The Enemy of My Enemy

by Avram Davidson

  Understanding was immediate. There were scattered laughs, and here and there people held up their glasses and nodded to Cominthal as they drank. There was a patronizing note in it, the sort one assumes towards other peoples’ children. Or towards those adults who show by behavior not yet offensive but ordinarily impermissible that they have had too much to drink.

  One would not, sober, at a formal gathering, imitate Volanth or Quasi.

  And then, after the tide of the evening had already washed away immediate recollection of the incident, Cominthal said, not boisterously, but over-loudly, “You like to swim.”

  Mildly puzzled, but not really curious; certainly not annoyed, Tonorosant said, “Yes.”

  “Yes … .” Cominthal’s eyes drooped a trifle as he gave the syllable a curious emphasis. “You swim much … .”

  “Should one not swim … ?”

  “Oh, by all means. Very healthful. Approved by the ancients.” And, withal, after announcing these innocuous, acquitting phrases, Cominthal seemed to indicate, by winks and grimaces and shrugs, that there was nevertheless something oddly important and significant in the fact of Tonorosant’s having gone swimming. And that, he, Comminai, was somehow privy to it. But Tonorosant had no notion in the world at all of what he might have meant.

  And again the pleasantness and business, the social commerce of the gathering, closed in upon itself and bore the host away. When he next looked up it was to be aware of Cominthal sitting quite alone and wrapped in the brooding mantle of his discontent.

  Not long after that was the first of many visits from the aging woman, whom he came to think of as the Scrawny Dowager, and her three plump daughters. She brought with her a picture as clear as it was ridiculous of herself sitting at the table and helping herself to all the best pieces and then, bit by bit, and with a multitude of ostentatiously loving gestures, redistributing them all unto her daughters. Till she was left with little but a dirty plate and a vast sense of her own nobility, nourishing herself upon the belief in her own self-sacrifice and generosity, in which all three of the round, tight-skinned maidens loudly and often acquiesced. Upon her head was piled the elaborate coiffeur of the Tarnisi matron; a glance at it showed him that it was not one of his own synthetic imports, and a second glance at the subtle signs of shabbiness in the garb of mother and of daughters brought forth another image: in this one the three chicks repaid the broody hen with hours of effort setting in place the plumage there was no hired hairdresser to attend to.

  Settled, at last, mother and daughters, in the chairs arranged for them by the efficient Pemathi house-boy, formalities of a general nature taken care of, formalities of a more specific nature were brought forward.

  “We are of the house and family of Tulan Arnosant,” the Scrawny Dowager announced, with a deceptively casual air; her eyes and the eyes of her daughters meanwhile covertly darting little looks at him to see how he was taking this revelation. “About whom it is certainly not necessary to say anymore, I must hope.”

  He said nothing, there being nothing he could say. He had never heard of Tulan Arnosant, and the careful absence of any identifying criteria made it likely that the tulan had gone to ghostland a number of generations ago, his wraith being summoned up in the absence of any more recent titled member of house and family.

  “And we have come to see what is being done about restoring our lost lands to us, it being perfectly clear even to those unfortunate to be afflicted with deficient vision, that there must be a superfluity of lands available to distribution, considering unto whom, I would be excused the grossness of naming names, lands are even now being distributed, I must hope.”

  At least one of the spherical daughters was aware that this last phrase was added out of optimism rather than grammatical appropriateness, but her glance went unheeded. The Scrawny Dowager had doubtless rehearsed her speech over and over, and was not to be denied. Her eyes went round and round the room as she spoke, feasting on the modestly-contrived opulence, but always and always coming back to Tonorosant and then to her daughters.

  “It is not to be conceived, my cousin’s cousin and dear returned young man from bitter exile,” she swept on, “that a family whose lineage is well-famed and unimpeachable should be in any note or manner excluded against at, inasmuch as the facts of the unhappy tragedy are utterly on record of how Tulan Arnosant was deprived, must I not say ‘robbed,’ of his inheritage and although his house and family continue to this present to be deservedly prominent and without fear of blemish.” She paused for breath and approbation, then went on before he could speak. “Still, all of wrong must be set right, as says the great Sohalion, as like the littlest leaf. And thus, my uncle’s nephew, how does it dare to come about, how does it dare?” — her voice rose and broke and her poise shattered and she glared and trembled: “ — that whilst we are often confused for lack of our entitles, one sees on every hand how those who are not to be named actually prosper? What? We with our lineage? while they have none at all, except such as is not to be mentioned, as one would fail to mention beasts? Oh!

  “We hear from all sides how the Guardians are at last extending themselves against those wicked Lords and that you are the one person on whom everyone may depend. Therefore, my father’s kith, I tell you with all the courtesy proper and forthcoming, we are here to receive justice while it is still available and before everything is given away — !”

  Her voice ended on a shriek and this time she looked neither at the furnishings nor at her daughters, and Tonorosant, though he was largely baffled, believed her to be sincere.

  Even if, as he thought likely, merely sincerely confused.

  After she and her daughters had departed, assured of every consideration being given their claims, and bearing with them various ceremonious gifts which were not able to hurt their tender pride, Tonorosant thought a moment — Those not to be named … whose lineage was that of beasts. What she meant, untangled from the confusion of language intended to be elegant and to impress with a sense of her belonging to the proper strata of the aristocracy, was evidently a reference to that class which lay below (far, far below) even the lackland class.

  He had his float brought out — not the scarlet one of current fashion, with its mean memories of blood and slaughter, but a gray one. It gave the faintest hisses from its tiny but powerful motor, rose on its cushion of air, and was off across the beautifully tended grounds and the broad, meandering river. This was a beautiful country, Tarnis. At least. its appearance was beautiful … .

  Presently he heard himself hailed and in a moment a float of old-fashioned manner drew next to his; peering out were the bearded and benevolent features of the Sapient Laforosan.

  “Where are you going, my young grandson from over the seas returned?” the old man asked.

  “Greenrivers village, my father’s uncle.”

  The sage’s white brows went up, came down. His lips pursed a surprise from out the neatly-trimmed white beard. He shot a sudden, somewhat disturbed look at Tonorosant. Then his face relaxed into its customary benevolent blandness “No … You are not one of those who would further afflict those already sufficiently afflicted, I must hope.”

  Below, a water-wander surfaced, regarded them gravely with its large eyes, then dove again, its long tail undulating for a long second, then was quite gone; only the weeds waved in its wake.

  “You refer … .”

  “Come, my child. Greenrivers Village is known to be a center of Quasi life. Is it not?”

  Tonorosant admitted this to be so. “But I assure you — you are correct in judging me favorably I do mean them no harm. In fact, as I see that you are concerned for them, and as I suppose that you know much about them, you will assist me by accompanying me there, I must hope.”

  The towering turrets and sparkling roof-tops of Tarnis Town appeared presently above the parklike belt which surrounded the city. But there was little green or parklike, save for the name, in the so-called village which lay this side of the belt
area. The “rivers” had become clotted with refuse, the ground was dusty and — save for more refuse — bare. The houses ranged from mere huts … hovels … caves of grass and branch … to more ambitious structures fabricated of scrap lumber and metal. Mangy dogs skulked and yelped, naked and half-naked children with distended stomachs and protruding navels ran about as un tended as the dogs. One little dirty toddler stopped at the sight of the visitors and piddled where he stood, in sheer surprise. People swarmed about in a variety of clothes and of non-clothes. The place reeked, reminding Tonorosant of Pemath Old Port, but whereas the stench of the port was ancient in its effluvium, that of this village was raw and new. Only the smell of the people seemed the same — sweetish and sickly: the smell of poverty.

  Some of the people, indeed, scowled and turned aside on seeing them. Others were abashed, looked away, peering up from lowered faces. Most, though, seemed pleased to see them, clustered up close around, shy in some cases, brash in others. And it was the people more than anything else which shocked Tonorosant.

  He saw the widest variety of physical types, ranging from that which seemed identical to the Tarnisi along to that which appeared no different from the Volanth; and every conceivable graduation in between. Where had they all been? Here, of course … . But he had not been here. No one had mentioned it, let alone urged him to visit. He had had to find out for himself, digging and delving beneath the wall of silence: one might have thought the village to be inside a mountain the gate to which was sealed with seventeen seals, instead of open to the sun and air.

  And a good thing, too, that it was: otherwise it might well be a pest house.

  The old scholar spoke affably to the people, but somehow his words weren’t clear to his companion; Laforosan’s gestures were clear enough, though: Follow me. It afforded Tonorosant some mild, brief amusement to note that at least a few of the shacks they passed had been built largely out of the packing cases his “foreign toys” had come in. They came at last to what had evidently once been a small if conventional Tarnisi town house, though built so definitely away from the town proper. Some ragged remnants of gardens still survived, as did a few large old trees, but most of the grounds had been built over, and not recently, either, by the weathered look of the small and crowded houses. The main house was quite old, its lines tending to sag, its timbers and tiles spotted with moss, and from out the open door a man came hurrying.

  He was neither young nor old and his dress was a most curious mixture: an out-of-fashion Tarnisi tunic, and a drab kilt. Laforosan spoke to him, affably, in suddenly clear Tarnisi. “Ah, my friend, may we burden you with the care of our vehicles?”

  The man’s face was a study in confusion. Pride was there, and gratification, and — though soon dispelled — embarrassment. For a moment he half-turned and seemed about to scurry back into the house. Then he became quite controlled, and came on forward. “Of course, the Sir Sapient. Oh, you flatter the dwelling with your visit.” He said something, quick, impatient, two young men appeared from the straggle of those who had followed them or had already been there; and with smug looks stationed themselves at the now-grounded floats, imperiously gesturing everyone else away.

  “This,” said Laforosan, “is the noted unofficial mayor of Greenrivers village, my friend Phonorioth … also entitled to be known as Idón aDan. So. And this is a young returned exile who has gained and deserved much prominence, and his name is Tonorosant. You will be much taken with each other’s company, I must hope.”

  “Yes, yes, my grandfather — ” Phonorioth/Idón aDan started to say. “Oh, forgive, my bad manners, I must hope, charmed and delighted, ah, if you will permit — ” He seemed eager for some reason to go on ahead of Laforosan, but the Sapient, heedless, continued his own pace. The unofficial mayor then fell back, turned, almost collided with Tonorosant, apologized again, again began to say something about his grandfather, half-attempted to dart ahead of Tonorosant, apologized, withdrew, hesitated. And thus they mounted the sunken steps and passed into the house. Tonorosant was not altogether sure of his eyes, but it did seem to him that in that first second he had seen an old, old woman crouching in front of a full-length mirror and doing something to her face. Then she turned, abruptly, looked at them with face distorted by shock and horror, turned and scuttled away on hands and knees and was gone somewhere into the inner dimness.

  Tonorosant about-faced and on the face of Phonorioth he saw a mixture of shame and rage and despair. “Forgive me,” he said at once, almost instinctively taking what he thought was the right line, “I fear I was inattentive to you a moment ago, my brother-in-law’s brother. You will forgive me, I must hope — ‘your grandfather,’ you were saying — ?”

  Every expression was washed away by gratified relief. “Yes, ah. My grandfather … . Pray take seats, and here, and here. I will in one moment call for a lunch to be prepared hastily and inadequately. Such as it will be, you will accept my best efforts, I must hope.” They seated themselves on the old and decaying furniture and prepared to endure the burden of their host’s pleasure. He sat facing them, hopped up and bowed, turned and shouted something, looked around nervously … . The Sapient Laforosan reached up and took a bit of his sleeve between thumb and forefinger and gently, firmly, urged him to be seated. The man beamed, relaxed a trifle.

  “My grandfather was a prominent member of the mercantile aristocracy of Pemath,” he launched glibly into an account which he had by rote and the telling of which gave him such pleasure that he smiled and smiled and little wet beads appeared and shone in the corners of his mouth, “who in former and more liberal times visited this country and formed a romantic liaison with a daughter of a leading house. Opposition on the part of her father, a gentleman of the old school, based upon my grandfather’s foreign birth, led my grandmother to retreat here to what was then the sylvan refuge which formed part of her personal patrimony. A daughter was born of this alliance and it was my grandfather’s wish that she and her mother should return with him to dwell in his ancestral mansion in the old and aristocratic Port section of Pemath City. Such, however, was my paternal grandmother’s attachment to her native lands that she refused to consider this. My grandfather, thus obliged to return alone and unconsolated, perished away from insufficiently requited grief.”

  He gave a dramatic sigh and looked closely at Tonorosant. The latter echoed the sigh and moved his hands in an appropriate gesture. Phonorioth beamed. Part of his story, certainly, was true — the red glints in his sparse hair, the scattering of freckles, the slight but perceptible pallor of his skin — all confirmed his claim to partial Pemathi descent. Other elements of the story were of course nonsense.

  “Being thus myself a child of two worlds, I have found it natural to be of what help I can to others who, though not at all of Pemathi descent,” he laughed, toothily, wetly, “are in any case also of Tarnisi descent in part. Many lies will doubtless have been told you, but you will have discredited them, I must hope. For instance, the lie that the Tarnisi ancestors of the rural people of whom so many live in Greenrivers village were in ancient times cast out because of being diseased or insane. Oh, such a foul lie! Dreamed up to justify slander, oppression, injustice and scorn! Now, the truth of the matter is, that in former times there existed no barriers to inter-ethnic marriage. This is the truth of the origins of this community, so sadly mistreated.”

  The truth, as Tonorosant realized, was that both accounts were probably partly true and partly false. It was like enough that at one time the barriers were lower and voluntary unions had been formed. It was also like enough that outcasts for any reason from the Tarnisi community in times past had found refuge with and become part of the aboriginal nation. But what need was there to consider the remote past? — when Tonorosant well knew, and any Tarnisi who had ever seen active duty on a suppression campaign must well know, that sexual intercourse between the two groups was at such times a matter of simple fact and, indeed, formed no small part of the attractions of the campaign …
. And surely not all the women who had fled and shrieked had run very fast, for that matter … .

  For another matter, not every Tarnisi assigned to duty in the Outlands had gone there and lived there with a wife. It was a reasonable assumption that these had not all been celibate. But be the explanations what they may, and certainly they must be many, there did exist a community of part-Tarnisi stock, and by the law of averages at least some members of this community in the course of time would themselves conceive children by Tarnisi parents. Some of these would marry among themselves. Some would drift back into the maternal, native community.

  And others … others, of course, would attempt to enter the parental, Tarnisi community. And some of them, by that same law of averages, were bound to succeed. Hence in part the hatred and scorn which accompanied the hated name of Quasi. And the refusal of the lackland class even to mention the word. — For that matter, the scrupulous care with which Phonorioth had avoided so far mentioning another word.

  Feeling his way carefully, Tonorosant said, “Having been raised in another country, as the Sapient informed you, I did not grow up with the same intense prejudices which so many … too many, I think … of my people have.” His host blinked and blinked and smiled and edged nearer. “I have been interested in the reported activities of a certain tulan and his friends to see that more justice is shown — ” here it came, “the Volanth. What do you think about this, my cousin’s kin? You will agree, I must hope?”

  The old scholar thrust his lower lip out just a trifle and proceeded to look noncommittal and stroke his long, clean white beard. At the mention of the word, Phonorioth had jumped as though scalded; immediately and while Tonorosant was still talking he, Phonorioth, had begun and continued to shake his head violently.

  “No!” he exclaimed, as soon as his visitor stopped. “No, no! No, ah! Mistake, the Sir Tonorosant — oh, a great mistake. ‘Justice,’ it is not a question of justice for the … the Volanth. It is only a question of justice for us, for us! One cannot compare treatment of civilized with uncivilized peoples. We — we — I ask you, only be fair in your reply — have we not the Seven Signs as well? Do we not also live in houses, read and write, obey the laws, study the classics, paint leaves? Not the others! Not those … ah, they are animals, brutes. I could tell you tales of outrages they have committed against us, they would disgust you. It is disgusting just to look upon them! No, no, I assure you, I am against every and any attempt to confuse us with them. It can only harm our legitimate cause. I would act against them with utmost rigor, sir. Drive them back, I say! Drive them back!” He stopped, wiped his face with a trembling hand. And the old man looked at Tonorosant with an expressionless face.