“Of course! How did you expect me to look?”
“Like a cannibal, or an exploiter, or maybe one of their victims.”
“What odd ideas!” said Jantiff. “On Zeck at least no one
would care to be thought an exploiter, much less a victim.”
“Then why did you come to Arrabus?”
“That’s a hard question,” said Jantiff somberly. “I’m not sure
that I know the answer myself. At home too much pressed on me, while all the
time I searched for something I couldn’t find. I needed to get away and order
my mind.”
Esteban and Skorlet had been listening to the conversation
with distant half-smiles. Esteban inquired in a light voice: “And then, when
your mind has been ordered?”
“This is what I don’t know. In essence I want to create
something remarkable and beautiful, something that is my very own… I want
to indicate the mysteries of life. I don’t hope to explain them, mind you; I
wouldn’t, even if I could. I want to reveal their dimensions and their wonder,
for people who are interested or even people who aren’t… I’m afraid I don’t
explain myself very well.”
Skorlet said in a rather cool voice, “You explain well
enough, but no one quite understands.”
Tanzel, listening with knitted eyebrow, said: “I understand
a little of what he’s saying, I wonder about these mysteries too. For instance,
why am I me, and not somebody else?”
Skorlet said roughly: “You’ll wear your brain out, thinking along
those lines.”
Esteban told her earnestly: “Remember, my dear, that Jantiff isn’t an egalist lie the rest of us; he wants to do something quite
extraordinary and individualistic.”
“Yes, partly that,” said Jantiff, wishing that he had never
ventured an opinion. “But it’s more like this: here I am, born into life with
certain capabilities. If I don’t use these capabilities and achieve my utmost
then I’m cheating myself, and living a soiled life.”
“Hmm,” said Tanzel sagely. “If everyone were like you, the
world would be a very nervous place.”
Jantiff gave an embarrassed laugh. “No cause for worry;
there don’t seem to be many people like me.”
Tanzel gave her shoulders a jerk of somber disinterest, and
Jantiff was pleased to drop the subject. A moment later her mood changed; she
tugged at Jantiff’s sleeve and pointed ahead. “‘There’s Uncibal River! I do so
love watching from the bridge! Oh, please come, everyone! Over to the deck!”
Tanzel ran out upon the prospect deck. The others followed
more sedately, and all stood leaning on the rail as Uncibal River passed below;
a pair of slideways, each a hundred feet wide, crowded close with the folk of
Arrabus. Tanzel told Jantiff excitedly: “If you stand here long enough you’ll
see everyone in the world!”
“That of course isn’t true,” said Skorlet crisply, as if she
did not altogether approve of Tanzel’s fancies.
Below passed the Arrabins: folk of all ages, faces serene
and easy, as if they walked alone, rapt in contemplation. Occasionally someone
might raise his eyes to look at the line of faces along the deck; for the most
part the crowds passed below oblivious to those who watched from above.
Esteban began to show signs of restlessness. He straightened,
slapped the rails and, with a thoughtful glance toward the sky, said “Perhaps rd
better be moving along. My friend Hester will be expecting me.”
Skorlet’s black eyes glittered. “There is no need
whatever for you to rush off.”
“Well, in a way—”
“Which route do, you go?”
“Oh—just along the River.”
“We’ll all go, together and take you to Nester’s block. She’s
at the Tesseract, I believe.”
Dignity struggling with annoyance, Esteban said curtly, “Shall
we move along then?”
A ramp curved down and around to the boarding platform;
they stepped out, into the crowd, and were carried away to the west. As
they moved across to the faster lanes, Jantiff discovered an odd effect. When
he looked, over his shoulder to the right, faces in his immediate ,vicinity receded
and fell away into the blur. When he looked back to his left, the faces surged
up from nowhere, drew abreast and passed ahead into an equally anonymous beyond.
The effect was disturbing for reasons he could not precisely define; he began
to feel vertigo and turned away to face forward, to watch the blocks move past,
each a different color: pinks and browns and yellows; greens of every description:
moss, mottled green-white, cadaverous blue-green, black-green; faded reds and
orange-purples: all augmented to a state of clarity by the Dwan-light.
Jantiff became interested in the colors. Each no doubt exerted
a symbolic influence upon those who lived with them. Peach, blotched with
stump-water tan—who chose these colors? What canons were involved?
Lavender-white, blue, acid green—on and on, each color no doubt dear to the
folk who lived there… Tanzel tugged at his elbow. Jantiff looked around to
see Esteban moving swiftly away to the right. Tanzel said somberly: “He just
remembered an important engagement; he asked me to express his regrets to you.”
Skorlet, her face flushed with annoyance, stepped smartly past.
“Something I’ve got to do! I’ll see you later!” She likewise was gone through
the crowd, and Jantiff was left with Tanzel. He looked at her in bewilderment. “Where
did they go so suddenly?”
“I don’t know, but let’s go on. I could ride Uncibal River
forever!”
“I think we’d better go back. Do yon know the way?”
“Of course! We just revert to Disselberg River, then cross
to 112th Lateral.”
“You show me the way. I’ve had enough promenading for the
day. Strange that both Esteban and Skorlet decided to leave so suddenly!”
“I suppose so,” said Tanzel. “But I’ve come to expect
strange things… Well, if you want to go back, we’ll take the next turnaround.”
As they rode Jantiff gave his attention to Tanzel: An appealing
little creature, so he decided. He asked if she enjoyed her school. Tanzel
shrugged. “I’d have to drudge otherwise, so I learn counting, reading and
ontology. Next year I’ll be into personal dynamics, and that’s more fun. We
learn how to express ourselves and dramatize. Did you go to school?”
“Yes, indeed: sixteen long years.”
“What did you learn?”
“An amazing variety of facts and topics.”
“And then you went out to drudge?”
“No, not yet. I haven’t found anything I really want to do.”
“I don’t suppose you live at all egalistically.”
“Not as you do here. Everyone works much harder; but most
everyone enjoys his work.”
“But not you.”
Jantiff gave an embarrassed laugh. “Pm willing to work very
hard, but I don’t quite know how. My sister Ferfan carves mooring posts.
Perhaps I’ll do something like that.”
Tanzel nodded. “Someday let’s talk again. There’s the crèche;
I’ll turn off here. Your block is straight along; it’s Old Pink, on the left.
Good-bye.”
Jantiff proceeded along the man-way and presently saw ahead
that block which he now must consider “home”: Old Pink.
He entered, ascended to Level 19 and sauntered around the
corridor to his apartment. He opened the door and tactfully called out: “Pm
home. It’s Jantiff!”
No response. The apartment was empty. Jantiff entered and
slid the door shut. He stood for a moment wondering what to do with himself.
Still two hours until dinner. Another ration of gruff, deedle, and wobbly.
Jantiff grimaced. The globes of paper and wire caught his eye; he went to
examine them. Their function was not at all clear. The paper was green flimsy,
the wire had been salvaged from another operation. Perhaps Skorlet intended to
decorate the apartment with gay green bubbles. If so, thought Jantiff, her
achievement was remarkably slipshod.
[15]
Well, so long as they pleased Skorlet, it was none of his affair. He looked
into the bedroom, to appraise the two cots and the not-too-adequate curtain.
Jantiff wondered what his mother would say. Certainly nothing congratulatory.
Well, this was why he had come traveling, to explore other ways and other
customs. Though for a fact, since matters were so casual he would definitely
have preferred the young woman—what was her name? Kedidah?—whom he had noticed
in the refectory.
He decided to unpack his satchel and went to the wardrobe
where he had left it. He looked down in consternation. The lock was broken; the
lid was askew. Opening the case, Jantiff examined the contents. His few clothes
apparently had not been molested, except for his spare shoes, of fine gray
lantile. These were missing, as well as his pigments and pad, his camera and
recorder, a dozen other small implements. Jantiff went slowly into the sitting
room and sank into a chair.
A brief few minutes later Skorlet entered the apartment.
Jantiff thought that she looked in a very bad mood, with her black eyes,
glittering, and her mouth set in a hard line. Her voice crackled as she spoke: “How
long have you been here?”
“Five or ten minutes.”
“Kindergoff Lateral was down to the contractors,” she said
bitterly. “I had to walk an entire mile.”
“While we were gone someone broke into my case and stole
most of my things.”
The news seemed to drive Skorlet close to the limits of
self-control. “And what do you expect?” she snapped in an unpleasantly harsh
voice. “This is an egalistic country; why should you have more than anyone
else?”
“I have been over-egalized,”
said Jantiff dryly. “To the effect that I now have less than anyone
else.”
“Those are problems you must learn to cope with,” said
Skorlet and marched into the bedroom.
A few days later Jantiff wrote a letter to his family:
“My dearest mother, father and sisters:
I am now established in what must be the most remarkable nation
of Alastor Cluster: Arrabus of Wyst. I inhabit a two-room apartment in close
contiguity to a handsome woman with strong views on egalism. She doesn’t
approve of me particularly. However, she is civil and on occasion helpful. Her
name, is Skorlet. You may wonder at this unconventional arrangement; it is
really quite simple. Egalism refuses to recognize sexual differences. One
person is considered equal to every other, in all respects. To emphasize sexual
differences is called “sexivation.” For a girl to primp or show her figure to
best advantage is “sexivation” and it is considered a serious offense.
The apartments were originally intended to house male or female
couples, or mated couples, but the philosophy was denounced as “sexivationist,”
and apartment assignments are now made at random, though often persons will
trade about. Anyone corning to Arrabus must leave his prejudices behind!
Already I have learned that, no matter what the apparent similarities of a new
place to one’s home, the stranger must not be misled!
Things are never what
they seem!
Think of this! And think of all the Cluster worlds and all the
Gaean Reach, and the Erdic Realms, and the Primarchic! Think of these trillions
of folk, each with his singular face! A frightening thought, really. Still I am
much impressed by Arrabus. The system works; there is no desire for change. The
Arrabins seem happy and content, or at the very least, passive. They place
their highest value upon leisure, at the expense of personal possessions, good
food, and a certain degree of freedom. They are far from well educated, and
no one has expertise in any specific field. Maintenance and repairs are done by
whomever is assigned the job, or in serious cases, to contracting firms from
the Weirdlands. (These are the provinces to north and south. They are not
nations; I doubt if they have any formal government whatever, but I don’t know
much about them.)
I have not been able to do any serious work because my apparatus
has been stolen. Skorlet considers this quite normal and cannot understand my
distress. She jeers at my “anti-egalism.” Well, so be it. As I say, the Arrabins
are, a strange folk, who become excited only by food—not their usual “wump” but
good natural food; in fact an acquaintance by the name of Esteban has mentioned
one: or two vices so odd and repellent as to be unspeakable, and I will say no
more.
The block where I live is known as “Old Pink” because of its eczematous
color. Each block, ostensibly identical to all others, is vividly distinctive,
at least in the minds of the folk who live there, and they will characterize
the blocks as “dreary,” “frivolous,” “teeming with sly merges,” “serves good
wump,” “serves bad wump,” “too many pranksters,” “sexivationist.” Each block
has it’s own legends, songs and special jargon. “Old Fink” is considered
easy-going and faintly raffish, which of course describes me very well, too.
You ask, What is a “snerge”? A thief. I have already suffered the
attentions of a merge, and my camera is missing so I can’t send photographs.
Luckily I was carrying my ozols with me. Please send me by return mail new
pigments, vehicle, applicators and a big pad of matrix. Ferfan will tell you what
I need. Send them insured; if they came by ordinary delivery, they might be
egalized.
Later: I have done my first stint of drudge, at an export
factory, for which I receive what is called “drivet”: ten tokens for each hour
worked. My weekly drivet is a hundred and thirty tokens, of which
eighty-two must immediately be paid to the block, for food and lodging. The
remainder is not too useful, since there is not much to buy: garments, shoes,
stadium tickets, toasted seaweed at Disjerferact. I now dress like an Arrabin,
so as not to be conspicuous. Certain shops at the space-port sell imported
goods—tools, toys, occasional trifles of “boater,” at the most astonishing
prices! In tokens, of course, which have almost no exchange value against the
ozol—something like five hundred tokens to the owl.
Absurd, of course. On second thought, not so absurd. Who wants
tokens? There is nothing to buy.
Still, this way of life, peculiar as it seems, is not necessarily
a bad system. I suspect that every style of life works out to be a trade off
between various kinds of freedoms. There are naturally many different freedoms,
and sometimes one freedom implies the absence of another.