John Racham (11 page)

"The others?
Good God!" He knew sudden chagrin and shame.
"What
about the other two?
Christine and her father?
What about them?"

"Do
not excite yourself too much. They are well now. For a time they had the
digestive sickness that you had

74 but not so severely as you
had
it, nor did it take them so long to recover. It seems
you are different from them in constitution as well as mind."

"For a time?" he
echoed. "And they are all right now?"

"They
are well and fit, quite happy. I have taken care of that. I instructed the
jungle people in the proper diet: certain fruits and leaves, and that fermented
juice they had given you. And as soon as they were well enough I had them
properly paired and involved in the . . . word? You have a word for a group of
people who are interrelated?
Family?"

Query
stared at her in bewilderment and growing unease. "You had them paired?
Involved in the tribe? In God's name, how long have I been here?"

She
frowned now, no more than a small wrinkle of her brow. "That is a very
difficult question. We do not have this concept of time as you do, as
measurement." She lifted her hands from her knees and put them palm to
palm in front of her. "There is now, this moment. There is that moment
which is gone," she moved her left hand away to the side, "and all
the other moments before that. And the moment which is not yet come, and all
the moments yet to come after that," away went her right hand. "But
when you say how long, I cannot tell you.
As long as my arm
or my leg?
Or from this hand to the other one?"
She spread her arms wide now,
then
returned them to
her knees. "I cannot tell you how long. Enough that they are well and fit,
that you are well and fit also, enough that I have had time—that word—to study
how you speak. That is how long."

Query
sagged, his mind groping for clues and finding none. "You're sure they are
well and healthy?"

"Quite sure.
And now you are distressed enough. You must
eat and drink with me, and then we will sleep and gain more strength." She
rose from her chair and held out her hand to him. He got up unsteadily and took
a step toward her, then another, and it was as if he hadn't moved in months.

"Of course I'm
distressedl
"
he protested, as she took his fingers. "They must be worried stiff about
me. Do they know about me? That I am here with you, I mean?"

"I cannot reach them as I reach you.
They are different

75

Come,
it doesn't matter so long as they are happy." She led him on unsteady legs
out of one chamber and into another, and he had the impression of going around
a corner. This was a bigger space, where the walls were a living curtain of
flowering shrubs, all quietly glowing and there was a semicircular niche with a
ledge and a dark red covering on it, just the right height to sit on. She
stretched out comfortably at one extremity of the arc, obviously meaning him
to copy her, but he was struck by an anomaly. The red stuff was a soft
cushioning layer, as he touched it. Something like that had been on his bed,
too, where he had slept.

"A
cushion.
Some kind of material.
On this
planet?"

"No,
not as you think it. Sit and we will discuss it while we eat and drink."
He sat, and goggled as the leaves above her rustled and a bulbous fruit-head
leaned out and into her hand. She squeezed gently, so that the tip popped open,
and drank of the contents. He looked up and ducked as a similar one offered
itself to him. There were also pulp fruits and nuts, all tastily edible, even
if he did occasionally feel he was eating something alive. "Yours must be
a strange world," she suggested, "where half of everything is dead,
and you must wrap your bodies in stuff for protection and to keep warm. Dead,
here, means that brief moment when anything ceases to grow and thus dissolves
back into the whole."

"Then this
stuff," he prodded the
cushion,
"is
alive?"

"It is all part of my
tree.
My home."

"This
...
is a tree?" He stared around in sudden enlightenment. "We are inside
it. You live in it. Then it wasn't a dream?"

"It
is better to say that I live with my tree. We share. All life is sharing, all
part of the same living energy. Your world is very different from mine, but
toe
are alike in that much. Alike in shape, design and function, in almost
eveiything
except a few ideas."

"Not function," he was quick to
disagree. "We don't have anything like your mind reading ability. Nor can
we fly, or was that a dream I had?"

"You mean this?" and he choked on a
mouthful as she floated up into the air, still easily reclining, to spin lazily
and come erect with her feet inches from the floor. Then,

76
breathtakmgly
and beautifully, she floated into a slow
dance, swaying and gliding, turning and spinning, and in a moment or two he
realized that she was executing all the classical poses of ballet, the points,
the jeté, the arabesque,
ciseaux
, all in mid-air and
with smooth grace. Then came some he had never seen, nor could imagine any
ballerina achieving . . . and then, with a last dizzying spin, she settled on
her seat again with that tiny frown of hers. "This is strange to you? But
you had pictures like that in your mind!"

"Not
like that!" he breathed. "Our dancers pretend to float like
thistledown, but they are solid and heavy. They can't float."

"I am flesh," she said, "and
solid.
Heavy.
You can float like that, if you think
properly. It is all a matter of thinking the right way. You can
leam
, if you want to. I will teach you, if you will let me.
For now, we have time for a few more questions, and then sleep. Ask me."

"I
could ask a million," he confessed, his mind churning, "but I'm
still concerned about my friends. You said paired and involved with the family.
At a guess, didn't you mean integrated?" He had that creepy sense of
fingers in his mind, and then she nodded. And then, fearfully, he asked,
"What do you mean, paired?"

"Paired? Should I have said mated?
Matched together, male and female?
The polarization of
opposites.
For health and happiness! Surely something so fundamental to
life must be familiar to you?"

X

Q
uehy
was
so
shaken
as to be speechless for a
long while. And then, "You mean . . . Christine is living with one of the
native men and Evans with one of the women?"

"Of
course!" she looked really puzzled now. "How else could they be
brought back to health and how else kept healthy? It is understandable that you
have strong feelings about this, because this is the prime force, the fountain
of life for all things. But I do not understand why you are

77
distressed. I repeat, how else can one achieve properly balanced
health and happiness? It was necessary, just as it was necessary for us, you
and
I
. How else could I have helped you back into
health and strength?"

He
goggled at her again.
"You . . . and me?
Then
that
wasn't a dream either?
You and me?"

"Of
course not.
It
was necessary."

Fragments
of his dreams came back to him, and
he
started to bum and
feel
uncomfortable.
"That was a hell of a thing to do," he blurted, "just . . . just
for the good of my health!
Just for that!"

She
was still puzzled. "It was not something that
I
did
for
you. It was a sharing, a union of energies.
There is something I do not understand here. Will you permit me to look into
your thoughts?"

"I
can't stop you," he mumbled, and felt really naked, now.

"You
can and do stop me at any time you wish. Did you know that?"

"But
you've been making free with my mind for a long while!"

"Not
like that. Please, allow me to explain. Look, this is my arm, my hand, my leg,
my body. You understand? There is also my brain, in here." She touched her
head lightly. "And all my memories, values, ideas and concepts . . .
is
that right? But they are all mine, they are not me. How
do I explain that? Do you have a word?" She was leaning forward now,
animated, really intense in this search after an idea, and he was thrilled by
the sheer force that came across from her. It struck a chord in him in a way no
one else had ever done. This was the kind of problem he was always tangling
with and never able to work out.

"I
think you mean ego.
Personality.
Identity.
We have lots of words like that, but they aren't very clear. It's difficult to
pin a word on to something that we can't identify in any way except to say
that it is. It exists, without properties or qualities."

"Ah!"
she said, and smiled; and he saw that her teeth were just as perfect and white
as the rest of her. But she wasn't white now. She was all at once intensely
alive and a faint rose pink touched her skin from the inside,

transforming
it. The smile was a dazzle, too, making his heart Lift. "Ah!"
she said again, "but
the I
-me ego does have a
property.
A power.
It can choose. I can choose what I
do, what I do not do, what I think is good, is bad, is important or never mind,
what I want, what I do not want. All those other things are mine, but I choose
what I will do with them."

"That's
a good point," he admitted, "but it's not enough. I mean, I might
choose to do all sorts of things and not be able to do them!"

"It
is still a choice, but now it becomes a desire and then an act.
A striving.
You struggle with all your power— or, perhaps,
you give up, but it rests on a choice. You see? And nothing else can
choose!"

"That's
not right either," he came back at her. "I might choose not to eat
and get away with it for a while, but my body will win out in the end, when I
get really hungry."

"That
depends," she smiled more radiantly, "how strong you are. If you
really want to starve to death, you can do it. But enough of that, we are
agreed on this thing, let us call it your word, Ego.
You.
When you were asleep I looked into your mind. Yes, but only into your memories
and your action patterns.
Words.
Values
...
a little.
Ideas . . . some of those.
But not all.
Only those I needed to
leam
your speech and to make
you fit and
well,
and that part was simpler than I had
expected, because you and I are so much alike. And nowhere in those areas was
there any barrier to me. Do you understand that? I cannot touch what is closed
to me. No one can. It is choice again, you see? If there are things that you
choose to keep to yourself, as part of you, then I cannot intrude, nor can
anyone else. Just as, if you had not wanted to become well, nothing I did would
have been of any use. It is like that!"

He
was fascinated by the way she had come to life, by the tremendous vitality that
warmed him, stirred his blood, as if she was reaching out to hold him
physically. And yet there was nothing contrived about it. He had the complete
conviction that if he had been able to look into her mind, as she could see
into his, he would have seen it

79 all open and free from any kind of
pretense. He felt afire and humbled at the same time.

"All
right," he said, nerving himself. "You've persuaded me. Go ahead and
look." But her smile went away now, and she was calm again.

"Not
like that. Not in fear and determination. Let me see, but only because I am
curious, because I want to help, because I am interested—not because I am
persuading you against your will."

"All right," he
whispered. "I trust you."

Now,
like a lamp lighting up, her smile was
a radiance
. And
he felt the delicate touch of feather fingers, a tickle in his mind, and
watched her face anxiously, trying to sense her emotions, if any. Her smile
faded away slowly into a curiously guarded expression, for
all
the
world as if she was trying to conceal amusement. And then
a
small frown set two tiny lines between her eyes, and she sighed.

"You,"
she said, very softly, "are confused. It is understandable. It can be
cleared away. We are even less different than I thought.
So
very simple.
Who would have thought that something so simple could make
such
a confusion
. But never mind, that can
wait." She gave him
a
sudden
smile that rocked him with its undertones of mischief and then was serious
again. "It is the other two. I may have made a mistake about them. I think
not, but there is one way to make sure. I have told you I cannot reach into
their minds as I do with you. They are different.
Closed up.
They are all ego, clutching everything to
themselves
.
But perhaps I can reach them
a
little
through you. Cornel"

She
rose and led him back to the room he had awakened in, over to the bed he had
slept on. There was that same resilient red surface here.

"Lie
down!" she ordered gently. "Stretch
outl
Move further along . . . there!" and as he shifted along she sat, turned,
and stretched herself out by his side. He tensed, his heart coming up in his
throat as he felt her body warm and silky against his, as she slid her arm
under his head. "Hold me," she whispered. "Very close.
Tight.
Good. Now, shut your eyes and see through mine. You
can. Just want
tol
"

And, all at once, he could.
Blurrily at first, but then

80 more clear, he seemed to be a bodiless
vision, swooping through the dark green gloom at breathtaking speed, suddenly
and startlingly to leap into hard focus. And he knew, without knowing how, that
he was looking out of the eyes of the head man of the jungle tribe. Only dimly
was he aware of
Azul's
hand finding his and bringing
it to her breast, of her warmth pressing close to him. All the rest of his
consciousness looked out of those eyes, saw the steep and tortuous gorge that
led up to the home site, and surveyed the rest of the party with competent
care. There was the sense of partial success, a good hunt, a capture of a brood
of little running things, something like pigs. And weary anticipation after a
hard effort.
Nearly home now.
One last look to make
sure everyone was present, even though he could sense them all . . . except
one. Mark him with care. Turn and stare. And Query gasped mentally, as a
cheery, ruddy, grinning face showed up back there.

Old Evans, beyond doubt, but leaner and fitter than he remembered.
Younger, too, by the look
And
with a stuck carcass slung over a shoulder, and a tube-weapon tucked under his
arm. But now, as the head man, he faced forward and tramped the last few yards
up to the flat, into that warm and welcome breeze and sight of the pool and the
waterfall.
Homel
And here came the swarm of old men
and women, toddlers, young ones, all eager to grab food and
cany
it off. And there went old Evans, grabbing and hugging a laughing and comely
native woman who was obviously glad to see him back. A happy sight Query warmed
to it, to the way the others met and embraced. And then he sensed a special
warmth as one woman sorted herself out of the rest. Taller than the others,
Lithe and lovely as she ran with arms outstretched . . . and Query caught his
breath. It was Christine, but this was Christine transformed, lovely and alive
as an Amazon, her full-bosomed curves more glorious than ever, as firm and
inviting as any young girl's. She would have passed for a delicious eighteen
as she ran to hurl herself at the head man and hug him . . . and the
instinctive emotional reaction struck through Query like a flame . . . and in
that same instant the vision was gone and he was back in his own awareness.

And aware that he was clutching
Azul
tightly to him-

81
self.
And that she was responding, hugging him
with equal fervor, the same primitive heat coursing through that perfect body
of hers, setting fire to it, and sharing that fire with him. Her lips brushed
his cheek, her quiet voice whispering.

"Give
me that strength of yours, Stephen Query, and take mine in return, that we may
both be renewed and made strong." And then she had captured his mouth, his
heart,
all
his emotions in an embrace that swept him
away and shook him, lifted him as never before. But then, somehow, it was as
if they both abandoned those interlocked bodies that came together and struck
life energy from each other . . . left them somewhere below, exulting, and he
and she went away somewhere else, somewhere quiet and immaterial, where it was
just her mind and his in close conversation. And that hint of mischief.

You are confused. Why do
you think unfair of me?

You caught me unaware. I
had no real choice!

Come
now, will you pretend that you do not want this? Will you try to pretend that,
now? Here?

And
"here" there could be no pretense, for it was just his mind and hers
merging intimately. He confessed,
Yes
. I want it, but somehow . . . not just like
this. It's not enough. You are truly a beautiful woman, and desirable, and I'm
a man, and subject to instincts which I can't deny. But it isn't enough, just
like that. For me there should be something more!

Then
he was aware of her amusement, warm and kind, without mockery.
There is your confusion. Let me help. It is
such a little thing, after all. Remember what we said. It is my body, and your
body.
Instruments which serve us, which have needs and
appetites if they are to remain healthy and serve us properly.
You
understand that?

Of course I do, that's the whole point. This
kind of relationship should be something more than just physical. That's the
way we humans feel it ought to be. We don't often achieve it, but that's what
we strive for and hope for. That's the ideal we aim at. Does that mean anything
to you?

Very much!
there
was warm tenderness now in her thought.
We are not so different, after all. Listen .
. . just
now,
when we saw your friends, when you saw
them through my eyes
...
I
saw into them
a
little. And I saw into you a great deal, much
more than before.
And now.
I am touching you now,
where before I could reach only your memories and effects, because you were
asleep. And I am amazed and impressed that your kind have somehow understood,
without knowing how, have struggled for something you could not really grasp .
. . simply because you cannot, yet, separate the ego-self from everything else.
That woman . . . for a moment I knew
her,
knew that
she was thinking of what you call love. That was
a
word I found in your mind and could not properly understand.

We've
never properly understood it either, but it's not . . . just what we are doing,
what our bodies are doing now!

Again she was amused, but still kind.
Of course not.
Love is something quite different from the
meeting and mating of healthy bodies. It is different. For you, too, it is
something more than that, but because you cannot separate the two, you confuse
one with the other and try to achieve one by means of the other. And they are
quite different. You must accept that for now, until you come to learn it for
yourself.

Completely different?

As
different as a thought is from the object you think of, but related in the same
way. Think of a
tree,
and your thought includes
everything that is or can be a tree, and all trees. But a tree is a single
thing, which grows and dies, has leaves and trunk and branches and is different
from any other tree. Your thought is not a tree; "tree" is different
but related. Think of me
...
or
yourself . . . and your thought is different
from the flesh and blood and bones, the face, form and figure of the body. The
ego-you is different from the body, but dependent on it, and related to it. The
meeting and mating of healthy bodies of polar opposite sex is the origin and source
of all living energy, of living creation. Without it there can be no life. But
love is something different.

Can I learn to love you,
Azul
?
And you to love me?

You
are not ready to know the answer to that yet, Stephen. When the time comes,
you will know. For now, let us enjoy our pleasures, share our delights,
renew
our energies, so that we may both become healthy and
happy