"The Universal Language"

[BigBubblehead]

"The Universal Language"​

​

Roberto knew he shouldn't have been downtown that morning. An armistice had halted the civil war a few days earlier, but misunderstandings had resulted in a new rise in tensions between the Federal Government and the Separatists. When the streets suddenly exploded in violence, all Roberto could do was shake his head and think, You stupid fuck.

He'd been at a luncheon in the Conference Center, his country's delegate to the hastily arranged International Trade Talks, when the violence on the streets erupted and spilled into the banquet hall. It was so odd to see both elegantly dressed representatives of more than three dozen countries and casually dressed protesters -- some with their identities shielded by masks -- rushing this way and that way to escape the baton wielding men who may have been government troops, separatist militia, or both!

Roberto descended a stair case, blindly following others, and after a frantic run down a long access tunnel burst through an open door to find himself exactly where he didn't want to be: on the streets.

He continued rushing this way and that, luckily avoiding the violence, until he found a dark tunnel and rushed into it, looking for cover. It seemed to be some sort of old work tunnel, with narrow gauge railroad tracks that likely had been used for carts transporting goods.

He didn't care what it had been used for, only what he could use it for now: shelter. He stopped, looked about, judged his safety there as relatively good, and dropped to sit in the rubble. His mind rushed with thoughts about what to do next: he'd never been surrounded by violence like this, even during his stint in the Army, during which the closest he'd ever gotten to combat was a bar fight at a dive on the waterfront.

His heart jumped at the sound of footsteps to his left, and he looked down the tunnel to find a an elegantly dressed woman staring up through one of the many holes in the tunnel that were remnants from the war. He studied her for a moment and concluded that she, too, had likely fled the Trade Talks: she was well dressed with high heels that certainly weren't protest foot wear.

He stood and walked slowly her way, giving her time to catch sight of him -- and when she did, he threw his hands up in a partly casual, partly comical surrender gesture.

"It's okay! I'm not going to hurt you," he said quickly, slowing his approach. "My name is Roberto. I'm a trade delegate--" He tapped a finger to the ID badge pinned to the lapel of his dress suit jacket, hoping it would mean something to her. "--with the Trade Talks."

She didn't respond immediately, which didn't surprise Roberto at all: there had, after all, been representatives upstairs from more than 40 countries, and -- very much like himself -- many of them had only been able to converse with their fellow delegates through interpreters.

"Do you understand what I am saying?" he asked softly, slowing his approach further, until he was almost not moving forward at all. He tapped the badge again, asking, "Are you from the Talks?"

She took a step and the light spilling upon her from above highlighted her generous bosom and golden hair. Roberto didn't mean to do it -- particularly as obviously as he did -- but he let his eyes drop to her beautiful figure for just a moment. He felt a bit of a twinge below his belt line and felt immediately embarrassed for the thought that was going through his mind

"I am Roberto," he said, offering his hand and leaning closer to her without actually stepping forward. He patted his left hand to his chest and repeated, "Roberto."