“Hello again,” Rashid said cheerfully. “How are you feeling? All recovered from the tear gas?”
“I’m all right.” In a lower voice, I added, “It’s too bad you used that stuff on me instead of Bonnakkut.”
“Back at the creek,” he replied, “you and your lovely companion were close to perforating my Bozzle’s liver— I had to take drastic action. But in the clearing, Steck was safely under my force field, so we could afford to wait things out. Besides, I have my helmet off. If I started playing with gas, I’d gag with the rest of you.”
“It would serve you right,” I said.
“Don’t grouch,” Rashid chided. “You just said you’re feeling fine. Now tell me more about yourself and Tober Cove. How old are you?”
“Twenty,” I answered.
“So you’ll Commit to a permanent sex tomorrow?”
“That’s right.”
“And have you really alternated sex every summer since you were born?”
“They don’t change sex their first summer,” Steck put in. “Mistress Gull is too tenderhearted to separate babies from their families. Infants aren’t taken till after their first birthday.”
“Fair enough,” Rashid shrugged. Turning back to me, he asked, “Were you born a boy or a girl?”
“A girl,” I answered.
“So you became a boy in the summer when you were one year old, a girl when you were two, a boy again when you were three…”
“That’is how it works,” I said, trying to sound bored. This wasn’t the first time I’d had this conversation. In all the world, our little secluded village was the only place where the gods allowed children to switch sex each year…so whenever I went out of town to play, I could expect questions on the subject several times an evening. Yoskar, the carpenter with whom I had that dalliance—he had asked me again and again. Had I really been male the year before? Would I really be male again after the solstice? When I stopped being a woman, did I stop liking men? Or did I like men all the time, or both men and women, or what?
I couldn’t decide if such questions were indecent or just trite. No one asks a woman, “Hey, how does it feel to have breasts?” or a man, “Isn’t it weird having a penis?” The questions don’t make sense—you don’t think about yourself on that level. In Tober Cove, only a person’s current gender mattered. Whatever happened before or after was irrelevant.
On the other hand, Rashid wasn’t the type to stop asking questions just because I showed disinterest. “And,” he continued, “Steck tells me that all residents of Tober Cove bear a child when they’re nineteen or twenty.”
“In one of their last years before Commitment,” I nodded. “Tomorrow at noon, several male teenagers will go off to Birds Home with Master Crow, and when they come back at sunset, they’ll be female and pregnant. The baby is born five or six months later.”
“Of course,” Steck put in, “Master Crow is said to be the baby’s father…even though the child often grows to look strikingly like someone else in the village.”
I glowered at the Neut. As a former Tober, Steck must know that Master Crow made such children resemble other people in the cove so the kids would fit in with their peers. The offspring of Master Crow had enough prestige already, compared to children with human fathers. They didn’t need to look special too.
But I didn’t have the patience to bandy words with a Neut. I just told Rashid, “Master Crow fathers the babies to make sure every Tober experiences childbirth, nursing and such, before Committing to one sex or the other. We have to know everything about being a woman, and everything about being a man, so we can make the right choice.”
“You give birth to children…and I assume you’re encouraged to have sexual relationships…”
“Doesn’t take much encouraging,” Steck snickered.
I glared. My stomach clenched to hear a Neut talk smut.
“So every Tober,” Rashid continued, “gets to make love as both a male and a female—”
“Not every Tober,” Steck interrupted. “Some find they can only get lucky when they’re women…and then only with men who are really hard up.”
I gave the Neut a curious look.
“Or it might work the other way around,” Steck added hurriedly.
“Either way, I can see it’s important information to have,” Rashid said, “when you’re trying to decide how to spend the rest of your life. You must be thankful if you have a strong reason to choose one gender over the other. Like, uhh…if making love is more enjoyable as a woman or a man?”
Every Tober in the party groaned. Even Kaeomi, Stallor and Mintz, blessed with the collective intelligence of pine sap, smacked their foreheads and grimaced. Behind us, Bonnakkut muttered something that was probably obscene and even Steck mumbled, “Come on, boss, you’re embarrassing me.”
“What’d I say?” Rashid demanded.
No one answered. We’d all been asked that question a thousand times, by peddlers passing through town, by Wiretown merchants buying our fish and grain…even by a half-dead Mishie pirate who once washed up along our coast. Was making love better as a man or a woman? The first time you hear the question, you feel smug; outsiders envy us for knowing both sides of the bed. But after you hear the question over and over, asked with drooling leers or fervent sincerity, you want to hide your head and weep.
It’s better with some men than other men, okay? It’s better with some women than other women. And it’s better with a Tober than with anyone else, because we’ve been both sexes, so we know what is and isn’t fragile.
While the rest of us cringed at Rashid’s question, Leeta took it upon herself to give an answer. “If sex were better as a woman, Tober Cove would be all female, don’t you think? And if it were better as a man, we’d all be men. But the cove population is half and half, give or take a handful, so that should tell you something. Not just about who likes bedding whom, but about men things in general versus women things in general. Cove people are free to choose, and they choose half and half. Think about that.”
“And think about it quietly,” Bonnakkut growled. “No more talk.” Clearly, our esteemed First Warrior didn’t want Rashid asking any of the other foolish questions outsiders always foist upon Tobers…and for once, I agreed with him.
We finished the walk in silence. High clouds had drifted in from the lake over the last hour, but we still had plenty of starlight to travel by. From time to time an owl hooted at us, and once Leeta called a halt while a porcupine waddled across the trail. On a normal night, one of the Warriors would have put an arrow through the beast, just on principle; the damned pores love eating salty wood, which means they’re forever gnawing on our outhouse seats and leaving loose quills behind. Most Tobers get rudely spiked at least once in our lives, and that means most Tobers hate porcupines. But the bullies must have spent all their arrows on what Rashid called his “force field,” and Bonnakkut was saving his bullets for more prestigious targets.
In time, we reached the lake shore: Mother Lake we called it, though the maps in Wiretown labeled it Lake Heron. The Tober name was better—herons are marsh birds who never put a toe into the deep waters of Mother Lake. Even at summer solstice, the water was cold enough that your lungs could seize up if you dove straight in. Parents made children wear ropes when they went swimming, and once or twice a season, we used those ropes to land someone who’d stopped being able to take in air. Men working the perch boats had their ropes too, and bright orange OldTech life jackets retrieved from the Cheecheemaun steel-boat that ran aground in Old Tober Harbor four hundred years ago.
Even with all that protection, men died. My mother…I’d been born when she was twenty. The Elders told me she’d Committed male when the time came, had gone to work on the perch boats and run afoul of a fierce flash storm…
Which is another reason I liked to call it Mother Lake.
But the lake was calm that Commitment Eve, lapping the rocky shore with regular rhythmic waves. Water stretched ou
t forever, dotted by flowerpot islands and off to the north, a long low outcrop called the Bear’s Rump…I don’t know why. I’ve never made a detailed study of bears.
In another ten minutes we rounded the eastern headland and sighted Tober Cove itself. At that distance in the dark, I couldn’t see more than the OldTech radio antenna on Patriarch Hill, but I could smell the village with all the fondness of home. Wharf odors predominated—fresh perch, salted perch, and the rotting pile of junk fish waiting to be minced for fertilizer—but the air also carried fragrances from the farms that ringed the edge of town: sheep, cattle, hundreds of chickens, and the sweet perfume of clover.
Above all that ran one more smell, usually tamped down on summer evenings, but thick tonight because it was solstice: woodsmoke, coming from every chimney. Tomorrow was Commitment Day. Cook stoves would burn all night long, roasting meat and baking bread, warming potatoes and simmering white bean/crayfish chowder, all in preparation for the great feast that celebrated…well, that celebrated me. And Cappie, of course. We two had reached the age of Commitment. For one day, we were the cove’s official darlings.
The door of the Council Hall opened and someone stepped onto the wide cement area at the top of the steps. Lamplight spilled from inside the hall, silhouetting the figure: a man’s clothes, but not a man’s body.
“That’s Cappie,” Bonnakkut said from behind me.
I nodded.
“Hard to decide,” Bonnakkut went on softly, “whether I’d rather see her Commit as man or woman. If she decides to be a man, she’ll make one hell of a warrior. Strong as a bull, but fast…she could win half the sports trophies at Wiretown Fall Fair.”
I knew that; Cappie’s muscles had got me out of several down-peninsula scrapes, in the years when she was male and people were jealous of my talent. Still, I wondered why Bonnakkut had chosen this moment to rhapsodize about her prowess.
“On the other hand,” Bonnakkut said, “if she decides to be a woman…well, I like her as a woman, just fine.”
I stared at him. He smirked back. “Cappie’s mine,” I said.
“You’re sure of that?”
“What do you mean?”
Bonnakkut kept smirking. “Maybe I just mean that tomorrow is Commitment Day. If you both Commit female…you and Cappie can still be good friends, as the saying goes, but she’ll be looking for a man. Maybe that’s all I mean.”
“And maybe it isn’t?”
“Nearly every weekend, you go down-peninsula to play your little fiddle,” Bonnakkut said. “Maybe Cappie likes company when you’re gone.”
I would have punched him in the mouth if I hadn’t been afraid of hurting my fingers. Bonnakkut’s gun didn’t scare me, and neither did his huge arms and shoulders…but a violinist has to think of his hands first, no matter how badly he’d like to thrash someone. I could only say, “You’ve always been a lying asshole, Bonnakkut. It’s nice when you provide new proof.”
Then, before he got ideas about retaliation, I hopped in front of Rashid to get that violet light between me and Bonnakkut’s anger.
When Cappie caught sight of us coming up the beach, she called into the Council Hall and several more people joined her on the steps. In the darkness, all I could see were silhouettes—silhouettes with the tousled hair and skewed clothing of folks just roused from their beds. The women of Tober Cove might spend much of Commitment Eve cooking, but the men (especially the Elders) slept like slugs, wisely saving their energy for the next day.
Though I could only see the Elders’ silhouettes, I could still recognize Mayor Teggeree: a balloon of a man as wide as a door and as heavy as a prize heifer. Perhaps there’s some secret law of the Spark Lords that all mayors have to be fat; in my travels down-peninsula I’ve never met a mayor who didn’t bulge at the seams, even in perverse towns where women held the office.
Another person came out to the steps, this one holding an oil lantern. Teggeree snatched the lantern and held it above his head…as if it would help him see better, instead of interfering with his night vision. He stood for some time, the lantern glow lighting his squint as he tried to identify who was approaching him.
I could tell the exact moment when the lamplight touched our party—everyone on the steps gasped and started babbling. Well…not everyone. Cappie stayed silent, wearing a grim look on her face. Sometimes she had no sense of humor. Personally I couldn’t help but chuckle at the flabbergasted expressions on the Elders’ faces; it isn’t every day you walk up to the Council Hall with a knight and Neut on your heels.
Mayor Teggeree soon composed himself enough to call in his sonorous voice, “Bonnakkut…what do you think you’re doing?”
“The situation is complicated,” Bonnakkut replied. “Very complicated.” With a false air of casualness, he lowered his hand to stroke the Beretta on his belt. “This is a matter for the full council to decide.”
Teggeree called over his shoulder into the council building. “All in favor of killing the Neut, say, ‘Aye.’ ”
A dutiful chorus within answered, “Aye.”
“Motion passed.” He turned back to the First Warrior. “Carry out the sentence…and try not to break the noise bylaws, there are children sleeping.”
“It’s not that easy, mayor,” Bonnakkut insisted. “The council should discuss this.”
“He’s right,” Leeta added. “You don’t appreciate the nature of our visitors.” She cast a glance at Rashid.
“Still sticking up for Steck, are you?” Teggeree said to Leeta. Then he sighed. “All right, Cappie woke us all anyway. We can afford to talk about this for the thirty seconds it deserves.” He held up the lantern and gestured toward the door with his free hand. “Everyone into the hall.”
One by one, we mounted the steps. I let Rashid and Steck go ahead of me. They climbed the stairs awkwardly, Rashid’s arm still around Steck’s shoulders. As the Neut passed Teggeree, It nodded Its head and smiled. “Dear little Teggie. Mayor now, are you? I knew you were bound for great things.”
The mayor’s face curdled in exasperation. “What do you want me to say, Steck? Welcome home?”
Steck only smiled and passed into the hall, squeezing tight under Rashid’s arm. I made to follow, but Teggeree put a fat hand on my chest. “Not you, Fullin.”
“Fullin?” Steck hissed, turning to stare at me. “Back at the creek, you said you weren’t Fullin.”
But Teggeree pushed into the hall and closed the door in my face before another word was said. Confused, I gazed at the blank door for several seconds.
Its paint was cracking. It needed a new coat.
“Something wrong?” asked a voice behind me. Cappie.
I turned slowly. She stood two steps down the stairway, leaning against the wooden rail that served as a bannister. With her arms propped back against the railing, her breasts pushed out against the man’s shirt she wore.
At that moment, I realized there was something about a woman in man’s clothing. Something arresting. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Cappie, of all people, looking desirable. I could hardly believe it.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, gazing at her. “Nothing at all.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re being obvious again.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“The past few months you’ve barely looked at me. As soon as I dress like a man, you start drooling. What does that say, Fullin?”
“Nothing.” With an effort I tore my gaze away from her, turning instead to look at the shadowed fishing boats rocking on the dark lake water. “Bonnakkut was suggesting some ridiculous things about you.”
“What things?”
“Stupid lies.” I checked her face for signs of guilt. Nothing. It was a thin soft face, attractive in its way, but at this moment very guarded. Maybe I should have asked outright if anything had gone on between her and Bonnakkut, but I couldn’t ask Cappie anything outright anymore. I turned back to the darkness and mumbled, “Bonnakkut is such a turd.”
I shook my head. Offended as I was at Bonnakkut’s insinuations, I didn’t want to discuss them with Cappie. I didn’t want to discuss anything with her. But I couldn’t help saying, “Leeta claims you volunteered to take over as Mocking Priestess.”
“Someone has to,” Cappie replied. “Doctor Gorallin found lumps in Leeta’s breasts. Both of them. This is her last solstice.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, in that immediate, automatic tone of voice you always use when you speak of death. But a moment later, I thought about the slow dance in the woods, and said again, “That’s too bad.”
“So Leeta asked if I’d be her successor,” Cappie continued. “I’m tempted, Fullin, I’m really tempted. Tober Cove needs a priestess, as counterbalance to the Patriarch’s Man. Besides,” she said with a half smile, “the wardrobe suits me. If you think I look good in suspenders, just wait till you see me wear milkweed.”
I had a vision of Cappie and me on a bed slathered flank-deep in milkweed silk…which could be interesting…if she wore the suspenders too.
“So you’re going to Commit as a woman?” I asked.
She grimaced. “I’ve tried to talk about this for months, Fullin, and you’ve just avoided the subject.”
“You’ve been after me to say what I’ll do. You never mentioned what you want.”
“Because you never asked!”
“I figured if you’d made a decision, you’d tell me,” I said. “Why would you keep asking what I intend to do, when you really wanted to tell me what you intend to do?”
“Men!” Cappie flumped down on the top step and made a show of burying her face in her hands. The too-big sleeves of her father’s shirt dangled around her slim wrists like puffed cuffs. It’s odd how something as simple as dangling sleeves can make you want a woman, when everything else makes you invent excuses to avoid her.
The League of Peoples Page 38