by Isaac Asimov
“Then why should I wear it?”
“Miss Gladia thought it would become you, Partner Elijah. The method of tieing is rather intricate and I will be glad to help you.” jehoshaphat, thought Baley ruefully, she wants me to be pretty. What does she have in mind?
Don't tkink about it!
Baley said, “Never mind. I'll manage with a simple bow-knot. —But listen, Daneel, after breakfast I will be going over to Fastolfe's, where I will meet with him, with Amadiro, and with the Chairman of the Legislature. I don't know if there will be any others present.”
“Yes, Partner Elijah. I am aware of that. I don't think there will be others present.”
“Well, then,” said Baley, beginning to put on his undergarments and doing it slowly so as to make no mistake and thus find it unnecessary to appeal for help to Daneel, “tell me about the Chairman. I know from my reading that he is the nearest thing to an executive officer that there is on Aurora, but I gathered from that same reading that the position is purely honorary. He has no power, I take it.”
Daneel said, “I am afraid, Partner Elijah—”
Giskard interrupted. “Sir, I am more aware of the political situation on Aurora than friend Daneel is. I have been in operation for much longer. Would you be willing to have me answer the question?”
“Why, certainly, Giskard. Go ahead.”
“When the government of Aurora was first set up, sir,” began Giskard in a didactic way, as though an information reel within him were methodically spinning, “it was intended that the executive officer fulfill only ceremonial duties. He was to greet dignitaries from other worlds, open all meetings of the Legislature, preside over its deliberations, and vote only to break a tie. After the River Controversy, however—”
“Yes, I read about that,” said Baley. It had been a particularly dull episode in Auroran history, in which impenetrable arguments over the proper division of hydroelectric power had led to the nearest approach to civil war the planet had ever seen. “You needn't go into details.”
“No, sir,” said Giskard. “After the River Controversy, however, there was a general determination never to allow controversy to endanger Auroran society again. It has become customary, therefore, to settle all disputes in a private and peaceable manner outside the Legislature. When the legislators finally vote, it is in an agreed-upon fashion, so that there is always a large majority on one side or the other.
“The key figure in the settlement of disputes is the Chairman of the Legislature. He is held to be above the struggle and his power—which, although nil in theory, is considerable in practice—only holds as long as he is seen to be so. The Chairman therefore jealously guards his objectivity and, as long as he succeeds in this, it is he who usually makes the decision that settles any controversy in one direction or another.”
Baley said, “You mean that the Chairman will listen to me, to Fastolfe, and to Amadiro, and then come to a decision?”
“Possibly. On the other hand, sir, he may remain uncertain and require further testimony, further thought—or both.”
“And if the Chairman does come to a decision, will Amadiro bow to it if it is against him—or will Fastolfe bow if it is against him}”
“That is not an absolute necessity. There are almost always some who will not accept the Chairman's decision and both Dr. Amadiro and Dr. Fastolfe are headstrong and obstinate individuals—if one may judge from their actions. Most of the legislators, however, will go along with the Chairman's decision, whatever that might be. Dr. Fastolfe or Dr. Amadiro—whichever it may be who will be decided against by the Chairman—will then be sure to find himself in a small minority when the vote is taken.”
“How sure, Giskard?”
“Almost sure. The Chairman's term of office is ordinarily thirty years, with the opportunity for reelection by the Legislature for another thirty years. If, however, a vote were to go against the Chairman's recommendation, the Chairman would be forced to resign forthwith and there would be a governmental crisis while the Legislature tried to find another Chairman under conditions of bitter dispute. Few legislators are willing to risk that and the chance of getting a majority to vote against the Chairman, when that is the consequence, is almost nil.”
“Then,” said Baley ruefully, “everything depends on this morning's conference.”
“That is very likely.”
“Thank you, Giskard.”
Gloomily, Baley arranged and rearranged his line of thought. It seemed hopeful to him, but he did not have any idea what Amadiro might say or what the Chairman might be like. It was Amadiro who had initiated the meeting and he must feel confident, sure of himself.
It was then that Baley remembered that once again, when he was falling asleep, with Gladia in his arms, he had seen—or thought he had seen—or imagined he had seen—the meaning of all the events on Aurora. Everything had seemed clear—obvious—certain. And once more, for the third time, it was gone as though it had never been.
And with that thought, his hopes seemed to go, too.
72
Daneel led Baley into the room where breakfast was being served—it seemed more intimate than an ordinary dining room. It was small and plain, with no more in the way of furnishings than a table and two chairs and when Daneel retired, he did not move into a niche. In fact, there were no niches and, for a moment, Baley found himself alone— entirely alone—in the room.
That he was not really alone, he was certain. There would be robots on instant call. Still, it was a room for two—a no-robots room—a room (Baley hesitated at the thought) for lovers.
On the table there were two stacks of pancakelike objects that did not smell like pancakes but smelled good. Two containers of what looked like melted butter (but might not be) flanked them. There was a pot of the hot drink (which Baley had tried and had not liked very much) that substituted for coffee.
Gladia walked in, dressed in rather prim fashion and with her hair glistening, as though freshly conditioned. She paused a moment, her face wearing a half-smile. “Elijah?”
Baley, caught a little by surprise at the sudden appearance, jumped to his feet. “How are you, Gladia?” He stuttered a bit.
She ignored that. She seemed cheerful, carefree. She said, “If you're worried about Daneel not being in sight, don't be. He's completely safe and he'll stay so. As for us—” She came to him, standing close, and put a hand slowly to his cheek, as once, long ago, she had done in Solaria.
She laughed lightly. “That was all I did then, Elijah. Do you remember?”
Elijah nodded silently.
“Did you sleep well, Elijah? —Sit down, dear.”
He sat down. “Very well. —Thank you, Gladia.” He hesitated before deciding not to return the endearment in kind.
She said, “Don't thank me, I've had my best night's sleep in weeks and I wouldn't have if I hadn't gotten out of bed after I was sure you were sleeping soundly. If I had stayed—as I wanted to—I would have been annoying you before the night was over and you would not have gotten your rest.”
He recognized the need for gallantry. “There are some things more important than r-rest, Gladia,” he said, but with such formality that she laughed again.
“Poor Elijah,” she said. “You're embarrassed.”
The fact that she recognized that embarrassed him even more. Baley had been prepared for contrition, disgust, shame, affected indifference, tears—everything but the frankly erotic attitude she had assumed.
She said, “Well, don't suffer so. You're hungry. You hardly ate last night. Get some calories inside you and you'll feel more carnal.”
Baley looked doubtfully at the pancakes that weren't.
Gladia said, “Oh! You've probably never seen these. They're Solarian delicacies. Pachinkasl I had to reprogram my chef before he could make them properly. In the first place, you have to use imported Solarian grain. It won't work with the Auroran varieties. And they're stuffed. Actually, there are a thousand stuffings you can use, b
ut this is my favorite and I know you'll like it, too. I won't tell you what's in it, except for chestnut puree and a touch of honey, but try it and tell me what you think. You can eat it with your fingers, but be careful how you bite into it.”
She picked one up, holding it daintily between the thumb and middle finger of each hand, then took a small bite, slowly, and licked at the golden, semiliquid filling that flowed out.
Baley imitated her action. The pachinka was hard to the touch and not too hot to hold. He put one end cautiously in his mouth and found it resisted biting. He put more muscle into it and the pachinka cracked and he found the contents flowing over his hands.
“The bite was too large and too forceful,” said Gladia, rushing to him with a napkin. “Now lick at it. No one eats a pachinka neatly. There's no such thing. You're supposed to wallow in it. Ideally, you're supposed to eat it in the nude, then take a shower.”
Baley tried a hesitant lick and his expression was clear enough.
“You like it, don't you?” said Gladia.
“It's delicious,” said Baley and he bit away at it slowly and gently. It wasn't too sweet and it seemed to soften and melt in the mouth. It scarcely required swallowing.
He ate three pachinkas and it was only shame that kept him from asking for more. He licked at his fingers without urging and eschewed the use of napkins, for he wanted none of it to be wasted on an inanimate object.
“Dip your fingers and hands in the cleanser, Elijah,” and she showed him. The “melted butter” was a finger bowl, obviously.
Baley did as he was shown and then dried his hands. He sniffed at them and there was no odor whatever.
She said, “Are you embarrassed about last night, Elijah? Is that all you feel?”
What did one say? Baley wondered.
Finally, he nodded. “I'm afraid I am, Gladia. It's not all I feel, by twenty kilometers or more, but I am embarrassed. Stop and think. I'm an Earthman and you know that, but for the time being you're repressing it and ‘Earthman’ is only a meaningless disyllabic sound to you.
Last night you were sorry for me, concerned over my problem with the storm, feeling toward me as you would toward a child, and—sympathizing with me, perhaps, out of the vulnerability produced in you by your own loss— you came to me. But that feeling will pass—Fm surprised it hasn't passed already—and then you will remember that I am an Earthman and you will feel ashamed, demeaned, and dirtied. You will hate me for what I have done for you and I don't want to be hated. —I don't want to be hated, Gladia.” (If he looked as unhappy as he felt, he looked unhappy indeed.)
She must have thought so, for she reached out to him and stroked his hand. “I won't hate you, Elijah. Why should I? You did nothing to me that I can object to. I did it to you and Fll be glad for the rest of my life that I did. You freed me by a touch two years ago, Elijah, and last night you freed me again. I needed to know, two years ago, that I could feel desire—and last night I needed to know that I could feel desire again after Jander. Elijah— stay with me. It would be—”
He cut her off earnestly. “How can that be, Gladia? I must go back to my own world. I have duties and goals there and you cannot come with me. You could not live the kind of life that is lived on Earth. You would die of Earthly diseases—if the crowds and enclosure did not kill you first. Surely you understand.”
“I understand about Earth,” said Gladia with a sigh, “but surely you needn't leave immediately.”
“Before the morning is over, I may be ordered off the planet by the Chairman.”
“You won't be,” said Gladia energetically. “You won't let yourself be. —And if you are, we can go to another Spacer world. There are dozens we can choose from. Does Earth mean so much to you that you wouldn't live on a Spacer world?”
Baley said, “I could be evasive, Gladia, and point out that no other Spacer world would let me make my home there permanently—and you know that's so. The greater truth is, though, that even if some Spacer world would accept me, Earth means so much to me that I would have to return. —Even if it meant leaving you.”
“And never visiting Aurora again? Never seeing me again?”
“If I could see you again, I would,” Baley said, wishing. “Over and over again, believe me. But what's the use of saying so? You know I'm not likely to be invited back. And you know I can't return without an invitation.”
Gladia said in a low voice, “I don't want to believe that, Elijah.”
Baley said, “Gladia, don't make yourself unhappy. Something wonderful happened between us, but there are other wonderful things that will happen to you, too— many of them, of all kinds, but not the same wonderful thing. Look forward to the others.”
She was silent.
“Gladia,” he said urgently, “need anyone know what has happened between us?”
She looked up at him, a pained expression on her face. “Are you that ashamed?”
“Of what happened, certainly not. But even though I am not ashamed, there could be consequences that would be discomforting. The matter would be talked about. Thanks to that hateful hyperwave drama, which included a distorted view of our relationship, we are news. The Earthman and the Solarian woman. If there is the slightest reason to suspect that there is—love between us, it will get back to Earth at the speed of hyperspatial drive.”
Gladia lifted her eyebrows with a touch of hauteur. “And Earth will consider you demeaned? You will have indulged in sex with someone beneath your station?”
“No, of course not,” said Baley uneasily, for he knew that that would certainly be the view of billions of Earthpeople. “Has it occurred to you that my wife would hear of it? I'm married.”
“And if she does? What of it?”
Baley took a deep breath. “You don't understand. Earth ways are not Spacer ways. We have had times in our history when sexual mores were fairly loose, at least in some places and for some classes. This is not one of those times. Earthmen live crowded together and it takes a puritan ethic to keep the family system stable under such conditions.”
“Everyone has one partner, you mean, and no other?”
“No,” said Baley. “To be honest, that's not so. But care is taken to keep irregularities sufficiently quiet, so that everyone can—can—”
“Pretend they don't know?”
“Well, yes, but in this case—”
“It will all be so public that no one could pretend not to know—and your wife will be angry with you and will strike you.”
“No, she won't strike me, but she will be shamed, which is worse. I will be shamed as well and so will my son. My social position will suffer and— Gladia, if you don't understand, you don't understand, but tell me that you will not speak freely of this thing as Aurorans do.” He was conscious of making a rather miserable show of himself.
Gladia said thoughtfully, “I do not mean to tease you, Elijah. You have been kind to me and 1 would not be unkind to you, but” —she threw her arms up hopelessly— “your Earth ways are so nonsensical.”
“Undoubtedly. Yet I must live with them—as you have lived with Solarian ways.”
“Yes.” Her expression darkened with memory. Then, “Forgive me, Elijah. Really and honestly, I apologize. I want what I can't have and I take it out on you.”
“It's all right.”
“No, it's not all right. Please, Elijah, I must explain something to you. I don't think you understand what happened last night. Will you be all the more embarrassed if I do?”
Baley wondered how Jessie would feel and what she would do if she could hear this conversation. Baley was quite aware that his mind should be on the confrontation with the Chairman that was looming immediately up ahead and not on his own personal marital dilemma. He should be thinking of Earth's danger and not of his wife's, but, in actual fact, he was thinking of Jessie.
He said, “I'll probably be embarrassed, but explain it anyway.”
Gladia moved her chair, refraining from calling one of her robo
tic staff to do it for her. He waited for her nervously, not offering to move it himself.
She put her chair immediately next to his, facing it in the other direction, so that she was looking at him directly when she sat down. And as she did so, she put out her small hand and placed it in his and he felt his own hand press it.
“You see,” she said, “I no longer fear contact. I'm no longer at the stage where all I can do is brush your cheek for an instant.”
“That may be, but this does not affect you, Gladia, does it, as that bare touch did then?”
She nodded. “No, it doesn't affect me that way, but I like it anyway. I think that's an advance, actually. To be turned inside out just by a single moment of touch shows how abnormally I had lived and for how long. Now it is better. May I tell you how? What I have just said is actually prologue.”
“Tell me.”
“I wish we were in bed and it was dark. I could talk more freely.”
“We are sitting up and it is light, Gladia, but I am listening.”
“Yes. —On Solaria, Elijah, there was no sex to speak of. You know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I experienced none, in any real sense. On a few occasions—only a few—my husband approached me out of duty. I won't even describe how that was, but you will believe me when I tell you that, looking back on it, it was worse than none.”
“I believe you.”
“But I knew about sex. I read about it. I discussed it with other women sometimes, all of whom pretended it was a hateful duty that Solarians must undergo. If they had children to the limit of their quota, they always said they were delighted they would never have to deal with sex again.”
“Did you believe them?”
“Of course I did. I had never heard anything else and the few non-Solarian accounts I read were denounced as false distortions. I believed that, too. My husband found some books I had, called them pornography, and had them destroyed. Then, too, you know, people can make themselves believe anything. I think Solarian women believed what they said and really did despise sex. They certainly sounded sincere enough and it made me feel there was something terribly wrong with me because I had a kind of curiosity about it—and odd feelings I could not understand.”