Chapter Text
Some days, Daniel liked to tell himself that he was engaging in a long tradition of ethnographic fieldwork, following in the footsteps of Malinowski, Boas, and Mead. Even after the ink had run out of his pens and the pages out of his journal, he’d found ways to record his thoughts. To Sha’re’s amusement, he’d collected cultural artifacts that had seemed significant to his ‘alien gaze’, until one day he rediscovered his cache and had to remind himself why he’d stuffed such an eclectic mix of household items into a sack.
He learned the language and the people, how close to stand, how much eye contact was just enough, how to dress, how to count to twenty on one hand, when to look up, when to look down, how loud to laugh, and how much to gesture when he talked.
He made a lot of mistakes. Sha’re smiled at them, Skaara copied them, and Kasuf gently corrected them, then assured him that people would understand. He was bound to be different, after all, his foreignness written all over his face.
Daniel thought he might be able to acclimate to Abydos, but he was fairly certain it would not acclimate to him.
On the bright side, he finally had the perfect excuse for not fitting in.
When Roger Dunbar had suggested that people could only really know 150 people, Daniel had been surprised. At the time, he had known fewer than ten, by his own reckoning. Kasuf, though, seemed to know everyone on Abydos, their personal histories and relationships, and how those relationships wove together to form the fabric of their society. He was determined to pass that knowledge onto Daniel, for reasons far more pragmatic than Daniel’s imaginary research paper on a lost offshoot of an ancient civilization.
The latest introduction came in the most scorching part of the afternoon. As Daniel’s glasses tried to ride the sweat down his nose, Kasuf admonishment of “Do not touch your face, Daniel,” echoed in his head. He scrunched at his nose, which only made it worse, so he quickly knocked the frames back in place with the back of his wrist, hoping no one would notice.
No such luck. The two elders he was supposed to meet drew back almost imperceptibly, and Kasuf’s postured hardened for just a second. They all recovered quickly, though, from the shock of Daniel’s breach of etiquette.
“His eyes,” the elder said, not an uncommon reaction. Daniel had struggled with how to address the misplaced wonder, the Abydonian language having no words for genetic mutation or phenotypes.
Kasuf had no such troubles explaining the anomaly that was Daniel Jackson.
“My son has travelled the stars with the gods.”
“And you carry the light of the stars with you,” the elder deduced, for the first time addressing Daniel directly. The curious stare, as if Daniel were an enigmatic specimen, crept over his face and down his body.
“I was born like this.”
“Marked from birth,” the elder ruminated.
“This is how all of my people look,” Daniel lied, and the two turned in synchronous alarm back to Kasuf.
Whatever he had done, it was much worse than touching his face. Kasuf would not correct him in front of strangers, and he was left to guess at the unspoken rules that he’d broken.
Kasuf had salvaged the introduction, as he salvaged most everything Daniel mangled. The elders had marvelled over Daniel’s oddities for a while longer before everyone had retired to drink bitter tea and talk around anything that really mattered. Daniel had pretended to sip at his cup while he sat quietly and had blue eyes, which was apparently what he was particularly good at, followed closely by sneezing, sunburn, and literacy.
He didn’t even notice that the meeting had ended until Kasuf was already standing. Daniel hopped up as gracefully as he could and followed Kasuf out of the tent. He hovered, realizing that he was still holding his cup, then hastily placed it inside the flap of the tent when Kasuf began to stride away.
“Come, husband of my daughter.”
Daniel tried to walk beside him, but Kasuf managed to keep half a step ahead. ‘Husband of my daughter’ was new, and not a great sign. Not ‘my son’ or ‘good son’.
“I’m sorry about my face,” he said, before realizing how strange it sounded. Kasuf kept his steady pace, and Daniel scrambled after him. “Kasuf, I’m sorry about touching my face and… talking.”
Kasuf whirled around, and Daniel actually took a step back from him. “Do not speak, Daniel.”
Daniel closed his mouth and stood ready for further instructions or explanation, but Kasuf turned his back on him and started walking again. Daniel trudged after him, wondering whether he would need to be silent for the entire hour back to their home.
He wanted to apologize for whatever he had done that had upset everyone, but he didn’t know what it was, and even if he did, Kasuf had forbidden him to talk. More than that, he wanted to see Sha’re, let her stroke his hair and kiss his face until he’d forgotten what it was like to feel clumsy and useless.
The sun was less vicious than it had been on their walk over, but it still cut into his eyes and nipped at the tip of his nose. Daniel pulled out the water that he carried for both of them and offered it to Kasuf, who drank and returned it wordlessly. Daniel sucked in a mouthful, then wiped at the sweat on his forehead, free from the judgement of strangers.
“Can I just ask a question?”
“No.”
“But I don’t know what I did.”
Kasuf continued in silence, leaving Daniel with the options of dropping the subject or pestering him like an obstreperous three-year-old. Daniel chose the former, and they walked the rest of the way in the uneasy hush of the desert.
The sun was low by the time they returned, and Sha’re had already begun cooking the evening meal. She hopped up to greet them with fresh water, first to her father, then Daniel, despite the half full bag he still carried with them. He drank from the bowl, meeting her eyes as the contact leached the tension from him.
“Sha’re, I must speak to you,” Kasuf broke the spell, and Sha’re took the bowl from Daniel’s hands.
“Yes, Father.” She paused, the same pause she always gave Daniel when a ‘yes’ was actually a ‘no’. “Should I take the food from the fire, or will we talk after it is cooked?”
“I can watch the food,” Daniel offered, and Sha’re studiously ignored him.
Flinching at his mistakes, he realized he’d just turned a triple play. It was inappropriate for him to be preparing food. He’d interrupted Kasuf, who’d been asked a question and had not been given time to answer. He’d phrased a solution in a way that implied Kasuf had not thought of it.
“After it is cooked, before we eat,” Kasuf told her, and she tipped her head down at the tight displeasure in his voice. Kasuf responded to her effortless submission, softening his posture and stretching out a hand to her face.
“Yes, Father,” she said, relaxing at his approval. It was so easy for her. Kasuf kissed her, then went into the tent, leaving Daniel to watch Sha’re as she poked at the meat over the fire.
“He’s unhappy with you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I think I embarrassed him in front of the other elders.”
“Did you ask his forgiveness?”
“Yeah, sort of. I’m not sure.”
Sha’re frowned at their dinner as the thoughts churned in her head. “Have you gone to him, knelt down, and said, ‘Father, I ask your forgiveness,’ then waited silently for him to respond?”
It was a very specific set of actions, and Sha’re had to know he hadn’t done any of it, so Daniel interpreted the question as the suggestion it was.
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Once my father tells me what he plans to do, he will not change his mind.”
So that was why Sha’re had stalled the conversation with Kasuf. She was giving Daniel time to make amends before Kasuf locked himself into a course of action. Kasuf had never ‘done’ anything other than instruct Daniel in culturally appropriate behaviors, letting him know where he had fallen short and how to improve.
“What do you think he’s planning to do?”
“I don’t know, my husband.”
That was a lie. She had an idea, but she didn’t want to tell him. Whatever it was, she hoped for him to avoid it. So Daniel was to apologize for something he didn’t realize that he had done in order to avoid a consequence that was kept secret from him. It sounded in line with most of his social interactions on Abydos. He’d gotten married without realizing it, after all.
“Sha’re, just tell me.”
“My father loves you as a son. Whatever he does, it will be as a son to a father.” She cut off any followup questions to her non-answer by standing and cradling his jaw with her hands. Her face drew up to his with an appeasing smile. “Will you ask his forgiveness as a son?”
As always, Daniel was defeated before he even knew to put up a fight.
Daniel had learned quickly that on Abydos, information wasn’t nearly as important as relationships. Abydonians had a strange ability to compartmentalize information within its context, and truth was never expected to flow from one situation to another. Lying to maintain social harmony was common. Ignoring blatant lies to maintain social harmony was expected. Going through the motions of something that he didn’t understand and didn’t believe in to maintain social harmony? That was a prerequisite for social survival.
Abasing himself before Kasuf shouldn’t be that difficult. Daniel had seen Skaara apologize on his knees multiple times. Sha’re had once tried to do the same for him, before Daniel had dropped to his own knees and begged her to stop. Walking into the tent, he tried to think of it abstractly, as a cultural practice he’d witnessed and could attempt to study from a more emic perspective.
Seeing his father-in-law sitting by the fire, Daniel realized he was much too close to the situation than any ‘participant-observer’ should be. This wasn’t an abstract cultural ritual; this was his life, one he felt awkward and ill-suited for. He didn’t want to kneel down. He wanted to do what his own world had prepared him to do: ask what was going on and get a straight answer.
He decided to split the difference.
“Kasuf, I’m sorry.”
“So you are.” The words came as a flat acceptance of fact. Daniel wasn’t sure whether that meant what it sounded like, or whether Kasuf was acknowledging the apology.
“I don’t know what I did, but if you tell me, I won’t do it again.”
“We will speak of it tomorrow.”
Frustration flushed through him at the dismissal. When he’d studied other cultures, he’d always thought that the rigid social structure and prescribed ritual would make things easier, an emotional certainty of always knowing the right thing to do at the right time. Instead, Daniel was restricted and inept, unable to communicate even when he knew how. He held three doctorates, had spent decades learning about how people interacted with one another, through language and action, but apparently none of his expertise was worth anything. He just wanted to know what he had done wrong.
Also, he wanted French fries. And blueberry Pop-Tarts. And cheddar cheese. And maybe to watch some inane talk show or go to the movies or just have a radio on for background noise.
The sounds and smells of Sha’re cooking drifted through the tent flap, and Daniel knew what an ungrateful wretch he was. Her very specific instructions poked at his consciousness, and he revised his approach slightly, bowing his head before speaking.
“Father, I ask your forgiveness.”
If anything, Kasuf’s displeasure grew. He pointed to the tent opening. “Go, Daniel.”
Daniel opened his mouth, but he knew that anything he said would be counterproductive. He left the tent and returned to Sha’re. She could see by his face that he hadn’t been successful, and likely that he hadn’t followed her advice. In lieu of asking about it, she offered him an early taste of the evening meal, her face lighting up when he complimented the flavor. She stood on her toes to kiss him, and he let everything else fall away.
There were multiple reasons Daniel was not allowed to help Sha’re with the constant stream of chores that occupied her time. First, he was terrible at them. She’d once had to rewash four sets of inner robes when Daniel had collapsed a clothesline trying to help with the drying. Second, husbands didn’t do that type of work. While Daniel was comfortable enough with the deviation, Kasuf had made it clear that he did not need to invite more scrutiny than was avoidable. Last, and most importantly, Sha’re seemed to interpret it as a criticism of her own ability to meet her obligations.
So Daniel sat idle while Sha’re cleared and washed the dishes from their evening meal. Kasuf had taken Skaara out on some pretense, leaving Sha’re and Daniel to discuss what she and Kasuf had discussed about the discussion that Kasuf and Daniel had unsuccessfully engaged in earlier in the day. It was a perverse game of ‘telephone’, and Daniel only wished there were another person on the planet that he could share the analogy with, someone who was also familiar with the game, or the device, or the concept that such a roundabout way of communication was an awkward invitation to misunderstanding. In his experience, trying to interpret any culturally-situated analogies quickly became a matryoshka of explanations.
“Did he tell you why he’s so upset with me?”
“Our father loves you, Daniel. You are his son, yes?”
That wasn’t an answer, but it sounded like it might be the beginning of a breadcrumb trail to one. Daniel only wished he knew in which direction the first step lay. “I guess so. We don’t really have the same way of thinking about family where I’m from. I would be his son-in-law. We probably wouldn’t live together.”
It was very clear that Daniel had gone in the wrong direction. Sha’re continued to wash the dishes in silence while Daniel tried to repair what he’d done. “But I know it’s different here. I love him like a father, and I know he loves me like a son.”
“You are his son, and he is your father. This is what our father said when you chose to stay here with us rather than travel the stars.”
“I remember.” It had seemed more metaphorical at the time, a way of welcoming him into the family as Sha’re’s husband. If he had literally been adopted as an adult, and not even realized it, the irony would boggle the mind. “So that’s why he’s upset? Because I’m not acting like an Abydonian son?”
Sha’re finished stacking the last dish, then turned fully to Daniel, placed her hands in her lap, and bowed her head. “Forgive me, my husband. Our father says that you denied him twice in the presence of the other elders.”
“I denied him? What does that mean?”
“Forgive me, my husband. Our father says that you spoke of another people as your people, and that when he named you his son, you did not name him your father. Instead, you spoke of him as ‘Kasuf’.”
Daniel thought back to the afternoon. There was a good chance he’d done both of those things, but he didn’t realize that he’d denied Kasuf. So he sucked as a son-in-law and an ethnographer.
“Sha’re, I think it’s just a misunderstanding. I didn’t know what I was saying. It would be normal where I’m from to call him by his name.” She said nothing, and Daniel knew that there was something more. “What is it?”
“Forgive me, but our father said that you defied him twice. He told you to be silent, and you continued to speak.”
“Yeah, I might have done that.” He reached under his glasses to massage around his eyes. “Sha’re, on Earth, adults can’t really order other adults to be quiet like that.”
“He is your father,” she blurted out in confused censure, without even a ‘forgive me’ to soften the blow.
“Yeah, I know. Listen, I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” He leaned in for a kiss, to put the incident and entire day behind them, but her face dipped slightly from him. “What?”
“Please do not be angry, my husband, my Daniel.”
“I’m not angry. What’s going on?” She kept her face down, and Daniel leaned down to bring their foreheads together. ”Sha’re, just tell me.”
In the answering silence, Daniel remembered how frustrated he’d been at Sarah, that she needed to talk every minor detail of their lives into the ground, and how Steven had just shrugged and said ‘girls’. Not on Abydos. Waiting as Sha’re calculated exactly how much she could keep from him was so much worse. "Sha're..." he implored her.
“Our father will whip you tomorrow.”
All thoughts of cross-cultural comparison screeched to a halt. “What?”
It was hard enough for her to say it the first time. She clutched at the fabric of her clothes. “Please do not be angry, my husband.”
“I...I’m not.” As his scattered mind reformed around the new information, he struggled to produce words. “What do you mean he wants to ‘whip’ me?”
Of course, Sha’re didn’t know how to answer. The word was self-explanatory to her. “After the morning meal, when everyone has left. No one else will know.”
The fact that Kasuf might be considering some sort of public spectacle hadn’t even entered Daniel’s mind. The Kasuf that Daniel knew was gentle and kind, even if he had seemed fed up with Daniel’s shortcomings earlier in the day. Daniel began to feel distant and dizzy. He wanted to ask more questions, but they would just make it seem more real, as if he’d already accepted the general premise.
“Sha’re, people don’t really whip each other on Earth.”
She looked skeptical, and rightly so. It was a lie, of course. People did whip each other on Earth, but Daniel, had he been back home, would not have been subject to it.
“Don’t worry, Sha’re. I’ll talk to him.”
The skepticism intensified, but Sha’re didn’t argue with him. Daniel held her close and pretended that he knew exactly what he needed to do.