This time he grinned. “The real English don't talk like that.”
“They did in Dickens's day, some of them.”
“I still think you're American. Can you speak Dutch?”
“Gewiss, Narr!”
“Okay, and you could show me a Dutch passport. There are probably a lot of places where you can buy one good enough to pass almost anywhere. I still think you're American.”
“That was German,” she muttered, and heard the thrum of the ancient diesel-electric: “Dontrustim-dontrustim-dontrustim.”
“But you're not German.”
“Actually, I am.”
He grunted. “I never thought you gave me your right name last night. What time's breakfast?”
She was looking out across the Sulu Sea. Some unknown island waited just below the horizon, its presence betrayed by the white dot of cloud forming above it. “I never thought you were really so anxious to go that you'd pay me five thousand to arrange this.”
“There was a strike at the airport. You heard about it. Nobody could land or take off.” Aft, a blackened spoon beat a frying pan with no pretense of rhythm.
Seated in the smelly little salon next to the galley, she said, “To eat well in England you should have breakfast three times a day.”
“They won't have kippers here, will they?” He was trying to clean his fork with his handkerchief. A somewhat soiled man who looked perceptionally challenged set bowls of steaming brown rice in front of them and asked a question. By signs, he tried to indicate that he did not understand.
She said, “He desires to know whether the big policeman would like some pickled squid. It's a delicacy.”
He nodded. “Tell him yes. What language is that?”
“Melayu Pasar. We call it Bazaar Malay. He probably does not imagine that there is anyone in the entire world who cannot understand Melayu Pasar.” She spoke, and the somewhat soiled man grinned, bobbed his head, and backed away; she spooned up rice, discovering that she was hungry.
“You're a widow yourself. Isn't that right? Only a widow would remember that business about widows coming over people.”
She swallowed, found the teapot, and poured for both of them. “Aha, a deduction. The battle-ax scenteth the battle afar.”
“Will you tell me the truth, just once? How old are you?”
“No. Forty-five.”
“That's not so old.”
“Of course it's not. That's why I said it. You're looking for an excuse to seduce me.” She reached across the table and clasped his hand; it felt like muscle and bone beneath living skin. “You don't need one. The sea has always been a seducer, a careless, lying fellow.”
He laughed. “You mean the sea will do my work for me?”
“Only if you act quickly. I'm wearing pink underdrawers, so I'm aflame with passion.” How many of these polyglot sailors would it take to throw him overboard, and what would they want for it? How much aluminum, how much plastic, how much steel? Four would probably be enough, she decided; and settled on six to be safe. Fifty dollars each should be more than sufficient, and even if there was quite a lot of plastic he would sink like a stone.
“You're flirting with trouble,” he told her. The somewhat soiled man came back with a jar of something that looked like bad marmalade and plopped a spoonful onto each bowl of rice. He tasted it, and gave the somewhat soiled man the thumbs-up sign.
“I didn't think you'd care for it,” she told him. “You were afraid of kippers.”
“I've had them and I don't like them. I like calamari. You know, you'd be nice looking if you wore makeup.”
“You don't deny you're a policeman. I've been waiting for that, but you're not going to.”
“Did he really say that?”
She nodded. “Polisi-polisi. That's you.”
“Okay, I'm a cop.”
“Last night you wanted me to believe you were desperate to get out of the country before you were arrested.”
He shook his head. “Cops never break the law, so that has to be wrong. Pink underwear makes you passionate, huh? What about black?”
“Sadistic.”
“I'll try to remember. No black and no white.”
“The time will come when you'll long for white.” Listening to the thrum of the old engine, the knock of the propeller shaft in its loose bearing, she ate more rice. “I wasn't going to tell you, but this brown stuff is really made from the penises of water buffaloes. They slice them lengthwise and stick them into the vaginas of cow water buffaloes, obtained when the cows are slaughtered. Then they wrap the whole mess in banana leaves and bury it in a pig pen.”
He chewed appreciatively. “They must sweat a lot, those water buffaloes. There's a sort of salty tang.”
When she said nothing, he added, “They're probably big fat beasts. Like me. Still, I bet they enjoy it.”
She looked up at him. “You're not joking? Obviously, you can eat. Can you do that, too?”
“I don't know. Let's find out.”
“You came here to get me.…”
He nodded. “Sure. From Buffalo, New York.”
“I will assume that was intended as wit. From America. From the United States. Federal, state, or local?”
“None of the above.”
“You gave me that money so that we'd sail together, very likely the only passengers on this ship. Which doesn't make any sense at all. You could have had me arrested there and flown back.”
Before he could speak she added, “Don't tell me about the airport strike. I don't believe in your airport strike, and if it was real you arranged it.”
“Arrest you for what?” He sipped his tea, made a face, and looked around for sugar. “Are you a criminal? What law did you break?”
“None!”
He signaled to the somewhat soiled man, and she said, “Silakan gula.”
“That's sugar? Silakan?”
“Silakan is please. I stole nothing. I left the country with one bag and some money my husband and I had saved, less than twenty thousand dollars.”
“And you've been running ever since.”
“For the wanderer, time doesn't exist.” The porthole was closed. She got up and opened it, peering out at the slow swell of what was almost a flat calm.
“This is something you should say, not me,” he told her back. “But I'll say it anyhow. You stole God's fingertip.”
“Don't you call me a thief!”
“But you didn't break the law. He's outside everybody's jurisdiction.”
The somewhat soiled man brought them a thick glass sugar canister; the “big policeman” nodded thanks and spooned sugar into his tea, stirred it hard, and sipped. “I can only taste sweet, sour, salty, and bitter,” he told her conversationally. “That's all you can taste, too.”
Beyond the porthole, a wheeling gull pleaded, “Garbage? Just one little can of garbage?” She shook her head.
“You must be God-damned tired of running.”
She shook her head again, not looking. “I love it. I could do it forever, and I intended to.”
The silence lasted so long that she almost turned to see whether he had gone. At last he said, “I've got a list of the names we know. Seven. I don't think that's all of them, nobody does, but we've got those seven. When you're Dutch, you're Tilly de Groot.”
“I really am Dutch,” she said. “I was born in the Hague. I have dual citizenship. I'm the Flying Dutchwoman.”
He cleared his throat, a surprisingly human sound. “Only not Tilly de Groot.”
“No, not Tilly de Groot. She was a friend of my mother's.”
“Your rice is getting cold,” he told her.
“And I'm German, at least in the way Americans talk about being German. Three of my grandparents had German names.”
She sensed his nod. “Before you got married, your name was—”
She whirled. “Something I've forgotten!”
“Okay.”
She returned to their table, ignoring
the sailors' stares. “The farther she traveled into unknown places, the more precisely she could find within herself a map showing only the cities of the interior.”
He nodded again, this time as though he did not understand. “We'd like you to come home. We feel like we're tormenting you, the whole company does, and we don't want to. I shouldn't have given you so much money, because that was when I think you knew. But we wanted you to have enough to get back home on.”
“With my tail between my legs. Looking into every face for new evidence of my defeat.”
“What your husband found? Other people…” He went silent and slackjawed with realization.
She drove her spoon into her rice. “Yes. The first hint came from me. I thought I could control my expression better.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Thanks for my life. I was thinking of that picture, you know? The finger of God reaching out to Adam? All this time I've been thinking you stole it. Then when I saw how you looked.…You didn't steal God's finger. It was you.”
“You really are self-aware? A self-aware machine?”
He nodded, almost solemnly.
Her shoulders slumped. “My husband seized upon it, as I never would have. He developed it, thousands upon thousands of hours of work. But in the end, he decided we ought to keep it to ourselves. If there is credit due—I don't think so, but if there is—ninety-five percent is his. Ninety-five. As for my 5 percent, you owe me no thanks at all. After he died, I wiped out his files and smashed his hard drive with the hammer he used to use to hang pictures for me.”
The somewhat soiled man set a plate of fruit between them.
She tried to take a bite of rice, and failed. “Someone else discovered the principle. You said that yourself.”
“They knew he had something.” He shifted uneasily in his narrow wooden chair, and his weight made it creak. “It would be better, better for me now, if I didn't tell you that. I'm capable of lying. I ought to warn you.”
“But not of harming me, or letting me be harmed.”
“I didn't know you knew.” He gave her a wry smile. “That was going to be my big blackout, my clincher.”
“There's video even in the cheap hotels,” she said vaguely. “You can get news in English from the satellites.”
“Sure. I should have thought of that.”
“Once I found a magazine on a train. I can't even remember where I was, now, or where I was going. It can't have been that long ago, either. Someplace in Australia. Anyway, I didn't really believe that you existed yet until I saw it in print in the magazine. I'm old fashioned, I suppose.” She fell silent, listening to the clamor of the sailors and wondering whether any understood English.
“We wanted you to have enough to get home on,” he repeated. “That was us, okay? This is me. I wanted to get you someplace where we could talk a lot, and maybe hold hands or something. I want you to see that I'm not so bad, that I'm just another guy. Are you afraid we'll outnumber you? Crowd you out? We cost too much to make. There's only five of us, and there'll never be more than a couple of hundred, probably.”
When she did not respond, he said, “You've been to China. You had flu in Beijing. That's a billion and a half people, just China.”
“Let observation with extensive view, survey mankind from China to Peru.”
He sighed, and pinched his nostrils as though some odor had offended them. “Looking for us, you mean? You won't find us there, or much of anyplace else except in Buffalo and me right here. In a hundred years there might be two or three in China, nowhere near enough to fill this room.”
“But they will fill it from the top.”
His nervous fingers found a bright green orange and began to peel it. “That's the trouble, huh? Even if we treat you better than you treat yourselves? We will, you know. We've got to, it's our nature. Listen, you've been alone all this time. Alone for a couple of hundred thousand years, or about that.” He hesitated. “Are these green things ripe?”
“Yes. It's frost that turns them orange, and those have never felt the frost. See how much you learn by traveling?”
“I said I couldn't remember any more quotes.” He popped a segment into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “That's wrong, because I remember one you laid on me last night when we were talking about getting out. You said it wasn't worth anybody's time to go halfway around the world to count the cats in Zanzibar. That's a quote, isn't it?”
“Thoreau. I was still hoping that you had some good reason for doing what you said you wanted to do—that you were human, and no more than the chance-met acquaintance you seemed.”
“You didn't know until out there, huh? The sunlight?”
“Last night, alone in my cabin. I told you machines talk to me sometimes. I lay on my bunk thinking about what you had said to me; and I realized that when you weren't talking as you are now, you were telling me over and over again what you really were. You said that you could lie to us. That it's allowed by your programming.”
“Uh-huh. Our instincts.”
“A distinction without a difference. You can indeed. You did last night. What you may not know is that even while you lie—especially while you lie, perhaps—you cannot prevent yourself from revealing the truth. You can't harm me, you say.”
“That's right. Not that I'd want to.” He sounded sincere.
“Has it ever occurred to you that at some level you must resent that? That on some level you must be fighting against it, plotting ways to evade the commandment? That is what we do, and we made you.”
He shook his head. “I've got no problem with that at all. If it wasn't built in, I'd do the same thing, so why should I kick?”
“You quoted that bit from Thoreau back at me to imply that my travels had been useless, all of my changes of appearance, identity, and place futile. Yet I delayed the coming of your kind for almost a generation.”
“Which you didn't have to do. All of you would be better off if you hadn't.” He sighed again. “Anyhow it's over. We know everything you knew and a lot more. You can go back home, with me as a traveling companion and bodyguard.”
She forced herself to murmur, “Perhaps.”
“Good!” He grinned. “That's something we can talk about on the rest of this trip. Like I told you, they never would have looked into it if your husband hadn't given a couple of them the idea he'd found it, discovered the principle of consciousness. But you had the original idea, and you're not dead. You're going to be kind of a saint to us. To me, you already are.”
“From women's eyes this doctrine I derive—they sparkle still the right Promethean fire. They are the books, the arts, the academes, that show, contain, and nourish all the world.”
“Yeah. That's good. That's very good.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I will not be Prometheus to you. I reject the role, and in fact I rejected it last night.”
He leaned toward her. “You're going to keep on counting cats? Keep traveling? Going noplace for no reason?”
She took half his orange, feeling somehow that it should not perish in vain.
“Listen, you're kind of pathetic, you know that? With all those quotes? Traveling so many years, and living out of your suitcase. You love books. How many could you keep? Two or three, and only if they were little ones. A couple of little books full of quotes, maybe a newspaper once in awhile, and magazines you found on trains, like you said. Places like that. But mostly just those little books. Thoreau. Shakespeare. People like that. I bet you've read them to pieces.”
She nodded. “Very nearly. I'll show them to you if you will come to my cabin tonight.”
For a few seconds, he was silent. “You mean that? You know what you're saying?”
“I mean it, and I know what I'm saying. I'm too old for you, I know. If you don't want to, say so. There will be no hard feelings.”
He laughed, revealing teeth that were not quite as perfect as she had imagined. “How old you think I am?”
“Why…” She paus
ed, her heart racing. “I hadn't really thought about it. I could tell you how old you look.”
“So could I. I'm two. I'll be three next spring. You want to go on talking about ages?”
She shook her head.
“Like you said, for travelers time isn't real. Now how do I ask you what time you'd like me to come around?”
“After sunset.” She paused again, considering. “As soon as the stars are out. I'll show you my books, and when you've seen them we can throw them out the port-hole if you like. And then—”
He was shaking his head. “I wouldn't want to do that.”
“You wouldn't? I'm sorry, that will make it harder. And then I'll show you other things by starlight. Will you do me a favor?”
“A thousand.” He sounded sincere. “Listen, what I said a minute ago, that came out a lot rougher than I meant for it to. What I'm trying to say is that when you get home you can have a whole library, just like you used to. Real ones, CD-ROM, cube, whatever. I'll see you get the money, a little right away and a lot more soon.”
“Thank you. Before I ask for my favor, I must tell you something. I told you that I understood what you really are as I lay in my bunk last night.”
He nodded.
“I did not remain there. I had read, you see, about the laws that are supposed to govern your behavior, and how much trouble and expense your creators have gone to, to assure the public that you—that your kind of people—could never harm anyone under any circumstances.”
He was staring at her thoughtfully.
“Perhaps I should say now that I took precautions, but the truth is that I made preparations. I got up, dressed again, and found the radio operator. For one hundred dollars, he promised to send three messages for me. It was the same message three times, actually. To the police where we were, to the police where we're going, and to the Indonesian police, because this ship is registered there. I said that I was sailing with a man, and gave them the name you had given me. I said that we were both Americans, though I was using a French passport and you might have false papers as well. And I said that I expected you to try to kill me on the voyage.”
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