Time Enough For Love Part 18

Minerva, I don't think 'Llita-p.r.o.nounced 'Yeetah,' her everyday name-or her brother Joe-Josie, or Jose-understood what I meant by a place that did not have slavery; it was foreign to anything they knew. But they knew what a starship was, from hearsay, and the prospect of going going somewhere in one had them awestruck-they would not have missed it if I had told them they were going to be hanged on arrival. Besides, in their minds I was still their master; manumission hadn't taken hold even though they knew what it was. Something for old and faithful retainers, that is, who stayed on at the funda where they had been all along, but maybe got paid a little. somewhere in one had them awestruck-they would not have missed it if I had told them they were going to be hanged on arrival. Besides, in their minds I was still their master; manumission hadn't taken hold even though they knew what it was. Something for old and faithful retainers, that is, who stayed on at the funda where they had been all along, but maybe got paid a little.

But to travel! The farthest they had ever been in their lives was from a diocese north of there to the capital, to be sold.

A little trouble next morning-Seems that one Simon Legree, licensed dealer in slaves, had sworn a complaint against me alleging bodily harm, mental duress, and a.s.sorted mopery and dopery. So I sat the cop down in my wardroom, poured him a drink, called in Llita and had her take off her wonderful new clothes and let the cop see the scars on her hips, then told her to skedaddle. I happened to leave a hundred-blessing note on the table while I got up to fetch the bill of sale.

The cop waved away the bill of sale, saying there had been no complaint on that score-but he was going to tell Goodman Legree that he was lucky not to face a countercharge of selling damaged goods . . no, on second thought it was simpler if he just couldn't find me until after my ship lifted. The hundred blessings was gone, and soon the cop was gone-and by midafternoon, so were we.

But, Minerva, I got cheated; Llita couldn't cook worth a d.a.m.n.

It is a long and complex pa.s.sage from Blessed to Valhalla, and Shipmaster Sheffield was pleased to have company.

There was a mild contretemps the first night of the voyage caused by a misunderstanding that had started the night before, dirtside. The ship had a cabin and two staterooms. Since the Captain normally operated by himself, he used the staterooms for casual storage or light cargo; they were not ready for pa.s.sengers. So that first night dirtside he put his freedwoman into his cabin, while her brother and he slept on transom couches in the wardroom.

The following day Captain Sheffield unlocked the staterooms, switched power to them, had the young people clean them and move the clutter to a gear locker until he could see what s.p.a.ce he had left in his holds, and told them each to take a room-and forgot it, being busy with cargo and final squeeze, then with supervising his piloting computer while they got clear of that system. It was late that "night," ship's time, before he had his ship on her first leg in n-s.p.a.ce, and could relax.

He went to his cabin while considering whether to eat first or shower first, or possibly neither.

Estrellita was in his bed-wide awake and waiting.

He said, "Llita, what are you doing here?" here?"

She told him in blunt slave lingo what she was doing in his bed-waiting for him-as she had known what would be expected of her when milord Shipmaster Sheffield had offered to take them along, and had discussed it with her brother, and Brother had told her to do it.

She added that she was not a bit afraid; she was ready and eager.

The first part of this Aaron Sheffield had to believe; the addendum seemed clearly a white lie; he had seen frightened virgins before-not often, but a few.

He dealt with her fear by ignoring it. He said, "You impudent b.i.t.c.h, get your a.r.s.e out of my bed and into your own."

The freedwoman was startled and unbelieving, then sulky and offended-then she wept. Fear of an unknown that she had felt earlier was drowned in a worse emotion; her tiny ego was crushed by his rejection of service she knew she owed him-and had believed he wanted. She sobbed, and dripped tears on his pillow.

Female tears always had a strong aphrodisiac effect on Captain Sheffield; he responded to them at once-by grabbing her ankle, dragging her out of bed, hustling her out of his cabin, into her stateroom, and locking her in. Then he returned to his cabin, locked its door, took measures to calm himself, and went to sleep.

Minerva, there was nothing wrong with Llita as a woman. Once I taught her to bathe properly she was quite attractive -good figure, pleasant face and manner, good teeth, and her breath was sweet. But taking her did not fit any customs. All "Eros" is custom, dear; there is never anything moral or immoral about copulation as such, or any of its nonfunctional frills. "Eros" is simply a way of keeping human beings, individuals, each different-keeping them together and happy. It is a survival mechanism developed through long evolution, and its reproductive function is the least complex aspect of its very complex and pervasive role in keeping the human race going.

But any s.e.xual act is moral or immoral by precisely the same laws of morality as any other human act; all other rules about s.e.x are simply customs-local and transient. There are more codes of s.e.xual customs than a dog has fleas -and all they have in common is that they are "ordained by G.o.d." I recall a society where copulation in private was obscene and forbidden, criminal-while in public it was "anything goes." The society I was brought up in had the reverse of those rules-again "ordained by G.o.d." I'm not sure which pattern was harder to follow, but I wish G.o.d would quit changing his mind-as it is never safe to ignore such customs, and ignorance is no excuse; ignorance like to got my a.s.s shot off several times.

In refusing Llita I was not being moral; I was following my own s.e.xual customs, worked out by trial and error and many bruises over the centuries: Never bed a female dependent on me unless I am married to her or willing to marry her. This is an amoral rule of thumb, subject to change according to circ.u.mstances and not applying to females not dependent on me-another negotiation entirely. But this rule is a safety precaution applicable most times and places with widely varying customs-a safety measure for me . . because, unlike that lady from Boston I told you about, many females tend to regard copulation as a formal proposal of contract.

I had let impulse lure me into a predicament in which Llita was temporarily my dependent; I had no intention of making matters worse by marrying her, I didn't owe her that. Minerva, long-lifers should never marry ephemerals; it is not fair to the ephemeral or to the long-lifer.

Nevertheless, once you pick up a stray cat and feed it, you cannot abandon it. Self-love forbids it. The cat's welfare becomes essential to your own peace of mind-even when it's a b.l.o.o.d.y nuisance not to break faith with the cat. Having bought these kids I could not shuck them off by manumission; I had to plan their future-because they they did not know how. They were stray cats. did not know how. They were stray cats.

Early next "morning" (by ship's routine) Captain Sheffield got up, unlocked the freedwoman's stateroom, found her asleep. He called her and told her to get up, wash quickly, then get breakfast for three. He left to wake her brother-found his stateroom empty, found him in the galley. "Good morning, Joe."

The freedman jumped. "Oh! Good morning, Master." He ducked and bent his knee.

"Joe, the correct answer is: 'Good morning, Captain.' It amounts to the same thing at present, for I am indeed master of this ship and everyone in it. But when you leave my ship on Valhalla, you will have no master of any sort. None, as I explained yesterday. Meanwhile, call me 'Captain.' "

"Yes . . Captain." The young man repeated obeisance.

"Don't bow! When you speak to me, stand tall and straight and proud, and look me in the eye. The correct answer to an order is 'Aye aye, Captain.' What are you doing there?"

"Uh, I don't know-Captain."

"I don't think you do, either. That's enough coffee for a dozen people." Sheffield elbowed Joe aside, salvaged most of the coffee crystals the lad had poured into a bowl, measured enough for nine cups, made note to teach the girl how if she did not know, then have her keep coffee ready during working hours.

As he sat down with his first cup of coffee, she appeared. Her eyes were red and had circles under them; he suspected that she had wept some more that morning. But he made no comment other than a morning greeting and let her cope with the galley una.s.sisted, she having seen what he had done the morning before.

Shortly he was recalling fondly the scratch lunch and supper-sandwiches he had made himself-of the day before. But he said nothing other than to order them to sit down and eat with him, rather than hovering over him. Breakfast was mostly coffee, cold ship's bread, tinned b.u.t.ter. Reconst.i.tuted accra eggs with mushrooms were an inedible mess, and she had managed to do something to heavenfruit juice. To spoil that took talent; all it needed was eight parts of cold water for each part of concentrate, and the instructions were on the container.

"Llita, can you read?"

"No, Master."

"Make that 'Captain,' instead. How about you, Joe?"

"No, Captain."

"Arithmetic? Numbers?"

"Oh, yes, Captain, I know numbers. Two and two is four, two and three makes five, and three and five is nine-"

His sister corrected him. "Seven, Josie-not nine."

"That's enough," Sheffleld said. "I can see we'll be busy." He thought, while he hummed: "So it's well to . . Have a sister . . Or even an old captain-" He added aloud: "When you have finished breakfast, take care of your personal needs, then tidy your rooms-shipshape and neatly, I'll inspect later -and make the bed in my cabin, but don't touch anything else there, especially my desk. Then each of you take a bath. Yes, that's what I said: Bathe. Aboard ship everyone bathes every day, oftener if you wish. There is plenty of pure water; we recycle it and we'll finish the voyage with thousands of liters more than we started with. Don't ask why; that's the way it works and I'll explain later." (Several months later, at least-to youngsters unsure about three plus five.) "When you're through, say, an hour and a half from now-Joe, can you read a clock?"

Joe stared at the old-fashioned ship's clock mounted on a bulkhead. "I'm not sure, Captain. That one has too many numbers."

"Oh, yes, of course; Blessed is on another system. Try to be back here when the little hand is straight out to the left and the big hand is straight up. But this time it doesn't matter if you are late; it takes awhile to shake down. Don't neglect your baths to be on time. Joe, shampoo your head. Llita, lean toward me, dear; let me sniff your hair. Yes, you shampoo, too." (Were there hair nets aboard? If he cut the pseudogravity and let them go free-fall, they would need hair nets-or haircuts. A haircut would not hurt Joe, but his sister's long black hair was her best feature-would help her catch a husband on Valhalla. Oh, well, if there were no hair nets-he didn't think there were, as he kept his own hair free-fall short-the girl could braid her hair and tie something around it. Could he spare power to maintain an eighth gee all the way? People not used to free-fall got flabby, could even damage their bodies.

(Don't worry about it now.) "Get our quarters tidy, get clean yourselves, come back here. Git."

He made a list: Set up a schedule of duties-N.B.: Teach them to cook!

Start school: What subjects?

Basic arithmetic, obviously-but don't bother to teach them to read that jargon spoken on Blessed; they were never going back there-never! But that jargon would have to be ship's language until he had them speaking Galacta, and they must learn to read and write in it-and English, too: Many books he would have to use for their hurry-up education were in English. Did he have tapes for the variation of Galacta spoken on Valhalla? Well, kids their age quickly picked up local accent and idiom and vocabulary.

What was far more important was how to heal their stunted, uh, "souls." Their personalities- How could he take full-grown domestic animals and turn them into able, happy human beings, educated in every needful way and capable of competing in a free society? Willing to compete, undismayed by it-He was just beginning to see the size of the "stray cat" problem he had taken on. Was he going to have to keep them as pets for fifty or sixty years or whatever, until they died naturally?

Long, long before that, the boy Woodie Smith had found a half-dead fox kit in the woods, apparently lost by its mother, or perhaps the vixen was dead. He took it home, nursed it with a bottle, raised it in a cage through one winter. In the spring he took it back where he had found it, left it there in the cage with the door latched open.

He checked a few days later, intending to salvage the cage.

He found the creature cowering in the cage, half starved and horribly dehydrated-with the door still latched open. He took it home, again nursed it back to health, built a chickenwire run for it, and never again tried to turn it loose. In the words of his grandfather, "The poor critter had never had a chance to learn how to be a fox."

Could he teach these cowed and ignorant animals how to be human?

They returned to his wardroom when "the little hand was straight out and the big hand was straight up"-they waited outside the door until this was so, and Captain Sheffield pretended not to notice.

But when they came in, he glanced at the clock and said, "Right on time-good! You've certainly shampooed, but remind me to find combs for you." (What other toilet articles did they need? Would he have to teach them how to use them? And-oh, d.a.m.n it!-was there anything in the ship for a woman's menstrual needs? What could be improvised? Well, with luck that problem would hold off a few days. No point in asking her; she couldn't add. Tarnation, the ship was not equipped for pa.s.sengers.) "Sit down. No, wait a moment. Come here, dear." It seemed to the Captain that the garment she wore was clinging suspiciously; he felt it, it was wet. "Did you leave that on when you bathed?"

"No, Mas-No, Captain; I washed it."

"I see." He recalled that its gaudy pattern had been enhanced by coffee and other things while the girl was botching breakfast. "Take it off and hang it somewhere; don't let it dry on your body."

She started slowly to comply. Her chin quivered-and he recalled how she had admired herself in a tall mirror when he bought it for her. "Wait a moment, Llita. Joe, take off your breechclout. And sandals."

The lad complied at once.

"Thank you, Joe. Don't put that clout back on without washing it; by now it's dirty even though it looks clean. Don't wear it under way unless it suits you. You sit down. Llita, were you wearing anything when I bought you?"

"No . . Captain."

"Am I wearing anything now?"

"No, Captain."

"There are times and places to wear clothes-and other times and places when clothes are silly. If this were a pa.s.senger ship, we would all wear clothes and I would wear a fancy uniform. But it is not, and there is n.o.body here but me and your brother. See that instrument there? That's a thermohumidostat which tells the ship's computer to hold the temperature at twenty-seven Celsius and forty percent humidity, with random variation to stimulate us-which may not mean anything to you but is my notion of comfort in bare skin. For an hour each afternoon it drops that temperature to encourage exercise, as flab is the curse of shipboard life.

"If that cycle doesn't suit you two, we'll reach a compromise. But first we'll try it my way. Now about that wet rag plastered to your hips-If you are stupid, you'll let it dry where it is and be uncomfortable. If you are smart, you'll hang it up and let it dry without wrinkling. That's a suggestion, not an order; if you wish, you may wear it at all times. But don't sit down with it on you, wet; there is no reason to get cushions wet. Can you sew?"

"Yes, Captain. Uh . . some."

"I'll see what I can dig up. You are wearing the only woman's garment in the ship, and if you insist on clothes, you'll need to make some for the months ahead. You'll need something for Valhalla, too: it's not as warm as Blessed. Women there wear trousers and short coats; men wear trousers and long coats; everyone wears boots. I had three outfits custom-made on Landfall; maybe we can make do with them until I can get you two to a tailor. Boots-Mine would fit you like socks on a rooster. Hmm-We can wrap your feet so that a pair will stay on long enough to get you to a bootery.

"We won't worry about that now. Join the conference-standing up and wet, or sitting down and comfortable."

Estrellita bit her lip and decided in favor of comfort.

Minerva, those youngsters were brighter than I had expected. At first they studied because I told them to. But once they tasted the magic of the printed word, they were hooked. They learned to read like gra.s.s through a goose and didn't want to do anything else. Especially stories. I had a good library, mostly in micro, thousands of those, but also a few dozen valuable bound books, facsimile antiques I had picked up on Landfall where they speak English and use Galacta only as a trade tongue. Savvy Oz books, Minerva?

Yes, of course you do; I helped plan the Great Library and included my childhood favorites as well as more sober things. I did make sure that Joe and Llita read a spread of sober stuff but mostly I let them wallow in stones-The Just So Stories, and the Oz books, and Alice in Wonderland, and A Child's Garden of Verses, and Two Little Savages Child's Garden of Verses, and Two Little Savages, and such. Too limited; they were books from my childhood, three centuries before the Diaspora. On the other hand, every human culture in the Galaxy derives from that one.

But I tried to make sure that they understood the difference between fiction and history-difficult, as I wasn't certain that there was a difference. Then I had to explain that a fairy tale was still a different sort, one step farther along the spectrum from fact to fancy.

Minerva, this is very hard to explain to an inexperienced mind. What is "magic"? You are more magical than any "magic" in fairy tales, and it does no good to say that you are a product of science, rather than magic, in speaking to kids who have no idea what is meant by "science"-and I wasn't sure that the distinction was valid even when I was explaining the distinction. In my wanderings I have run across magic many times-which simply says that I have seen wonders I could not explain.

I finally let it go by a.s.serting ex cathedra cathedra that some stories were just for fun and not necessarily true- that some stories were just for fun and not necessarily true-Gullive's Travels were not the same sort of thing as were not the same sort of thing as The Adventures of Marco Polo, while Robinson Crusoe The Adventures of Marco Polo, while Robinson Crusoe lay somewhere in between-and they should lay somewhere in between-and they should ask ask me, if in doubt. me, if in doubt.

They did ask, sometimes, and accepted my decision without argument. But I could see that they did not always believe me. That pleased me; they were starting to think for themselves-didn't matter if they were wrong. Llita was simply politely respectful to me about Oz. She believed in the Emerald City with all her heart and, if she had had her druthers, she would have been going there rather than to Valhalla. Well, so would I.

The important thing was that they were cutting the cord.

I did not hesitate to use fiction in teaching them. Fiction is a faster way to get a feeling for alien patterns of human behavior than is nonfiction; it is one stage short of actual experience-and I had only months in which to turn these cowed and ignorant animals into people. I could have offered them psychology and sociology and comparative anthropology; I had such books on hand. But Joe and Llita could not have put them together into a gestalt-and I recall another teacher who used parables in putting over ideas.

They read every hour I would let them, huddled together like puppies and staring at the reading machine and nagging each other about how fast to raise the pages. Usually Llita nagged Joe; she was quicker than he-but as may be, they spurred each other from illiterate to speedreaders in zip time. I didn't let them have sound-and-picture tapes-I wanted them to read.

Couldn't let 'em spend all their time reading; they had to learn other things-not just salable skills but, much more important, that aggressive self-reliance necessary to a free human-which they totally lacked when I saddled myself with them. Shucks, I wasn't certain they had the potential; it might have been bred out of their line. But if the spark was in them, I had to find it and fan it into Same-or I would never be able to make them run free.

So I forced them to make up their own minds as much as possible, while being cautiously rough on them in other ways . . and greeted every sign of rebellion-silently, in my mind-as a triumphant proof of progress.

I started by teaching Joe to Sght-just hand to hand; I didn't want either of us killed. One compartment was fitted as a gymnasium, with equipment that could be adapted for gee or for free-fall; I used it that hour a day of lowered temperature. Here I worked Joe out. Llita was required to attend but just to exercise-although I had in mind that it might spur Joe along if his sister saw him getting the whey knocked out of him.

Joe needed that spur; he had a terrible time getting it through his head that it was okay to hit or kick me, that I wanted him to try, that I would not be angry if he succeeded -but that I would would be angry if he didn't try his darnedest. be angry if he didn't try his darnedest.

Took a while. At first he wouldn't chop at me no matter how wide open I left myself . . and when I got him past that, calling him names and taunting him, he still hesitated that split second that let me close and chop him instead.

But one afternoon he got the idea so well that he landed a good one on me and I hardly had to hold back to let him land it. After supper he got his reward: permission to read a bound book, one with pages, him dressed in a pair of my surgical gloves and warned that I would clobber him if he got it dirty or tore a page. Llita wasn't permitted to touch it; this was his prize. She sulked and didn't even want to use the reading machine-until he asked if it was all right for him to read aloud to her.

I ruled that she could even read it with him-as long as she didn't touch it. So she snuggled up close, head by his, happy again, and started bossing him about turning the pages.

The next day she asked me why she could not learn to fight, too?

No doubt she was finding solo exercise a bore-I always found it so and did it only because it was needful to stay in shape-no telling what hazards next groundfall might bring. Minerva, I've never felt that women should have to fight; it is a male's business to protect females and children. But a female should be able able to fight because she may have to. to fight because she may have to.

So I agreed, but we had to change the rules. Joe and I had been working out by dockside rules-no rules, that is, save that I didn't tell him that I planned not to do him any permanent damage and did not intend to let him give me anything worse than bruises. But I never said this-if he could manage it, he was free to gouge out one of my eyes and eat it. I just made d.a.m.n sure that he didn't.

But females are built differently from males. I could not let Llita work out with us until I devised a plastron to protect her t.i.ts-necessary; she was a bit oversized in that department, and we could have hurt her without intending to. Then I told Joe privately that bruises were okay, but that if he broke one of her bones, I would break one of his, just for drill.

But I put no restrictions on his sister-and I underestimated her; she was twice as aggressive as he was. Untrained but fast -and she meant business.

The second day we worked out with her, not only was she wearing that plastron, her brother and I were wearing jockstraps. And Llita had been allowed to read a real book the night before.

Joe turned out to have talent for cooking, so I encouraged him to be as fancy as ship's stores permitted while crowding her to become an adequate cook. A man who can cook can support himself anywhere. But anyone, male or female, should be able to cook, keep house, and care for children. I hadn't located a trade for Llita, although she displayed a talent for mathematics once I set up inducements for that, too. That was encouraging; a person who can read and write and has a head for math can learn anything she needs to know. So I started her on bookkeeping and accounting, from books, not helping her, and required Joe to learn to use all the tools the ship boasted-not many, mainly maintenance gear-and supervised him closely; I didn't want him losing fingers or ruining tools.

I was hopeful. Then the situation changed- (Circa 3,100 words omitted) -easy to say that I was stupid. I had raised stock and a good many children. Being ship's surgeon as well as everything else, I had given them the most thorough examinations my equipment permitted when we were a couple of days out-quite thorough for those days; I had not practiced medicine after leaving Ormuzd but did keep my sick bay stocked and equipped, and picked up the latest tapes whenever I was on a civilized planet and studied them during long jumps. I was a good jackleg doctor, Minerva.