Daughters of Earth and Other Stories

by Judith Merril

  To make love to a woman, and know she was the wrong woman for you or you the wrong man for her. And then to meet her afterward ...

  Tommy had in the worst possible sense, got out of bed on the wrong side. When he first awoke to the knowledge of other people's minds, he had seen ugliness and fear wherever he looked, and that first impress of bitterness on his own mind had colored everything he had seen since.

  For almost five years after he came home, Tommy Bender continued to build a career, and ruin reputations. People tried to understand what had happened to him . . . but how could they?

  Then something happened. It started with an envelope in his morning mail. The envelope was marked "Personal," so it was unopened by his secretary, and left on the side of his desk along with three or four other thin, squarish, obviously non-business, envelopes. As a result, Tommy didn't read it till late that afternoon, when he was trying to decide which girl to see that night.

  The return address said "C. Harper, Hotel Albemarle, Topeka, Kansas." He didn't know anyone in Topeka, but the name Harper was vaguely reminiscent. He was intrigued enough to open that one first, and the others never were opened at all.

  "Dear Tommy," it read. "First of all, I hope you still remember me. It's been quite a long time, hasn't it? I just heard, from Lee Potter (the little, dark girl who came just before you left . . . remember her?)"—Tommy did, with some pleasure—"that you were living in Hartsdale, and had some real-estate connections there. Now I'd like to ask a favor. . . .

  "I've just had word that I've been accepted as Assistant Superintendent of the Public Health Service therein Hartsdale—and I'm supposed to start work on the 22nd. The only thing is, I can't leave my job here till just the day before. So I wondered if you could help me find a place to stay beforehand? Sort of mail-order real estate service?

  "I feel I'm being a little presumptuous, asking this, when perhaps you don't even remember me—but I do hope you won't mind. And please don't go to any special trouble. From what Lee said, I got the idea this might be right in your line of business. If it's not, don't worry. I'm sure I can find something when I get there.

  "And thanks, ahead of time, for anything you can do.

  "Cordially," it concluded, "Candace Harper."

  Tommy answered the letter the same day, including a varied list of places and prices hurriedly worked up by his real-estate agent. That he owned real estate was true; that he dealt in it, not at all. His letter to Candy did not go into these details, just told her how vividly he remembered her, and how good it would be to see her again, with some questions about the kind of furnishings and decor she'd prefer. "If you're going to get in early enough on the 21st," he wound up, "how about having dinner with me? Let me know when you're coming, anyhow. I'd like to meet you, and help you get settled."

  For the next eleven days, Tommy lived in an almost happy whirl of preparation, memory and anticipation. In all the years since he had proposed to Candace, he had never met another girl who filled so perfectly the mental image of the ideal woman with which he had first left home. He kept telling himself she wouldn't, couldn't, still be the same person. Even a non-telepath would get bitter and disillusioned in five years of the Wonderful Post-War World. She couldn't be the same. . . .

  And she wasn't. She was older, more understanding, more tolerant, and if possible warmer and pleasanter than before. Tommy met her at the station, bought her some dinner, took her to the perfect small apartment where she was, unknown to herself, paying only half the rent. He stayed an hour, went down to run some errands for her, stayed another half-hour, and knew by then that in the most important respects she hadn't changed at all.

  There wasn't going to be any "Precise Moment" with Candy; not that side of a wedding ceremony.

  Tommy couldn't have been more pleased. Still, he was cautious. He didn't propose again till three weeks later, when he'd missed seeing her two days in a row due to business-social affairs. If they were married, he could have taken her along.

  When he did propose, she lived up to all his qualifications again. She said she wanted to think it over. What she thought was: Oh, yes! Oh, yes, he's the one I want! But it's too quick! How do I know for sure? He never even thought of me all this time . . . all the time I was waiting and hoping to hear from him . . . how can he be sure so soon? He might be sorry. ...

  "Let me think about it a few days, will you, Tommy?" she said, and he was afraid to take her in his arms for fear he'd crush her with his hunger.

  Four weeks later they were married. And when Candy told him her answer, she also confessed what he already knew: that she'd regretted turning him down ever since he left the field hospital; that she'd been thinking of him, loving him, all the long years in between.

  Candy was a perfect wife, just as she had been a perfect nurse, and an all-too-perfect dream girl. The Benders' wedding was talked about for years afterwards; it was one of those rare occasions when everything turned out just right. And the bride was so beautiful . . .

  The honeymoon was the same way. They took six weeks to complete a tour of the Caribbean, by plane, ship and car. They stayed where they liked as long as they liked, and did what they liked, all the time. And not once in those six weeks was there any serious difference in what they liked. Candy's greatest wish at every point was to please Tommy, and that made things very easy for both of them.

  And all the while, Tommy was gently, ardently, instructing his lovely bride in the arts of matrimony. He was tender, patient and understanding, as he had known beforehand he would have to be. A girl who gets to the age of twenty-six with her innocence intact is bound to require a little time for readjustment.

  Still, by the time they came back, Tommy was beginning to feel a sense of failure. He knew that Candace had yet to experience the fulfillment she had hoped for, and that he had planned to give her.

  Watching her across the breakfast table on the dining terrace of their new home, he was enthralled as ever. She was lovely in negligee, her soft hair falling around her face, her eyes shining with true love as they met his.

  It was a warm day, and he saw, as he watched her, the tiny beads of sweat form on her upper lip. It took him back . . . way back . . . and from the vividness of the hospital scene, he skipped to an equally clear memory of that last visit to Armod, the teacher.

  He smiled, and reached for his wife's hand, wondering if ever he would be able to tell her what had come of that walk they took to the village together. And he pressed her hand tighter, smiling again, as he realized that now, for the first time, he had a use for the further talents the old man had promised him.

  That would be one way to show Candace the true pleasure she did not yet know. If he could project his own thoughts and emotions ...

  He let go of her hand, and sat back, sipping his coffee, happy and content, with just the one small problem to think about. Maybe I should have gone back for a while, after all, he thought idly.

  "Perhaps you should have, dear," said innocent Candace. "I did."

  IN THE LAND OF UNBLIND

  First Publication: October 1974.

  You know how it is

  indown you close your eye(s) and let take

  your self between a stumblecrawl and lazyfloat

  I mean when

  you get past the rubbage really indown there's

  no seefeeltouch not

  the skinside upout way

  blindbalance cannot tell if a touching is over

  or under or on the feeling is inside your skin

  I mean

  indown you know in the land of unblind the one

  eyed woman is terribilified

  no light

  but the infires' flickerdimglow and

  they all keep their eyes closed so

  scrabbleswoop and stumblesoar fly

  creep in fearableautiful nolightno

  dark of .eacheveryother's infires

  (No need to cover or to show

  they canwilinot looksee

 
; except the one-eyed me

  I wonder what would happen if

  a person took a light indown)

  Before

  I opened up one apple-eye I too

  flewstumbled graspgropegleaned

  in holystonemaskhunger then

  one time

  indown in that hell-eden innocence I touched

  a man and he touched me you know the way

  it happens some times later or before or inbe

  tween we touched upout

  I mean

  where skins can touch and some

  place or other we remembered as

  in the other we felt fate upon us

  blindunblind future past which

  one is when

  upout his openwide eyes full of hunger and

  some kind of hate I tasting somehow hate

  fulhunger over all the skins inside my mouth

  I love you! he said

  Witchcraft! I had to come!

  You must come! Magic!

  I love you!

  so

  I came we loved our skins touched inside some

  times almost remembering indown

  not quite then

  oneanother soundless indown timestill blindun

  blind I touched a man and touching me he spoke

  words I c/wouldnot hear just scramblescared

  a way you know

  it happens some

  time in betweenafterbefore when meeting upout

  all our eyes and ears and mouths were open

  I love you! he said

  We had to come together!

  Remember! he said beforewords-

  I c/wouldnot

  I love you

  I said Witchcraft! all the skins inside my mouth tasting

  sweet sour terror as I ran he spoke

  (again?)

  Open your eyes! he said

  One time (soon?)

  indown still fearful

  (fearful still for still I do

  not open more than one)

  I opened up my first indowneye seeing stir a

  livesome ghost of memory pastfutureinbetween

  that time I touched no man but

  (then?)

  one time

  upout you know before or after

  my first man was there (again?)

  skinsight airvoice was all we

  unshared how it waswouldbe to touch indown I

  did not know he did not know there was indown

  not to remember full of fear he went away but

  (then?)

  one time

  indown one eye just-slit open in dimglowing

  flickerdrift infires a man touched me and I

  could see indown the face I touchedspoketo of

  course he c/wouldnot hear

  so

  but

  when

  you know

  we met upouteyes open all the hungerskinside

  my mouth turned sweet remembering beforewords

  I love you! he said

  Witchcraft! I had to come!

  You made me come! Magic!

  I love you! he said with words

  but

  he did not know echopremonitions stirring

  from under upoutskintouch he couldwouldnot

  premember how indown we touched his hunger

  fear soured all the skins inside my mouth I had to go

  away

  (again?)

  one time indown I met a man with one eye

  open like my own in flickerdim

  infireglow seeing each how horribleautiful

  eachotherself fruit flower and fester touching

  so we spoke beforewords so

  you know

  the waysometime(s) you meet upout all

  eyes and ears and mouths wide open great

  new hungers pungentsweet

  on all the skins inside remembering indown

  bebackwords neverquite to know which place

  time was wherewhen or waswouldbe

  we first felt fate upon us so

  We love (we do not say) We had to come

  Witchcraft! (we laugh) we love skins touch

  upoutside premembering sometimesalmost

  like indowntouchtalk still

  and yet

  I wonder

  what it's like

  indown for the two-eyed?

  HOMECALLING

  First Publication: November 1956.

  I

  THERE WAS NO warning. Deborah heard her mother shout, `Dee! Grab the baby!'

  Petey's limbs hung loose; his pink young mouth fell open as he bounced off the foam-padded floor of the play-space, hit more foam on the sidewall, at a neat ninety-degree angle, and bounced once more. The small ship finished upending itself, lost the last of its spin, and hurled itself surfaceward under constant acceleration. Wall turned to ceiling, ceiling to floor and Petey landed smack on his fat bottom against the foam-protected toy-bin. Unhurt but horrified, he added a lusty wail to the ever shriller screaming of the alien atmosphere, and the mighty reverberations of the rocket's thunder.

  '... the bay-beeee ... Dee!'

  'I got him.' Deborah hooked a finger finally through her brother's overall strap, and demanded: 'What do I do now?'

  'I don't know; hold on to him. Wait a minute.' Sarah Levin turned her head with difficulty towards her husband. `John,' she whispered, 'what's going to happen?'

  He gnawed at his lower lip, tried to quirk a smile out of the side of his mouth nearest her. 'Not good,' he said, very low. 'The children?'

  'Dunno.' He struggled with levers, frantically trying to fire the tail rockets—now, after their sudden space-somersault became the forward jets. 'Don't know what's wrong,' he muttered fiercely. 'Mommy, it hurts..?

  Petey was really crying now, low and steady sobbing, and Dee whimpered again, 'It hurts. I can't get up.'

  'Daddy's trying to fix it,' Sarah said. 'Dee ... listen..? It was hard to talk. 'If you can, try to ... kind of ... wrap yourself around Petey ...'

  `I can't…" Deborah too broke into sobs.

  Seconds of waiting, slow eternal seconds; then incredibly, gout of flame burst out ahead of them.

  The braking force of the forward rocket eased the pressure inside, and Dee ricocheted off a foamed surface—wall, floor ceiling? She didn't know—her finger still stuck tight through Petey's strap. The ground, strange orange-red terrain with towering bluish trees, was close. Too close. There was barely time before the crash for Sarah to shout a last reminder.

  '...right around him!' she yelled. Dee understood; she pulled her baby brother close to her chest and wound her arms and legs around his body. Then there was crashing splintering jagged noise through all the world.

  It was too warm. Dee didn't want to look, but she opened an eye.

  Nothing to see but foam-padded sides of the play-space, with the toys scattered all over.

  A bell jangled, and a mechanical voice began: 'Fire ... Fire ... Fire ... Fire ... Fire . . .' Dee knew what to do. She wondered about letting go of Petey, but she'd have to, she couldn't ask her mother, because the safety door was closed. Her mother and father were both on the other side in front—that was where the fire would be. She wondered if they'd get burned up, but let go of Petey, and worked the escape lock the way she'd been taught. While it was opening, she put on Petey's oxy mask and her own. She didn't know for sure whether they would be needed on this planet, but one place they'd been called Carteld, you had to wear a mask all the time because there wasn't enough oxygen in the air.

  She couldn't remember the name of this planet. They'd never been here before, she knew that much; but this must be the one they were coming to, or Daddy wouldn't have started to go down, and everything wouldn't have happened.

  That meant probably, at least the air wasn't poisonous. They had space-suits and helmets on the ship, and Dee had space-suit drill every week; but she was pretty sure she didn't need anything more than the
mask here. And there wasn't time for space-suits anyhow.

  The lock was all the way open. Deborah went to the door and recoiled before the blast of heat; it was burning outside. Now she had to get away, quick.

  She picked up Petey, looked around at all the toys, and at the closet where her clothes were; at the blackboard, the projector, and the tumbled pile of fruit and crackers on the floor. She bent down and stuffed the pockets of her jumper with the crumbly crackers and smashed sticky fruit. Then she looked around again, and felt the heat coming through the door, and had to leave everything else behind.

  She climbed out, and there were flames in the back. She ran, with Petey in her arms, though she'd been told never to do that. She ran straight away from the flames, and kept going as long as she could; it was hard work, because her feet sank into the spongy soil at every step. And it was still hot, even when she got away from the rocket. She kept running until she was too tired, and began to stumble, then she slowed down and walked—until Petey began to be too heavy, and she couldn't carry him any more. She stopped, and put him down on the ground and looked him over. He was all right, only he was wet—very wet—and the whole front of her jumper was wet too, from him.

  Deborah scowled, and the baby began to cry. She couldn't stand that, so she smiled and tried playing games with him. Petey wasn't very good at games yet, but he always laughed and stayed happy if she played with him. Sometimes she thought he liked her better than anybody else, even Mommy. He acted that way. Maybe it was because she was closer to his size—a medium size giant in a world full of giant-giants; that's how people would look to Petey.

  When he was happy again, she gave him half a cracker from her pocket, and a piece of fruit for his other hand. He tumbled over backwards, and lay down, right on the muddy ground, smearing the food all over his face and looking sleepy.

  Sooner or later, Dee knew, she was going to have to turn around and look back, meanwhile, she sat on the ground, crosslegged, watching Peter fall asleep. She thought about her ancestors, who were pioneers on Pluto, and her father and how brave he was. She thought once, very quickly, about her mother, who was maybe all burned up now.