The Virgin of Zesh & the Tower of Zanid

by L. Sprague De Camp

  “Why?”

  “I’m not married to either of these gentlemen.”

  “Married? We don’t bother with such artificial formalities, senhorita. This is the best that we can do. If you prefer to sleep in a tree, you are welcome to do so. As soon as we get some more houses finished and Senhor Orpheus chooses a mate, he will no doubt move out. Then you and Senhor Bahr can decide what you wish to do. In any case, we do not encourage the celibate life here—”

  Kuroki’s speech was interrupted by a shout. Two running cultists rounded the corner of one of the huts. The second was chasing the first with a hoe.

  Kuroki shouted “Stop!” but the pair kept on without heeding, the second swinging his implement at the head of the first. As they passed out of sight around another hut, Kuroki said, “What are they fighting about this time?”

  One of the girls spoke up, “They are rivals for the love of Senhora Psyche.”

  “I thought Psyche was Aristotle’s mate?” said Kuroki.

  “She is, but they hope to persuade her to leave him for one of them.”

  “I’ll fine them a week’s leisure for behaving in such a civilized manner! He might break a good hoe. All right, you newcomers, you shall have a quarter-hour to move in. Then report to Senhor Diomedes here for work. Remember the rules: no shirking, no irregularities or non-cooperation, no unauthorized contact with Záva or other outsiders. That is all.”

  The procession broke up, the participants trailing off about their various concerns. Althea, followed by Bahr and Kirwan, entered the designated hut. This was a one-room affair with a dirt floor and four crude beds. Kirwan, setting down his bag, said, “Bedad, the triumphal welcome didn’t last long.”

  “It seems to me,” said Bahr, “that you will be compelled to work harder and longer here than you ever were on Earth.”

  “Oh, that’s because they don’t appreciate my genius yet. Just wait.”

  A quarter-hour later, the three were out in the central plaza again. Presently Senhor Diomedes, a stout, bald, and uncommonly muscular man, with a great mass of curly graying beard sweeping his hairy chest, appeared without his ceremonial cloak. Two others came with him. He said, “Senhor Orpheus, our irrigation-water supply is low, so you shall spend the afternoon filling the tank from the well bucket. Senhor Achilles will show you how.” (Kirwan groaned.) “Senhor Gottfried, your help is required by Senhor Thales, our carpenter. Senhorita Althea, the badr field needs weeding. Come along, please.”

  Althea followed the overseer out to the field, where he pressed a hoe into her hand.

  “Now,” he said, “you simply walk down one row and up the other, and wherever you see any plant but a shoot of badr you hoe it up. Go ahead—hey, that’s a badr plant you destroyed! Be careful!”

  “I can’t tell the difference,” said Althea, to whom the mass of little green and brown and purple things all looked alike.

  “I shall explain.” Senhor Diomedes picked up the little seedling that Althea had ignorantly hoed up and pointed out its physical attributes, compared with those of the weeds. “Now, when you come to one of these,” he said, pulling up another plant, “you must tear it up by the roots. It’s so viable that, if even a bit of root is left, it will grow again. This kind you must collect and burn, because it will take root again if left lying on the ground. This kind you must be careful with, because it shoots out little poisoned darts when disturbed. They can make you quite sick. This one has a bladder that bursts, releasing a horrible stench, but it will not injure you . . .”

  After more instruction, Althea thought that she had the hang of the job. Diomedes said, “Good; I knew you were an intelligent—look out! You’re getting too close to the badr, stupid!”

  “Sorry,” said Althea. “How long must I keep at this?” The hoe was already feeling heavy.

  “Until sunset. A bell will ring.”

  Althea let a small sigh escape. “That seems like a long working day.”

  “My dear young lady, did you think a colony like this can thrive on a pre-industrial basis with less work than in a mechanized society? On the contrary, we have to work twice as hard to attain a much lower standard of living. We work from sunrise to sunset, with not more than one day in ten off, and hope that diseases or flocks of aqebats won’t destroy our crops and starve us out.”

  Althea looked at the man. “What were you before you came here?”

  “My name was Aaron Halevi, and I was the assistant manager of the Bank of Israel in Tel-Aviv. My wife ran away with an Egyptian weight-lifter, and here I am—hey!” Diomedes bounded up and down, his pot-belly quivering. “Never whack at a stone that way! You’ll break your hoe, and they’re hard to replace. You pick the stone up and carry it to the edge of the field.”

  “Where do you get your tools?”

  “We trade them from the Záva for falat-wine. They are building up quite an industry on their island. Hey, look there! You missed a weed!”

  “Sorry. I thought Zeus said you were entirely self-sufficient?”

  Halevi shrugged. “We do our best, but there’s no local ore and no blacksmith.”

  “Do you like this better than the bank?” asked Althea.

  “No comparison! Here one can be a natural man, free—that is.” He lowered his voice, “It would be free if Zeus weren’t such a damned autocrat. Someday,” added Diomedes darkly, “there will be changes. Now, are there any more questions?”

  “N-no, I think I know the job.”

  “You could work more comfortably without those silly clothes, you know.”

  “I suppose so, but as a missionary I can’t follow your suggestions.”

  “Oho, so that’s it! I’m a Neo-Buddhist myself. Call me if you need me.”

  Diomedes-Halevi strode off. Presently, Althea heard his penetrating voice raised in reprimand from another part of the farm. She concentrated on her weeds.

  ###

  It seemed as though the long Krishnan day would never end. Diomedes dropped by once to see how she was doing, grunted approvingly, and waddled off.

  When Roqir’s disk finally touched the horizon, a bell rang from the village. The other workers streamed back toward the huts. Althea found Bahr and Kirwan washing their faces in their hut. Kirwan, who now wore the himation of the cult, was loud in his complaints.

  “Glory be to Peter and Paul, I told ’em all about meself, but did it make any difference? Devil a bit! ‘You work for your keep, me lad,’ says the boss, so here’s the great Brian Kirwan, a descendant of the high kings of Tara, sweating away like a bogtrotting peasant all afternoon. Just look at those blisters!”

  “Look at mine!” said Bahr. “All day I have been pushing a saw and a plane, which I had not for forty years touched.”

  Althea spoke up. “I don’t want to complain, but if everybody’s going to brag about their blisters, here are mine.”

  “Ah, the black shame of it,” said Kirwan. “And you a delicately nurtured young lady! However, there’s one cure for that. In yonder bag are two bottles of the rarest old Irish poteen which I’ve been saving for such an occasion. I’ve dragged ’em clear from Earth, and with the freight rates what they are you’ll practically be drinking liquid gold.”

  He began to rummage. After he had gone through the bag carefully several times, without finding the bottles, he leaped to his feet, fists clenched, shouting curses like a madman and stamping the earthen floor like a child in a tantrum. His screams and roars brought Diogo Kuroki to the hut.

  “Is something the matter, senhores?”

  “Is something the matter, he says! Listen to the man! Look, you squint-eyed heathen, what’s become of them two bottles of liquor I had in my luggage?”

  “Why, we took them out to add to our medical store.”

  “What?” shrieked Kirwan.

  “Certainly. We do not allow the drinking of distilled liquors for pleasure here. Distillation is a process of the mechanized, industrialized world, which we are getting away from. Our only social drin
king is that of falat-wine which we ferment ourselves, and that only on Tendays.”

  Kirwan sat down on the edge of his bed, buried his face in his hands, and burst into tears. Kuroki-Zeus watched him impassively, then said, “Supper will be served in the Hall in a few minutes. A bell will ring.” He departed.

  VII

  The third day after Althea’s arrival at Elysion happened to be Tenday, the last day of the Krishnan “week” and the traditional day of rest. Diogo Kuroki had adopted this tradition for his colony. At breakfast, Althea said, “At least I’ll be able to let my blisters heal.”

  Kirwan grunted agreement. “I hear the younger ones have games and dances and things, but I feel more like lying on me back and letting me genius operate.”

  Bahr said, “I fear, my friends, that if you expect a day of restful idleness, you are in for an unpleasant surprise.”

  “Huh?” said Kirwan.

  “Pleasure, I understand, is compulsory here. With a keen eye to the welfare of his flock, Senhor Zeus has arranged a healthful program of games and sports, lest by an excess of leisure anyone be led into temptation.”

  “He can’t! Damned if I’ll—” began Kirwan, but the jangle of a bell interrupted him. Diogo Kuroki, looking like an Oriental god of bronze, rose at the head table and announced, “Everybody shall be at the playing field in one hour. You are dismissed.”

  Kirwan snorted. “Let them try to find me when the hour comes round. It’s far away I’ll be . . .”

  When the time arrived, however, Kirwan was there with the rest. Althea sat on the sidelines, on a patch of grasslike plant. Kirwan sat on one side, Bahr on the other, watching naked Roussellians run, wrestle, dance, throw heavy stones, and otherwise exert themselves. Althea found the sight interesting, although she could see that it might become tedious with compulsory repetition.

  After breakfast, Kirwan had wandered off, he said to poetize. When Althea and Bahr had taken this place, the poet had at once reappeared, to sit on her other side. At first, Althea had thought that he had changed his mind about defying the leader’s orders. Then something in his manner suggested another motive.

  Now that she thought of it, for several days, each of these two had shown a tendency not to let Althea out of his sight in the other’s company. If she had been more observant, she would have noticed this trend sooner.

  Althea began to wonder what this rising rivalry portended. The idea that both men were falling in love with her, or at least in lust, had not occurred to her before. While such a thing was flattering, it might result in unpleasant complications, say, if they fell to fighting for her favor. Althea had never had two suitors come to blows over her. The prospect both excited and appalled her. What on earth should one do then?

  “What are you lazy people doing?” roared Diomedes-Halevi. “Get up! Everybody must take part. No idle spectators on Zesh!”

  “Go soak your head,” said Kirwan. “I’m comfortable here, and I’ll not be moving for any reformed banker on Krishna.”

  “Would you prefer to be the bull in the ring?” said Halevi dangerously. “Hey, Pyrrhos! Aias!” A pair of muscular youths hastened over and stood awaiting orders.

  “What’s he talking about?” said Kirwan.

  Althea explained, “I think he’s threatening to put you in a circle of the young men and let one of them chase you with a paddle while you try to break out.”

  “Oh, hell!” groaned Kirwan, getting up. “You’re as crazy over-organized as a Terran factory. Why can’t you let a body be?”

  Halevi said, “How about you two?”

  Bahr replied, “I am not a member of your organization, my friend. If you should lay hands on either of us, I should consider us to be assaulted and defend us accordingly.”

  Halevi grunted but apparently decided not to force the issue. “Come along, Orpheus,” he growled. “Which shall it be: square dances, piggy-back jousting, or wrestling? The races are over.”

  Althea missed Kirwan’s mumbled reply. A few minutes later, she saw him stripped and grunting in a tangle of limbs with another wrestler.

  “Althea,” said Bahr, “would you not like to go for a walk? We have been sitting here for a long, long time.”

  “All right,” said Althea.

  As soon as they were out of sight of the game field, Bahr cleared his throat several times, as if trying to start a balky outboard motor. At last he said, “If I may take the liberty, dear Althea, I am telling you that my feelings for you are warmer than those of a scientist for an assistant. In fact, I propose to you that as soon as some legal arrangements can be made, we enter into the matrimonial relationship.”

  “Why, thank you, Gottfried, but—”

  “It would have considerable advantages. I am a person of regular habits and sober, reliable character. Of course, I admit that to some I might not seem very colorful—a little dull and pedantic, perhaps—but this is simply because I am a diffident man, the schizoid-cerebrotonic type, and I put up this façade of cold competence to conceal the fact. You see, I am a good enough psychologist to recognize my own limitations. What do you think of the idea, my dear?”

  “I’m afraid not. I like you, but . . .”

  “Please do not think that I am merely trying to save the cost of an assistant. Your salary would continue in any case. I would not apply unfair pressure to you either, knowing that a marriage entered into under those circumstances would not have the optimum, probability of success.”

  “That’s decent of you, but . . . no.”

  “No or just maybe?”

  “Definitely no. I’m sorry.”

  Bahr sighed. “My analysis of your emotional tone did not give me much hope, but one must try. You are a very, very beautiful woman.”

  “Oh, it’s just that you’ve been away from Earth so long,” said Althea.

  “That is not true, but we will argue it some other time. Shall we return to the games?”

  They got back to find Kirwan nursing a black eye. He complained that his opponent had fouled him by poking him in the optic with his knee.

  “He claims I bit him,” said Kirwan, “but pay no attention to the rascal. He stepped on my face, so it was natural that some of me teeth should scratch his foot, accidental-like.”

  “Who won?” asked Althea.

  “What a silly question, a cuisle! The great Brian Kirwan, o’ course, that was a professional wrestler before he got bit by the poetical bug.”

  “Come on, come on!” roared Diomedes-Halevi. “Everybody down to the beach. Don’t lounge around; you’ll catch cold!”

  “God, don’t a man ever get five minutes to himself?” muttered Kirwan. He followed the others down the trail to the beach.

  The entire village, two hundred-odd people, over a third of them children, swarmed down to the beach on which Althea had landed three days earlier. They made one of their number to climb out on a projecting rock to watch the water for any of the man-eating monsters of the Sadabao Sea, while the rest shed their wrappings and plunged in.

  Althea and Bahr sat down on the sand to watch the performance. Althea said, “Do you know what impresses me most? It’s the high proportion of children and pregnant women.”

  “That is the natural ratio, when people have short life-expectancies and no methods of limitation.”

  “But I thought Kuroki provided his members with longevity doses like other Terrans?”

  “He does; that is one product of decadent civilization that they would not forgo. But his medical service is rather crude. He has a lot of mixed-up ideas about nature’s being the best physician. At this rate, in any case, he will soon have an overpopulation problem.”

  Althea looked up to see the barrel-bodied Kirwan dripping in front of her. He said, “Well, Althea darling, aren’t you having a bath this day, and you so dirty and all?”

  “I suppose I could use one,” said Althea. Up on the plateau, water was not so easily come by that it was used for bathing. She had thought of going down to the beach
for a bath the night before, but she had been too tired. “But I haven’t any bathing suit.”

  “You’ve got your skin, the same as the rest of us. In a suit, you’d be the conspicuous one.”

  “Why not?” said Bahr, rising and beginning to peel off his khaki shirt. “If Brian will his great paunch expose, and I my poor thin skeleton of a physique, why should you to your Terran taboos adhere? You, who could be a sculptor’s model for a statue of Diana?”

  Althea compromised by walking down to one extreme end of the beach, out of earshot if not out of sight of the Roussellians, and bathed there. Lacking soap or washrag, she scrubbed herself with sand. Then she waded out to breast depth and swam powerfully out until the lifeguard blew a whistle to warn her back in.

  She returned to her companions to find that the bony Bahr had just emerged from the water and was talking with Kirwan. The latter said, “Sit down, Althea, and listen. The mind of the great Brian Kirwan is so superior it’s even willing to admit when it’s made a mistake. I thought getting out and living the natural life would be easier; but I’m finding the simpler it is, the harder it is. This sort of thing may be all right for a vacation, but the idea of spending years grubbing in the muck fair gives me the horrors. No meat, no whiskey, and no tobacco after me present supply’s gone. Nothing but these damned vegetables, all tasting like turnips, morning, noon, and night. And what’s an Irishman without his whiskey and beefsteak?”

  “You would at least train off some of that fat,” murmured Bahr.

  Kirwan snorted. “I’m not fat, except in comparison with a tottering structure of strings and wires like you. Now, we want to get out of here before the Dasht of Darya comes down on us horse, foot, and artillery. But we can’t just write a letter to Novorecife to come fetch us. In the first place, it’d bring Gorchakov down on our necks; in the second, Kuroki censors all the mail to keep contacts with the decadent Terran civilization down to a minimum.”

  “What then?” queried Althea.

  “I thought maybe we could do something with Halevi—you know, the one they call Diomedes.” Kirwan pointed to where the patriarchal Israeli was disporting himself like a porpoise.