Ohashi lighted a pipe, spoke through a cloud of smoke. "The others: How have you labeled them?"
"Well, I've just put a note on the motions of one of the Galactics and then the commentator's remarks from this dance film. Chopping motion of the hand ties to the end of Sobaya's first dream: 'Now, I awaken!' Undulation of the body ties in with swaying of date palms in the desert wind. Stamping of the foot goes with Torak dismounting from his steed. Lifting hands, palms up—that goes with Ali offering his soul to God in prayer before battle."
"Do you want to see this latest film from the ship?" asked Ohashi. He glanced at his wristwatch. "Or shall we get a bite to eat first?"
She waved a hand distractedly. "The film. I'm not hungry. The film." She looked up. "I keep feeling that there's something I should remember ... something...." She shook her head.
"Think about it a few minutes," said Ohashi. "I'm going to send out these other films to be cut and edited according to our selections. And I'll have some sandwiches sent in while I'm at it."
Francine rubbed at her forehead. "All right."
Ohashi gathered up a stack of film cans, left the room. He knocked out his pipe on a "No Smoking" sign beside the door as he left.
"Consonants," whispered Francine. "The ancient alphabets were almost exclusively made up of consonants. Vowels came later. They were the softeners, the swayers." She chewed at her lower lip. "Language constricts the ways you can think." She rubbed at her forehead. "Oh, if I only had Bob's ability with languages!"
She tapped her fingers on the chair arm. "It has something to do with our emphasis on things rather than on people and the things people do. Every Indo-European language is the same on that score. If only...."
"Talking to yourself?" It was a masculine voice, startling her because she had not heard the door open.