The Lovers * Dark Is the Sun * Riders of the Purple Wage

by Philip José Farmer

  Pornsen backed away, his hands held out before him.

  ‘Hal Yarrow! Hal Yarrow! Control yourself! Forerunner, how you must hate me! And all these years I thought you loved me, that I was your beloved gapt and you were my beloved ward. But you hated me. Why?’

  The roaring faded away. Hal’s vision cleared.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Of course! I never dreamed, dreamed! Anything that I ever did to you was for you; when I punished you, my heart broke. But I drove myself to it by reminding myself that it was for your good.’

  Hal laughed and laughed while Pornsen ran down the hall and disappeared into his apartment with a single white-faced look.

  Weakly, shaking, Hal leaned against the doorway. This was the most unexpected thing of all. He had been absolutely certain that Pornsen loathed him as a contrary and unnatural monster and that he took a bitter delight in humiliating and whipping him.

  Hal shook his head. Surely, the gapt was scared and was trying to justify himself.

  He unlocked the door and entered. Around and around in his head flew the thought that the courage to speak out against Pornsen had come from Jeannette. Without her, he was nothing, a resentful but scared rabbit. A few hours with her had enabled him to overcome many years of rigid discipline.

  He clicked on the front room lights. Looking beyond into the dining room, he could see the closed kitchen’ door. The rattling of pots came through it. He sniffed deeply.

  Steak!

  The pleasure was replaced by a frown. He’d told her to hide until he returned. What if he had been a wog or an Uzzite?

  When the door swung open, the hinges squeaked. Jeannette’s back was to him. At the first protest of unoiled iron, she whirled. The spatula in her hand dropped; the other hand flew to her open mouth.

  The angry words on his lips died. If she were to be scolded now, she would probably break out in embarrassing tears.

  ‘Maw choo! You startled me!’

  He grunted and went by her to lift the lids on the pots.

  ‘You see,’ she said, her voice trembling as if she divined his anger and were defending herself. I have lived such a life, being afraid of getting caught’, that anything sudden scares me. I am always ready to run.’

  ‘How those wogs fooled me!’ Hal said sourly. ‘I thought they were so kind and gentle.’

  She glanced at him out of the side of her large eyes. Her color had come back; her red lips smiled.

  ‘Oh, they weren’t so bad. They really were kind. They gave me everything I wanted, except my freedom. They were afraid I’d make my way back to my sisters.’

  ‘What did they care?’

  ‘Oh, they thought there might be some males of my race left in the jungle and that I might give them children. They are terribly frightened of my race becoming numerous and strong again and making war on them. They do not like war.’

  ‘They are strange beings,’ he said. ‘But we cannot expect to understand those who do not know the reality of the Forerunner. Moreover, they are closer to the insect than to man.’

  ‘Being a man does not necessarily mean being better,’ Jeannette said with a tinge of asperity.

  ‘All God’s creatures have their proper place in the universe,’ he replied. ‘But man’s place is everywhere and everywhen. He can occupy any position in space and can travel in any direction in time. And if he must dispossess a creature to gain that place or time, he is doing only what is right.’

  ‘Quoting the Forerunner?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Perhaps, he is right. Perhaps. But what is man? Man is a sentient being. A wog is a sentient being. Therefore, the wog is a man. Nespfa?’

  ‘Shib or sib, let’s not argue. Why don’t we eat?’

  ‘I wasn’t arguing.’

  She smiled and said, ‘I will set the table. You will see if I can cook or not. There’ll be no argument about that.’

  After the dishes were placed on the table, the two sat down. Hal joined his hands together, put them on the table, bowed his head, and prayed.

  ‘Isaac Sigmen, runner before man, real be your name, we thank you for having made certain this blessed present, which once was the uncertain future. We thank you for this food, which you have actualized from potentiality. We hope and know that you will slay the Backrunner, forestall his wicked attempts to unshake the past and so alter the present. Make this universe solid and real, and omit the fluidity of time. These selves gathered at this table thank you. So be it.’

  He unfolded his hands and looked at Jeannette. She was staring at him.

  Obeying an impulse, he said, ‘You may pray if you wish.’

  ‘Won’t you regard my prayer as unreal?’

  He hesitated before saying, ‘Yes. I do not know why I asked you. I certainly would not ask an Israeli or Bantu to pray. I wouldn’t eat at the same table with one. But you … you are special … maybe because unclassified. I … I do not know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  She described a triangle in the air with the middle finger of her right hand. Looking upward, she said, ‘Great Mother, we thank you.’

  Hal repressed showing the strange feeling it gave him to hear an unbeliever. He slid open the drawer beneath the table and took out two objects. One he handed to Jeannette. The other he put on his head.

  It was a cap with a wide brim from which hung a long veil. It entirely covered his face.

  ‘Put it on,’ he said to Jeannette.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So we can’t see each other eat, of course,’ he said impatiently. ‘There is enough space between the veil and your face for you to manipulate your fork and spoon.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I told you. So we can’t see each other eat.’

  ‘Would the sight of me eating make you sick?’ she said with a rising inflection.

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Naturally? Why naturally?’

  ‘Why, eating is so … uh … I don’t know … animalistic’

  ‘And have your people always done this? Or did they begin when they found out they were animals?’

  ‘Before the coming of the Forerunner, they ate naked and unashamed. But they were in a state of ignorance.’

  ‘Do the Israeli and Bantu hide their faces when they eat?’

  ‘No.’

  Jeannette rose from the table.

  ‘I cannot eat with this thing over my face. I would feel ashamed.’

  ‘But… I have to wear my eating cap,’ he said with a shaky voice. ‘I couldn’t keep my food down.’

  She spoke a phrase in a language he did not know. But the unfamiliarity did not conceal the bewilderment and hurt.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But that’s the way it is. That’s the way it should be.’

  Slowly, she sat down again. She put the cap on.

  ‘Very well, Hal. But I think we must talk about this later. This makes me feel as if I am isolated from you. There is no closeness, no sharing in the good things that life has given us.’

  ‘Please don’t make any noise while your’re eating,’ he said. ‘And if you must speak, swallow all your food first. I’ve turned my face when a wog was eating before me, but I couldn’t close my ears.’

  ‘I’ll try not to make you sick,’ she said. ‘Just one question. How do you keep your children quiet when they’re eating?’

  ‘They never eat with adults. Rather, the only adults at their tables are gapts. And these soon teach them the proper behavior.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The meal passed in silence except for the unavoidable sound of cutlery on plate. When Hal finished, he took off his cap.

  ‘Ah, Jeannette, you are a rare cook. The food is so good I almost felt sinful that I should be enjoying it so much. The soup was the best I ever tasted. The bread was delicious. The salad was superb. The steak was perfect.’

  Jeannette had removed her cap first. Her meal was scarcely touched. Nevertheless, she smiled.


  ‘My aunts trained me well. Among my people, the female is taught at an early age all that will please a man. All.’

  He laughed nervously and, to cover his uneasiness, lit a cigarette.

  Jeannette asked if she might try a cigarette, too.

  ‘Since I am burning, I may as well smoke,’ she said, and she giggled.

  Hal wasn’t sure of what she meant, but he laughed to show her that he wasn’t angry with her about the eating caps.

  Jeannette lit her own cigarette, drew in, coughed, and rushed to the sink for a glass of water. She came back with her eyes streaming, but she at once picked up the cigarette and tried again. In a short time, she was inhaling like a veteran.

  ‘You have amazing imitative powers,’ Hal said. ‘I’ve watched you copying my movements, heard you mimic my speech. Do you know that you pronounce American as well as I do?’

  ‘Show or tell me something once, and you seldom have to do it again. I’m not claiming a superior intelligence, however. As you said, I have an instinct for imitation. Not that I’m not capable of an original thought now and then.’

  She began chattering lightly and amusingly about her life with her father, sisters, and aunts. Her good spirits seemed genuine; apparently, she was not talking just to conceal the depression caused by the incident at mealtime. She had a trick of raising her eyebrows as she laughed. They were fascinating, almost bracket-shaped. A thin line of black hair rose from the bridge of her nose, turned at right angles, curved slightly while going over the eye sockets, and then made a little hook at the ends.

  He asked her if the shape of her eyebrows was a trait of her mother’s people. She laughed and replied that she inherited it from her father, the Earthman.

  Her laughter was low and musical. It did not get on his nerves, as his ex-wife’s had. Lulled by it, he felt pleasant. And every time he thought of how this situation might end and his spirits sagged, he was pulled back into a better mood by something amusing she said. She seemed to be able to anticipate exactly what he needed to blunt any gloominess or sharpen any gaiety.

  After an hour, Hal rose to go into the kitchen. On his way past Jeannette, he impulsively ran his fingers through her thick, wavy black hair.

  She raised her face and closed her eyes, as if she expected him to kiss her. But, somehow, he could not. He wanted to but just couldn’t bring himself to make the first move.

  ‘The dishes will have to be washed,’ he said. ‘It would never do for an unexpected visitor to see a table set for two. And another thing we’ll have to watch. Keep the cigarettes hidden and the rooms aired out frequently. Now that I’ve been ‘Metered, I’m supposed to have renounced such minor unrealities as smoking.’

  If Jeannette was disappointed, she did not show it. She at once busied herself in cleaning up. He smoked and speculated about the chances of getting ginseng tobacco. She so enjoyed the cigarettes that he could not stand the idea of her missing out on them. One of the crewmen with whom he had good relations did not smoke but sold his ration to his mates. Maybe a wog could act as middleman, buy from the sailor, and pass it on to Hal. Fobo might do it, but the whole transaction would have to be handled carefully. Maybe it wasn’t worth the risk …

  Hal sighed. Having Jeannette was wonderful, but she was beginning to complicate his life. Here he was, contemplating a criminal action as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  She was standing before him, hands on her hips, eyes shining.

  ‘Now, Hal, maw namoo, if we only had something to drink, it would make a perfect evening.’

  He got to his feet. ‘Sorry. I forgot you wouldn’t know how to make coffee.’

  ‘No. No. It is the liquor I am thinking of. Alcohol, not coffee.’

  ‘Alcohol? Great Sigmen, girl, we don’t drink! That’d be the most disgust—’

  He stopped. She was hurt. He mastered himself. After all, she couldn’t help it. She came from a different culture. She wasn’t even, strictly speaking, all human.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s a religious matter. Forbidden.’

  Tears filled her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake. She put her face into her hands and began to sob. ‘You don’t understand. I have to have it. I have to.’

  ‘But why?’

  She spoke from behind her fingers. ‘Because during my imprisonment, I had little to do but entertain myself. My captors gave me liquor; it helped to pass the time and make me forget how utterly homesick I was. Before I knew it, I was an—an alcoholic.’

  Hal clenched his fists and growled, ‘Those sons of… bugs!’

  ‘So you see, I have to have a drink. It would make me feel better, just for the time being. And later, maybe later, I can try to overcome it. I know I can, if you’ll help me.’

  He gestured emptily. ‘But—but where can I get you some?’ His stomach revolted at the idea of trafficking in alcohol. But, if she needed it, he’d try his best to get it.

  Swiftly, she said, ‘Perhaps Fobo could give you some.’

  ‘But Fobo was one of your captors! Won’t he suspect something if I come asking for alcohol?’

  ‘He’ll think it’s for you.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, somewhat sullenly, and at the same time guiltily because he was sullen, ‘But I hate for anybody to think J drink. Even if he is just a wog.’

  She came up to him and seemed to flow against him. Her lips pressed softly. Her body tried to pass through his. He held her for a minute and then took his mouth away.

  ‘Do I have to leave you?’ he whispered. ‘Couldn’t you pass up the liquor? Just for tonight? Tomorrow, I’ll get you some.’

  Her voice broke. ‘Oh, maw namoo, I wish I could. How I wish I could. But I can’t. I just can’t. Believe me.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  He released her and walked into the front room, where he took a hood, cloak, and nightmask out of the closet. His head was bent; his shoulders sagged. Everything would be spoiled. He would not be able to get near her, not with her breath stinking of alcohol. And she’d probably wonder why he was cold, and he wouldn’t have the nerve to tell her how revolting she was, because that would hurt her feelings. To make it worse, she’d be hurt anyway if he offered no explanation.

  Before he left, she kissed him again on his now frozen lips.

  ‘Hurry! I’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  11

  Hal Yarrow knocked lightly on the door of Fobo’s apartment. The door did not open at once. No wonder. There was so much noise inside. Hal beat on the door, though reluctantly, for he did not want to attract Pornsen’s attention. The gapt lived across the hall from Fobo and might open his door to see what was going on. Tonight was not a good time for Pornsen to see him visiting the empathist. Even though Hal had every right to enter a wog’s home without being accompanied by a gapt, he felt uneasy because of Jeannette. He would not put it past the gapt to enter his, Hal’s, puka while he was gone for a bit of unofficial spying. And, if Pornsen did, he would have Hal. All would be up.

  But Hal comforted himself with the thought that Pornsen was not a very brave man. If he took the liberty of entering Hal’s place, he would also take the chance of being discovered. And Hal, as a lamedhian, could bring so much pressure to bear that Pornsen might not only be disgraced and demoted, he might even be a candidate for H.

  Loudly, impatiently, Hal rapped on the door again. This time it swung open. Abasa, Fobo’s wife, was smiling at him.

  ‘Hal Yarrow!’ she said in Siddo. ‘Welcome! Why didn’t you come in without knocking?’

  Hal was shocked. ‘I couldn’t do that!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We just don’t do that.’

  Abasa shrugged her shoulders, but she was too polite to comment. Still smiling, she said, ‘Well, come on in. I won’t bite!’

  Hal stepped in and shut the door behind him, though not without a backward glance at Pornsen’s door. It was closed.

  Inside, the screams of twelve wog
children at play bounched off the walls of a room as large as a basket-ball court. Abasa led Hal across the uncarpeted floor to the opposite end, where a hallway began. They passed by one corner where three wog females, evidently Abasa’s visitors, sat at a table. They were occupied in sewing, drinking from tall glasses before them, and chattering. Hal could not understand the few words he could hear; wog females, when talking among themselves, used a vocabulary restricted to their sex. This custom, however, so Hal understood, was swiftly dying out under the impact of increasing urbanization. Abasa’s female children were not even learning woman-talk.

  Abasa led Hal down to the end of the hall, opened a door, and said, ‘Fobo, dear! Hal Yarrow, the No-nose, is here!’

  Hal, hearing himself so described, smiled. The first time he had met this phrase, he had felt offended. But he had learned that the wogs did not mean it to be insulting.

  Fobo came to the door. He was dressed only in a scarlet kilt. Hal could not help thinking for the hundredth time how strange the Ozagen’ s torso was, with its nippleless chest and the curious construction of shoulder blades attached to the ventral spine. (Would it be called a fore-bone as opposed to the Earthman’s backbone?)

  ‘You are welcome indeed, Hal,’ said Fobo in Siddo. He switched to American, ‘Shalom. What happy occasion brings you here? Sit down. I’d offer you a drink, but I’m fresh out.’

  Hal did not think his dismay showed on his face, but Fobo must have discerned it.

  ‘Anything wrong?’

  Hal decided not to waste time. ‘Yes. Where can I get a quart of liquor?’

  ‘You need some? Shib. I will go out with you. The nearest tavern is a low-class hangout; it will give you a chance to see at close range an aspect of Siddo society you doubtless know little about.’

  The wog went into the closet and returned with an armful of clothes. He put a broad leather belt around his fat stomach and to it fastened a sheath containing a short rapier. Then, he stuck a pistol in the belt. Over his shoulders he fastened a long, kelly green cloak with many black ruffles. On his head he put a dark green skullcap with two artificial antennae. This head covering was the symbol of the Grasshopper clan. Once, it would have been important for a wog of that clan to have always worn it outside his house. Now, the clan system had degenerated to the point where it represented a minor social function, though its political use was still great.