I have been going to Zra's Restaurant for a very long time. To most people human cuisine is yesterday's novelty, but I never ate it to be fashionable. I like human food, though it is not my favorite, and I feel some interest in their culture despite their lack of any elan or technological achievements. Enigmas hold an abiding fascination for me, and they are nothing if not enigmatic. I have other reasons, of a personal nature, which recent events force me to reflect upon.

I grant that the physical appearance of Mankind contributes to the air of mystery which surrounds them. They are huge, ponderous, slow creatures, whose magnificently maned heads possess an air of lofty hauteur which their hideous breathing protuberance renders absurd and bizarre. Yet their humility and thoughtful disposition lend them back a kind of eerie dignity. Their skin fits them very snugly, giving them a secretive appearance. They have tiny, inexpressive ears which make them seem emotionless. All of this is mere appearance. I have found that humans are not so much unfeeling as they are restrained in their passions.

And yet, once all this has been said, I am forced to admit that I have never met a Human who did not at least in part conform to the popular opinion of these creatures as being in some fundamental way inscrutable. Even the most acculturated of their young ones remain apart from our society- seem to be with us but not of us. What is it that looks out from behind those huge eyes, so eerily like our own? At times I wonder if they are really sentient at all, as we understand the term.

Is it true that they live for ten or even twenty years? I know only that when I returned from the stars my usual waiter looked unchanged, and the high, fluting voice from the kitchen sounded just the same. Are they the same individual humans? I cannot say.

One day, after years of quietly attending to my needs, my waiter attempted to make conversation with me.

"Tell me about Humanity." He said, without warning.

"I am not objective." I replied after some thought "For me, Humanity will always be part of my childhood during the Third Expansion, and its food, redolent with exotic smells and spices, has become inextricably associated in my mind with the excitement of those years."

"It is often said that the Third Expansion was an innocent age." he ventured.

"I disagree. It was, properly speaking, a period of optimism. In those days the sight of aliens walking through the corridors of our cities made for a thrill, not an eyesore. The hordes of Ivaldi and Mmmrr who had come to the capitol seeking a better life were welcomed as a sign of how vast and cosmopolitan our fledgling empire had become. We didn't avert our eyes with fear and distaste when an alien moved past- we extended our necks, hoping for a glimpse of one we hadn't seen before. Nobody thought to call the offworlder areas on the lower levels slums. They were exotic, not disreputable."

"My Father was part of the smart set in those days, and he had an affinity for alien cuisine. Human food, in particular. They were the latest race that had been drawn to Homeworld by our high standard of living, and Father discovered them at the same time as all the other 'progressive' young people."

"Killigo Dan was the name of his favorite human restaurant. I remember the first time we rode one of the Ways down to eat there I was astounded at how full of light the place was. Humans love light, the brighter the better, and the little antechamber was ablaze with a hundred colors from tiny suspended bulbs. I thought that these must be people from the surface of a star."

"Is that why you come here?" He asked. "Because it reminds you of the Third Expansion to eat human food?"

I twitched my ears in self-deprecation.

"It is not easy for those of us who have gone voyaging. We come back to Homeworld seven or eight years later, having passed what seems to us like a few weeks near the speed of light to find our creche-mates and acquaintances either dead or infirm, our ideas outmoded and our jokes hopelessly old."

His facial plane flexed and contorted, but his ears lay flat against his head, betraying no hint of what he felt.

"This was the first successful Human restaurant." He said- I call him 'he' although I have been told our genders are not directly comparable. "Founded by my grandfather. We do not have restaurants on Earth. We do have similar establishments, however, and the superficial resemblance between the two caused terrible problems when we tried to set up shop here. The customers' expectations were always slightly different than the host's, you see. None of us knew that we should pretend surprise at the guest's arrival, provide hot washing cloths even though they will politely decline to wash, offer tonsorial services- we made a hundred small mistakes by thinking of restaurants in Human terms. My grandfather was the first to understand. And that is my problem." He paused for a long time.

"I noticed a strange and terrible thing," he said at last. "The peacock throne of Paris is missing a color." Here he waved at the design which covered the walls.

I did not understand him. "But" I said, "The peacock throne is all around us, and I see all the colors of the rainbow in it."

He swung his head from side to side.

"I know," he said. "Our eyes see deeper into the low frequencies than yours. Yet only the colors you can see are in the peacock throne. My grandfather put that pattern of lines on the wall himself. It is made of adhesive tape. I know that every Human restaurant has one of its own. But we were the first. It might therefore be entirely his invention. There might not be a peacock throne in Paris at all. Indeed, everything I know about my species might be hokum my grandfather dreamed up to impress his customers."

Here he fell silent again, and I reflected that he need not have worried about the peacock throne of Paris. I have been to Earth, and every human restaurant there has one. But then again, they all offer hot cloths and tonsorial services as well.

"I want to go to Earth and see for myself." he said, suddenly. "But I am afraid of the bitter disappointment I might suffer if I did. Also I am no longer young. And so I ask of you, for you are an aficionado of Man. Are these things true?"

"No," I said after a moment's consideration. "No they are not. At least, in the little time I spent on Earth I found its legends and its cuisine to be much as we conceive them here." I could not bear to tell him the whole truth. "Save your money and spare your family the grief of never seeing you again."

He blinked, bounced his head up and down, and turned to clip the tufts of my ears.

"He was a strange, restless, unknowable man," the waiter said. "Too clever for his own good- I did not think there was such a thing until I came to understand my grandfather."

"All men are unknowable." I said, and fervently hoped that he would not go to Earth.

He did not speak again. For ten days I did not have the courage to return to Zra's. But when I did, he was still there, and served me with the same silent, capable efficiency as ever. Another ten days have gone by, and I now think the crisis is past. I hope he will not go.

No answers wait for him on Earth. When I was there its culture had been so completely assimilated that I had to go far off the beaten track to find a restaurant that served traditional Human-style cuisine at all. His own clothes looked more like a traditional Human costume than what anyone on Earth wears. And my visit was years ago. What trace of Human culture would be left by now? I hope he does not go.