Wyst: Alastor 1716 (7 page)

In any event I’ve been getting ideas for depictions, which I know
you don’t take seriously. The light here is absolutely ravishing: a deceptively
pale light, which seems to diffract everywhere into colored fringes.

I have much more to tell you, but I’ll reserve something for my
next. I won’t ask you to send in “bonter”; I’d be—well, to tell the truth, I
don’t know what would happen, but I don’t want to learn.

Immigrants and visitors are not well liked, yet I find that my
fame as a “fixer” has already spread far and wide. Isn’t this a joke? I know
only what we were taught at school and what I learned at home. Still, everyone
who has a bad screen insists that I fix it for him. Sometimes utter strangers!
And when I do these favors, do they thank me? Verbally, yes, but there is a
most peculiar expression on their faces: I can’t describe it. Contempt, distaste,
antipathy? Because I so easily command this (to them) recondite skill. I have
on this instant come to a decision. No longer will I perform favors free. I
will demand tokens or hours of drudge. They will sneer and make remarks, but
they will respect me more.

Here are some of my ideas for depictions:

The blocks of Uncibal, in the colors which hold so much meaning
for the Arrabins.

The view along Uncibal River from a prospect deck, with the oncoming
sea of faces, all blank and serene.

The games, the spunk battles, the Arrabin version of hussade.
[16]

Disjerferact, the carnival along the mudflats. More of this later.

Just a word or two about the local version of hussade, and I hope
no one in the family will be shocked or dismayed. The game is played to
standard rules; the defeated sheirl, however, must undergo a most distressing experience
.. She is disrobed and placed upon a cart with a repulsive wooden effigy, which
is so controlled as to commit an unnatural act upon the sheirl; meanwhile, the
losing team must pull this cart around the stadium. The wonder never leaves me:
how are sheirls recruited? Each must realize that sooner or later her team must
lose, yet none ever seems to consider this contingency.

They are either very brave or very foolish, or perhaps they are impelled
by some dark human inclination which rejoices at public degradation.

Well, enough on this subject. I think I mentioned that my camera
has been stolen: hence no photographs. In fact, I’m not sure that there is any
agency at Uncibal to make prints from my matrix.

I will report further in my next letter.

From your loving,
Jantiff.

One morning Esteban came by Jantiff’s apartment with a Mend.
“Attention, please, Janty Ravensroke! This is Olin, a dear good fellow,
for all his portly abdomen. It signifies sound sleep and a peaceful conscience,
or so Olin assures me; he owns no magic bonter cabinet.”

Jantiff politely acknowledged the introduction, and offered
a pleasantry of his own: “Please don’t consider me guilt-ridden because I am
thin!”

Olin and Esteban were provoked to hearty laughs. Esteban
said: “Olin’s screen has developed a most curious ailment; it spits up plumes
of red fire, even at amusing messages. He naturally suffers agonies of
distress. I told him: Be of good cheer! My friend Jantiff is a Zeck technician
who likes nothing better than setting such things right.”

Jantiff attempted a bright tone. “I have rather a good idea
along these lines. Suppose I conduct a seminar on small repairs, at a charge
per session, say, of fifty tokens a student. Everyone—you and Olin included—can
learn all I know, and then you can do your own repairs and also oblige those of
your friends who lack the skills.”

Olin’s smile trembled uncertainly; Esteban’s handsome eyebrows
peaked emphatically. “My dear fellow!” exclaimed Esteban. “Are you really in
earnest?”

“Of course! Everyone gains. I earn extra tokens and also
avoid the nuisance of running about performing favors. You in turn augment your
capabilities.”

For a moment Esteban stood speechless. Then, half-laughing,
he said: “But Jantiff, dear naive Jantiff! I don’t want to augment my
capabilities! This implies a predisposition for work. For civilized men
work is an unnatural occupation!”

“I suppose there is no inherent virtue in work,” Jantiff
conceded. “Unless, of course, it is performed by someone else.”

“Work is the useful function of machines,” said Esteban. “Let
the machines augment their capabilities! Let the automatons ponder and drudge!
The span of existence is oh! so brief; why should a single second be wasted?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Jantiff. “An ideal concept and
all very well. In practice however both you and Olin already have wasted two or
three hours inspecting Olin’s screen, exclaiming at the flaw, formulating plans
and coming here. Assume that I agreed to look into the matter, then you and
Olin must return to Olin’s apartment to watch me make the repair. Let us say a
total of four hours apiece. Eight man-hours as a grand total, not even counting
my time, when Olin probably could have set the matter to rights in ten, minutes.
Isn’t this a case where capabilities saves time?”

Esteban gave his head a grave shake. “Jantiff, above all you
are a master of casuistry. This ‘capability’ implies a point of view quite at odds
with the beatific
[17]
life.”

“I feel that I must agree to this,” said Olin.

“You’d rather lose the use of your screen than fix it yourself?”

Esteban’s versatile eyebrows performed another feat, this
time indicating quizzical distaste. It goes without saying! This practicality
of yours is a backward step. I also might mention that your proposed class is
exploitative, and would surely excite the Monitors.”

“I hadn’t thought in those terms,” said Jantiff. “Well, in
all candor, I find that these little favors are taking too much of my time and
destroying the beatitude of my life. If Olin wants to work my next drudge, I’ll
fix his screen.”

Olin and Esteban exchanged amused glances. Both shrugged,
turned away and departed the apartment.

From Zeck came a parcel for Jantiff, containing pigments,
applicators, papers and mats. Jantiff immediately set to work making, real the
images which haunted his imagination. Skorlet occasionally watched him, making
no comments and asking no. questions; Jantiff did not trouble to ask her
opinion.

In the refectory one day, the girl whom Jantiff previously
had admired plumped herself down opposite him. With her lips twitching against
a grin of sheer exuberance, she pointed a finger toward Jantiff. “Explain something:
do! Every time I come, to the wumper you stare at me first from one side of
your face and them the other. Why should this be? Am I so outrageously
attractive and extraordinarily beautiful.”

Jantiff grinned sheepishly. “I find you outrageously attractive
and extraordinarily beautiful.”

“Sh!” The girl glanced mischievously right and left. “Already
I’m considered a sexivationist. You’ll absolutely confirm the general
suspicion!”

‘Well, be that as it may, I can’t keep my eyes off of you,
and that’s the truth of it.”

“And all you do is look? How odd! But then, you’re an immigrant.”

“Just a visitor. I hope that my coarse behavior hasn’t disturbed
you.”

“Not in the slightest. I’ve always thought you rather pleasant.
We’ll copulate if you like; you can show me some new and amusing antics. No,
not now; low drudge awaits me, curse all of it. Another time, if you’re of a
mind.”

“Well, yes,” said Jantiff. “I suppose it boils down to that.
Your name, I believe, is Kedidah.”

“How did you know?”

“Skorlet told me.”

Kedidah made a wry face. “Skorlet doesn’t like me. She says I’m
flippant, and an arrant sexivator, as I mentioned.”

“I’m bewildered. Why?”

“Oh—I don’t really know. I like to tease and play. I arrange
my hair to suit my mood. I like men to like me and I’m not concerned about women.”
[18]

“These aren’t flagrant crimes.”

“Ma! Ask Skorlet!”

“I’m not concerned for Skorlet’s opinions. In fact, I find
her overly intense. My name, incidentally, is Jantiff Ravensroke.”

“What an odd name! No doubt you’re an ingrained elitist. How
are you adapting to egalism?”

“Quite well: Although I’m still perplexed by certain of the
Arrabin customs.”

“Understandably. We’re a most complicated people, maybe to
compensate for our egalism.”

“I suppose that’s possible. Would you like to visit other
worlds?”

“Of course, unless I had to toil constantly, in which case I’ll
stay here where life is gay. I have friends and clubs and games; I never gloom
because I think only of pleasure. In fact, some of us are going out on forage
in a day or so; you’re welcome to come along if you like.”

“What’s a ‘forage’?”

“An expedition into the primitive! We ride up into the
hills, then maraud south into the Weirdlands. This time it’s to be Parnatra
Valley, where we know secret places. Well hope to find some very good boater;
but even if not, it’s always a lark.”

“I’d like to go, if I’m not on drudge.”

“We’ll start Twisday morning, right after wump and return
Fyrday night, or even Dwanday morning.”

“That suits me very well.”

“Good. We’ll meet here. Bring some sort of robe, since we’ll
probably sleep in the open. With luck we’ll find all kinds of tasty things.”

Early Twisday morning, as soon as the refectory opened its
doors, Jantiff went to take his breakfast. On Skorlet’s advice he carried a
knapsack containing, a blanket, a towel and two days advance ration of gruff.
Skorlet had spoken brusquely of the expedition, with something of a sneer: “You’ll
get wet in the fog and scratch yourself on brambles and run through the night
until you’re exhausted and if you’re lucky you’ll build a fire if someone
thinks to bring along matches. Still, by all means, go out and flounder through
the forest and dodge the man-traps and who knows? Maybe you’ll find a berry or
two or a bit of toasted meat. Where are you going?”

“Kedidah spoke of secret places in Pamatra Valley.”

“Pah. What does she know of secret places, or anything else
for that matter? Esteban is planning a real bonterfest before long; save your
appetite for that.”

“Well, I’ve already agreed to go with Kedidah’s group.”

Skorlet shrugged and sniffed. “Do as you like. Here, take
these matches and be prepared, and don’t eat toad-wort, otherwise you’ll never
return to Uncibal. As for Kedidah, she’s never been right about anything, and I’m
told she doesn’t clean herself, when you copulate you never know what you’re
wading around in.”

Jantiff mumbled something incoherent and busied himself with
his painting. Skorlet came to look over his shoulder., “Who are those people?”

‘They’re the Whispers, receiving a committee of contractors
in Serce.”

Skorlet gave him a searching scrutiny. “You’re never been to
Serce.”

“I used a photograph from the
Concept.
Didn’t you see
it?”

“No one sees anything in the
Concept
except hussade announcements.”
She studied another picture: a view along Uncibal River. She gave her head a
shake of distaste. “All those faces, each so exact! It quite makes me uneasy!”

“Look carefully,” Jantiff suggested. “Are there any you recognize?”

After a moment’s silence Skorlet said: “To be sure! There’s
Esteban! And can this be me? Very clever; you have a remarkable knack!” She
took up another sheet. “And what is this? the wumper? All these faces again;
they seem so blank.” She turned Jantiff another searching look. “What effect
is this?”

Jantiff said hurriedly: “Arrabins seem, somehow, composed,
let us say.”

“Composed? What a thought! We’re fervent, idealistic,
reckless—when we have the opportunity—mutable, passionate. All these, yes.
Composed? No.”

“No doubt you’re right,” said Jantiff. “Somehow I haven’t
captured this quality.”

Skorlet turned away, then spoke over her shoulder. “I wonder
if you could spare some of that blue pigment? I’d like to paint symbols on my
cult globes.”

Jantiff looked first up at the constructions of paper
and wire, each a foot in diameter, then to the wide coarse brush which Skorlet
habitually employed, and finally with eyebrows ruefully raised, to the rather
small capsule of blue pigment. “Really, Skorlet, I don’t see how this is
possible. Can’t you use house paint or ink, or something similar?”

Skorlet went pink in the face. “And how or where can I get
house paint? Or ink? I know nothing of these things; they aren’t available to
just anyone, and I’ve never been on a drudge where I could snerge any.”

“I think I saw ink for sale on Counter 5 at the Area Store,”
Jantiff said cautiously. “Perhaps—”

Skorlet made a vehement gesture, expressing rejection and
disgust. “At a hundred tokens the dram? You foreigners are all alike, so
pampered by your wealth, yet heartless and selfish beneath it all!”

“Oh, very well,” said Jantiff despondently. “Take the pigment
if you really need it. I’ll use another color.”

But Skorlet, flouncing away, went to the mirror and began to
change the decoration of her ears. Jantiff heaved a sigh and continued with his
painting.

The foragers gathered in the lobby of Old Pink; eight men
and five women. Jantiff’s knapsack instantly aroused jocular attention. “Ha,
where does Jantiff think we’re off to, the Par Edge?”

“Jantiff, dear fellow, we’re only going on a bit of a
forage, not a migration!”

“Jantiff is an optimist! He takes trays and bags and
baskets to bring home his banter!”

“Bah, I’ll bring mine home, too, but on the inside!”

A young man named Garrace, portly and blond, asked:

“Jantiff, tell us really and in truth: what are you carrying?”
Jantiff, grinning apologetically, said: “Actually, nothing of any consequence:
a change of clothes, a few cakes of gruff, my sketch pad, and, if you must know
the truth, some toilet paper.”

“Good old Jantiff! He is at least candid!”

“Well then, let’s be off, toilet paper and all!”

The group proceeded to the man-way, rode to Uncibal River,
moved west for an hour, changed to a lateral which took them south into the
hills.

Jantiff had studied a map the day previously, and now tried
to identify features of the landscape. He pointed to a great granite abutment
looming over the way ahead. “That must be the Solitary Witness; am I right?”

“Exactly,” said Thworn, an assertive young man with russet.
hair. “Over and beyond is the Near Wold and a spate of banter if we’re lucky.
See that notch? That’s. Hebron Gap; it will take us into Pamatra Valley and
that’s where we’re bound.”

“I suspect we’d do better out on the Middle Wold, toward Fruberg,”
said a saturnine young man named Uwser. “Some people. I know worked Pamatra Valley
two, or three months ago and came home, hungry.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed Thworn. “I can smell the vat-berries
dripping from here! And don’t forget the Frubergers: a stone-throwing
gang of villains!”

“The Valley folk are no better,” declared Sunover, a girl as
tall as Jantiff and of far more impressive girth. “On the whole, they’re
fat and smelly, and I don’t like to copulate with them.”

“In that case, run,” said Uwser. “Have you no imagination?”

“Eat, copulate, run,” intoned Garrace. “The three dynamics
of Sunover’s existence.”

Jantiff asked Sunover: “Why either copulate or run, if you’re
not of a mind to do so?”

Sunover merely made an impatient clucking sound. Kedidah
gave Jantiff a pat on the cheek. “They’re both good for the soul, dear boy, and
sometimes they aid one’s comfort as well.”

Jantiff said in a worried voice: “I’d like to know what’s expected
of me. Do I copulate or do I run? What are the signals? And where do we find
the bonter?”

“Everything happens at once,” said Garrace with an impish grin.

“All in good time, Jantiff!” spoke the imperious Thworn. “Don’t
become anxious at this stage of the game!”

Jantiff shrugged and gave his attention to a set of industrial
buildings toward which most of the traffic on the man-way seemed to be directed.
In response to his question Garrace informed him that here those hormones
which figured largely in Arrabin exports were extracted, refined and packaged. “You’ll
get your notice before long,” Garrace told him. “It’s our common fate. Into the
plant like so many automatons, down on the pallet, along the operation line.
They milk your glands, distill your blood, tap your spinal ducts, and in general
have their way with all your most private parts. Don’t worry; you’ll have your
turn.”