Return from the Stars (5 page)

She stared at me. She did not speak. Her lips moved, opened, closed. What was that in her eyes? Surprise? Admiration? Fear?

"Why do you say nothing?" I asked. I had to clear my throat.

"So … how old are you, really?"

I had to smile; it was not a pleasant smile.

"What does that mean, 'really'? Biologically I'm forty, but by Earth clocks, one hundred and fifty-seven…"

A long silence, then suddenly:

"Were there any women there?"

"Wait," I said. "Do you have anything to drink?"

"What do you mean?"

"Something toxic, you understand. Strong. Alcohol … or don't they drink it any more?"

"Very rarely," she replied softly, as if thinking of something else. Her hands fell slowly, touched the metallic blue of her dress.

"I'll give you some … angehen, is that all right? But you don't know what it is, do you?"

"No, I don't," I replied, unexpectedly stubborn. She went to the bar and brought back a small, bulging bottle. She poured me a drink. It had alcohol in it—not much—but there was something else, a peculiar, bitter taste.

"Don't be angry," I said, emptying the cup, and poured myself another one.

"I'm not angry. You didn't answer, but perhaps you don't want to?"

"Why not? I can tell you. There were twenty-three of us altogether, on two ships. The second was the
Ulysses
. Five pilots to a ship, and the rest scientists. There were no women."

"Why?"

"Because of children," I explained. "You can't raise children on such ships, and even if you could, no one would want to. You can't fly before you're thirty. You have to have two diplomas under your belt, plus four years of training, twelve years in all. In other words—women of thirty usually have children. And there were … other considerations."

"And you?" she asked.

"I was single. They picked unmarried ones. That is—volunteers."

"You wanted to…"

"Yes. Of course."

"And you didn't…"

She broke off. I knew what she wanted to say. I remained silent.

"It must be weird, coming back like this," she said almost in a whisper. She shuddered. Suddenly she looked at me, her cheeks darkened, it was a blush.

"Listen, what I said before, that was just a joke, really…"

"About the hundred years?"

"I was just talking, just to talk, it had no…"

"Stop," I grumbled. "Any more apologizing and I'll really feel all that time."

She was silent. I forced myself to look away from her. Inside that other room, the nonexistent room behind glass, an enormous male head sang without sound; I saw the dark read of the throat quiver at the effort, cheeks glistening, the whole face moving to an inaudible rhythm.

"What will you do?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. I don't know yet."

"You have no plans?"

"No. I have a little—it's a … bonus, you understand. For all that time. When we left, it was put into the bank in my name—I don't even know how much there is. I don't know a thing. Listen, what is this Cavut?"

"The Cavuta?" she corrected me. "It's … a sort of school, plasting; nothing great in itself, but sometimes one can get into the reals…"

"Wait … then what exactly do you do?"

"Plast. You don't know what that is?"

"No."

"How can I explain? To put it simply, one makes dresses, clothing in general—everything…"

"Tailoring?"

"What does that mean?"

"Do you sew things?"

"I don't understand."

"Ye gods and little fishes! Do you design dresses?"

"Well … yes, in a sense, yes. I don't design, I only make…"

I gave up.

"And what is a real?"

That truly floored her. For the first time she looked at me as if I were a creature from another world.

"A real is … a real…" she repeated helplessly. "They are … stories. It's for watching."

"That?" I pointed at the glass wall.

"Oh no, that's vision…"

"What, then? Movies? Theater?"

"No. Theater, I know what that was—that was long ago. I know: they had actual people there. A real is artificial, but one can't tell the difference. Unless, I suppose, one got in there, inside…"

"Got in?"

The head of the giant rolled its eyes, reeled, looked at me as if it were having great fun, observing this scene.

"Listen, Nais," I said suddenly, "either I'll go now, because it's very late, or…"

"I'd prefer the 'or.'"

"But you don't know what I want to say."

"Say it, then."

"All right. I wanted to ask you more about various things. About the big things, the most important, I already know something; I spent four days at Adapt, on Luna. But that was a drop in the bucket. What do you do when you aren't working?"

"One can do a heap of things," she said. "One can travel, actually or by moot. One can have a good time, go to the real, dance, play tereo, do sports, swim, fly—whatever one wants."

"What is a moot?"

"It's a little like the real, except you can touch everything. You can walk on mountains there, on anything—you'll see for yourself, it's not the sort of thing you can describe. But I had the impression you wanted to ask about something else…?"

"Your impression is right. How is it between men and women?"

Her eyelids fluttered.

"I suppose the way it has always been. What can have changed?"

"Everything. When I left—don't take this in bad part—a girl like you would not have brought me to her place at this hour."

"Really? Why not?"

"Because it would have meant only one thing."

She was silent for a moment.

"And how do you know it didn't?"

My expression amused her. I looked at her; she stopped smiling.

"Nais … how is it…?" I stammered. "You take a complete stranger and…"

She was silent.

"Why don't you answer?"

"Because you don't understand a thing. I don't know how to tell you. It's nothing, you know…"

"Aha. It's nothing," I repeated. I couldn't sit any longer. I got up. I nearly leapt, forgetting myself. She flinched.

"Sorry," I muttered and began to pace. Behind the glass a park stretched out in the morning sunlight; along an alley, among trees with pale pink leaves, walked three youths in shirts that gleamed like armor.

"Are there still marriages?"

"Naturally."

"I don't understand! Explain this to me. Tell me. You see a man who appeals to you, and without knowing him, right away…"

"But what is there to tell?" she said reluctantly. "Is it really true that in your day, back then, a girl couldn't let a man into her room?"

"She could, of course, and even with that purpose, but … not five minutes after seeing him…"

"How many minutes, then?"

I looked at her. She was quite serious. Well, yes, how was she to know? I shrugged.

"It wasn't a matter of time only. First she had to … see something in him, get to know him, like him; first they went out together…"

"Wait," she said. "It seems that you don't understand a thing. After all, I gave you brit."

"What brit? Ah, the milk? What of it?"

"What do you mean, what of it? Was there … no brit?"

She began to laugh; she was convulsed with laughter. Then suddenly she broke off, looked at me, and reddened terribly.

"So you thought … you thought that I … no!"

I sat down. My fingers were unsteady; I wanted to hold something in them. I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and lit it. She opened her eyes.

"What is that?"

"A cigarette. What—you don't smoke?"

"It's the first time I ever saw one… So that's what a cigarette looks like. How can you inhale the smoke like that? No, wait—the other thing is more important. Brit is not milk. I don't know what's in it, but to a stranger one always gives brit."

'To a man?"

"Yes."

"What does it do, then?"

"What it does is make him behave, make him have to. You know … maybe some biologist can explain it to you."

"To hell with the biologist. Does this mean that a man to whom you've given brit can't do anything?"

"Naturally."

"What if he doesn't want to drink?"

"How could he not want to?"

Here all understanding ended.

"But you can't force him to drink," I continued patiently.

"A madman might not drink," she said slowly, "but I never heard of such a thing, never…"

"Is this some kind of custom?"

"I don't know what to tell you. Is it a custom that you don't go around naked?"

"Aha. Well, in a sense—yes. But you can undress on the beach."

"Completely?" she asked with sudden interest.

"No. A bathing suit… But there were groups of people in my day, they were called nudists…"

"I know. No, that's something else. I thought that you all…"

"No. So this drinking is like wearing clothes? Just as necessary?"

"Yes. When there are … two of you."

"Well, and afterward?"

"What afterward?"

"The next time?"

This conversation was idiotic and I felt terrible, but I had to find out.

"Later? It varies. To some … you always give brit."

"The rejected suitor," I blurted out.

"What does that mean?"

"No, nothing. And if a girl visits a man, what then?"

"Then he drinks it at his place."

She looked at me almost with pity. But I was stubborn.

"And when he doesn't have any?"

"Any brit? How could he not have it?"

"Well, he ran out. Or … he could always lie."

She began to laugh.

"But that's … you think that I keep all these bottles here, in my apartment?"

"You don't? Where, then?"

"Where they come from, I don't know. In your day, was there tap water?"

"There was," I said glumly. There might not have been. Sure! I could have climbed into the rocket straight from the forest. I was furious for a moment, but I calmed down; it was not, after all, her fault.

"There, you see—did you know in which direction the water flowed before it…?"

"I understand, no need to go on. All right. So it's a kind of safety measure? Very strange!"

"I don't think so," she said. "What do you have there, the white thing under your sweater?"

"A shirt."

"What is that?"

"You never saw a shirt? Sort of, well, clothing. Made of nylon."

I rolled up my sleeve and showed her.

"Interesting," she said.

"It's a custom," I said, at a loss. Actually, they had told me at Adapt to stop dressing in the style of a hundred years ago; I didn't want to. I had to admit, however, that she was right; brit was for me what a shirt was for her. In the final analysis, no one had forced people to wear shirts, but they all had. Evidently, it was the same with brit.

"How long does brit work?" I asked.

She blushed a little.

"You're in such a hurry. You still know nothing."

"I didn't say anything wrong," I defended myself. "I only wanted to know… Why are you looking at me like that? What's the matter with you? Nais!"

She got up slowly. She stood behind the armchair.

"How long ago, did you say? A hundred and twenty years?"

"A hundred and twenty-seven. What about it?"

"And were you … betrizated?"

"What is that?"

"You weren't?"

"I don't even know what it means. Nais … girl, what's the matter with you?"

"No, you weren't," she whispered. "If you had been, you would know."

I started toward her. She raised her hands.

"Keep away. No! No! I beg you!"

She retreated to the wall.

"But you yourself said that brit… I'm sitting now. You see, I'm sitting. Calm yourself. Tell me what it is, this bet … or whatever."

"I don't know exactly. But everyone is betrizated. At birth."

"What is it?"

"They put something into the blood, I think."

"To everyone?"

"Yes. Because … brit … doesn't work without that. Don't move!"

"Child, don't be ridiculous."

I put out my cigarette.

"I am not, after all, a wild animal. Don't be angry, but … it seems to me that you've all gone a little mad. This brit … well, it's like handcuffing everyone because someone might turn out to be a thief. I mean, there ought to be a little trust."

"You're terrific." She seemed calmer, but still she did not sit. "Then why were you so indignant before, about my bringing home strangers?"

"That's something else."

"I don't see the difference. You're sure you weren't betrizated?"

"I wasn't."

"But maybe now? When you returned?"

"I don't know. They gave me all kinds of shots. Is it so important?"

"It is. They did that? Good."

She sat down.

"I have a favor to ask you," I said as calmly as I could. "You must explain to me…"

"What?"

"Your fear. Did you think I would attack you, or what? But that's ridiculous!"

"No. If one looks at it rationally, no, but—it was overwhelming, you see. Such a shock. I never saw a person who was not…"

"But surely you can't tell?"

"You can. Oh, you can!"

"How?"

She was silent.

"Nais…"

"And if…"

"What?"

"I'm afraid."

"To say?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

"You'd understand if I told you. Betrization, you see, isn't done by brit. With the brit, it's only—a side effect… Betrization has to do with something else." She was pale. Her lips trembled. What a world, I thought, what a world this is!

"I can't. I'm terribly afraid."

"Of me?"

"Yes."

"I swear that…"

"No, no. I believe you, only … no. You can't understand this."

"You won't tell me?"

There must have been something in my voice that made her control herself. Her face became grim. I saw from her eyes the effort it was for her.

"It is … so that … in order that it be impossible to … kill."

"No! People?"

"Anyone."

"Animals, too?"

"Animals. Anyone."

She twisted and untwisted her fingers, not taking her eyes off me, as if with these words she had released me from an invisible chain, as if she had put a knife into my hand, a knife I could stab her with.