Evadne Prendergast approached me. “I understand you have some influence over Marigold Carassa, Mr. Sagar,” she said. “The young lady is proving difficult and I’d be very glad if you’d speak to her.”
I found Marigold in a suite at the Princess Louise—paid for out of Foes’ funds, I deduced.
“They want to wheel me at the head of their march like an exhibit, Joe,” she said in distress. “I can’t let them do that. And Dave doesn’t want me to, either.”
“Uh … what’s Dave got to do with it?” I asked incautiously, because Dave chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom.
He stood beside Marigold’s wheelchair, put his arm around her shoulders, and stared at me defiantly. “I’m going to marry her,” he said; and I knew he was thinking: Which is more than you were prepared to do, Sagar.
“I thought you were back in the pen.”
“They … didn’t seem to catch up with me, yesterday. That Rennie’s not a bad guy, for a cop. They’ve traced me now, though. They’ll be here to take me away soon.”
I looked at Marigold. “So you’re going to wait for him?”
“Of course, Joe.”
She smiled at me like a friend, and I smiled back that way. “I’ll tell Evadne Prendergast to find someone else for a figurehead,” I assured her.
As I left them there I felt as miserable as hell because Marigold was so beautiful; and I thought about the rioting yesterday, which had occurred all over the country and was still continuing today in many places, and which had claimed a few lives and a lot of property, but which was still a good thing because the Government would be forced to act, to suspend the Pool; maybe even to abolish it.
But this reformation would not occur because of Carioca Jones or the Foes of Bondage or any of the other, more sincere reform groups. It would occur because of Dale Finlay’s camerawork and Marigold Carassa’s beauty.
It seemed a strange reason for political reform, the fact that a girl was pretty. I tried not to wonder what the public reaction would have been if Dave, with his dour face and aggressive manner, had been the amputee.
I told Evadne Prendergast of Marigold’s decision.
“That really is too bad,” she said. “However, I’m sure we can find a replacement.” She gazed with satisfaction at the gathering which was now assuming immense proportions. “I will ask the girls to, uh, ferret around. You will lead the march with me, Mr. Sagar.”
I was saved the difficulty of further denying her by the chattering arrival of the police copter which hovered over the crowd while Rennie’s voice roared out metallically. “I have an important announcement for you from the Government in cooperation with the local police. An extensive search of the Ambulatory Organ Pool wing of the state penitentiary last night and this morning brought to light certain irregularities, and those responsible have been detained in custody. It is now apparent that a number of inmates are due for immediate release. This is being effected, and foreign inmates are being shipped home, first-class. Further, your Government is very conscious of public sentiments concerning the recent disclosures, and wishes to announce that the Ambulatory Organ Pools in all state penitentiaries will be suspended while further discussions take place, with the ultimate aim of abolishing the Pools within the year.”
The roar of applause drowned out even Rennie’s stentorian voice and he waited a while before resuming. “Your Government is, however, extremely concerned for the welfare of its citizens under the present circumstances, and in view of last night’s incidents must regretfully declare that until further notice all large public gatherings will be considered illegal and dealt with accordingly. I must therefore ask you all to disperse. The purpose of your demonstration no longer exists, anyway.”
“Now isn’t that really too bad of them!” exploded Evadne Prendergast furiously.
It seemed to me that Joanne’s release from the pen ought to be a private thing, that I ought to be able to collect her at the gates in my hovercar, take her straight to the antigrav port and away. Nobody else should be interested; it was just her business and mine. But things didn’t work out that way.
During the week before her release the Foes of Bondage had been to the fore in nationwide disturbances which followed the release of large numbers of donors from the pens, when for the first time people really saw what Compulsory Donation meant. But the riots were not only illegal, they were purposeless; they merely expressed outrage, and when they finally fizzled out a lot of folk were asking themselves what it had all achieved.
Then some smart Foe realized that, in the excitement, the original object of the Foes had been forgotten: the abolition of bondage. Now, the Pool was gone but bondage remained, and bonded men and women could still be called upon to donate to their principals, and the whole thing was just too despicable, too barbaric. … In a bright mood of resurgence the Foes looked for a figurehead, and found Joanne. A welcoming party was organized for the day of her release, and my hopes of a speedy getaway were dashed.
The large ballroom at the Princess Louise was crowded with Foes and a number of members of the general public like Doug Marshall and others who were there at my insistence. Maybe I had some vague hope of bringing the two factions together in mutual celebrations and drinking; I don’t know… . Anyway, I stood there smiling and talking, with the hotel reservations and flight tickets burning a hole in my pocket as I wondered how I was going to get Joanne away from this mob.
I said to Doug, “I don’t see Rennie here.”
“He refused to come. He’s even more anti-Foe these days, since the riots.”
“Did he say anything about Lambert?”
Marshall took a drink of something brown from a passing tray. “Christ knows what’s happened to Lambert. I can’t think what happened to Gallaugher, either. It’s been a funny season, Joe. Maybe when the gliders are all laid up for the winter, things will go quiet again.” He eyed a group of Foes around the platform where the band played. “But we can reckon the Foes are going to be outside the marina every weekend until the season ends, shouting their dirty words.” He glanced at me apologetically. “I don’t include you in that I imagine you’ve resigned from the Foes by now.”
“Sort of… . How many club members have bonded men now, anyway?”
Marshall thought, then grinned. “None, for Christ’s sake. I hadn’t thought of that. It just so happens that right now we’re in the clear, since Presdee’s man George finished his time. So the Foes have no reason to demonstrate at the club. Isn’t that great?”
“I think you might find they’ll demonstrate there from force of habit.”
He regarded me thoughtfully. “Uh, Joe … are you going to be around?”
“I may go south for a spell. I’ll be back some time next year.” And as I spoke I was remembering the last time I went south; I caught sight of Marigold sitting in her wheelchair talking to Alcester and for a moment I felt sad.
Then Joanne slipped back into my thoughts like a warm zephyr and I was myself again. Evadne Prendergast caught my eye and began to chatter.
“Isn’t it exciting, Mr. Sagar? You must be thrilled—I understand you and dear Joanne were very good friends.” She realized she’d put her foot in it. Carioca had denounced Joanne and me in front of the nation. “Of course, dear Carioca was just a mite prejudiced, I feel. A fine leader, but impulsive. All things considered, I think the Foes are a much happier body of women without her influence.” The rapidity with which the Foes’ late president had been discredited put me in mind of an emergent nation. It seemed that Carioca’s brilliant closing performance was already forgotten.
There was a young girl on the stage playing an orchestrella; and as the warm, sweet tones filled the room I remembered that it was only a year ago since I’d first met Joanne. With all the waiting, it seemed a hell of a lot longer than that. I’d wanted to meet her at the pen gate but she’d said no; there were a few things she wanted to do, and the Foes had supplied a car.
Watching her
through the wires, I’d felt a sudden panic. “You’re not going to get mixed up with those women, are you?” I’d asked nervously.
“No, Joe,” she’d replied, watching me gravely. “But they’ve been good enough to arrange this party for me. Don’t rush me, Joe. Give me time to get used to things.”
And now there was a sudden stir around the ballroom entrance and conversation died. As I began to push my way toward the door I caught sight of Joanne’s face, smiling as she greeted people, accepting her first drink in months, being embraced by all and sundry. I managed to reach her and we hugged, and I tried to tell myself that she hugged me closer than she hugged Charles Wentworth, or Doc Lang, or Miranda Marjoribanks, all of whom were clamoring for her attention. I hadn’t realized that she was so well known; then I remembered that she’d lived with Carioca, who was always giving parties in those days.
She winked at me as our eyes met over Bryce Alcester’s shoulder.
“She looks well, doesn’t she?” someone said to me.
The wink was undoubtedly a conspiratorial wink, as though she knew and I knew that all this business was a tiresome pretense, but it had to be endured as a kind of payment for the time when we would soon be alone.
“Speech!” some fool was shouting drunkenly.
The Foes were gathering around her like pigeon fanciers and there would have been a sick jealousy within me if I hadn’t remembered what she’d-said about not getting involved with them. I thought she smiled and beckoned to me as the crowd carried her farther away, but it was Evadne Prendergast she sought. Her hair was thick and fair, and it bounced as she looked from face to face animatedly, chatting in a way I’d never seen her chat before. I’d always thought her a shy girl, retiring.
There was almost a desperation in her brightness.
They had her on the stage and the band was quiet, apart from the drummer who beat an introductory tattoo.
Then Evadne Prendergast said something brief and handed Joanne the mike. The bright metal glittered as her hand shook, metal fingers gripping metal microphone. She seemed to swallow and recover, and her eyes passed me as she scanned her audience nervously. Then she coughed and began to speak.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this wonderful party,” she said. “It was a simply marvelous surprise to come from that awful place and find that you’d done all this for me, and it makes me feel … unworthy. After all, I’m an ex-con and I’d heard people don’t treat ex-cons too well.…”
For a while she went on like this, expressing fulsome gratitude in a way that wasn’t Joanne at all. The crowd loved it, of course, but the unease was growing in me like an embolism and I was scared. I saw a drink on a table and gulped it down; it tasted terrible.
“And, bless you all, I feel terribly guilty too, because I’m going to tell all you nice people something you’re not going to like very much—and I hope you won’t feel too badly about it. But it’s got to be said because it’s something I learned in jail and it’s real, and it means more than demonstrations and marches and riots.”
I wanted to sit down. Joanne’s voice was almost mechanical now, as though she were overrehearsed, as though she were expelling words like a computer printout.
“You see, in jail we learn to live by the rules. There are rules telling you when to get up and when to eat and when to go to bed and how to speak to the guards, and there are so many rules that in the end they become a part of you, and you don’t question the sense of them because they’ve become solid facts to hang on to, like truth.
“So you can see I was puzzled and not very happy when I heard about all the rioting and unpleasantness over the last few days.”
The thought crossed my mind: Had she been indoctrinated? Her audience was beginning to look bewildered, and Evadne Prendergast looked downright annoyed.
“Now I understand that I’m going to be asked to be a figurehead in a campaign to abolish bondage—and I’m afraid I can’t agree to that. You see, a great number of prisoners are in favor of bondage. The remission it involves might represent four or five years of their life—and in any case it’s voluntary. Are you going to take that away from them?”
“Well, really,” interrupted Evadne Prendergast, pink with suppressed temper. “I should have thought with your experience of bondage—”
“I was unlucky,” continued Joanne evenly. “It was a case of an impulsive gesture on the part of a woman who is normally the nicest person—and believe me, nobody has regretted it more than Carioca, in the months since. Most S. P. men and women complete their bondage without hitch, and many go on into outside life as friends, employees, and sometimes partners of the very people they were once bonded to. Huh, Charles?” She indicated Charles Wentworth, who nodded without expression, watching her face.
“My dear Joanne,” snapped Evadne Prendergast, moving in on the mike. “I won’t ask you to explain the general tenor of your statements, but I will ask you this. Now just name for us one prisoner who has applied for bondage recently, since the Foes by their unremitting efforts have focused attention on the iniquities of this diabolical form of slavery! Just one! Because I happen to know there are none! The eyes of the prisoners are opened!”
“Well, not quite,” replied Joanne. “Bondage still represents one-third remission, Evadne—and that can be a lot of years. It so happens that years are, important to some people. You wanted a name, so I’ll give you one.
“Carioca Jones!”
And it was as though with a fanfare of trumpets that the far door burst open and Carioca Jones entered on cue, prancing toward the stage, greeting people with extravagant gestures of delight. Her eyes were startling black jewels in her pale face, all framed by the deeper, sweeping black of her Ultrasorbed hair. Her slithe-skin dress glowed crimson with exhilaration and as her gaze met mine the skin shimmered, her smile became a mocking parody as her eyes said: I’ve beaten you, you bastard.
She climbed onto the stage while people were mesmerized into clapping, and Joanne and she embraced. I glanced quickly around; it seemed that her very presence had filled people’s minds; the Foes were smiling, the sling-gliders gaped, even Evadne Prendergast’s severe expression had softened—but nobody was thinking.
Nobody really considered the significance of her presence; all that mattered was that Carioca Jones was onstage.
Joanne grinned; Joanne was going to introduce her.
My Joanne said, “So here’s justification right before you. Here she is, and she doesn’t have to live in that awful prison—after all, who would wish that on anyone? May I present my bonded S. P. girl…Carioca Jones!”
As Carioca stepped forward Joanne moved back, not quite smiling now as she watched the actress begin to speak.
Presently Joanne reached out with her glittering steel hand, and she took Carioca’s soft youthful hand in hers, possessively.
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Also by Michael G. Coney
Cat Carina
The Celestial Steam Locomotive
Michael G. Coney (1932 – 2005)
Michael G. Coney is the award-winning author of such novels as SYZYGY, MONITOR FOUND IN ORBIT, BRONTOMEK, CAT KARINA, and THE CELESTIAL STEAM LOCOMOTIVE. His short stories have appeared in magazines the world over and are frequently included in anthologies.
Copyright
A Gollancz eBook
Copyright © The Estate of Michael G Coney 1975
All rights reserved.
The right of Michael G Coney to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This eBook first published in Great Britain in 2013 by
Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane
London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 575 12938 2
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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The Girl With a Symphony in Her Fingers Page 21