Chapter 43
All that morning Kalus stayed away, not wanting Sylviana to see him, not wanting to destroy for Kataya what they had shared the night before. The gesture was not entirely noble: now more than ever he found it impossible to think or plan, and simply did not know what else to do.
But as various members of the company began to return early from their labors, as if by mutual consent at the fine Spring weather, the amiable Smith accosted him in the place where he sat brooding. The youngest of the company, he had a pleasant, almost boyish face, with sandy hair and a light moustache. He took Kalus up as if they were old friends, and insisted they share a bottle of wine to celebrate the day. Kalus hardly felt like celebrating, and was half fearful of the liquor's effect on him; but the other's friendly oblivion made it all but impossible to say no. So at last, wearily, he consented.
The two went briefly to the botanist's rooms to fetch it, then turned themselves again out of doors. There in the clear space by the tables Kalus saw the two women: Kataya, who looked up from her work and smiled faintly, and Sylviana, who did not smile, though she could not entirely hide her relief at seeing him at all. But the embers of her anger still smoldered, waiting only for a restless wind to stoke them again to withering fire.
The two men moved to the crest of the hill which formed one border of the grassy bowl in which the others had gathered, and sat beneath the speckled shade of a young tree that grew there. From here they could survey the company without feeling too close, and therefore inhibited. Smith opened the bottle, and after taking several large gulps (despite the assumed bravado he was nervous, and uncertain how to proceed) passed it to Kalus, who was much more cautious.
In time he felt the liquor, though he was not overwhelmed by it. Yet he spoke little, gazing wistfully into the small valley at the two women he had loved: desiring again the one, though he rebuked himself for it, loving, and at the same time hating, the fallen angel of his heart. Smith observed this, and failing in his attempts at indirect conversation, spoke more plainly.
'I guess by now the Doc has explained to you something of our breeding problem….. Dave Rawlings can be a bit blunt—-subtle as a truck, really—-but he generally says the things that need to be said. About mating, for example, and children.' Kalus turned toward him curiously, as Smith pretended not to notice.
'He and I were just talking about it last night, and do you know what he said? Stop screwing around and just ask them. Enough of this timidity. It's high time for those of us who can still procreate to get down to some serious fucking.''
If Smith had stopped talking long enough, Kalus would have gotten up and walked away from what seemed to him a lunatic assault on those things he held most dear. But he did not stop.
'We've all been in rather a state of shock the past year, sexually as well as otherwise. And of course we had plenty of other things to think about first: constructing the shelters, laying up food for the Winter.'
'Survival,' said Kalus bluntly. 'Just like everyone else.'
'Yes….. Are you angry with me?'
The man-child studied the face of the other, finding nothing but friendship, sensitivity and good intentions. 'No,' he said sadly. 'I don't know what to feel.'
'Should we talk about this another time?'
'What would it change?'
'Probably nothing,' said Smith ruefully. 'You understand that I'm only speaking for the good of the group. We're a family, really.'
'But one without children,' added Kalus sympathetically.
'Yes. We need them. . .or everything we do dies with us. Along with all hope for the future.' He took another drink to keep from betraying emotion. But this only augmented, rather than submerging the yearning for life that so overwhelmed him. 'The sound of their laughter,' he began again, his eyes welling. The wail of newborn life. . .would be such blessed relief from the dry, sterile sound of our own voices.'
At this Kalus eyes' misted as well, remembering Shama, and the Child on the shore. 'I would give everything I have to hear it,' he said, surprised by his own words, and the thoughts that lay behind them.
'Me, too.' And the young scientist put a hand on Kalus' shoulder. 'What I'm trying to tell you is that according to our tests, only Rawlings, myself and the Commander, still have the ability to father a child. And in your case, of course, there would be no reason for the sterility.' At Kalus' questioning look he added. 'Oh, the others can still make love, it just doesn't get them anywhere….. No pregnancy. No kids.'
'What are you asking me to do?'
Smith sighed, knowing it was now or never. 'Look down there. You see that beautiful, slender reed in the black dress?'
'Kataya.'
'Yes….. She's twenty-six, and in the full flower of womanhood. She desperately wants a child, but apparently the rest of us don't do anything for her. And then Dr. Welles, there.' He pointed. 'Thirty-four, and married to a man who can't give her children. Should they both be punished for it? And your own Sylviana. Wouldn't the two of you, at least, consider having a child?'
But Kalus' mind was reeling. The concept of free love was so incredible to him, at once both desirable and unthinkable….. He gave voice to only one of the myriad questions that confronted him.
'Is there no other way?'
'There's always artificial insemination: taking a man's sperm and a woman's egg and placing them together, either in the uterus, or in the laboratory. But that's so cold and mechanical. Also, we're trying to stay a little closer to nature than our predecessors, hoping to avoid some of their mistakes. And for me, at least, there's a spiritual' side to it: which sperm cell is MEANT to fertilize which egg. Can you see what I'm driving at?'
Kalus, who had understood very little, could only say. 'I have made love to only two women in my life. And I should have been more than content with the one, if she….. Well if….. I don't know if I can help you,' he finished weakly. But then, whether because of the alcohol, the other man's openness, or the sheer physical need to let it out, he told him.
'I made love to Kataya last night.'
'Good,' said Smith warmly. 'Good for you.'
'Not good for me. . .or Sylviana. She learned of it, and cast me out.' He lowered his face, bitter and ashamed. 'I feel as if I'm already dead.'
Smith was quiet for a moment, allowing the other to gather himself, then simply said what he thought.
'You did nothing wrong, Kalus. I see in you no more of the user and the taker than I do in myself—-probably the reason we've both slept with so few women. But as for Sylviana. . .maybe she won't understand. But maybe, in time, she will. Welles is probably giving her the same talk right now.'
At this Kalus looked down into the bowl once more, and saw to his relief and glimmering hope that Dr. Welles was in fact speaking seriously with Sylviana, who blushed, looking down, then up at him uncertainly.
'In the meantime,' Smith continued, 'Try not to isolate yourself so much. Loneliness will kill you by itself. Throw in alienation and remorse, and it's no wonder you feel the way you do.' He looked the man-child straight in the eye, and said sincerely.
'Be my friend, Kalus. The rest of us aren't so bad. But if you have trouble being open with them, then start with me. I'm not nearly as shallow and glib as I come across—-a defense mechanism I guess, to keep myself from being hurt. But I do care, and I'd be honored.' And he gave Kalus his hand on it.
Kalus took it in his own, finding unexpected relief, as Sylviana watched him, and listened to Dr. Welles, and felt her hard resolve begin to waver.
And all might still have been well, but for the sinister and unknown timing of the Stranger, who at that moment descended the rise at a cold distance from the two men, and seeing the strange and alluring new woman, devoted to her all his questionable attention.