by Peter David
"It was my choice, Sh'nab."
"I . . . I see."
Sh'nab was silent for so long that M'k'n'zy turned to look at him with concern on his face. "Do you?"
"Of course I do. It saddens me, I admit. But . . . perhaps it's understandable. Perhaps that is why you are so able to lead troops of men into battle. You are more . . . comfortable . . . with them."
It took a moment for what Sh'nab was saying to sink in, and when he realized, M'k'n'zy wasn't sure whether to react with outrage or laughter. His voice caught somewhere in between in a sort of strangled choke. "I do not prefer to have sex with men, Sh'nab!"
"Oh," Sh'nab said mildly. "I thought that was what you were trying to say."
"If I had been trying to say that, I would have said that! Kindly do not 'help' me with a pronouncement of that magnitude, if it is all the same to you! All right?"
"Well, then I do not understand, M'k'n'zy. If you don't . . . I mean . . . if . . ."
Sh'nab was still seated in the ornately carved chair as M'k'n'zy sank onto the floor opposite him. M'k'n'zy had known Sh'nab for many years, felt a closeness to the elder who had on a number of occasions schooled him in some of the gentler arts of Xenexian life and culture. M'k'n'zy was not comfortable discussing such matters with anyone, really, but if he was going to speak of it, then at least Sh'nab was someone he considered an appropriate sounding board.
"Sh'nab, I did not expect to survive the uprising. Do you understand? I did not think that I would manage to live through the rebellion. I thought the Danteri would catch and kill me, or that I would die in battle. I faced death a thousand times, and to some degree I still cannot believe that I survived it all when so many others who were just as brave, just as resourceful, and just as skilled in battle as I wound up losing their lives. I saw the way women looked at me, Sh'nab. If it wasn't lost on you, it certainly wasn't lost
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on me. I'd see the lovelight in their eyes, and I . . . I did not desire any woman to form an attachment to me, for fear of not being there for her. I did not want any loved ones because I did not wish to leave a loved one behind. It might have hampered me in what I needed to do, and it would have been unfair to her. So now we are faced with a possible peace, and I find the prospect of . . . of intimacy . . . to be somewhat daunting. For that matter, I am suspicious of
women." "Suspicious of them?"
"Well," M'k'n'zy shrugged, "it is unfair, I suppose, to single them out. I am suspicious of everyone. But now I have a reputation as our greatest fighter, our greatest warrior. What if a woman is attracted to my title and reputation, rather than to me, for myself? For that matter, what if she expects me to be as . . . as skilled in the art of lovemaking as I am in the art of war? What ifand he lowered his head"what if I cannot perform to her satisfaction? What if I cannot perform at all? Can you imagine that? Can you imagine the things that would be said as word spread? People calling out to me, 'So, M'k'n'zy, having problems getting your sword out of its sheath, eh?' The humiliation of the thought, the . . ." He shuddered, his voice trailing off in contemplation of such embarrassment.
"M'k'n'zy," Sh'nab said softly, "you are a strategist. That has always been your greatest strength. As such, it has been necessary for you to give a great deal of thought to whatever situation you might be faced with. In my opinion, you are treating the prospect of sex with the same gravity that you would plan a military engagement. You are trying to foresee all possibilities, plan for every possible contingency. Intimacy is not a war, M'k'n'zy."
"I know of some couples who might disagree with you, Sh'nab."
Sh'nab allowed a smile. "All right, I'll grant you that," said the elder. "But you are overthinking things here. Simply allow matters to develop naturally."
"That is not my nature, Sh'nab. I am one who feels the need to steer matters to a conclusion that I find satisfactory."
"Relationships do not work that way, M'k'n'zy. In war, you give instructions to your men and they follow orders. Women do not take to that. Except the most passive of women, and I doubt that you would be satisfied with someone like that."
M'k'n'zy made no immediately reply, and Sh'nab continued gently, "Go to Catrine, M'k'n'zy. She is a good woman. If you do not wish to attend to her wishes, then tell her so. The likelihood is that she will understand. Give her some sort of explanation, though. She is entitled to that much, at least."
"I suppose so," M'k'n'zy sighed. "All right, Sh'nab, all right. I'll go to her and explain the situation. I'm sure I can get her to understand that it would be better for her to wait for D'ndai's return. He has far more experience in these matters. I should know. He certainly boasts of it enough."
It had rained the previous night, and the great square was more like a large pool of mud. M'k'n'zy stepped through it carefully, his feet sticking in place every so often, and he'd have to fight to pull his boots free. He made his way across it, and angled off down the side road toward Catrine's home. The sun was already setting, its rays stretching across the horizon, and M'k'n'zy scanned the skies urgently in the hopes that, at the last moment, D'ndai's ship might suddenly show up overhead. But there seemed to be no sign of it.
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on me. I'd see the lovelight in their eyes, and I . . . I did not desire any woman to form an attachment to me, for fear of not being there for her. I did not want any loved ones because I did not wish to leave a loved one behind. It might have hampered me in what I needed to do, and it would have been unfair to her. So now we are faced with a possible peace, and I find the prospect of . . . of intimacy . . . to be somewhat daunting. For that matter, I am suspicious of
women." "Suspicious of them?"
"Well," M'k'n'zy shrugged, "it is unfair, I suppose, to single them out. I am suspicious of everyone. But now I have a reputation as our greatest fighter, our greatest warrior. What if a woman is attracted to my title and reputation, rather than to me, for myself? For that matter, what if she expects me to be as . . . as skilled in the art of lovemaking as I am in the art of war? What ifand he lowered his head"what if I cannot perform to her satisfaction? What if I cannot perform at all? Can you imagine that? Can you imagine the things that would be said as word spread? People calling out to me, 'So, M'k'n'zy, having problems getting your sword out of its sheath, eh?' The humiliation of the thought, the . . ." He shuddered, his voice trailing off in contemplation of such embarrassment.
"M'k'n'zy," Sh'nab said softly, "you are a strategist. That has always been your greatest strength. As such, it has been necessary for you to give a great deal of thought to whatever situation you might be faced with. In my opinion, you are treating the prospect of sex with the same gravity that you would plan a military engagement. You are trying to foresee all possibilities, plan for every possible contingency. Intimacy is not a war, M'k'n'zy."
"I know of some couples who might disagree with you, Sh'nab."
Sh'nab allowed a smile. "All right, I'll grant you that," said the elder. "But you are overthinking things here. Simply allow matters to develop naturally."
"That is not my nature, Sh'nab. I am one who feels the need to steer
matters to a conclusion that I find satisfactory."
"Relationships do not work that way, M'k'n'zy. In war, you give instructions to your men and they follow orders. Women do not take to that. Except the most passive of women, and I doubt that you would be satisfied with someone like that."
M'k'n'zy made no immediately reply, and Sh'nab continued gently, "Go to Catrine, M'k'n'zy. She is a good woman. If you do not wish to attend to her wishes, then tell her so. The likelihood is that she will understand. Give her some sort of explanation, though. She is entitled to that much, at least."
"I suppose so," M'k'n'zy sighed. "All right, Sh'nab, all right. I'll go to her and explain the situation. I'm sure I can get her to understand that it would be better for her to wait for D'ndai's return. He has far more experience in these matters. I should know. He certainly boasts of it enough."
It had rained the previous night, and the great square was more like a large pool of mud. M'k'n'zy stepped through it carefully, his feet sticking in place every so often, and he'd have to fight to pull his boots free. He made his way across it, and angled off down the side road toward Catrine's home. The sun was already setting, its rays stretching across the horizon, and M'k'n'zy scanned the skies urgently in the hopes that, at the last moment, D'ndai's ship might suddenly show up overhead. But there seemed to be no sign of it.
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Just his luck.
M'k'n'zy knocked gently on the door of Catrine's home, so gently that it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle would enable anyone to hear him. He waited exactly five seconds, got no immediate response, and promptly came to the conclusion that she wasn't home. He turned away, prepared to bolt, when the door creaked open and Catrine stood in the doorway. She was at least ten summers older than he, with copious blond hair that framed a round and amused face. In contrast to the smile, though, there was sadness in her eyes. Sadness or, at the very least, loneliness. She wore a simple white shift, and there was gentle lighting from within that backlit her, tracing the curves of her muscular body.
"Greetings, M'k'n'zy," she said. He was surprised to notice that her voice had a somewhat enchanting lilt to it. "You have come to honor my request and give me a child?"
"I have come to discuss it," he replied. "Discussing it is not how it's generally done," was her comment, and then she gestured for him to enter. He did so, looking around at the long tapering candles which decorated the inner hallway. "I appreciate your taking the time to come to me." "I wasn't otherwise occupied," said M'k'n'zy. He suddenly realized that she had taken his hand in hers. His palm felt clammy to him, but if she noticed it she said nothing. "Do you have a woman, M'k'n'zy?" she asked. "You mean at present?" "Yes."
"No. No, there is no one. I have not had the time. I have been . . . rather busy. Where are we going?"
"My bedroom." She stopped, turned, and smiled at him. "Unless you wish to take me right here on the floor."
"No!" he said quickly, his voice sounding higher and sharper than he would have liked. He composed himself and repeated, "No," in a slightly deeper voice that sounded like forced casualness.
"All right, then."
She brought him into the bedroom, and there were more candles surrounding the bed; so many, in fact, that he felt as if he were about to be tossed onto a slab and offered up as a sacrifice. The bed looked softer than a slab, though. Nonetheless M'k'n'zy looked tense, rigid, nervous. In short, he looked like a man who was about to do many things, other than have sex. The scent of her filled his nostrils, and he felt slightly dizzy. Her eyes picked up the flickering candlelight and seemed to be flickering with a heat all their own.
"Well?" she said.
He shifted his feet uneasily. "Uhm . . . well, uh . . . well, what?"
"What would you like to do? Do you wish to undress me, or shall I do that for you? Do you wish me to"
"I don't know. Whatever you desire is fine. I am doing this for you, Catrine. It is . . ." He tried to find the words and adopted a scolding tone. "It is an obligation. That is all. Just an obligation. I'll do as you wish, since this is your desire, not mine."
If he could have pulled the words out of the air before they had reached her, he would have. But naturally, that was not an option. He saw the hurt on her face though, her large eyes going round with pain. She did not cry, but she sank slowly onto the bed, her back rigid. "I am sorry," she whispered.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
"No, I . . . I do. For you are young and beautiful, and I am . . ." Her fingers trailed along her throat. "I am . . . old. Old and unattractive."
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Just his luck.
M'k'n'zy knocked gently on the door of Catrine's home, so gently that it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle would enable anyone to hear him. He waited exactly five seconds, got no immediate response, and promptly came to the conclusion that she wasn't home. He turned away, prepared to bolt, when the door creaked open and Catrine stood in the doorway. She was at least ten summers older than he, with copious blond hair that framed a round and amused face. In contrast to the smile, though, there was sadness in her eyes. Sadness or, at the very least, loneliness. She wore a simple white shift, and there was gentle lighting from within that backlit her, tracing the curves of her muscular body.
"Greetings, M'k'n'zy," she said. He was surprised to notice that her voice had a somewhat enchanting lilt to it. "You have come to honor my request and give me a child?"
"I have come to discuss it," he replied. "Discussing it is not how it's generally done," was her comment, and then she gestured for him to enter. He did so, looking around at the long tapering candles which decorated the inner hallway. "I appreciate your taking the time to come to me." "I wasn't otherwise occupied," said M'k'n'zy. He suddenly realized that she had taken his hand in hers. His palm felt clammy to him, but if she noticed it she said nothing. "Do you have a woman, M'k'n'zy?" she asked. "You mean at present?" "Yes."
"No. No, there is no one. I have not had the time. I have been . . . rather busy. Where are we going?"
"My bedroom." She stopped, turned, and smiled at him. "Unless you wish to take me right here on the floor."
"No!" he said quickly, his voice sounding higher and sharper than he would have liked. He composed himself and repeated, "No," in a slightly deeper voice that sounded like forced casualness.
"All right, then."
She brought him into the bedroom, and there were more candles surrounding the bed; so many, in fact, that he felt as if he were about to be tossed onto a slab and offered up as a sacrifice. The bed looked softer than a slab, though. Nonetheless M'k'n'zy looked tense, rigid, nervous. In short, he looked like a man who was about to do many things, other than have sex. The scent of her filled his nostrils, and he felt slightly dizzy. Her eyes picked up the flickering candlelight and seemed to be flickering with a heat all their own.
"Well?" she said.
He shifted his feet uneasily. "Uhm . . . well, uh . . . well, what?"
"What would you like to do? Do you wish to undress me
, or shall I do that for you? Do you wish me to"
"I don't know. Whatever you desire is fine. I am doing this for you, Catrine. It is . . ." He tried to find the words and adopted a scolding tone. "It is an obligation. That is all. Just an obligation. I'll do as you wish, since this is your desire, not mine."
If he could have pulled the words out of the air before they had reached her, he would have. But naturally, that was not an option. He saw the hurt on her face though, her large eyes going round with pain. She did not cry, but she sank slowly onto the bed, her back rigid. "I am sorry," she whispered.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
"No, I . . . I do. For you are young and beautiful, and I am . . ." Her fingers trailed along her throat. "I am . . . old. Old and unattractive."
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"What?"
"Obviously that is the case. I" He wanted to console her, wanted to speak words of love or sympathy to her, but he didn't have the tools to do so. So all he sounded was brusque as he replied, "Don't be ridiculous. You are . . . you're beautiful. You are. You're beautiful." "I'm not. I am old."
"You are . . ." He tried to find a way to phrase it that would pierce through her veil of self-pity and, in so doing, his voice automatically adopted a more sympathetic tone. "Every summer that you have lived has graced you with sunlight that you continue to carry with you. You shine with an inner light."
"Oh, please," she said with what sounded like cautious dismissal, as if she wanted to believe his words, but was reluctant to accept them for what they were. "Please, you will say whatever comes to mind so that I will not be sad. I'm flattered by your efforts, but do not patronize me."
"I would not patronize you," said M'k'n'zy firmly. He took her by the shoulders and turned her. "I knew your husband, Catrine. He was a good man. A good fighter. I respected him. If nothing else, I would not insult his memory by treating you in such a manner." "So," her voice was very quiet and he had to strain to hear. "You . . . do find me attractive?" "Yes. Very much so."