Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Novel 19 (13 page)

 
          
Cendri
laughed. She said, "That is the very last thing it would occur to me to
do. I am not even certain where my own mother lives now; she could not wait for
me to be old enough to go to my chosen lifework as a Scholar, so that she could
return to her own! I have not seen her since my seventeenth year! I suppose
some day we will meet again, as friends, but each of us has her life to live;
on our world we do not recognize biological ties after a child is old enough to
fend for herself."

 
          
"That
seems to me as cold-blooded as the fish," Miranda said with distaste. "How
else are women distinguished from animals, except by the nurture they give
their young?" She laughed, then said, "It is good to hear someone
challenge the ideas I take for granted! I like talking of such things with you,
Cendri, I think I shall always like to do so, but I should warn you, not to
speak too freely of such matters to the women of this household. Many of the
women here would be shocked and disgusted by the way we have been talking, they
would think you dirty and perverted for speaking of such things—and me no less
perverted for being willing to hear them spoken! Don't tell them, will you,
Cendri?"

 
          
She
smiled at the off-worlder and sniffed deeply. "I thought so; the
fish-flavoring herbs are in flower, by the South wall. Come, let us gather some
and take them to the women in the kitchen; they will want to gather them while
their fragrance is strongest, and dry them to season the fish when next we
visit the sea."

 
          
She
gathered a bouquet of the strong-scented greyish pink flowers to take to the
kitchens, Cendri helping her. When they came into the kitchens, one of the
women wrinkled her nose in disgust.

 
          
"Pheu,
you smell like a fish dinner, Miranda, you smell as if you have been visiting
the sea—"

 
          
Miranda
laughed. "Well, and so I have, you can tell that by looking at me,"
she said gaily.

 
          
The
other woman turned away, abashed. "What a way to talk, Miranda!
And before the distinguished guest!"

 
          
"You
first spoke of it," Miranda said, laughing. "We are all grown women
here! And if we want herbs to season our fish, we must then smell like the sea!
And I like the smell, for it tells me the season for visiting the sea is
near—what is it, Zamila, does the smell make it too hard for you to wait?"
She crushed the strong-smelling flowers between her palms, bruising them, and
as the aromatic smell spread through the room, the women began a little nervous
giggling which Cendri did not understand.

 
          
Dal,
too, when Cendri got back to the upper apartment they shared, wrinkled his nose
against the strong smell which clung to her hands.

 
          
"What
in a hundred worlds is that stink, Cendri?"

 
          
"An
herb of some sort, used for seasoning fish; I was helping Miranda to gather
it," Cendri said, abstractedly. Did the talk of "visiting the
sea" have something to do with their seasonal religious festivals, then?
"I gather the scent is highly prized for flavoring their meals."

 
          
Dal
sniffed. "I don't remember tasting it myself, and frankly I'm just as well
pleased. Don't you get bored spending time with these women? Picking flowers
and rubbish like that?"

 
          
"Of
course not, Dal, it's my work, and I'm getting quite fond of Miranda."

 
          
"Don't
get too fond of
her,
" Dal said morosely, "I
don't trust women who live without men. It doesn't seem normal or healthy, and
I'm not sure I like the idea of my wife spending a lot of time with women who
pair off like that. Miranda hasn't bothered you, has she? Are you sure you can
trust her?"

 
          
After
an incredulous moment Cendri realized what Dal meant. She said, "That's so
ridiculous I won't even dignify it with an answer, Dal," and went to wash
the smell of the herb from her fingers.

 
          
Miranda's
lonely. She said so herself. And she certainly went to some trouble to find out
whether I was rigidly prejudiced against their way of life. And her sisters
have all chosen women for life-partners—oh, that's ridiculous, Miranda knows
I'm not that kind of woman.

 
          
Anyway,
what
makes me think I
have any
right to be so condescending about
what's
normal? If
men are kept out
of
the society except
for
breeding,
and
the
women spend
all their time with one
another,
naturally
they
develop
all their love and affection for each other. How can you
love a
variety of
people who
are
regarded
as dangerous
animate
who have to be
registered as property? And naturally,
where
there's
Jove, there's probably sex
too.
You've seen homosexuals
before this!
Don't be
so damned smug and condescending, as if you
had a right to
approve
or disapprove!
It's their society.' It's
all very well for Dal to
find fault, he's not a
trained anthropologist
..
.there's no excuse for you doing it!

 
          
Just
the same, she felt sorry for the women, not allowed to keep a Companion till
they were Vaniya's age, and forced to get their love, even their sex, from one
another. No, not forced, they chose
..
.did they really
choose, without open options in the society?

 
          
I
guess my own
cultural
prejudices go a Jot deeper than I ever realized...

 
          
The
Pro-Matriarch was not present that night at dinner; but prodded by Dal, Cendri
approached Miranda.

 
          
"Is
there any possibility we could begin our work in the ruins soon, Miranda?"

           
Miranda avoided her eyes, saying,
"I really know nothing about it, Cendri, you must ask the Pro-Matriarch."

 
          
"I
know you sometimes make decisions in her place—" Cendri persisted, but
Miranda said, "No, not about such matters, only those pertaining to the
household. I really don't have the authority, Cendri. I know how you feel about
your work, but you must await my mother's decision."

 
          
Later
when they were in their room again, Dal fumed. "How long are they going to
put us off? Why did you let her put you off again?"

 
          
"Dal,
I went as far as I could. I know I made Miranda very uncomfortable—"

 
          
"Maybe
if you made her uncomfortable enough, she'd start demanding a decision from
Vaniya! Cendri, if we don't hear something definite in a day or two, I think we
ought to go to the other Pro-Matriarch—what's her name, Mahala—and see if she
can do anything for us. Maybe we can use the rivalry between them to get things
moving!"

 
          
"Dal,
I really don't think we ought to. I don't want to alienate Vaniya—"

 
          
"Damn
it, Cendri," he exploded, "You're doing the work you're interested
in, you're studying these people—"

 
          
"Dal,
lower your voice," she said sharply, "If they overheard
that,
it
would be the end of our welcome here!"

 
          
He
dropped his voice almost to a whisper. He said, "But what of my work,
Cendri, the work we came here to do for the Unity?"

 
          
"Vaniya
has been occupied with the damage from the quake—"

 
          
"Oh,
come on! If quakes are as common as that here, it wouldn't be up to the
Pro-Matriarch to handle it all personally! That's the excuse she's making—just
to delay us!" He went to the window and stared down morosely at the
distant ruins.

 
          
"Have
you found out, yet, why they call them We-were-guided?"

 
          
"I've
had no chance to ask, Dal."

 
          
"Why not?
Sharrioz!" he stormed, "the ruins
are what you're mainly supposed to be interested in, here! What do you and
Miranda talk about?"

 
          
Cendri
sighed and said, "Nothing in particular, Dal, nothing that would interest
you." It was true, and she resented it; all the things she was learning
about this world, all the strangenesses, the wonder of the difference, meant
nothing to Dal; she had learned that in the first few days. Suddenly she was
overcome by a surge of resentment so enormous it was all she could do to keep
from throwing something at him.

           
He expects me
to be
interested,
even enthralled,
in his damned
ruins.
Yet he won't take the slightest
interest in my work.'

 
          
Dal
threw himself down in the padded alcove where they slept. "Aren't you
coming to bed?"

 
          
"Later,
Dal," she said, turning her back on him. "I want to write up my notes
for today. One of us ought to do some work."

 
          
He
scrambled up; stood over her in a rage.

 
          
"That's
not fair! It isn't my fault we haven't started the work we came here to
do!"

 
          
"I
didn't mean that," she said, sighing. "I'm sorry, Dal. Tomorrow I'll
try to find out if Vaniya will see me, and put it to her that we should really
begin our work in the ruins. And if not—well, perhaps you are right, perhaps we
should approach the other Pro-Matriarch."

 
          
He
said, a little placated, "Is the High Matriarch still in her coma, neither
living nor dying?"

 
          
Cendri
nodded. "We may have to wait until she recovers or dies, Dal. That may be
what they are waiting for."

 
          
He
grumbled, "And what if the political party who doesn't want the ruins
touched, comes into power then? I think we ought to make some attempt to start
work; so that at least the Unity knows whether or not they are genuinely ruins
of the Builders, or just some ordinary extinct civilization—"

 
          
"I
couldn't agree more, Dal," Cendri said, sighing and putting away her
notes. She could not write them up in peace when Dal was in this mood. It
seemed there was only one way to placate his bruised pride. She tried to make
allowances for it; this was the only function he was supposed to have here, it
was no wonder that he tried to make an impression the only way he could, to
leave the stamp of his body on Cendri, to make up for his humiliation otherwise
on this world. But she found herself helplessly resenting it, enduring it,
without desire, feeling used and exhausted.

 
          
But
how
would I expect him to
feel, here?
Loyally, trying to stifle her
resentment, she allowed him to lead her to the padded alcove. Amusement corner,
she thought wryly, whose amusement?

 
          
Hours
later she woke, to a sound like a thunderclap. A moment later she heard screens
toppling over in the main part of the room, the cries of children wakened
roughly out of sleep, and thought; an earthquake/ Again, so soon?

 
          
Dal
was sitting up at her side, listening to the sound, everywhere in the house, of
collapsing screens, rattling dishes, crying children. There was a soft, urgent
rapping on their door. A low voice called, "You are safe, Scholar Dame,
the worst is already over, but you must join us outdoors; it is better to
remain outside until we are sure there will be no aftershocks!"

 
          
Cendri
threw on a random garment, hurried down the steps, Dal at her side. She heard
crying children, the sound of older children sleepily protesting. A woman she
knew only by sight clutched at her arm and asked, "Will your Companion
carry my little son? He is too heavy for my arms, and too sleepy to walk!"