I fought. May all the gods bear witness that I fought myself. And I thought I was winning.
VI
I will never forget one certain evening.
Hawkins and I had come over to Barbara's for supper, and the three of us were sitting now, talking. Wieniawski's Violin Concerto cried its sorrow, muted in the background, and the serene home she had made of the bare little functional apartment folded itself around us. Then Kane dropped in as he often did, with a casualness that fooled nobody, and sat with all his soul in his eyes, looking at Barbara. He was a nice kid. I didn't know why he should annoy me so.
The talk shifted to Valgolia. I found myself taking the side of my race. It wasn't that I hoped to convert anyone, but—well, it was wrong that we should be monsters in the sight of these friends.
"Brutes," said Kane. "Two-legged animals. Damned bald-headed, copper-skinned giants. Wouldn't be quite so bad if they were octopi or insects, but they're just enough different from us to be a caricature. It's obscene."
"Sartons look like a dirty joke on mankind," I said. "Why don't you object to them?"
"They're in the same boat as us."
"Then why mix political and esthetic prejudices? And have you ever thought that you look just as funny to an Eridanian?"