Daniel M. Bensen's Blog, page 46

Ottoman Clothing

I wrote a line last week in The Sultan’s Enchanter: ”

“The man’s beard was long and tangled, cap and shoes missing, without vest or sash over his stained shirt and breeches.”

Oh. My. Blob, but that sentence took a lot of research. What would a disheveled 1520s Bulgarian merchant look like? What would he be wearing or not wearing? How would I translate those words from the perspective of another Bulgarian-speaker? How would I translate those words from the perspective of a Turkish speaker? I spent the last two weeks on the problem, and this is what I got:

Bulgarian Ottoman-era clothing (early 1500s, Thracian region)

Elek (from Turkish yelek) = a vest (sleeveless, woolen, usually red or green, worn over a riza)

Kalpak (from Turkish kalpak) = a cap (conical, sheepskin, usually black)

Pafti (from Turkish pafta)= belt buckles (palm-sized, circular or comma-shaped, metal. Always in pairs.)

Poturi (from Turkish potur) = breeches (usually black, woolen homespun, held up by a drawstring, baggy and gathered in at the knees)

Poyas (from Russian poyasok, a belt)= a sash (wool, usually black)

Prestilka (lit. “shrink-feminine”) = an apron (woolen, usually red, tied behind the back, extending from waist to ankles, worn over a sukman)

Riza (from Greek chreiázo, “I need it”) = a shirt (cotton, white, long sleeved, extending from neck to waist, worn under a woman’s sukman or a man’s elek)

Sukman = a dress (sleeveless, woolen homespun, usually red, low cut, extending to ankles, worn over shirt)

Tsarvuli (from Greek tsaroúchia)= sandals (mocassin-like, made of calf-leather)

Zabradka (lit. “for-chin-feminine”)= a headscarf (worn by both Muslim and Christian women)

Turkish Ottoman-Era clothing (1520s, Istanbul region)

Başörtüsü (lit. “head-cover”)= a headscarf (worn by both Muslim and Christian women)

Börk = a janissary hat (black velvet band topped by a green wool broadcloth band, with a rectangle of white felt rising above the head and folded in a “tail” down the back to the neck)

Çizme = boots (knee high, leather)

Entari = a caftan (rather like a gown with sleeves down to the elbow or wrist, ankle-length, fitted at the waist, worn by men and women over gömlek. Longer than a zıbın.)

Ferace = an over-coat (worn outside by women over hırka or entari. Unfitted, hanging from throat to ankles)

Gömlek = a shirt (sheer silk, cotton, or linen. Flowing, long, full sleeves, draping from shoulders to to mid-calf or ankle like a shift or chemise. Worn by men and women under entari, hırka, or zıbın)

Hırka = a coat (light, worn by women, knee-length, buttoned from bust to waist, leaving skirts open)

Kalpak = a cap (conical, felt, often red)

Kaşıklık = a spoon-holder (a half-pipe of wood rounded at one end and plated in metal, worn in janissaries’ hats, symbolizes solidarity, may also hold feathers for ceremonial occasions)

Kuşak = a belt (worn by men and women, buckled around the waist)

Mintan = a short jacket (long sleeves, covering only the ribs, worn by men over a gömlek)

Pafta (from Persian bāfte) = a buckle

Potur = breeches (baggy, gathered at the knees)

Şalvar = pants (baggy, gathered at the ankles. The term in the 16th century was probably çakşır or don, but şalvar is the modern term for this kind garment.)

Sarık = a turban

Yelek = a vest (hip-length, worn by the poor)

Yemeni = a shoe (leather, light weight)

Zıbın = a jacket (hip-length, fitted, worn by men or women over a gömlek. Shorter than an entari.)

Most of this information comes from narodninosii.bg for Bulgarians (Thracian region) and http://www.issendai.com/16thcenturyistanbul/ for Ottomans. If I’ve made any mistakes, please let me know.

 

Rotifers (1)

Behold! The Trochate Rotifers!

Like all rotifers, trochates have three body segments: head, trunk, and foot. The head and trunk are supported internally by a calcified skeleton evolved from the mastax (used in basal rotifers to process food).

The mastax’s components (called trochi) are Y-shaped, with the base of the Y (the fulcrum) supporting the trunk. The arms of the Y are divided into many segments: the first segment (ramus) on each side is used to capture and process food. The other segments (manubria) support a pair of long fins used for swimming. The fan-shaped foot is used for steering.

The ancestral ciliated coronae (used by basal rotifers for swimming and food collection) have become gills. Basal eyespots have evolved into single lens eyes, convergent on the eyes of cephalopods and vertebrates. A pair of antennae in front of the eyes house chemoreceptors. The cloaca is on the rear dorsal end of the trunk. Eggs are attached to the foot and held between the manubria.

(please comment and critique. I’m trying to make sure this thing is plausible and appealing before figuring out how to get it up on the land. A snake with a head in the middle and tail tips on either side??)

(this is a Fellow Tetrapod creature, see www.thekingdomsofevil.com/?tag=fellow-tetrapod)

Tandem: a better story

Earlier this week, I asked for writing prompts, and the inimitable Emil Minchev responded: “Remember Solo? Do the opposite”

Okay, so…IN THE DISTANT FUTURE, IN THIS VERY GALAXY…

A wealthy, middle-aged woman named Foong Tandem stays on her comfortable, safe, well-lit planet, where she joins the Rebellion.

She and her partner — a small, hairless, squeaky alien whose language everyone but Tandem can understand — are assigned to accompany a group of highly moral roving law-enforcers in a mission to prevent a train robbery. The mission is a success and nobody dies. Or if they do die, it’s meaningfully.

Rebel leadership is thrilled, and sends our hero — paired up with a handsome older man whom she has never met before — to the glittering and clean campus of a tech startup. There, they recruit an engineer of high-speed space ships, who happily lends our hero his own ship.

Tandem, the most careful pilot in the galaxy, gets the ship safely past a white hole. After pausing to take pictures of the local wildlife, she arranges a mutually beneficial arrangement with a fuel-processing plant, ensuring a stable and dependable supply for the Rebellion. There are no damn robots.

The climax comes when Tandem’s team runs into those train-robbers again, who, dramatic reveal, are actually Imperial agents! There is a standoff, which Tandem’s team wins because of the strong ties of trust they have made with each other on the course of the story.

Tandem’s mentor wishes her and her love-interest good luck as they fly off on their next sensible adventure. “Squeak!” Says the alien. You got that right, Crispy.

Shiftin’ shapes!

Yesterday I asked for writing prompts, and Lew Delport responded: “Shapeshifters with language that changes according to shape” and upon follow-up questioning: “No idea, you’re the writer! Seasonal, maybe?”

So I got to thinking:

V. nonhuman idea: alien sophonts go through cyclical metamorphoses with season. E.g. larva to pupa to imago then back to pupa and larva, then the whole thing starts again. Memories are retained, but drives and emotions change.

Or:

Human/magical idea: zóoanthropes are cursed with shapes that shift depending on what planets are currently visible in the sky. Different astrological combinations produce complex but predictable morphology cycles.

In the first case, the problem of the story is that some people can’t transform the way everyone else does. They’re stuck in one shape, which means only one vocal aparatus is available to them, which means that in the dry season, they’re stuck in wet-season form can physically can’t pronounce the words for “sand-storm” and “sunburn.”

In the second case, it’s the opposite. Zóoanthropes have to come up with codes that allow them to pronounce their native language (let’s say it’s Greek) when they have the beak of a bird or the muzzle of a wolf. Then there’s this one island where everyone is a zóoanthrope. What sort of language do they speak?

These ideas are too big for me to deal with this week, but keep an eye out for the coming weeks, and tell me if you have any other ingredients to add to this stew!

A Dried-up Wasp Nest

A dried-up wasp nest.

Nothing but dust in its cells.

It can still inspire.

Sounds of Night-Time Rain

Sounds of night-time rain:

Easier to sleep under

Than roofers’ hammers.

Five Factor Warriors: Wada Junko

(first)(previous)

Make me a lawbender

All equalized

Saved from the chill and heat

— Vienna Teng, “Landsailor”

KoInu-chan reached out of the camera’s frame and grabbed the pillow shaped like the Earth. She smiled at the off-camera friend who had given it to her and straightened, holding the globe in the crook of one arm. With the other she gave the peace sign.

“Thank you, friends!” she said, and yellow ribbons flapped with her un-feigned delight. “So many of you sent in such great photos!”

She puckered her lips (light tan edged with darker tan and sparkles individually placed by one of her makeup friends) and turned the peace sign into a pointing finger, which she used to poke the pillow.  The tiny dog painted on her nail loomed over Western Europe. “There’s ZiZi in Paris…” She paused, giving a signal for her editor friends to come in later and add the picture of a girl in frilly skirts in front of the Eiffel Tower.

“…and One-Million-Hugs in Dubai,” KoInu-chan pointed to the next spot on the globe: a girl in front of the Burj Al Arab giving the peace-sign, showing off her wrist with its bracelet of braided pandanus fiber.

KoInu-chan gave her camera the peace sign again. The friend behind the camera couldn’t help but return the gesture, and KoInu-chan’s own bracelet, the original bracelet, glowed with warm contentment. If she concentrated, she could feel a tiny shiver of fear here, the barest pulse of anger there, and which meant that most of KoInu-chan’s friends around the world really were happy.

“I love you guys!” She blurted, then got back on script. “Especially 4ever_Nayeevie in Wisconsin, USA.  Cute name, by the way!”

She spoke in Japanese, confident that her many friends around the world would caption her videos. She trusted them to do the job perfectly.

“…and KawaiGami95 in Para, Brazil.” A very important friend, that one. KoInu-chan turned the globe upside-down. “…and Ubuntu-Starlight in Johannesburg…”

Each name brought its own spark of light to the bracelet, reminding her that these names were real people, and they were really happy. Except…

“Ubuntu-Starlight, don’t be afraid.” There was another cold shiver, stronger this time as KoInu-chan spoke directly to her friend in South Africa. “That person who hurt you, she was really just scared that you would hurt her first. Show her she can trust you and you’ll turn from enemies to friends!”

KoInu-chan put her arms around the pillow. “Having friends all over the world is just so wonderful!” She squeezed.

KoInu-chan’s real name was Wada Junko, but she thought “KoInu-chan” was much cuter, and all of her friends agreed. More and more friends, every day! That’s why she could smile so honestly for the camera. Because it meant more and more people cared about you, and fewer and fewer could ever want to hurt you.

KoInu-chan blinked back happy tears and put her finger to the corner of her mouth. She tilted her head and locked eyes (ringed with pink) to the camera. “You know, it used to be that people like us had to choose between loosing their innocence or letting other people take advantage of us. But now that we have each other, we can stay innocent forever!” That wasn’t in the script, but KoInu-chan couldn’t help herself. She spoke from the heart. Her director friend behind the camera didn’t seem to mind the digression.

“Thank you all so, so much. I really mean it. And to show you I mean it, I’m asking you to please give your friendship bracelet to someone else. Someone you really care about, or maybe want to care about you?” She put her whole body into the wink she gave the camera. “Then send me a message with your address and I’ll send you another bracelet. I never run out!”

She held up her own: a simple braid of golden-yellow plant fiber. “Take a picture of yourself wearing a KoInu-chan friendship bracelet in front of one of your city’s landmarks. #koinuchannakama! We’ll spread over the world and give it a big hug!”

Another squeeze of the pillow. The director made a wrap gesture.

“Thank you for watching my video! Please like and subscribe.”

KoInu-chan’s smile didn’t fade as she her friends with the camera, mic, and lights turned their machines off, nor when she exchanged congratulations and encouragement with the director and the makeup and wardrobe friends. Even the friend who brought lunch! Putting together a good show needed a lot of good people, and you couldn’t get good people without a good show. A Catch 22, one of the boys called that, but the other said, no, if you looked at it right, it was a feedback loop.

Oh, the boys. It hurt KoInu-chan that she had to part from them to send the boys her status update. By the time she’d gone to her room and opened her safe and gotten out and turned on the special phone and composed a message in English, she wasn’t smiling any more. This was probably the worst part of her day, being alone, but the boys said KoInu-chan’s friends weren’t allowed to translate for her, or know that the special phone existed, or even just keep her company.

That just showed how little the boys understood friendship. KoInu-chan wished she could show them, but the bracelets didn’t work on them. Sometimes she worried about that.

She worried a lot about the boys, actually. They pushed KoInu-chan around, and probably didn’t have her best interests in mind, but without them she wouldn’t have nearly as many friends as she needed to take over the world. The Vods had told her to take over the world and The Vods were a real god!

KoInu-chan touched the Collar of Peli, always faintly warm on her wrist. It was called a “collar” even though it wasn’t around her neck – that wouldn’t match today’s outfit. She quickly unwound the bracelet, then unwound it again. In that magical way it had, the Collar of Peli doubled in length without losing any width.

KoInu-chan separated half of the pandanus fibers, then half of the half, and half of that again until she had 32 bundles, which she began to braid. The first one went back on her wrist when it was finished. The others would go to her new friends. Soon, everyone would have a bracelet like hers and nobody would push anybody around. Nobody would want to. The thought was very soothing.

Fear.

KoInu-chan hissed against the Collar’s sudden cold. Not the brief shiver of one of her friends worrying about someone snubbing them, or even the bite of mortal danger (fortunately very rare). This blast of cold felt…important. It felt the way fear did when the boys were involved.

“I told them to take care of my friends,” KoInu-chan grumbled as she put down the last braid and grasped her own. She closed her eyes. “I’m going to give them a talking to…”

But when KoInu-chan opened her eyes, she didn’t see either of the boys. She saw the back of a seat on an airplane.

KoInu-chan could feel the plane rock under her. The air was thin and smelled of people and some kind of foreign food. Indian? And from the seat in front of her, a woman’s voice said, in English, “War.”

That’s what had scared KoInu-chan’s friend, a Peace Corps volunteer named…Blanche, from…San Diego, now flying into Kabul. Blanche spoke native English, which meant that now, so did KoInu-chan, and she recognized the “war” woman’s accent as Jamaican. KoInu-chan recognized the woman’s power, like the mist off of a block of dry ice.

“What do you mean war?” asked another woman, also in English, also frigid with magic. Blanche thought her accent might be Balkan. She had a friend in the Balkans. KoInu-chan leaned forward to listen better.

“You don’t think you’re the first to wield that tablet?” asked the Jamaican woman. “There was a war. A war where people were killed.”

“People like us?” asked the Balkan.

“The Warriors of Reden and Vesht on one side, the Warrior of Vod on the other, not to mention countless civilians.”

KoInu-chan lickd Blanche’s lips nervously, wishing there were other friends on this plane. The boys had told her about the war, and why they had fought. Why KoInu-chan should fight too. But they hadn’t told her that the previous Warrior of Vod had been killed. How many friends had he had? Not enough, clearly.

“We all fell back,” said the Jamaican. The boys had told KoInu-chan about a Jamaican woman, hadn’t they? An enemy. “I had hoped to die of old age before those demons chose new fools for their games,” she said. “God damn it all to hell, what am I to do now?”

“We should work together,” said the other woman immediately. “We can make a plan to fight the gods, and stop them from making this sort of chaos in the world.”

“That is almost exactly what the last Warrior of Reden said to me,” said the enemy. What was her name? Something like Jody Foster? Anne of Green Gables? Jody Ann, that was it. Who was she the Warrior of?

“With the mistakes of last time, we can understand a better way to fight this time,” the Warrior of Reden pressed.

“No, no,” said Jody Ann. “I’ve sworn off all that nonsense. Leave me out of it.”

A pause, probably while the Warrior of Reden consulted her tablet.

“Stop looking at that thing!” said Jody Ann. Which one was her god?

“I’m vulnerable,” said the younger woman. “I don’t know how to protect myself. Can you at least tell me what to do next?”

A grumpy sigh from Jody Ann. “The last Warrior of Reden was also manipulative as hell. I suppose I can give you Betinha’s telephone number. On the condition that you swear you won’t drag me into this!”

Blanche’s skin went all goose-pimply. KoInu-chan knew who Betinha Leão was, oh yes. She had to tell the boys about this. The wielder of the Staff of Wang Lingguan would soon be in contact with the wielder of the Tablet of Gilgamesh and, oh goodness, who was Jody Ann? What other weapons had been on the wrong side of the war? Not the staff, not the cap or the cloak…

Blanche’s eyes widened with KoInu-chan’s sudden fear. The Mirror of Amaterasu!

“Gotcha!”

A hand snaked out from the between the seats and grabbed Blanche’s wrist.

“No, no,” said KoInu-chan. “What are you doing? Who are you?” But she could see the light from between the seats, the old woman’s face as she glared through the hole in the Mirror of Amaterasu.

“You can’t fool me, bubu,” growled Jody Ann.

“We can be friends,” pleaded KoInu-chan. Oh no! Jody Ann’s hand was on her bracelet. Her bracelet! “Please, we can all be friends.”

“No,” said Jody Ann, “we cannot.”

“How do I find out what’s going on?” asked the other woman, then. “Oh no. Oh my God. Please, missus, you must — ”

“I know what I must do,” said Jody Ann, and pulled the bracelet off Blanche’s wrist.

Pain exploded in KoInu-chan’s heart. Separation. Loss. Like the severing of a limb. The death of a dream.

She collapsed to the floor of her room in Shinjuku, choking back a scream, holding her aching wrist. She had lost a friend.

“KoInu-chan, are you all right?” A voice from outside the door. Her friends had felt her pain. They wanted to help her, and KoInu-chan wanted to be helped, but…

“Just a minute!” she called. “I’m all right, just give me a minute, all right?”

She squeezed the collar so hard it hurt. Those bitches. How dare they attack one of hers?

KoInu-chan’s teeth ground together as she flexed her fingers against the pandanus fibers, searching in Kabul. There were friends there. Not as many as in Islamabad, but no big city could be entirely dark to her. “There are enemies at the airport,” she told them collar cold under her fingers. “Let’s make sure they don’t hurt any of us.”

Her friends responded, and KoInu-chan’s heart slowed as the Collar of Pelli warmed back up. She breathed. She would be all right. Everyone would be all right, once these enemies were dealt with. KoInu-chan would make sure of it. She would be right there with her friends, behind their eyes, under their skin.

Just as soon as she made a call on the special phone.

Steam on my Glasses

Steam on my glasses

and lashing curtains of rain.

It’s all just water.

Tipi from outside of Tuta

I finished The Centuries Unlimited this week, so you’re getting some conlanging! This project’s goal was simple: derive the tenses (and voices and aspects) of verbs from prepositions.

For example, the epic poem   Tipi-kan-tan-Tuta (Tipi from outside of Tuta) has as its first line: “Tipi pi-tan-kan kan-tan-Tuta” meaning “Tipi come-behind-from from-behind-Tuta.” “Behind” gives us the idea of “the past” and also “outside,” while “from” yields “long ago.” In the tin-Tuta language, it’s considered poetic to make tense/prepositions mirror each other like that, and all stories begin with a verb in that V-tan-kan tense, which is the narrative or distant past.

Here’s the rest of the poem of Tipi-kan-tan-Tuta. Can you tell what the other tense/prepositions mean? Can you tell where the story comes from?

Tipi pi-tan-kan kan-tan-Tuta.

Long ago, Tipi came from outside of Tuta.

(Tipi is a supernatural trickster, denizen of Kiti, the underworld)

(Tuta is the country where tin-Tuta is spoken).

Ka katu-kin kin-tupiku.

Right now, he wants (to be) in negotiations.

Ka ki-kin kin-kipitu.

He is in trouble right now.

Kuta kan-ka ki-pin pin-tapa.

At the moment, his delay is because of tapa.

(tapa is mystical essence that humans are said to have and which tipi crave)

Ana ka ki-pan-kun pan-kuki.

And he is not above theft.

(this expression works the same way as in English)

Ka tuku-pun pun-patapati.

He appears by a warrior.

Kiti-pan pan-pititi. Ka kutu-pin pin-kupika

(Who is) playing on the pititi. He always performs with passion.

Ana tipi kiki-kin kin-pakankapinputuka puka-kin,

And, at Pakankapinputuka, Tipi suddenly jumps to say,

(Pakankapinputuka is a village in Tuta, derived from a phrase meaning “the sawed-off-trunk-of-the-putuka-tree)

“Pata, papu-kin kin-ku ti kutu-tin-kin kin-ku.

“Son, you should allow that I will perform briefly near you.”

(Pata is a term used by older people to address younger, male people)

“Ti tutipu-kin ku kupu-tun tun-ti. ana ti kiti-pan pan-pititi,

“I suppose that you are still learning about me. I also play on the pititi.”

“Ana ti tutipu-kin katu-tin-kin ki-kin kin-putu,

“And I suppose that you will want to be in a contest,

“Ti tapipu-pin pin-ku.”

“(So) I am gambling with you.”

The Dissection of the Shmoo

This beautiful picture was created by scientific illustrator Franz Anthony

“The bullet was stopped inside the shmoo’s body,” said Anne. “But it didn’t hit a bone. This thing doesn’t seem to have any. And this steaming discharge. Nothing alive could be that hot. Not while it was alive. But when it was pierced by the bullet… the way its body flopped when Daisuke moved it…press into its side again, Dice.”

She winked at Daisuke and his heart flopped over.

“Look at that,” said Anne, prodding the shmoo. “Look how it sloshes around? Several layers with blood and viscera between. Not a tube-within-a-tube like us but…bags-within-bags?”

Daisuke summarized for the camera: “So this creature is like several water-balloons, one inside the other.” He looked down at his steaming boot. “All filled with acid?”

“Can’t be,” said Anne. “There’s only acid in this outer-most layer, the one under the skin. The reservoir of sulfuric acid is sandwiched between what must be some very tough barriers.”

“So how does this thing hunt?” asked Daisuke.

“Probably with these.” Anne pointed at a transparent, centimeter-long spine, one of hundreds that dotted the creature’s tough skin like the quills of a porcupine. “Let me…Dice, you got a pair of pliers on you?”

As it happened, Daisuke did. He plucked his multi-tool from his utility belt and passed it to Anne. Her warm fingers brushed across his.

“Don’t want to touch this thing with bare skin,” she muttered, clamping the pliers to the tip of the spine and pulling. The spine slid a good five centimeters from the shmoo’s body before it stuck.

“Hm,” said Anne. “These spines go all the way to the core of animal. I bet they’re for sucking up the juice of the prey animal. The shmoo doesn’t even have to inject digestive enzymes like a spider. All it has to do is pierce the inner layer that protects a glasslands animal from its own acid.”

“As I did, when I shot it?” asked Hariyadi.

“But the bullet didn’t go all the way through,” said Anne. “It pierced the outer layer, the inner one, the gooey center of the animal, but got lodged here,” she prodded a black lump in the rapidly deflating mess. “Against the other side of the inner layer on its way out.”

“Damn, that thing must be tough on the inside,” said Pearson.

“It would have to be, to defend against exactly the sort of attack it uses on its prey.” Anne scooted around the shmoo. “Where are those eyes? I can’t seem to find them.”

“It seems a fragile existence,” said Hariyadi. “A walking chemical reaction.”

“You’ve just described yourself,” said Anne. “Ever see someone with a gut wound? Same problem.”

Daisuke heard a sharp intake of breath and realized that maybe Hariyadi had seen a gut wound digest a man from the inside out. Perhaps the dear colonel had caused one.

“Ah,” said Anne, “there the eyes are. Interesting.”

“Interesting?” Daisuke prompted.

“I can feel the lenses inside,” said Anne, prodding the sagging body with plier nose of the multi-tool. “They’re embedded in the tough, inner membrane. But how do they see out through the outer skin?” She brushed the tool around the glass spines at one end of the oblong body, smoothing them into a swirling circle like the petals of a chrysanthemum. “Shine your light here. At this angle.”

The chrysanthemum petals blazed suddenly with blue light. As Anne poked them, the light flicked to green, then red.

“Right,” she said. “These spines aren’t just transparent. They can conduct light all the way through the outer skin. The animal can even tune its visual system by slight adjustments to the angles of these…what…optical spines?”

“Like…” Daisuke’s brow furrowed as he worked on a way to dumb that down. “Uh…a periscope? Eye glasses?”

“Like a weird alien eyeball made of millions of tiny prisms floating in acid,” said Anne. “That’s what it’s like. She pushed off her knees and looked up at Hariyadi. “These things are going to be a problem.”

Junction by Daniel M. Bensen will be available in March 2019 from in print and ebook from FLAME TREE PRESS.