Commitment Hour

by James Alan Gardner

  Is it any wonder the two children grow up with different outlooks? And of course, there are other differences. In time, the girl will take a shine to boys, just as the boy puffs himself in front of girls. (At least, that’s how it works with most girls and boys.) And your boy self has only heard about the principles of hem-stitching while your girl hands have actually done it…just as your girl self observes spear practice, but your boy self is the one who wakes with tired muscles.

  A single line of memories, but two different experiences.

  So, when one of my souls took over from the other, the world quietly shifted. Different things became important. Different things caught my eye. Different interpretations occurred to me for the same set of facts.

  Even though I happened to be in my male body—even though I could feel a penis pushing against my pants, still wet from Cypress Creek—I knew with unquestioning acceptance that I was a woman.

  I could feel my absent breasts like weightless phantoms.

  I could squeeze crotch muscles this body didn’t possess.

  I even had a sense of humor. Male-Me didn’t possess one of those, either.

  And it all felt completely natural…just as it must have felt natural for Cappie to dress like a man in the swamp, and fight like one too. Now that I was a woman, the Patriarch’s words about separate male and female souls struck me as the kind of dogmatic oversimplification you always expect from men.

  The priestess had explained it better, in one of those “girls only” sessions that Male-Me never made an effort to remember. “Yes,” Leeta had said, “you have two souls, male and female. And they’ve gone through different upbringings, haven’t they? You girls live fully in your female years, but experience your male years at arm’s length. Of course your two halves will see things differently—you’ve had different lives. But what the Patriarch lied about is that a female soul can be anything, just as a male soul can. It’s not like only one half is capable of cooking, and the other can shoot a bow. You girls can be whole universes, just as your brother selves can be whole universes. You can’t help but be different people…but you can both be whole. You know you can.”

  “You’re going to be whole, Waggett,” I whispered to my son. “If Daddy Fullin says the Patriarch will only let you be half a person, you tell him Mommy says that’s a load of horse-flop.”

  My boy didn’t answer—if he wasn’t completely asleep, he’d drifted three-quarters of the way. Carefully, I carried him back to the crib and tucked him in. As his little fists relaxed open, I kissed him lightly on the cheek, then silently left the house.

  The night was quiet as I walked through the hundred paces of forest that separated Zephram’s house from the rest of the village. Twice, I caught myself staring at my feet because they weren’t the proper distance away. My male body was three fingers shorter than my female, and it took some getting used to.

  Still, it was a minor adjustment compared to some of the changes I’d gone through. On Commitment Day when I was thirteen, I went from a prepubescent boy to a fully-blossomed girl, almost a head taller, rounded above and below, and just starting my first period. I stared at more than my feet, let me tell you…at least when I wasn’t tripping over doorsteps, bumping into furniture, and wondering what the hell the gods had been thinking when they invented menstruation.

  The one saving grace was Cappie, who’d gone through his first period a few months before. He sat me down so earnestly and tried to explain…but he’d gone all male and shy and mortified, with a stricken expression that made me’ laugh myself wet and forget about my cramps….

  Never mind. You had to be there. And you had to be thirteen.

  When I reached the village square, I paused for a moment. Turning right would take me to the path leading into Cypress Marsh…and I could remember how Male-Me thought it crucial to resume our vigil for the rest of the night. He’d always had inexplicable priorities. Surely it was more important to patch things up with Cappie, to make sure he—no, she—wasn’t ratcheting herself into a resentment that would poison our Commitment and the rest of our lives. Cappie had a tendency to brood if you didn’t chivvy him out of it fast. The last thing we needed was either of us fuming and sullen when we finally reached Commitment Hour.

  Our house lay close to the water, one of four identical cabins set aside for pre-Commitment couples. By the time you reached age nineteen, you were expected to be living with someone, getting a taste of how your later life might go. That gave you one year as master of the house and one year as mistress, so that you’d see both sides before Committing. When you chose your final gender, the gods wanted you well-informed.

  Not that a short time playing house could really prepare people for the long haul…but the little cabin we were allotted by the Council of Elders had a pressure-cooker quality that helped simulate the intensity of decades living in each other’s laps. The cabin was cramped; it was damp; it reeked constantly of fish; and when spring thaw raised the lake level, water sometimes oozed up through the floorboards, puddling in the north corner where the carpenters had skimped on support joists. If a couple could laugh together, and solve problems together, the hardship drew them closer to each other. If not…well, that was useful information to have before Committing, wasn’t it?

  As I approached the cabin, I could see dim light shining through the window’s mosquito net: light from our only oil lamp, burning on our only table. Of course, Leeta would still be talking with Cappie—explaining the full duties of priestess while there was still time to back away. As if Cappie really had the temperament for such a job! I loved the man, I truly did, but he was hopeless when it came to interacting with people. Whenever I tried to talk about feelings, his or mine, he’d think I was asking for advice! He’d completely miss the point, or squirm uncomfortably, or…

  I kicked myself for thinking of the male Cappie again. The female version was almost an unknown quantity; I’d only seen her through my male half’s eyes, and I knew better than to trust his judgment.

  Still…Cappie as priestess? I’d make a better priestess than she would. Wouldn’t I?

  Would I?

  Hmmm.

  It would be a good position for me: prestigious, but not onerous. I’d still have ample free time to practice violin and jaunt down-peninsula to earn gold at festivals. I wouldn’t be allowed to marry Cappie, but I could still keep him as a lover…a live-in lover, and not cooped up in a tiny fish-smelling cabin: the priestess’s house was quite spacious. And because I wasn’t married, I’d still be free for any sweet-smelling Yoskar I might meet when I went south to play.

  You didn’t expect me to be more of a saint than my male self, did you?

  Since I was in my male body, I had to pretend to be Male-Me…and as I reached the cabin porch, I stopped to ponder if he would knock on the door or just barge in unannounced. He prided himself on being a gentleman, but only on those rare occasions when it occurred to him there was more than one way to behave. I decided to knock, then tromp inside without waiting to be invited—it seemed like an appropriate combination of surface courtesy and self-centered entitlement. Being such an obvious lout made me queasy, but I didn’t want Cappie to think I was anyone more than my unsubtle male self.

  I knocked. I tromped. I said, “Hi.”

  Leeta was rocking in the chair by our fireplace; Cappie sat on the floor a short distance away, knees hugged up to her chest. They had the air of people talking about such important things that they hadn’t spoken for several minutes. When they turned to look at me, their expressions were more surprised than annoyed at the interruption.

  “Weren’t you going back to the marsh?” Cappie asked. Her voice almost whispered; I suppose she was reluctant to speak any louder.

  “No point to vigil anymore,” I replied. “Like you told Hakoore, we aren’t going to catch ducks, not the way Steck ruined our nets. And when I thought of sitting out there doing nothing, versus coming back to talk with you…”

  Leeta shifted in
the rocker. “If you two want to talk…”

  “No.” Cappie put a hand on Leeta’s knee so the priestess stayed in the chair. “I doubt if Fullin has talking in mind.” With her gaze fixed on me, she closed up the top few buttons of her shirt.

  “Oh, please,” I told her with wounded dignity, “when I say ‘talk,’ I mean ‘talk.’ If Steck hadn’t interrupted us in the marsh, I would have done it there.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that? You’ve avoided things for months—”

  “And I don’t want to keep avoiding them until it’s too late. Look, Cappie, I’ve been telling myself for weeks that tonight’s the night to settle everything. I thought we’d be alone on vigil and we wouldn’t have any distractions…”

  “We’re alone every night, Fullin. We have this cabin all to ourselves.”

  “No we don’t—the kids are always here. But tonight Waggett’s with my father and Pona’s with your family…this is our chance.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Leeta said, placing her plump little hand on Cappie’s shoulder. “We can talk about being priestess another time.”

  “But…”

  “I’m not going to die before you get back,” she told Cappie with a reproving smile. “And it’s important for you and Fullin to clear the air before tomorrow. You know it is.”

  “Definitely,” I agreed. “We shouldn’t be mad at each other tomorrow.”

  Cappie stared at me, obviously wondering if I was up to some trick. I met her gaze with all the sincerity I could muster, warning myself to be careful—she might wear men’s clothes, but this Cappie wasn’t the male version I knew so well. I couldn’t take anything for granted.

  “All right,” she sighed. “I’ll let you talk.”

  “Don’t just talk,” Leeta said, getting to her feet. “You have to listen too—both of you.” She took a step toward the door, then turned back to Cappie. “And if you decide in the end that you want to Commit male, do what’s right for your life. There are other women in the village who could become priestess.”

  “Sure,” I nodded. “For all we know, I might end up Committing female. Then I could be priestess.”

  I laughed lightly, in the hope they wouldn’t think about that too seriously; but both of them gave me a look, as if they were far from sure I was joking.

  “Okay,” Cappie said. “Talk.”

  I took a deep breath. She was standing beside the door, having just closed it behind Leeta. I leaned against the cold stone fireplace, directly across the room from her—I had the impression that Male-Me did a lot of leaning against things. Men do.

  “Well?” Cappie asked.

  “Okay,” I told her, “it’s just…it’s been a bit of a bad year for us, hasn’t it?”

  “That’s like saying a tornado is a bit of a bad wind.”

  “It hasn’t been that horrible,” I protested. “We’ve stumbled along. Still…this is hard on my pride, but when I’m a guy I’m colossally stupid. Self-centered. Obnoxious even. I have no idea why any woman would . . . never mind. Things were better last year, weren’t they? When you were the boy and I was the girl?”

  “We just hadn’t had as much time to get on each other’s nerves,” Cappie replied. Her voice was sharp with bitterness. “Last year we were still fresh, that’s all.”

  “No it isn’t. We felt right together. We loved each other.”

  “And you don’t love me now?”

  “Cappie…” I wanted to plant my hands on her shoulders and burn my gaze into hers, but we were still far apart, on opposite sides of the cabin. “Listen, because I mean this: I want to throw away this year and go back to the way things used to be. You a man and me a woman. As a woman, I love you deeply. As a man…I’m all screwed up.”

  “Amen to that last.” She took a step toward me. “You aren’t just saying this to keep me quiet, are you Fullin? Or because you’re horny?”

  “I’m not horny.” I had a feeling Male-Me would have been—aroused by her clothes, and the quiet solitude of the night. But I felt no sexual passion for the Cappie before me…at least nothing beyond a certain curiosity of how it would feel to make love inside a male body.

  “And I’m not up to any tricks,” I went on quickly. “I’m being honest. I love you, Cappie, I really do; but so much crap gets in the way when our sexes are wrong.”

  “Fullin…such strong language!” She gave the ghost of a smile. “I suppose it means you’re sincere.”

  “Don’t laugh at me.” I pushed myself off the wall and moved toward her. “I’m telling the truth.”

  “And not just what I want to hear.” She slipped behind one of the wooden chairs arranged around our table, so that the chair came between her and me. “You haven’t asked yet how I feel.”

  “Don’t you feel the same way?”

  “About us? Yes and no. Yes, it was better last year; but considering how bad it’s got this year, that’s not saying much. I just don’t know if our sexes had much to do with it, ever. We started out happy; now we aren’t. Maybe the novelty of being together just wore off.”

  “Cappie,” I said, “we’ve been together longer than two years. We’ve been together all our lives. After my mother died, we nursed together—so your mother constantly reminds me. And we played in the same henyards, hung our coats side by side in school, froze our toes together that night when you were trying to work up the nerve to kiss me…”

  She rolled her eyes and gave a rueful chuckle. “That was my male half. I’ve never understood what was going through my head.”

  “But I like your male half,” I said. “I like you this way too,” I added hurriedly, “but we work better the other way around.”

  “And what about me being priestess?” she asked. “I can’t just drop that—not after making such a fuss in front of the council.”

  “Leeta said she could get someone else.”

  “But suppose I want to be priestess. If Leeta can’t pick me, she’ll have to pick one of the older women—someone who’s already Committed female. And when I think of the older women, they’re all so conventional…or else completely crazy.”

  “If you’re worried about it,” I told her, “I’ll volunteer to be priestess. Okay? And I’ll consult you on everything—we’ll make decisions together. If you have changes you want to make, I’ll make them. You can be the power behind the throne.”

  She looked at me suspiciously. “Is that what this is about, Fullin? You’ve decided you want to be priestess?”

  “I’ve decided I can’t live without you,” I answered. “It kills me when we can’t look each other in the eye, and I want to fix that. If you don’t want me to fill in as priestess for you, fine—let one of the older women do it. They aren’t all so bad. And at least we won’t be as closed off to each other as we’ve both been the past year.”

  Cappie’s eyes glistened in the lamplight as she searched my face. “Usually I can tell when you’re lying,” she whispered. “It has been rough, hasn’t it?”

  Slowly I walked around the chair she’d been holding between us. Her hands gripped the wooden back tightly; I laid my own hands gently on hers, then lifted them to kiss her fingertips. She closed her eyes for a moment; as if shutting off everything but the touch of my lips. Then she let out a sigh and pulled reluctantly away.

  “You’ve lied to me a lot, Fullin,” she said. “You’ve hurt me and ignored me. I’ve almost drowned in loneliness.”

  “That was this year,” I told her. “When I’m a woman, I—”

  She put her fingers against my mouth to silence me. “Don’t make me mad with excuses. I don’t want to be mad. I just…you wouldn’t lie about something as important as this, would you? No, forget I said that—you’ve never been deliberately cruel. You can be so damned thoughtless, but you’ve never hurt me intentionally.”

  “I love you, Cappie,” I said. It wasn’t a lie—when I thought of the male Cappie, my heart shone. “Do you love me?”

  Silence. Then she ans
wered, “I’m so lonely, I can’t tell.”

  Her arms came around my neck and she pulled herself tight to me, as desperate as all the devils in the world.

  EIGHT

  A Call for the Weasel

  I awoke male. Male-Me in Male-me.

  The cabin was dark and the sheets beneath ne damp with sweat: mine and Cappie’s, slick for each other. When I licked my lips, they tasted of her.

  Oh, boy—I was in deep, deep donkey dung.

  I could remember everything my sister self had done…as much as you can ever remember what happens when you make love. It had been a novelty for my female half—she had taken her time. That had been what Cappie wanted too: she whispered that she longed for comfort, renderness. No inventive athletics, just melting into each 3ther, touching and being touched.

  Ooo, yuck.

  My sister self, gurgling lovey-dovey sentiments to another woman…what had I been thinking?

  And I couldn’t quite reconstruct the exact sequence of events. Had Female-Me been aroused before the touching began? It didn’t bother me if my male body had responded physically to physical stimulation; but if my female half had been excited purely by looking at a female Cappie, before the strokes and caresses…

  Well, at least our bodies had been male and female. At least we had that. Last summer down-peninsula, when I had been female and the woman doctor had…no, I didn’t want to remember. That had been a perversion: two physical women. But this time, Cappie and I had been in male and female bodies, and that was all that mattered.

  In sex, souls didn’t count. Did they?

  Cappie lay sleeping beside me. I couldn’t see in the dark, but I imagined she had a smile on her face.

  Yikes.

  I’d made love with Cappie…promised to become Mocking Priestess on her behalf…formed a pact that I’d become female and she’d become male, even though that sort of arrangement was strictly against the Patriarch’s Law…