The Ships of Earth: Homecoming: Volume 3 (10 page)

How many marriages have begun with such feelings as these? Were any of them ever happy, in the end?

She delayed as long as she could, lingering over supper—which
was
better than anything they had eaten while traveling. Zdorab and Volemak had found wild greens and roots in this valley and simmered them down
into a stew, so much better than handfuls of raisins and jerky, and the bread was fresh and leavened, instead of the crackers and hard biscuits they had made do with while traveling. Soon it would be better still, for Volemak had planted a garden here, and within a few weeks there would be melons and squashes, carrots and onions and radishes.

Everyone was tired and awkward with each other through supper. The memory of Nafai’s near-execution still lingered in their minds, all the more embarrassing to them now that they had returned to Volemak and could see how easily he held command over all of them, being a man of
true
leadership, so much more powerful than Elemak’s swaggering, bullying style. It made them all dread some kind of accounting with the old man, for how many of them, except perhaps Eiadh—and of course Nafai himself—were truly proud of how they acted? So, good as the food was, no one but Hushidh had much desire to stay and chat. There were no fond reminiscences of the journey, no amusing tales to recount to those who had waited here for them. As quickly as the supper was cleared away, the couples went to their tents.

They went so suddenly that despite her anxiousness to avoid exactly this moment, Hushidh returned from the stream with the last of the pots she had washed to find that only Shedemei remained of the women, and only Zdorab and Issib of the men. There was already a dreadful silence, for Shedemei had no gift of chat, and both Zdorab and Issib seemed painfully shy. How hard for all of us, thought Hushidh. We know we are the leftovers of the group, thrown together only because we weren’t wanted by anyone but the Oversoul. And some of us not even by
her
, for poor Zdorab was here only because Nafai had extracted an oath from him instead of killing him at the gate of Basilica, on the night Nafai cut off Gaballufix’s head.

“What a miserable group you are,” said Volemak.

Hushidh looked over in relief to see Volemak and Rasa returning to the cookfire. They must have realized that something needed to be said—introductions needed to be
made, at least, between Shedya and the librarian, who had never even met.

“I was entering my husband’s tent,” said Rasa, “thinking how good it was to be back with him, when suddenly I realized how much I missed my traveling companions, Shuya and Shedya, and
then
I remembered that I had failed in my duty as lady of this house.”

“House?” said Issib.

“The walls may be stone and the roof may be sky, but this is my house, a place of refuge for my daughters and safety for my sons,” said Rasa.

“
Our
house,” said Volemak gently.

“Indeed—I spoke of it as
my
house only because of the old habits of Basilica, where the houses belonged only to women.” Rasa lifted her husband’s hand to her lips and kissed it and smiled at him.

“Out here,” said Volemak, “the houses belong to the Oversoul, but he is renting this one to us at a very reasonable fee: When we leave here, the baboons downstream of us get to keep the garden.”

“Hushidh, Shedemei, I believe you know my son Issib,” said Rasa.

“
Our
son,” said Volemak, as gently as before. “And this is Zdorab, who was once Gaballufix’s archivist, but now serves our way station as gardener, librarian, and cook.”

“Miserable at all three, I fear,” said Zdorab.

Rasa smiled. “Volya tells me that both Issib and Zdorab have explored the Index while they’ve been waiting here. And I know both of my dear nieces, Shuya and Shedya, will have profound interest in what they’ve found there.”

“The Index of the Oversoul is the pathway into all the memory of Earth,” said Volemak. “And since Earth is where we are going, it’s just as important for us to study in that great library as it is for us to do the work that keeps our bodies alive in this desert.”

“You know we’ll do our duty,” said Shedemei.

Hushidh knew that she was not referring to studies alone.

“Oh, hang the courteous obliquities,” said Lady Rasa.
“You all know that you’re the unmarried ones, and that everybody
has
to marry if this is going to work at all, and that leaves only the four of you. I know that there’s no particular reason why you shouldn’t at least have the freedom to sort things out among yourselves, but I’ll tell you that because of age and experience I rather imagined that it would be Hushidh who ended up with Issib and Shedemei who ended up with Zdorab. It doesn’t have to be that way, but I think it would be helpful if you at least explored the possibilities.”

“The Lady Rasa speaks about experience,” said Zdorab, “but I must point out that I am a man of no experience whatsoever when it comes to women, and I fear that I will offend with every word I say.”

Shedemei gave one hoot of derisive laughter.

“What Shedemei meant, with her simple eloquence,” said Rasa, “is that she cannot conceive of your having less experience of women than she has of men. She, too, is quite certain of her ability to offend
you
with every word, which is why she chose to respond to you without using any.”

The absurdity of the whole situation combined with Shedemei’s gracelessness and Zdorab’s awkward courtesy was too much for Hushidh. She burst out laughing, and soon the others joined in.

“There’s no hurry,” said Volemak. “Take your time to become acquainted.”

“I’d rather just get it over with,” said Shedemei.

“Marriage is not something you get over with,” said Rasa. “It’s something you begin. So as Volemak was saying, take your time. When you’re ready, come to either me or my husband, and we can arrange new tent assignments, along with the appropriate ceremonies.”

“And if we’re never ready?” asked Issib.

“None of us will live long enough to see never,” said Volemak. “And for the present, it will be enough if you try to know and like each other.”

That was it, except for a few pleasant words about the supper Zdorab had prepared. They quickly divided, and
Hushidh followed Shedemei to the tent they would share for now.

“Well,
that
was reassuring,” said Shedemei.

It took a moment for Hushidh to realize that Shedya was being ironic; it always did. “
I’m
not much reassured,” Hushidh answered.

“Oh, you didn’t think it was sweet of them to let us take our time about deciding whether to do the inevitable? Rather like giving a condemned murderer the lever of the gallows trap and telling him, ‘Whenever you’re ready.’ ”

It was a surprise to realize that Shedemei seemed far angrier about this than Hushidh was. But then, Shedemei was not a willing participant in the journey, the way Hushidh had been. Shedemei had not thought of herself as belonging to the Oversoul, not the way Hushidh had ever since she realized she was a raveler, or Luet, ever since she discovered she was a waterseer. So of course
everything
seemed out of kilter to her; all her plans were in disarray.

Hushidh thought to help her by saying, “Zdorab is as much a captive on this journey as you are—he never asked for this, and
you
at least had your dream.” But she saw at once—for Hushidh
always
saw the connections between people—that her words, far from giving comfort, were driving a wedge between her and Shedemei, and so she fell silent.

Fell silent and suffered, for she well remembered that it was Issib who had asked, What if we’re never ready? That was a terrible thing to hear your future husband say, a terrible thing, for it meant that he did not think he could ever love her.

Then a thought came abruptly into her mind: What if Issib said that, not because he thought
he
could never desire
her
, but because he was certain that
she
could never be ready to marry
him?
Now that she thought about it, she was certain that was what he meant, for she knew Issib to be a kind young man who was not likely to say something that he thought might hurt someone else. She suddenly found a floodgate of memory opened inside her mind, and saw all the images she had of Issib. He was quiet, and bore
his infirmity without complaint. He had great courage, in his own way, and his mind was bright indeed—he had always been quick in class, the times they had been together, and his ideas were never the obvious ones, but always showed him thinking a step or two beyond the immediate question.

His body may be limited, she thought, but his mind is at least a match for mine. And plain as I am, I can’t possibly be as worried about my own body as he is about his. Nafai may have assured me that Issib is physically capable of fathering children, but that doesn’t mean he has any notion of lovemaking—indeed, he’s probably terrified that I will be disgusted by him, or at least frustrated at how little he imagines he can give me in the way of pleasure. I am not the one who needs reassurance,
he
is, and it would only be destructive if I entered into our courtship with the idea that he must somehow reassure
my
self-doubting heart. No, I must make him confident of my acceptance of
him
, if we’re to build a friendship and a marriage.

This insight filled Hushidh with such great relief that she almost wept with the joy of it. Only then did she realize that ideas that came to her so suddenly, with such great clarity, might not be her ideas at all. Indeed, she noticed now that she had been imagining a picture of Issib’s body as it appeared to
him
, only it hadn’t been imagination at all, had it? The Oversoul had shown her the thoughts and fears inside Issib’s mind.

As so many times before, Hushidh wished she had the same easy communication with the Oversoul that Luet and Nafai had. Occasionally the Oversoul was able to put thoughts as words inside her mind, as always happened with them, but it was never a comfortable dialogue for her, never easy for her to sort out which were her own thoughts and which were the Oversoul’s. So she had to make do with her gift of raveling, and then sometimes these clear insights that always felt like her own ideas when they came, and only afterward seemed to be too clear to be anything but visions from the Oversoul.

Still, she was certain that what she had seen was not her
imagination, but the truth: The Oversoul had shown her what she needed to see if she was to get past her own fears.

Thank you, she thought, as clearly as she could, though she had no way of knowing if the Oversoul heard her thoughts, or was even listening at the moment. I needed to see through his eyes, at least for a moment.

Another thought came to her: Is he also seeing through
my
eyes at this moment? It disturbed her, to think that Issib might be seeing her body as she saw it, complete with her fears and dissatisfactions.

No, fair is fair. If he is to have confidence in himself, and if he is to be a kind husband to me, he must know that I am as fearful and uncertain as he is. So do, if you haven’t already,
do
show him who I am, help him to see that even though I am no beauty, I’m still a woman, I still long to love, to be loved, to make a family with a man who is bound into my heart and I into his as tightly as Rasa and Volemak are woven through each other’s souls. Show him who I am, so he will pity me instead of fearing me. And then we can turn pity into compassion, and compassion into understanding, and understanding into affection, and affection into love, and love into life, the life of our children, the life of the new self that we will become together.

To Hushidh’s surprise, she was sleepy now—she had feared that she’d get no sleep at all tonight. And from Shedemei’s slow and heavy breathing, she must already be asleep.

I hope you showed her what
she
needed to see, too, Oversoul. I only wonder how other men and women manage to love each other when they don’t have your help to show them what is in the other’s heart.

Rasa woke up angry, and it took her a while to figure out why. At first she thought it was because when Volemak had joined her in bed last night he offered her no more than an affectionate embrace, as if her long fast did not deserve to be broken with a feast of love. He was not blind; he knew that she was angry, and he explained, “You’re
wearier than you think, after such a journey. There’d be little pleasure in it for either of us.” His very calmness had made her angry beyond reason, and she curled up to sleep apart from his arms; but this morning she knew that her pique last night had been clear proof that he was right. She had been too tired for anything but sleep, like a fussy little child.

Almost no light got into the tent from outside. It could be high noon or even later, and from the stiffness of her body and the lack of a wind outside the tent, she could well have slept late into the morning. Still, to lie abed was delicious; no need to rise in a hurry, eat a scant breakfast in the predawn light, strike the tents, pack the beasts and be underway by sunrise. The journey was over; she had come home to her husband.

With that thought she realized why she had come awake this morning with so much anger in her. Coming home was not supposed to be to a tent, even one with double walls that stayed fairly cool through the day. And it was not
she
who ought to come home to
him
, but rather her husband who should come home to
her
. That’s how it had always been. The house had been hers, which she had kept ready for him, and offered to him as a gift of shade in the summer, shelter in the storm, refuge from the tumult of the city. Instead
he
was the one who had prepared this place, and the more comfortable it was the angrier it made her, for in this place she would have no idea how to prepare anything. She was helpless, a child, a student, and her husband would be her teacher and her guardian.

No one had directed her in her own affairs since she first came into her own house, which she had done young, using money she inherited from her mother to buy the house that her great-grandmother had made famous, then as a music conservatory; Rasa had made it still more famous as a school, and from that foundation she had risen to prominence in the City of Women, surrounded by students and admirers and envious competitors—and now here she was in the desert where she did not even know how to cook a meal or how toileting was handled in a
semi-permanent encampment like this. No doubt it would be Elemak who explained it to her, in his oh-so-offhanded way, the elaborate pretense that he was telling you what you already knew—which
would
have been gracious except that there was already the undertone of studiedness that made it plain that both you and he knew that you did
not
already know and in fact you depended on him to teach you how to pee properly.