians who happen to be reading this. I tried my best. Really, I did…!
Special acknowledgment goes to Selek, the force behind the Vulcan Language Dictionary, for his collection of words as well as Mark R. Gardner (The Vulcan Language), whose tables of verb conjugations and tenses and information on syntax and speech patterns were essential to my translations. Thanks (as always) to T'Soy, who recommended Gardner's work and has also kept me from straying from the essence of this tale.
Translation Key:
* Translation into Vulcan via Aashlee-ese…
* What I intended them to communicate…
* [More literal translation from Vulcan to English…]
-o0o-
Ha, Spokh…nenikau'etek Komekh eh Samekh.
Yes, Spock, they support us.
[Yes, Spock, (they) accept us—Mother and Father.]
-o0o-
Gishu ri.
That is unexpected.
[Expected not.]
-o0o-
Vesht gish nash-veh akarshif fa'punar. Vesht fai-tor nash-veh, dungi ki' nenikau'etek au po'latva k'du. Dva-tor tu ri, ha?
I expected it would take longer, but I knew that they would support us after getting to know you. You do not believe me?
[I expected long time before acceptance. I knew (they would) support us after (the) meeting with you. Believe you not, yes?]
-o0o-
Ashayam, mau tishau ko-veh Mama du. Eh Baba dorli. Dungi-tishau sa-veh lu du weh-paresh-tor sa-veh du. I'korsau sa-veh. Rubah rihagik.
Beloved, Mama said that she really likes you. And Baba is a fair man. He will, too, when he knows you better. He is being a protective father now. This change is difficult for him.
[Beloved, much likes Mama you. And Baba (is) honorable. He will like you after he more knows you. Now he preserves (protects). Change (is) difficult.]
-o0o-
Spokh, dungi ish-veh tek'ik tok-ti. Ashau nash-veh du…
Spock, it will be all right. I love you…
[Spock, (the) affairs (situation/status, not romance) will be satisfactory. I love you…]
-o0o-
Ashayam, dungi-im'roi etek, ha? Kup-glu-vau tu bah-ker wilat vesht ar'kada dular du'asal, Mama eh du, hmm?
Beloved, shall we walk? You can show me what you and Mama worked on this morning, hmm?
[Beloved, shall we walk, yes? Show (the) garden where you (plural) worked during morning, Mama and you, hmm?]