The Other Normals by Ned Vizzini Page B

see any with tail lighters; maybe that was vintage). Some look like Ada and Ryu (“attenuates”?), with pale skin, blue hair, pointed ears, spindly bodies, and twinkling fingernails and toenails. Some are aqua blue with throbbing gill slits on their necks in large glass collars full of water.
    Then there are the ingresses, the hybrids. Each is part human and part something else. I see okapicentaurs like Gamary; fish-men like the guard who strides beside me (who, although he looks fishy, seems fine breathing air); octopus-men like Officer Tendrile (who all appear to be cops); proper horse-bottom centaurs, who look tall and regal and (I admit) sexy; fauns with goat legs and human bodies; men with dog heads that slobber and bark at one another; and men with large, bumpy, moist-looking frog heads.
    The ceiling, like the inside of the thakerak chamber, is a giant glass sheet under bright blue water, which makes the chamber feel like a bizarre aquarium where the creatures have escaped and decided to sell things. Different stands offer pottery, rugs, books, fruit, jewelry, weapons, and medicine. Everyone wears getmas or kilts or robes. I see no women. I see no shoes.
    Creatures crowd Ada and me as we’re paraded through, smoking, spitting, blabbing in different languages, mostly English. Why English? I assumed before that everyone spoke English because this was happening in my head, or because it was a setup for a cruel psychological experiment, but no psychological experiment would involve construction of a set this elaborate, and when it comes to dreams … I was neverthis successful with women in my dreams. I know I haven’t succeeded with Ada in any way that a healthy heterosexual male would count, but she has looked at me, and I have given her a compliment, and she has touched my arm, and this is better than I usually do, even in my dreams.
    Let’s assume that what Ada says is true: I’m in an alternate universe that split off from Earth and then reconnected after millions of years. Did the creatures learn English from us ? Maybe they just like English. I wish they weren’t speaking it, though, because I can understand what they’re saying about Ada:
    “—look at the little one—”
    “—she’d fetch a good price—”
    “—it’s tight like that—”
    “—Officer Tendrile, let me sketch you, sir, twenty di —”
    I hear this word di- a lot in the rattling conversation of the market. It’s the beginning of one of the words my brain can’t conceptualize, so every time I hear it, it remains an untended prefix, but it’s easy to tell from the context what it means.
    “Dumplings! Fresh dumplings here! Two di- !”
    “Taxes! Getchyer taxes done here! Don’t let the Appointees take your di- ! Hai hillai! ”
    Among the many stalls in the market, the ones with the longest lines advertise, in plain English, “correspondence services . ” I’m not sure what it means, but as the crowd mobs us, we slow down, and I find myself hanging next to two creatures on line. The first is an aqua man with neck gills under a glasscollar; he has a row of gold and silver rings on each gill slit. The second has a frog head.
    “ Riggity buggle ,” the frog-man says.
    “We’re trying one more,” his companion says. “But if we can’t hack it, you’re going to have to settle the case.”
    “ Buggle! ” the frog-man says.
    “Whose fault is it, huh? Did I try and lick someone inappropriately?”
    “Mr.... ah … Officer Tendrile?” I call out. “How come everyone’s speaking English?”
    I’m hoping the question will flatter him. A certain type of cruel intelligence is flattered by questions. I’m right; he lights up. “The Appointees assigned English two hundred years ago. I never liked it. Dirty language. Too many words.”
    “People just took it up?”
    “We listen to the Appointees here. Who do you think makes this a males-only marketplace? That’s how you keep a society strong.”
    “Where are you taking