Just when you thought grammarians were full of it.
What would happen if we didn't have these protectors of our language looking out for us? Possibly something like below:
Maybe it wouldn't have
been so bad if we hadn't been each other's First Contacts. Virgin
civilizations, groping each other in the dark.
"Damn
it, damn it, damn it," the smaller of the two men moaned, his head down
in his arms on the broken table, as the sounds coming in through the
half-boarded-up window swelled louder.
"If they wanted to destroy us, why didn't they just send a missile, an asteroid, a fucking army?"
The taller man took another drink from the bottle in his hand, staring without seeing at the window.
"We started it, you know."
"Bastards, bastards."
"We nearly destroyed them."
"Should have."
"It
was the linguists," his voice was rough and slow, detached, almost
toneless, "that went out in the first starship. We taught the Tanatha
suicide."
"Bastards." The sounds outside moved away a bit, grew softer.
"Their
language was utterly alien. No reflexive forms, strange verb tenses.
Eventually they learned enough of it to try to ask them questions,
eventually they asked them what their word was for 'suicide'. They
didn't have one."
"Bullshit."
"They
didn't. They had no reflexive forms, and 'to be' and 'to kill' were
such utterly incompatible concepts that they had been literally unable
to imagine killing the person that you are. Until we asked the
question, and kept asking it until they understood."
He took another long drink, a deep breath, and shuddered. The man at
the table raised his head just long enough to wipe his eyes.
"It
nearly destroyed their civilization. They didn't have the millennia of
evolved defense mechanisms that we did, the cultural institutions that
discourage killing yourself, the structures to deal with it.
"They experimented.
"They died.
"Their cultures crumbled."
"Not fucking far enough they didn't," the smaller man muttered, and lay his head down again with a thud.
"They
fell so fast. Our linguists came back on the last starship they sent
out, along with what was left of their Tanatha colleagues. Half the
crew died on the way, but they got here."
"Bastards."
"And
their linguists, the ones that stayed alive, learned our language in
return, and one day they knew enough to ask, to ask what was our word
for --"
"No, no, no, no,
no," the man slumped over the table moaned monotonously, as another
explosion bloomed outside and a chorus of voices raised in an ululating
scream, full of fear and an incomprehensible ecstacy.
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