Master of None (55 page)

Muttered incredulity rumbled through the spectators. The arbitrators scanned the documents with expressions of suspicion and disgust, several already shaking their heads in denial.

“Instruments used then for such amputations were primitive, usually axes and hot irons for cauterization. Most male children were lobotomized to make handling them easier. Some were not, and were fully aware of what was being done to them. Even the modern Vanar word ‘kharvah’ originally meant ‘mutilated.’ These women made no effort to conceal their actions, nor did they consider what they were doing particularly horrendous.”

“This must have been an isolated incident, some deviant custom in the Nga’esha provinces...,” the Daharanan pratha h’máy interjected.

“I’m sorry, jah’nari l’amae, but it was not. Quality control records kept by inspectors and breeders prove the treatment of men as depicted in the Tais Nga’esha letter was common practice not only in the provinces but in the capital, employed by all of the Families, not just the Nga’esha. From all other accounts, Tais Nga’esha was a loving mother and a respected member of her community. She wasn’t a cruel woman. She simply regarded men as literally equivalent to human excrement: one necessary for the fertilization of the soil in order to raise crops, the other for the fertilization of women to raise daughters. There are enough cross-references in the Pratha Yaenida’s archives to suggest all the Nine Families have similar histories. They have gone unnoticed over the centuries because your records would also be in Hengeli, not Vanar.”

“Those which still exist,” Pratha Yronae said from behind him. The Daharanan pratha h’máy shot her a warning glare. “Are you accusing anyone of conspiracy, jah’nari tulyah?”

“Accusing?” Pratha Yronae’s voice behind him sounded coldly amused. “Not anyone living, no.”

The arbitrator scowled. “I think we’ve had enough of your historical exhibits, Nathan Crewe Nga’esha. But I fail to see what relevance this has to your suit. If anything, it shows how the spirit of the Founders’ laws have been applied to defend men, rather than exploit them.”

A small disturbance caught his attention. Two Changriti Dhikar cleared a path for Pratha Eraelin behind them. He faltered as she strode imperiously to the arbitrator’s section, waving away the Changriti subordinate who rose to relinquish her position. Settling in her place, she carefully adjusted her sati before lacing her hands in her lap and glowering at him. She gave no hint that she was even aware of the notoriety she had earned by her schemes against the Nga’esha with the Hengeli warships still trapped in orbit around Vanar. In the uneasy quiet, someone coughed. Nathan looked back down at his reader, oblivious to the words.

“I’ve lost my place,” he whispered to Namasi, his nerves jittery. “Take your time, Nathan.”

He took a deep breath, and found what he was looking for. “These records show that, ah... the laws and traditions credited to the Founders were not made by them at all, but by their descendants many generations later—women made wealthy enough by the Worms to import luxuries their ancestors never dreamed of. Women with leisure time enough to create art and music and debate philosophy and create a new language to suit their new world. Women could now regard men as more than just a basic genetic resource; if not as individuals equal to themselves, at least as valued possessions that enriched their own lives. I’ve included in the translations several early letters from women expressing surprise to find men capable of a level of intelligent speech and emotion almost equal to their own. Men were granted the right to a basic education, allowed to learn to read and write, less than three hundred years ago. These were the women who reformed the Vanar legal system, not to repress men, but to protect them. To give rights to the people they acknowledged for the first time as their sons and brothers and fathers.”

Eraelin Changriti’s slow, deliberate applause interrupted him, the solitary clapping resonating through the hall.

“An eloquent speech,” she said when she finally stopped. “And so convincingly delivered. One might be fooled into thinking you actually wrote it yourself.”

Namasi flushed in anger. He heard her inhale for a retort, and stopped her with a small motion of his hand, not quite touching her. Deliberately, he closed his reader and left it in his lap as he put his palms on his thighs, his head bowed deferentially.

“I won’t deny that I had help, jah’nari pratha,” he said calmly. “Vanar is a difficult language to learn, especially for someone already an adult.” He thought of Yaenida, wishing the old woman could have lived to see what havoc she’d set loose. “Once it was thought I was too old and too yepoqioh to ever conform to Vanar life, even if I was intelligent enough to learn the language.” He smiled wistfully and looked up at the arbitrators, aware of his hypercorrect demeanor. “Now I’m often accused of being more Vanar than the Vanar. I have never been able to please anyone.”

The Arjusana dalhitri h’máy caught her upper lip with her teeth to bite back her laugh, and several of the other arbitrators looked fleetingly amused.

“I know I make many errors, and some find my accent unpleasant and hard to understand. But I respectfully suggest this is hardly proof I am stupid or ignorant. I am capable of continuing without the benefit of my notes, if my using them is offensive to anyone.”

“What’s the point either way?” Eraelin rasped dismissively. “It’s ancient history, totally irrelevant.” Even the other Changriti arbitrator on the sidelines squirmed in disapproval. Yronae’s snarl behind him sounded like that of an irritable cat.

“The point, jah’nari l’amae,” he said, aware that in the years he’d been married to her daughter he had never once used his mother-inlaw’s name, nor would he now, “is that Vanar law has never been inflexible. Those traditions we hold sacred as set down by the Founders are myths. Vanar women gave men rights not because they were forced to, not because men rebelled against them, but from compassion and decency and a moral sense of justice.”

Eraelin Changriti’s expression didn’t change, but he sensed her seething hatred.

“Nonetheless, the jah’nari pratha h’máy does raise a valid objection,” he said, once again addressing the Assembly. “Ancient history. Laws have changed over the centuries, and I do not dispute that life is easier now for men than it was seven hundred years ago. Vanar prides itself on being an enlightened, pacifist society. Theft, burglary, vandalism are all practically unheard of. The standard of living, for both women and men, is excellent. Education and health are superior to many other cultures in the settled systems. Why should laws that safeguard this be changed?

“But please consider a few statistics that are not only to be found in the Nga’esha archives, but are a matter of public record.” He gestured to the little reader still in his lap. “If there is no objection, may I be allowed to refer to my notes?”

The Daharanan pratha h’máy flicked her hand dismissively, massive bracelets jingling. “Of course.”

He bowed politely and unfolded the reader. “Thank you, l’amae.” He quickly flipped forward to find his place. “In the year before Pratha Yaenida died, according to the official records kept by Family medical taemorae as well as the municipal hospitals in Sabtú, seven hundred and twelve men were treated for injuries inflicted on them by women. I’ve listed only cases where the person who caused the injury was known—most often wives or relatives. In many other cases, men treated for injuries refused to identify their assailant. You will find those statistics appended without comment or speculation.

“These injuries ranged from minor bruising to broken bones and severe stabbings or slashing, many directed at men’s genitals. Sixty-five men died as a result. Only four cases were ever referred to the Dhikar for investigation. I know from personal experience that men who have been assaulted are discouraged from seeking assistance from the Dhikar, and inquiries are rare.” He didn’t look at Eraelin Changriti, knew he didn’t have to.

He paused, his mouth dry. Although the interior of the Assembly was cool, he could feel the silk of his sati clinging to the sweat between his shoulder blades.

“In contrast, eighteen women were assaulted by men, none of them seriously injured or killed. In six cases, the assault was verbal only, no physical injury. Although rape is frequently cited as a justification for restricting men, there has not been a single reported case of rape or attempted rape in the past twenty years, and only one in the past fifty. All the accused men are now either naekulam wearing lajjae, or are permanently confined to a whitewomb.

“Three hundred and seventy-two men committed suicide that year compared to thirty-eight women. I doubt there has been any significant improvement in these statistics in the years that have followed Pratha Yaenida’s death. I ask the Assembly to consider: do these statistics reflect a truly enlightened, nonviolent society?”

“And I would suggest,” said the Daharanan pratha h’máy acting as the spokeswoman, “that the lack of women murdered and raped by men is confirmation that restricting men works, and is therefore a legitimate argument against change.”

Nathan listened carefully to her tone. Although the words might have been hostile, her voice was not.

“Possibly, jah’nari pratha. Statistics are only numbers. How they are interpreted is subjective. My intention here is to challenge the validity of that argument, and ask you to at least listen to a different point of view.”

She exchanged glances with other arbitrators, only Eraelin Changriti glowering darkly. “Continue,” she said with a shrug.

“Traditional Vanar reasoning is that women are the glue of society, natural communicators, mediators, conciliators, all innate abilities that make them excellent business people. Men are driven by testosterone. It makes us aggressive, violent, and irrational. It’s not our fault; we can’t help ourselves. But the obvious conclusion of this hormonal impairment is that men cannot be trusted. Do you agree with this precis?”

The Daharanan pratha h’máy nodded guardedly. “Absolutely. The fact is, jah’nar bhraetae, men and women are biologically different, whether you like it or not. Far from it being a privilege, women accept the heavy responsibility of providing the necessary balance between the two genders for the safety of us all, including you.”

Nathan nodded, as if agreeing. “Women make the rules; men obey them. Men can only be civilized when women can control them. If men do not behave as women think they should, they need and deserve to be disciplined, for their own good as well as the good of the community. So it follows that if a man is disciplined by his family or his wife, he must have done something to provoke it.”

She frowned, wary. “Again, that is a logical assumption.”

“May I refer to my notes again? In one case, a man had all his fingers broken after he won a game of qaellast played against his wife. Another was hit in the face so hard he required three teeth replaced because his sister found the way he laughed annoying. Another died from severe burns when his sati was set on fire by his wife because he had accidentally spilled tea on himself. You will find many more similar anecdotal reports. I ask you now: how did these men provoke such extreme punishment?”

Nathan read the facts and figures off his reader with very little emotion, having gone through them so many times he felt as if it had burnt all the anger away.

The Arjusana dalhitri h’máy scowled. “I don’t question the accuracy of your research, as far as it goes. But as you’ve said, interpretation is subjective. These incidences taken in isolation may not give the complete picture, there could well be other factors you are not aware of.”

Beside him, Namasi grunted softly to herself in satisfaction. She had spent hours speculating on every possible objection she could think might occur, drilling him on the responses. This was one they had anticipated, almost word for word.

“Then I strongly encourage you and the Dhikar to investigate each and every one of these cases thoroughly, jah’nari dalhitri, which would be more than anyone else has ever done.”

“Surely this sort of thing isn’t common in High Families,” the Hadatha arbitrator protested.

“The numbers are in the public record. High, Middle, or Common makes no difference.”

“But
you
have never been treated so harshly.”

“Me personally, jab’nari l’amae?” He was all too aware of Pratha Yronae’s presence behind him, with the familiar sensation of walking on eggs. “Not to such an extreme, no. It is well known that I’ve had difficulties with my Family and that of my wife’s in the past. But I’m very fortunate that the Nga’esha is notably one of the more liberal of the Nine Families, as the fact that I’m even here speaking today with my sister’s consent, if not her endorsement, proves.”

Eraelin Changriti snorted. “You’re speaking today only because you’ve managed to sway the sympathies of Vanar Pilots,” she snarled. “It’s always easier to persuade someone to listen to you when you hold a knife to her throat.”

The assent in the mutters that swept the Assembly didn’t disturb him. The scar along his ribs ached with the memory. “Again, jah’nari pratha, you raise a valid point. It’s been my personal experience, however, that on Vanar knives are more often used to silence people.”

Even Namasi gasped. Eraelin Changriti went as white as if she’d been slapped.

“Yes, well.” The Daharanan pratha h’máy cleared her throat cautiously. “You’ve presented your case suitably enough. But I would ask
you
to consider a question: are you genuinely expecting this Assembly to believe that, were the reverse true, men would treat women with any more tolerance and equity?”

He smiled wryly. “Of course not, l’amae. You have several thousand years of human history on your side as proof enough of that. My point is a simple one and an ancient one: when one group of people, regardless of gender or race, hold power over another, it always leads to brutality and exploitation. Your gender, pratha h’máy, has not made you any wiser or more compassionate than mine.”

The Daharanan pratha h’máy raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond to the murmur of indignation in the Assembly. “We have listened to your arguments patiently and with an open mind. Now, what is it, exactly, that you want?”