by Jack Vance
Jantiff shook his head. “I can’t understand why anyone should steal under egalism.”
Esteban laughed. “Snerging ensures egalism. It’s a very direct remedy against anyone accumulating goods. In Arrabus we share and share alike.”
“I can’t understand the logic in all this,” said Jantiff, but neither—Esteban nor Skorlet showed any interest in pursuing the topic.
The three proceeded to the man-way and rode half a mile to the district crèche, where Tanzel waited: a pretty wisp of a girl with Skorlet’s round face, Esteban’s fine features and a thoughtful intelligence all her own. She greeted Skorlet and Esteban with restrained affection, and Jantiff with quite obvious curiosity. After a few moments of covert inspection, she told him: “Really, you look much like the rest of us!”
“Of course! How did you expect me to look?”
“Like a cannibal, or an exploiter, or maybe one of their victims.”
“What odd ideas!” said Jantiff. “On Zeck at least no one would care to be thought an exploiter, much less a victim.”
“Then why did you come to Arrabus?”
“That’s a hard question,” said Jantiff somberly. “I’m not sure that I know the answer myself. At home too much pressed on me, while all the time I searched for something I couldn’t find. I needed to get away and order my mind.”
Esteban and Skorlet had been listening to the conversation with distant half-smiles. Esteban inquired in a light voice: “And then, when your mind has been ordered?”
“This is what I don’t know. In essence I want to create something remarkable and beautiful, something that is my very own… I want to indicate the mysteries of life. I don’t hope to explain them, mind you; I wouldn’t, even if I could. I want to reveal their dimensions and their wonder, for people who are interested or even people who aren’t… I’m afraid I don’t explain myself very well.”
Skorlet said in a rather cool voice, “You explain well enough, but no one quite understands.”
Tanzel, listening with knitted eyebrow, said: “I understand a little of what he’s saying, I wonder about these mysteries too. For instance, why am I me, and not somebody else?”
Skorlet said roughly: “You’ll wear your brain out, thinking along those lines.”
Esteban told her earnestly: “Remember, my dear, that Jantiff isn’t an egalist lie the rest of us; he wants to do something quite extraordinary and individualistic.”
“Yes, partly that,” said Jantiff, wishing that he had never ventured an opinion. “But it’s more like this: here I am, born into life with certain capabilities. If I don’t use these capabilities and achieve my utmost then I’m cheating myself, and living a soiled life.”
“Hmm,” said Tanzel sagely. “If everyone were like you, the world would be a very nervous place.”
Jantiff gave an embarrassed laugh. “No cause for worry; there don’t seem to be many people like me.”
Tanzel gave her shoulders a jerk of somber disinterest, and Jantiff was pleased to drop the subject. A moment later her mood changed; she tugged at Jantiff’s sleeve and pointed ahead. “‘There’s Uncibal River! I do so love watching from the bridge! Oh, please come, everyone! Over to the deck!”
Tanzel ran out upon the prospect deck. The others followed more sedately, and all stood leaning on the rail as Uncibal River passed below; a pair of slideways, each a hundred feet wide, crowded close with the folk of Arrabus. Tanzel told Jantiff excitedly: “If you stand here long enough you’ll see everyone in the world!”
“That of course isn’t true,” said Skorlet crisply, as if she did not altogether approve of Tanzel’s fancies.
Below passed the Arrabins: folk of all ages, faces serene and easy, as if they walked alone, rapt in contemplation. Occasionally someone might raise his eyes to look at the line of faces along the deck; for the most part the crowds passed below oblivious to those who watched from above.
Esteban began to show signs of restlessness. He straightened, slapped the rails and, with a thoughtful glance toward the sky, said “Perhaps rd better be moving along. My friend Hester will be expecting me.”
Skorlet’s black eyes glittered. “There is no need whatever for you to rush off.”
“Well, in a way—”
“Which route do, you go?”
“Oh—just along the River.”
“We’ll all go, together and take you to Nester’s block. She’s at the Tesseract, I believe.”
Dignity struggling with annoyance, Esteban said curtly, “Shall we move along then?”
A ramp curved down and around to the boarding platform; they stepped out, into the crowd, and were carried away to the west. As they moved across to the faster lanes, Jantiff discovered an odd effect. When he looked, over his shoulder to the right, faces in his immediate ,vicinity receded and fell away into the blur. When he looked back to his left, the faces surged up from nowhere, drew abreast and passed ahead into an equally anonymous beyond. The effect was disturbing for reasons he could not precisely define; he began to feel vertigo and turned away to face forward, to watch the blocks move past, each a different color: pinks and browns and yellows; greens of every description: moss, mottled green-white, cadaverous blue-green, black-green; faded reds and orange-purples: all augmented to a state of clarity by the Dwan-light.
Jantiff became interested in the colors. Each no doubt exerted a symbolic influence upon those who lived with them. Peach, blotched with stump-water tan—who chose these colors? What canons were involved? Lavender-white, blue, acid green—on and on, each color no doubt dear to the folk who lived there… Tanzel tugged at his elbow. Jantiff looked around to see Esteban moving swiftly away to the right. Tanzel said somberly: “He just remembered an important engagement; he asked me to express his regrets to you.”
Skorlet, her face flushed with annoyance, stepped smartly past. “Something I’ve got to do! I’ll see you later!” She likewise was gone through the crowd, and Jantiff was left with Tanzel. He looked at her in bewilderment. “Where did they go so suddenly?”
“I don’t know, but let’s go on. I could ride Uncibal River forever!”
“I think we’d better go back. Do yon know the way?”
“Of course! We just revert to Disselberg River, then cross to 112th Lateral.”
“You show me the way. I’ve had enough promenading for the day. Strange that both Esteban and Skorlet decided to leave so suddenly!”
“I suppose so,” said Tanzel. “But I’ve come to expect strange things… Well, if you want to go back, we’ll take the next turnaround.”
As they rode Jantiff gave his attention to Tanzel: An appealing little creature, so he decided. He asked if she enjoyed her school. Tanzel shrugged. “I’d have to drudge otherwise, so I learn counting, reading and ontology. Next year I’ll be into personal dynamics, and that’s more fun. We learn how to express ourselves and dramatize. Did you go to school?”
“Yes, indeed: sixteen long years.”
“What did you learn?”
“An amazing variety of facts and topics.”
“And then you went out to drudge?”
“No, not yet. I haven’t found anything I really want to do.”
“I don’t suppose you live at all egalistically.”
“Not as you do here. Everyone works much harder; but most everyone enjoys his work.”
“But not you.”
Jantiff gave an embarrassed laugh. “Pm willing to work very hard, but I don’t quite know how. My sister Ferfan carves mooring posts. Perhaps I’ll do something like that.”
Tanzel nodded. “Someday let’s talk again. There’s the crèche; I’ll turn off here. Your block is straight along; it’s Old Pink, on the left. Good-bye.”
Jantiff proceeded along the man-way and presently saw ahead that block which he now must consider “home”: Old Pink.
He entered, ascended to Level 19 and sauntered around the corridor to his apartment. He opened the door and tactfully called out: “Pm home. It’s
Jantiff!”
No response. The apartment was empty. Jantiff entered and slid the door shut. He stood for a moment wondering what to do with himself. Still two hours until dinner. Another ration of gruff, deedle, and wobbly. Jantiff grimaced. The globes of paper and wire caught his eye; he went to examine them. Their function was not at all clear. The paper was green flimsy, the wire had been salvaged from another operation. Perhaps Skorlet intended to decorate the apartment with gay green bubbles. If so, thought Jantiff, her achievement was remarkably slipshod.[15] Well, so long as they pleased Skorlet, it was none of his affair. He looked into the bedroom, to appraise the two cots and the not-too-adequate curtain. Jantiff wondered what his mother would say. Certainly nothing congratulatory. Well, this was why he had come traveling, to explore other ways and other customs. Though for a fact, since matters were so casual he would definitely have preferred the young woman—what was her name? Kedidah?—whom he had noticed in the refectory.
He decided to unpack his satchel and went to the wardrobe where he had left it. He looked down in consternation. The lock was broken; the lid was askew. Opening the case, Jantiff examined the contents. His few clothes apparently had not been molested, except for his spare shoes, of fine gray lantile. These were missing, as well as his pigments and pad, his camera and recorder, a dozen other small implements. Jantiff went slowly into the sitting room and sank into a chair.
A brief few minutes later Skorlet entered the apartment. Jantiff thought that she looked in a very bad mood, with her black eyes, glittering, and her mouth set in a hard line. Her voice crackled as she spoke: “How long have you been here?”
“Five or ten minutes.”
“Kindergoff Lateral was down to the contractors,” she said bitterly. “I had to walk an entire mile.”
“While we were gone someone broke into my case and stole most of my things.”
The news seemed to drive Skorlet close to the limits of self-control. “And what do you expect?” she snapped in an unpleasantly harsh voice. “This is an egalistic country; why should you have more than anyone else?”
“I have been over-egalized,” said Jantiff dryly. “To the effect that I now have less than anyone else.”
“Those are problems you must learn to cope with,” said Skorlet and marched into the bedroom.
A few days later Jantiff wrote a letter to his family:
“My dearest mother, father and sisters:
I am now established in what must be the most remarkable nation of Alastor Cluster: Arrabus of Wyst. I inhabit a two-room apartment in close contiguity to a handsome woman with strong views on egalism. She doesn’t approve of me particularly. However, she is civil and on occasion helpful. Her name, is Skorlet. You may wonder at this unconventional arrangement; it is really quite simple. Egalism refuses to recognize sexual differences. One person is considered equal to every other, in all respects. To emphasize sexual differences is called “sexivation.” For a girl to primp or show her figure to best advantage is “sexivation” and it is considered a serious offense.
The apartments were originally intended to house male or female couples, or mated couples, but the philosophy was denounced as “sexivationist,” and apartment assignments are now made at random, though often persons will trade about. Anyone corning to Arrabus must leave his prejudices behind! Already I have learned that, no matter what the apparent similarities of a new place to one’s home, the stranger must not be misled! Things are never what they seem! Think of this! And think of all the Cluster worlds and all the Gaean Reach, and the Erdic Realms, and the Primarchic! Think of these trillions of folk, each with his singular face! A frightening thought, really. Still I am much impressed by Arrabus. The system works; there is no desire for change. The Arrabins seem happy and content, or at the very least, passive. They place their highest value upon leisure, at the expense of personal possessions, good food, and a certain degree of freedom. They are far from well educated, and no one has expertise in any specific field. Maintenance and repairs are done by whomever is assigned the job, or in serious cases, to contracting firms from the Weirdlands. (These are the provinces to north and south. They are not nations; I doubt if they have any formal government whatever, but I don’t know much about them.)
I have not been able to do any serious work because my apparatus has been stolen. Skorlet considers this quite normal and cannot understand my distress. She jeers at my “anti-egalism.” Well, so be it. As I say, the Arrabins are, a strange folk, who become excited only by food—not their usual “wump” but good natural food; in fact an acquaintance by the name of Esteban has mentioned one: or two vices so odd and repellent as to be unspeakable, and I will say no more.
The block where I live is known as “Old Pink” because of its eczematous color. Each block, ostensibly identical to all others, is vividly distinctive, at least in the minds of the folk who live there, and they will characterize the blocks as “dreary,” “frivolous,” “teeming with sly merges,” “serves good wump,” “serves bad wump,” “too many pranksters,” “sexivationist.” Each block has it’s own legends, songs and special jargon. “Old Fink” is considered easy-going and faintly raffish, which of course describes me very well, too.
You ask, What is a “snerge”? A thief. I have already suffered the attentions of a merge, and my camera is missing so I can’t send photographs. Luckily I was carrying my ozols with me. Please send me by return mail new pigments, vehicle, applicators and a big pad of matrix. Ferfan will tell you what I need. Send them insured; if they came by ordinary delivery, they might be egalized.
Later: I have done my first stint of drudge, at an export factory, for which I receive what is called “drivet”: ten tokens for each hour worked. My weekly drivet is a hundred and thirty tokens, of which eighty-two must immediately be paid to the block, for food and lodging. The remainder is not too useful, since there is not much to buy: garments, shoes, stadium tickets, toasted seaweed at Disjerferact. I now dress like an Arrabin, so as not to be conspicuous. Certain shops at the space-port sell imported goods—tools, toys, occasional trifles of “boater,” at the most astonishing prices! In tokens, of course, which have almost no exchange value against the ozol—something like five hundred tokens to the owl.
Absurd, of course. On second thought, not so absurd. Who wants tokens? There is nothing to buy.
Still, this way of life, peculiar as it seems, is not necessarily a bad system. I suspect that every style of life works out to be a trade off between various kinds of freedoms. There are naturally many different freedoms, and sometimes one freedom implies the absence of another.
In any event I’ve been getting ideas for depictions, which I know you don’t take seriously. The light here is absolutely ravishing: a deceptively pale light, which seems to diffract everywhere into colored fringes.
I have much more to tell you, but I’ll reserve something for my next. I won’t ask you to send in “bonter”; I’d be—well, to tell the truth, I don’t know what would happen, but I don’t want to learn.
Immigrants and visitors are not well liked, yet I find that my fame as a “fixer” has already spread far and wide. Isn’t this a joke? I know only what we were taught at school and what I learned at home. Still, everyone who has a bad screen insists that I fix it for him. Sometimes utter strangers! And when I do these favors, do they thank me? Verbally, yes, but there is a most peculiar expression on their faces: I can’t describe it. Contempt, distaste, antipathy? Because I so easily command this (to them) recondite skill. I have on this instant come to a decision. No longer will I perform favors free. I will demand tokens or hours of drudge. They will sneer and make remarks, but they will respect me more.
Here are some of my ideas for depictions:
The blocks of Uncibal, in the colors which hold so much meaning for the Arrabins.
The view along Uncibal River from a prospect deck, with the oncoming sea of faces, all blank and serene.
The games, the spunk battles, the Arrabin vers
ion of hussade.[16]
Disjerferact, the carnival along the mudflats. More of this later.
Just a word or two about the local version of hussade, and I hope no one in the family will be shocked or dismayed. The game is played to standard rules; the defeated sheirl, however, must undergo a most distressing experience .. She is disrobed and placed upon a cart with a repulsive wooden effigy, which is so controlled as to commit an unnatural act upon the sheirl; meanwhile, the losing team must pull this cart around the stadium. The wonder never leaves me: how are sheirls recruited? Each must realize that sooner or later her team must lose, yet none ever seems to consider this contingency.
They are either very brave or very foolish, or perhaps they are impelled by some dark human inclination which rejoices at public degradation.
Well, enough on this subject. I think I mentioned that my camera has been stolen: hence no photographs. In fact, I’m not sure that there is any agency at Uncibal to make prints from my matrix.
I will report further in my next letter.
From your loving,
Jantiff.
Chapter 4
One morning Esteban came by Jantiff’s apartment with a Mend. “Attention, please, Janty Ravensroke! This is Olin, a dear good fellow, for all his portly abdomen. It signifies sound sleep and a peaceful conscience, or so Olin assures me; he owns no magic bonter cabinet.”
Jantiff politely acknowledged the introduction, and offered a pleasantry of his own: “Please don’t consider me guilt-ridden because I am thin!”
Olin and Esteban were provoked to hearty laughs. Esteban said: “Olin’s screen has developed a most curious ailment; it spits up plumes of red fire, even at amusing messages. He naturally suffers agonies of distress. I told him: Be of good cheer! My friend Jantiff is a Zeck technician who likes nothing better than setting such things right.”
Jantiff attempted a bright tone. “I have rather a good idea along these lines. Suppose I conduct a seminar on small repairs, at a charge per session, say, of fifty tokens a student. Everyone—you and Olin included—can learn all I know, and then you can do your own repairs and also oblige those of your friends who lack the skills.”