Otherness (4 page)

Elvis roams the open interstates in a big white cadillac. How else to explain the traces some have found, sparkling like fairy dust across the fading yellow lines?

A pollen of happier days . . . the glitter of rhinestones.

Story Notes

The preceding little fable, cribbed from my novel
Earth
, is an example of the supershort story, which some call a "drabble." Collections have been published in the 100- and 750-word categories, but my favorite length is precisely 250.

"The Giving Plague" was a reflection on the times, written as the first deadly pandemic of postindustrial society shattered our brief, blithe illusion that the old dangers were behind us. AIDS has transformed the way people look upon each other, the world, and life itself. The cruel ironies of disease and death were poignant for most of human history, when illness was a dark mystery. Now, as we unravel the genetic codes and begin looking our enemies in the face, so to speak, the paradoxes seem only to multiply. Symbiosis and genetic "negotiation" are also contemplated as themes in a novel I wrote with Gregory Benford,
Heart of the Comet
.

One editor rejected "The Giving Plague" because he thought it "irresponsible to undermine confidence in the blood supply." I leave it to the reader to compare that unique proposition to the tale itself and decide which is more far-fetched. Fortunately, weighty matters of public policy remain unaffected by scary SF tales . . . even those that become Hugo nominees.

Coming up next, "Dr. Pak's Preschool" seems a natural extrapolation of the "enrichment parenting" craze that's sweeping not only Japan, but yuppie America and elsewhere, as well. Having recently embarked on fatherhood, I know the temptations all too well!

The story after that, "Detritus Affected," is about exploring vintages from ages past, and was inspired by news accounts concerning a new breed of archaeologist.

This collection also features several of my published essays, gathered and reworked to express a theme that has fascinated me for some time—that of "otherness." The first one appeared as a guest editorial in Analog magazine some years back, and was reprinted in
Whole Earth Review
. To be taken in a spirit of humor, it deals with a quirky way to look at this bizarre culture we live in. A culture too strange to have ever been thought up in a science-fiction story.

Dr. Pak's Preschool

Hands, those strong hands holding her down upon the tabletop . . . in her pain and confusion they reminded her of those tentacled sea creatures of fabled days which
ola-chan
had described when she was little, whose habit it was to drag unfortunate mariners down to a watery doom
.

Those hands, clasping, restraining—she cried out for mercy, knowing all the while that those hands would ignore her protests, along with any pretense at modesty
.

Needles pricked her skin, hot localized distractions from her futile struggle. Soon the drugs took effect. A soporific coolness spread along her limbs, and she lost the will to resist any longer. The hands loosened their grip and turned to perform yet other violations
.

Stormy images battered her wavering sense of self. Moiré patterns and Möbius chains—somehow she knew these things and their names without ever having learned them. And there was something else—something that hurt even to contemplate—a container with two openings, and none at all . . . a bottle whose interior was on the outside
. . . .

It was a problem to be solved. A desperate quandary. A life-or-death puzzle in higher-level geometry
.

The words and images whirled, hands groped about her, but at that moment all she could do was moan
.

"Wakarimasen!"
she cried aloud
. "Wakarimasen!"

1.

Reiko should have been more suspicious the night her husband came home earlier than usual and announced that she would accompany him on his next business trip to Seoul. That evening, however, when Tetsuo showed her the white paper folder containing two red-and-green airline boarding passes, Reiko could think only in the heady language of joy.

He remembers
.

Her elation did not show, of course. She bowed to her husband and spoke words of submissive acceptance, maintaining decorous reticence. Tetsuo, in his turn, was admirably restrained. He grunted and turned his attention back to his supper, as if the matter had really been of little consequence after all.

Nevertheless, Reiko was certain his gruffness overlay a well of true feeling.

Why else, she thought, would he do such an unheard-of thing? And so near the anniversary of their marriage? That second ticket in the envelope surely meant there was still a bit of the rebel under Tetsuo's now so-conventional exterior—still a remnant of the free spirit she had given her heart to, years ago.

He remembers
, she thought jubilantly.

And it was not yet nine in the evening. For Tetsuo to return so early for supper at home, instead of having it with business colleagues at some city bar, was exceptional in itself. Reiko bowed again and suggested awakening their daughter. Yukiko so seldom got to spend time with her father.

"
Iye
," Tetsuo said curtly, vetoing the idea. "Let the child sleep. I wish to retire early tonight, anyway."

Reiko's heart seemed to flutter within her rib cage at his implication. After clearing away dinner she made the required preparations, just in case.

And indeed, later that night he joined with her in their bed—for the first time in months without beer or tobacco or the scent of other women commingling in his breath. Tetsuo made love to her with an intensity she recalled, but which, of late, she had begun to think she had imagined all along.

Almost exactly six years ago they had been newlyweds, trapped joyously in each other's eyes as they honeymooned in Fiji, hardly noticing the mountains or the reefs or the exotic native dancers for the resonant happiness, the amplified autarchia of their union. And for the following year, also, it had remained that way for the two of them, as if they were characters from a happy romantic tale, brought into the real world. In those days even the intense pressure of Tetsuo's career had seemed to take second place to their love.

It had lasted, in fact, up to the time when Reiko became pregnant. Until then she hadn't believed they would ever stop being lovers and begin the long tedium of life as a married couple. But they did.

Tetsuo closed his eyes tightly and shuddered, then collapsed in a lassitude of spent coitus. His breath was sweet, his weight a pleasure for her to bear, and with her fingertips Reiko lightly traced the familiar patterns of his back. The boy she had known was filling out, gaining the looser fleshiness of a grown man. Tonight, however, she felt a slight relaxing of the tension that had slowly mounted along his spine over the grinding months and years.

Tetsuo seldom spoke of his work, although she knew it was stressful and hard. His supervisors seemed still to hold him under suspicion over an incident a few years ago, when he had tried unsuccessfully to introduce un-Japanese business practices into the firm. This, she imagined, was one reason why he had grown so distant, allowing the flame of their passion to bank in favor of more important matters. That was, of course, as it would have to be.

But now all seemed restored. Tetsuo had remembered; all was well in the world.

When, instead of simply rolling over and going to sleep, Tetsuo stroked her hair briefly and spoke to her softly in unintelligible mumblings of fondness, Reiko felt a glow like the sun rise within her.

2.

It was her first trip to the airport since the honeymoon, so long ago. Reiko could not help feeling disappointed, for the experience was not at all the same this time.

How could it be? She chided herself for making comparisons. After all, different destinations attracted different classes of people. The occupants of this departure lounge could hardly be expected to be like those down the hall a ways, bound from Tokyo to Fiji, or Hawaii, or Saipan—young couples close-orbiting on trajectories of bliss.

Sometimes on such honeymoon flights groups of newlyweds would have singing contests to help pass the time, clapping with courteous enthusiasm however terrible the voice. After all, there were harmonies that went beyond music, and much holding of hands.

Travelers not bound for the resorts dressed differently, spoke and behaved differently. It was as if the departure terminal were a series of slices of modern life—each distinct, representing a separate phase or molting.

Jets destined for Europe or America generally carried tour groups of prosperous older couples, or gaggles of students, all dressed alike and hanging together as if their periphery were patrolled by dangerous animals, ready at any moment to snap up the unwary straggler.

And, of course, there were the intense businessmen, who spent their transit time earnestly studying their presentation materials . . . modern samurai . . . warriors for Japan on the new battlefields of commerce.

Finally, there were the gates nearest Reiko, from which departed flights for Bangkok, Manila, Seoul. These, too, carried businessmen, but bound instead for the rewards of success. Women told each other rumors about what went on during these . . .
kairaku
expeditions. Reiko had never really been sure what to believe, but she sensed the anticipation of the ticket holders in this particular lounge. Most of the passengers wore suits, but their mood did not strike her as businesslike. They carried briefcases, but nobody seemed much interested in working.

Reiko had few illusions about the "commerce" that went on during such trips. Still, the Koreans were industrializing rapidly. Certainly there were many bona fide dealings, as well as junkets. Tetsuo's company had to be sending him for real business reasons, or why would he have invited her along? Reiko wondered if all those stories had been exaggerated after all.

A contingent of foreigners awaited the opening of the gate with typical gaijin impatience, speaking loudly, staring impertinently. An orderly queue of Japanese formed behind the jostling Europeans and Americans.

Reiko's sister, Yumi, held Yukiko up to wave good-bye to her parents. The little girl seemed confused and unhappy, but determined to behave well. Already Yukiko exhibited a sense of public propriety, and she did not shame them by crying. As Tetsuo led her down the crowded ramp, Reiko felt a pang of separation, but she knew Yukiko would be all right for a few days with her aunt. At worst their daughter would be spoiled by too much attention.

On board, Reiko saw there were a few other married couples besides themselves, all seated toward the rear of the airplane. The women seemed less at ease than their husbands, and listened attentively as the stewardesses went over emergency procedures. Finally, the great machine hurtled down the runway and propelled itself into the sky.

When the safety lights turned off, the cabin began to fill with cigarette smoke. Men got up and drifted forward toward the lounge. Soon there was heard, beyond the partition, the clinking of glasses and harsh laughter.

Reiko discreetly observed the other women, sitting quietly with empty seats between them. Some gazed out upon the green mountains of Honshu as the plane gradually gained altitude. Others conversed together in low tones. A few just looked down at their hands.

Reiko pondered. So many husbands could not be bringing their wives if their business in Seoul was only concupiscent pleasure. Could they?

She realized she was staring and quickly lowered her eyes. Still, Reiko had noticed something; all the other wives aboard were young, like herself. She turned, intending to whisper this interesting observation to her husband, and blinked quickly when she found herself facing an empty seat.

While she had been looking around, Tetsuo had quietly slipped away. Soon Reiko heard his familiar laughter coming from just beyond the partition.

She looked down then, and found fascinating the texture and fine lines that traced the backs of her own hands.

3.

That evening, in their hotel room, Tetsuo told her why he had brought her along with him to Seoul. "It is time for us to have a son," he said matter-of-factly.

Reiko nodded dutifully. "A son is to be hoped for."

Tetsuo loved his daughter, of course, but he clearly wanted to have a boy in the family, and Reiko could hope for nothing better than to please him. And yet, had he not been the one insisting she buy birth-control devices weekly from the neighborhood Skin Lady, and use them so carefully?

"We can afford to have only one more child," he went on, telling her what she already knew. "So we shall want to make certain the second is a boy."

Only half-seriously, she suggested, "Shujin, I shall go to Mizuko Jizo Temple daily and burn incense."

If she had hoped to draw a smile from him, Reiko was disappointed. Once upon a time he had been witty in his mockery of the ancient superstitions, and they had shared this delicious cynicism between them—she the daughter of a scientist and he the bright young businessman who had been to university in American. Now, though, Tetsuo nodded and seemed to accept her promise at face value.

"Good. However, we shall supplement prayer with technology." From his jacket pocket he withdrew a slim brochure, which he handed to her. He left Reiko then to read the pamphlet in their small room while he went down to the bar to drink with friends.

Reiko stared down at the bold type, glittering in stark
romanji
script.

PAK JONG CLINIC

GENDER-SELECTION SERVICE

Seoul, Hong Kong, Singapore, Bangkok,

Taipei, Mexico City, Cairo, Bombay

Satisfaction Is Guaranteed

A little while later she got undressed and went to bed. But lying there alone in the darkness, she found she could not sleep.

4.

They were actually quite kind at the Clinic. Nicer, at least, than Reiko had anticipated. In her mind she had pictured a stark, sterile-white hospital setting. It was reassuring, then, to sit in the pastel waiting room, with cranes and other symbols of good fortune traced out delicately upon the wall reliefs. Tetsuo remained behind when her name was called, but he did smile and offer her a nod of encouragement as the nurse bowed and ushered her into the examination room.