Araminta Station (35 page)

“In no mode, manner, way, shape, intimation, hint or form! You will pine for your lost gratuities forever, unless you instantly mend your ways!”

“Ah, you rich Araminta workers are hard to deal with. Tour 112 it is, by your insistence.” He called to the paddlers. “We are in luck! They want to take the shortcut past the dormitories rather than through the bathing rotundas.”

Jardine called out: “Bathing rotundas! The brochure said something about sanitation!”

“It is all one,” said Fader. “The die is cast.”

The Bold Lions fell glumly silent. The boat threaded a set of canals, under built-over areas, beside a strip of land densely planted with bamboo and salpiceta, and tended, so it seemed, by almost as many workers as there were plants. Beyond, the canal turned sharply seaward, and passed between a pair of tall structures. Seven levels of balconies overlooked the canal, with plaited frond doors opening into cubicles. As the Bold Lions scrutinized the balconies, they occasionally glimpsed a Yip girl as she came out to hang a bit of cloth to dry or tend a potted plant, but these were few; the residences seemed almost comatose: Kiper’s disappointment was extreme. He spoke to Fader in bewilderment: “This is truly rather dull. Where are all the girls?”

“Many are bathing in the rotundas,” said Fader. “Others are out on the water tending mussel racks and beds of sea lettuce. Here, however, are the residences. The morning girls are sleeping. At midnight they will be off about their duties and the afternoon girls will sleep. Each habitancy by this means serves two people. Eventually we will move to the land and there will be space for all; this is our destiny, and it cannot come too soon. In any case, you have now seen the residences. Some folk find it more amusing to watch the girls as they bathe; I prefer it myself.”

“Yes, Fader,” muttered Shugart. “You are the clever one, no doubt about it, and you can bid your gratuity a tearful goodbye.”

“I beg your pardon?” inquired Fader. “Were you addressing me?”

“No matter. Let us get on with the tour.”

“Just so. We will go ashore at yonder dock.”

The boat eased up to the dock and the Bold Lions alighted, with Fader assisting them so that they would not fall. As Shugart climbed ashore, Fader’s attention was distracted; he looked away just as the boat gave a sudden lurch and Shugart fell with a great splash into the canal.

Fader and others helped Shugart to the dock. “You should have been more careful,” said Fader.

“I realize this,” said Shugart. “I spoke a trifle too loudly.”

“One learns by his mistakes. Well, no doubt you will dry off soon. We cannot waste time in commiseration. This way, then. Stay together and do not get lost, as a substantial fee is charged if we must find a missing person.”

The Bold Lions walked along a trestle, climbed steps, passed through a narrow doorway into a corridor which after ten yards gave upon a balcony overlooking a murmurous murk so large that the far wall could only be sensed. A dozen dingy skylights provided illumination; as their eyes adapted to the gloom, the Bold Lions saw below a multitude of Yips. They stood in small groups, or squatted around tiny fire pots where they toasted morsels of skewered fish. Some sat spraddle-legged in circles playing at cards, or dice, other games; some cut hair or clipped toenails; others played soft breathy music on bamboo pipes, evidently for their private amusement, since no one troubled to listen. Others stood alone, lost in their thoughts, or lay supine staring at nothing. The sound of so many folk came to the balcony as a great soft whisper with no definable source.

Glawen unobtrusively studied the faces of the Bold Lions. Each, predictably, wore a different expression. The brash Kiper would have given voice to facetious jokes, had he dared. Arles maintained a supercilious impassivity, while Kirdy seemed awed and thoughtful. Shugart, still damp from his immersion, clearly found the conditions deplorable. Later he described the Caglioro to his friends: “- ten billion pale eels! The nightmare of a diseased mind! A human miasma!”

Similarly, Uther Offaw would later describe the circumstances, a trifle less trenchantly, as “psychic soup.”

Fader addressed the group, speaking without inflection: “This is where men come to rest, to think their thoughts and think the thoughts of others. Women, of course, have similar facilities.”

Dauncy asked Fader: “How many folk are out there?”

“It is hard to guess. Persons come; persons go. Notice yonder around the balcony: a party of tourists is amused to throw coins out on the floor! As you see, it causes something of a scramble. Sometimes the tourists throw large sums, and persons become seriously hurt in the tumult.”

Jardine asked suspiciously: “Is coin throwing permitted without payment of fees?”

“Yes; we stretch a point in this case. You may indulge yourself as you wish. If you have no small coins you may change sols at the wicket yonder.”

Kiper said excitedly: “I’m out of coins! Who’ll lend me a few dinkets?”

Kirdy said sternly: “Learn some dignity, Kiper! It’s a stupid and pointless waste, throwing money away!” He looked at Fader: “We are not all of us lummoxes, despite your conviction.”

Fader smiled, and shook his head. “I deal with many kinds of people, but I make no judgments.”

Cloyd Diffin spoke: “You said that the women had separate facilities. Can these be visited?”

“You may select from Tours 128, 129 or 130, as listed in the brochure. They are similar save for optional features.”

“Where do men and women meet? How do they marry and form families?”

Fader said: “Our social system is complex. I cannot even provide a generality within the limits of Tour 112. Payment of tutorial fees will provide instruction to any desired level of expertise. If you care to undertake this course of study, please make arrangements with the tour secretary tonight.”

The irrepressible Kiper called out: “Tonight Cloyd performs his own research! He intends to gain wisdom at the very source of such lore!”

Cloyd was not amused. “That will be about enough from you, Kiper.”

Arles pointed across the Caglioro, to where the other group of tourists stood staring up toward the ceiling. “What is going on over there?”

Fader turned to look. “They are paying for a spectacle. You must not look; that is the rule. If you participate in the viewing, you must pay what we call a subsidiary fee.”

“Pure and total bosh!” declared Arles. “I have paid to look out over the Caglioro. If your spectacle interferes with my enjoyment of the view, I will feel free to claim a partial refund.”

Fader emphatically shook his head. “If you are inconvenienced, simply turn your back and do not look.”

Kirdy said: “Fader, be sensible. we have paid to inspect the Caglioro, together with - and here I quote the brochure to the best of my memory – ‘all the picturesque episodes and quaint incidents for which this surprising chamber is notorious.’ Any spectacles occurring during our visit are implicitly included.”

“Just so,” said Fader. “Consider very carefully the thrust of that sentence. The Caglioro is not notorious for this particular spectacle, nor any other single and specific spectacle. Hence, if you watch one of these events, a subsidiary fee must be applied.”

“In that case, we will look across the Caglioro as is our right, but we will ignore any and all spectacles. Fellow Bold Lions, do you hear this? Look out over the Caglioro to your heart’s content, but if a spectacle interferes with your view, pay no heed. Neither enjoy it nor acknowledge its existence; otherwise we must listen to Fader’s ratchety legalisms. Is that clear? Look, then, at will! But give no notice to any spectacle, should one chance to occur!”

Fader had nothing to say. Meanwhile, on a walkway high up under the roof, a pair of old men shuffled out upon a circular platform ten feet in diameter. They wore only loose trunks: one white, the other black. The old man in white showed disinclination, and peered with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw down at the floor far below. He turned and would have scuttled back to the walkway had not a gate barred his exit. The old man in black hobbled forward and seized him; the two wrestled, lurching this way and that, until the man in white tripped and tumbled headlong, whereupon his opponent fell upon him, dragged him clawing and scratching to the edge of the platform, and pushed him over the side. Sprawling, toppling, the old man in white fell, to land upon a target studded with sharp staves, which pierced and broke his body. The Yips ranged around the floor of the Caglioro gave no more than a glance to the proceedings. Up on the high platform the old man in black trunks shuffled wearily away and was lost to view in the high shadows.

Kirdy turned and addressed the Bold Lions: “I saw nothing unusual, in the nature of a spectacle. Did anyone?”

“Not I.” “Not I.” “Not I.” “Nothing but ten thousand Yips engrossed in their machinations.”

Uther Offaw turned to Fader: “I have just noticed a high platform up yonder. What is the reason for that, and I do not wish to pay an educational fee.”

Fader allowed the shadow of an ironic smile to form on his face. “That is used for certain spectacles which we present to tourists willing to pay. Indigent old persons approaching death, if they so choose, are allowed a luxury supplement to their rations. In return they must wrestle upon the platform, until one of them falls to his death. It is a procedure beneficial in every respect. Old persons enjoy a good diet in their nonproductive years and generate income by their passing, which otherwise would be wasted.”

“Interesting! Men and women both enjoy the advantages of the scheme?”

“Naturally!”

“It seems a rather cynical exploitation of these old people,” said Uther Offaw.

“By no means!” declared Fader. “I am not encouraged to argue with you, but I will point out that because of strictures imposed upon us from without, we must use any and every means to survive.”

“Hm. Might a spectacle be arranged with children as participants, rather than old men?”

“Quite possibly so. The tour clerk will be able to quote you the exact charges.”

“It seems that almost anything can be arranged for a fee.”

Fader held out his hands. “Is this not true anywhere? I must announce that time is on the move. Have you seen enough of the Caglioro?”

Shugart looked around the group. “We are ready to move on. Where next?”

“We pass through the Gallery of Ancient Gladiators. Had you been attentive a few moments ago, you might have glimpsed a pair of these doughty warriors wrestling on the high platform. Since you failed to notice, I cannot charge a fee.”

“Do we incur charges by traversing the gallery?”

Fader made a reassuring sign. “It is on the way to the bazaar. Come.”

Fader led the group into a long passage giving on a series of cubicles. In each an old man sat cross-legged on a dingy cushion.

Some occupied themselves at a trifle of handicraft. One embroidered; another tatted; another wove strands of fiber into small toy animals. Others sat staring listlessly into space.

As the Bold Lions moved along the gallery they caught up with the party of tourists which had arranged the spectacle in the Caglioro. These numbered about twenty: Glawen adjudged them to be Laddakees from the world Gaude Phodelius IV, by reason of their squat physiques, fresh complexions, round faces and distinctive wide-brimmed hats with trailing black ribbons. The group leader seemed to be arranging another spectacle, the so-called Double Bubble, with the tour guide; but was deterred by what he considered excessive charges. Others of the party clustered around a cubicle, conversing with the old man inside. The Bold Lions stopped to listen.

A question had been put to the old man; he responded: “What choices are open to me? I can no longer work; should I sit in the dark and starve?”

“But you seem reconciled to this sort of death!”

“I care little, one way or another. It is a proper end to my life. I have achieved nothing, discovered nothing; I have brought not a twitch of change to the cosmos. I will soon be gone and no one will know the difference.”

“It seems a negative philosophy,” stated the Laddakee. “Is there nothing you have done of which you are proud?”

“I have been a grass-scraper all my life. One stalk is much like the others. Still, long ago, an odd mood came on me and I carved a bit of wood into the similitude of a fish, with every scale in correct detail. Folk who saw it thought it very fine.”

“And where is this fish now?”

“It fell into the canal and drifted away on the tide. Not long ago I started another such fish - you see it here - but I lost heart and never finished it.”

“So now you are ready to die.”

“No one is ever quite ready.”

One of the Laddakees pushed forward from the rear of the group. “If the truth be told, I am ashamed of this sort of thing. Instead of buying this gentleman’s death, let us take up a collection and ensure his survival. Is not that more worthy of humanity and our religion?”

A mutter went around the group. Some seemed to agree; others were doubtful. A very stout man said plaintively: “That’s all well and good, but we have already paid for the spectacle; the money would be wasted!”

Another said: “More to the point, there are thousands in the same case! If we rescue this old gaffer and his fish, then another will come to take his place; must we then rescue another, who perhaps has carved a bird? The process is endless!”

The leader said: “As you all know, I am a merciful man, and an Elder in the Church, but I must come down on the side of practicality. As I understand it, this spectacle conduces not to morbidity or perverse spasms, but to a healthy catharsis. Brother Jankoop’s scheme does him credit, but I would suggest that on our return home, he show an equal solicitude for his neighbors and put his goats out to pasture.”

Grateful laughter greeted the sally. The leader turned to Fader. “Perhaps your party would care to join us at the Double Bubble spectacle. The fee, thus prorated among the two groups, would make the cost less daunting.”

Arles inquired: “What, in fact, is the fee?”

Fader calculated. “The charges would be five sols per individual. That is a flat rate.” He held up his hand to the instant chorus of protest. “There will be no prorating; prices are fixed.”