Return From The Stars Part 15

"Rest a.s.sured." It was my turn to smile. "Its a proper wall."

I phoned down for breakfast. I wanted us to eat alone. The white robot brought in coffee. And a full tray, an ample breakfast. I watched with pleasure how he chewed, he chewed so that a tuft of hair above one ear moved. Finished, Olaf said: "You still smoke?"

"I do. I brought two packs with me. What happens after that, I don't know. At present, I smoke. You want one?"

"One."

We smoked.

"How is it to be? Cards on the table?" he asked after a long pause.

"Yes. I'll tell you everything. And you me?"

"Always. But, Hal, I don't know if it's worth it."

"Tell me one thing: do you know what the worst of it is?"

"Women."

"Yes."

Again we were silent.

"It's on account of that?" he asked.

"Yes. You'll see at dinner. Downstairs. They are renting half of the villa."

"They?"

"A young couple."

The muscles of his jaw again moved under the freckled skin.

"That's worse," he said.

"Yes. I've been here two days. I don't know how it could be, but. . . at the first conversation. Without any reason, without any. . . nothing, nothing. Nothing at all."

"Curious," he said.

"What is?"

"I did the same."

"Then why did you come here?"

"Hal, you've done a good deed. Do you understand?"

"For you?"

"No. For someone else. Because it would have ended badly."

"Why?"

"Either you know, or you won't understand."

"I do know. Olaf, what is this? Are we actually savages?"

"I don't know. We've been without women for ten years. Don't forget that."

"That doesn't explain everything. There is a kind of ruthlessness in me, I consider no one, you understand?"

"You still do, my friend," he said. "You still do."

"Well, yes; but you know what I mean."

"I know."

Again we were silent.

"Do you want to talk some more, or box?" he asked.

I laughed.

"Where did you get the gloves?"

"Hal, you would never guess."

"You had them made?"

"I stole them."

"No!"

"So help me. From a museum. I had to fly to Stockholm especially for them."

"Let's go, then."

He unpacked his modest belongings and changed. We both put on bathrobes and went downstairs. It was still early. Normally breakfast would not have been served for half an hour.

"We'd better go out to the back of the house," I said. "No one will see us there."

We stopped in a circle of tall bushes. First we stamped down the gra.s.s, which was fairly short anyway.

"It'll be slippery," said Olaf, sliding his foot around the improvised ring.

"That's all right. It'll be harder."

We put on the gloves. We had a little trouble, because there was no one to tie them for us and I did not to want to call a robot.

He faced me. His body was completely white.

"You haven't got a tan yet," I said.

"Later I'll tell you what's been happening to me. I've had no time for the beach. Gong."

"Gong."

We began easily. A feint. Duck. Duck. I warmed up. I tapped, rather than punched. I did not really want to hit him. I was a good fifteen kilograms heavier, and his slightly longer reach did not offset my advantage, especially since I was also the better boxer. For that reason I gave him an opening several times, although I didn't have to. Suddenly he lowered his gloves. His face hardened. He was angry.

"Not this way," he said.

"What's wrong?"

"No games, Hal. Either we box or we don't."

"OK," I said, clenching my teeth, "we box!"

I began to move in. Glove hit glove with a sharp slap. He sensed that I meant business and put up his guard. The pace quickened. I feinted to the left and to the right, in succession, the last blow almost always landed on his chest -- he was not fast enough. Unexpectedly he took the offensive, got in a nice right, I was knocked back a couple of steps. I recovered immediately. We circled, he swung, I ducked beneath the glove, backed off, and at half-distance landed a straight right. I put my weight behind it. Olaf went soft, for a moment loosened his guard, but then came back carefully, crouching. For the next minute he bombarded me with blows. The gloves struck my forearms with an appalling sound, but harmlessly. Once I barely dodged in time, his glove grazed my ear, and it was a roundhouse that would have decked me. Again we circled. He took a blow on the chest, a hard one, and his guard fell, I could have nailed him, but I did nothing, I stood as if paralyzed -- she was at one of the windows, her face as white as the material covering her shoulders. A fraction of a second pa.s.sed. The next instant, I was stunned by a powerful impact; I fell to my knees.

"Sorry!" I heard Olaf shout.

"Nothing to be sorry about. . . That was a good one," I mumbled, getting up.

The window was closed now. We fought for perhaps half a minute; suddenly Olaf drew back.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Not true."

"All right. I've had enough. You aren't angry?"

"Of course not. It made no sense, anyway, to start right off. . . let's go."

We went to the pool. Olaf was a better diver than I. He could do fantastic things. I tried a full gainer with a twist, the way he did it, but succeeded only in smacking the water with my thighs. Sitting at the edge of the pool, I splashed water on my burning skin. Olaf laughed.

"You're out of practice."

"What do you mean? I never could do a twist right. You're great!"

"It never leaves you, you know. Today is the first time."

"Really?"

"Yes. This is terrific."

The sun was high now. We lay on the sand and closed our eyes.

"Where are. . . they?" he asked after a long silence.

"I don't know. Probably in their room. Their windows look out on the back of the house. I hadn't known that."

I felt him move. The sand was very hot.

"Yes, it was on account of that," I said.

"They saw us?"

"She did."

"She must have been frightened," he muttered, "don't you think?"

I did not answer. Again, a pause.

"Hal?"

"What?"

"They hardly fly now, do you know that?"

"I know."

"Do you know why?"

"They claim that there is no point in it. . ."

I began to outline for him what I had read in Starck's book. He lay motionless, without a word, but I knew that he was listening intently.

When I finished, he did not speak right away.

"Have you read Shapley?"

"No. What Shapley?"

"No? I thought that you had read everything. . . A twentieth-century astronomer. One of his things fell into my hands once, on precisely that subject. Quite similar to your Starck."

"What? That's impossible. Shapley could not have known. . . But read Starck for yourself."

"I don't mean to. You know what this is? A smoke screen."

"A smoke screen?"

"Yes. I believe I know what happened."

"Well?"

"Betrization."