Sheri Tepper - Grass

by Grass(Lit)

  Perhaps it was the quiet that drew Rigo's attention. He was on the balcony, standing at the entrance of the gentlemen's withdrawing room as he saw Marjorie circling in Sylvan's arms and felt his lip lift in a familiar snarl. She danced with the young bon Damfels as though he were an old and valued friend. Or a lover.

  He struggled to control his face. He could not snarl or curse as he sometimes did when he saw her contented like this, moving in some exercise of horsemanship or dance or merely walking in the garden. There was an expression on her face at certain times, an expression of unconscious joy which came from a part of her he had always coveted, a separate being he never saw when he was with her. He had seen that being in the arena or the hunt, skimming the green pastures toward the high fences, all there between the posts and over the water, winging on danger and delight, a bird soaring with a singing face. He wanted to hold that bird.

  He had wooed Marjorie and won Marjorie. but he had never gained possession of the thing he'd wanted. Seeking her soul, he had taken only her body, finding there a hollowness he had not expected, a vacant citadel he could storm again and again to no effect. In his bed she became someone else, someone dressed in childlike gowns, filmy white, sprigged with blossoms, her body fragile and boneless, her eyes focused far away on something he could not see. He had used every skill with her he knew, and some he invented for her alone, but she never came from Rigo's bed looking as she looked now, dancing with Sylvan bon Damfels, lost in movement and pleasure, eyes half closed, lips curved up in that gentle smile he had thought, once, would be his alone.

  Andrea's voice in his ear, secret as a mole. "Persun says your absence is being noted."

  He smiled and went down from the balcony, looking for women's faces he could notice particularly, women's bodies he could admire with a significant glance, hinting something, promising nothing. It was all a game, a game.

  And below him, Sylvan left Marjorie and turned to Stella with conscious gallantry. Marjorie took yet another glass of fruit juice from a tray offered by Asmir Tanlig and stood beside Geraldria bon Maukerden to join in witty admiration of the ladies' gowns, embroidered and beaded in fantastic designs. This, too, was a Grassian game, with its own language, its own etiquette. Persun had researched it and taught it to her.

  Rigo swung past her in the dance, smiling like a mannequin at her over his partner's shoulder.

  Beyond them, through the door to the terrace, Marjorie saw Eugenie. Had anyone been appointed to dance with Eugenie? What bon? Any bon at all? Perhaps she would have to beg Sylvan to dance with her husband's mistress. Though perhaps Shevlok would do so without prompting. He was near the door, looking out at Eugenie where she stood with someone.

  With a girl? But there were no girls, no young women present. Except Stella, and Stella was dancing with Sylvan. Marjorie, possessed by a premonition of trouble, put down her glass.

  Eugenie and her friend came through the terrace door, Eugenie clad all in rose, her gown fluttering behind her like sunset cloud, and the other one in a similar gown, violet as shadow, hair piled high, walking behind Eugenie with Eugenie's own half-gliding gait, head turned to one side so that she looked across the room with an odd, one-eyed glance, sidelong...

  A strange silence fell. Someone stopped talking and stared. Someone else's eyes followed the first stare. A couple stopped dancing. The music went on, but the people slowed, like moving toys that had run down, slowly, stopping.

  Eugenie was halfway across the room, moving toward Marjorie. She would not go to Rigo, not publicly, she knew enough for that. She knew her public role was to be merely one of the group, a guest of the embassy, invited to participate in this gaiety. She smiled, holding out her hand as her companion passed the man near the door....

  And Shevlok screamed as though his heart had been torn out.

  "Janetta!"

  Eugenie glanced behind her uncertainly; then, seeing that her companion followed still, she came on again, her face collapsing in doubt.

  "Janetta!" Now the woman beside Marjorie, Geraldria bon Maukerden, cried out that name.

  And uproar. At Marjorie's side, Geraldria dropped her glass. It splattered into tinkling shards on the floor. The music faltered. Shevlok and Geraldria were both moving, like sleepwalkers, toward the girl, the strange girl.

  Dimoth bon Maukerden was shouting, and Vince, his brother, and then others. The strange girl was surrounded, seized, though she did not react. She was passed from hand to hand, passive as a rag doll, looking toward Eugenie as though all her mind resided in the other woman, ending in Shevlok's arms.

  "What have you done to her?" It was Sylvan, beside Marjorie, demanding. "What have you done?"

  "To Eugenie?"

  "To Janetta. To the girl."

  "I never saw her before this moment!"

  "That woman who has her. What did she do?" And when Marjorie shook her head helplessly, he went on, "Find out, quickly, or we will all be throwing dead bats at one another."

  Marjorie had no time to ask him what he meant. And then Rigo was there, and were confronting Eugenie, who was crying and disclaiming any fault and making it hard for them by babbling but telling them nothing, nothing they could use against the mounting anger all around them.

  "You filth, you fragras," trumpeted Gustave bon Smaerlok. "What have you done to Janetta?"

  "Silence," bellowed Rigo, his voice shattering the other voices. "Silence!"

  Then there was a little cup of quiet into which Eugenie's voice splashed like the thin cold juice of a bitter fruit, "I got her in Commoner Town," wailed Eugenie, "I got her from Jandra Jellico. All I did was make her a dress and fix her hair. She was just like this when I got her...."

  Some few of the gathered aristocrats perceived that she was telling the truth, as much truth as she knew. Eugenie was as open as a child, weeping, not sure what it was she had done to make all this uproar. She had meant it as a surprise, bringing her pet to the ball. She had thought it would be fun.

  "I told you we should stay far from this filth," trumpeted Gustave once again, red of face, spittle at the corners of his mouth.

  Rigo was in front of him. This could not be allowed to pass. "Filth?" he snarled. "What kind of filth allows their daughters to fall into such a state, for others to find, for others to rescue and clothe and feed? Hah?"

  "Rigo!" Marjorie called, moving between the two angry men. "Obermun bon Smaerlok, we do no good to call one another names. You are all very upset. So are we."

  "Upset?" Dimoth cried. "My daughter!"

  "Hear me!" Rigo thundered. "When did you see her last?"

  There was silence, silence as each one contemplated an answer to that question. It had been- It had been last fall. Early last fall. She had disappeared last fall. No one wanted to say, to admit it had been that long ago.

  "We heard of her disappearance," Marjorie said. "It happened long before we ever left to come here. Before you had even given permission for us to come."

  The words hung there, unimpeachably true, Janetta had gone long before these people had come, Janetta, now standing at the middle of a small circle, dancing by herself, humming, lovely as a porcelain figure and as impersonal. Nothing in her face or glance spoke of a person being there. In the circle around her was Shevlok bon Damfels, no longer clinging to her.

  "It is not Janetta," he sobbed.

  "Of course it is."

  "Don't be silly, man."

  "This is my daughter!"

  "Not Janetta," he repeated. "No. No. This person is older."

  "She would be," cried Geraldria. "She would be older, Shevlok."

  "And not the same. Not the same."

  Who could argue that? This creature was not the same as anyone. It turned to examine them with its odd, goose-eyed gaze, circling, as though to see if anyone had anything to interest it, some grain, perhaps, some bread. The moist, pink mouth opened. "Hnnngah," it cried, like a kitten. "Hnnngah."

  Now there were quieter voices asking Eugenie again where she
had found the girl, how long she had had the girl. Now there was movement among the bon Maukerdens, Obermun and Obermum, sisters and cousins, brothers and nephews.

  Vince bon Maukerden, hotheaded, poised before Rigo. "No matter when she vanished. It was here she turned up, like that! How do we know it was not you who did it to her?"

  "You," hissed Gustave from nearby, "who have not even the courage to ride with us. It is the kind of thing a fragras would do."

  "For what reason?" asked Marjorie in a loud, mild tone. "It is simple enough to learn the truth. Ask the people in Commoner Town."

  "Commoners!" sneered Gustave, "They have no honor. They would lie!"

  And then movement of the crowd as they bore the strange girl away.

  Some went then. Shevlok. The bon Maukerdens. Gustave and his Obermum. Others stayed. Of those who stayed, it was the bon Damfels who stayed longest, who went over and over the story Eugenie had to tell. Sylvan, particularly, who asked again and again, "Did she say anything, Madame Le Fevre? Ever? Any word? Are you sure?" To which Eugenie could only shake her head no, and no, and no. Pet had never said anything at all.

  It was only later that Marjorie realized why Sylvan had been so intent. Dimity bon Damfels had vanished in the hunt as Janetta bon Maukerden had vanished. If Janetta had emerged in this fashion, might not Dimity still be found alive, somewhere, somehow?

  Though there were no physicians among the bons, there were doctors in Commons. None of the aristos had ever lowered themselves to study the professions, but no such pride had prevented various commoners from flying off to Semling for a few years, returning with extensive educations. There were also no architects or engineers of any kind among the bons, but most kinds of technical expertise could be found in Commons. So it was from Commons that Lees Bergrem came to examine Janetta bon Maukerden-Dr. Lees Bergrem, head of the hospital.

  A maidservant saw it all, heard it all, told a brother who told someone else who told Roald Few.

  And Roald told Marjorie. "Dr. Bergrem put a thing on her head, to measure what was going on in her brain. And there was nothing, no more than a chicken."

  "Will she be able to learn again?"

  "Dr. Bergrem doesn't know, Lady. It seems so, for Miss Eugenie had taught her to dance, you know? Taught her to hum a song, too. It seems she will be able to learn. Dr. Bergrem wanted to take her back to the hospital, but Geraldria bon Maukerden wouldn't hear of it. Foolish, that woman. Dr. Bergrem studied on Semling, she did. And on Repentance, too. She's written books about her discoveries here on Grass. There's those who've been through here who say she knows more than many doctors, even those back on Terra."

  Marjorie, ever mindful of her duty to learn everything possible about Grass, ordered copies of Dr. Bergrem's books to be facsimile transmitted from Semling Prime.

  The tell-me hummed with the story, Janetta bon Maukerden, found alive. Of all those who had vanished over the years, she was the first to be found alive. First and only, and yet what hope this sparked among certain aristocratic parents and lovers and friends. Rowena bon Damfels came to call, alone.

  "You must not tell Stavenger I was here," she said, whispering, her face swollen with fear and grief "He and Gustave have spent hours on the tell-me. bellowing to one another. He forbade me to come."

  "I would have come to you," Marjorie cried. "You had only to ask."

  "He would have seen you and driven you away. We are still in the lapse, and there is no Hunt. He would have seen you."

  But it was really Eugenie that Rowena wanted to see, Eugenie she wanted to question, because she could not go to Commoner Town without Stavenger finding out. Marjorie stayed with them, and it was she who suggested, "Rowena, I will ask the man and the woman to come here. The man and woman who had her, in Commons. I will ask them to come here, since you say they cannot come to your estancia, and you can come here to talk to them yourself/'

  A fragile bond. A little trust. After Rowena left, Marjorie sighed, shook her head, sent for Persun Pollut.

  "See if you can get the order officer and his wife to come out here tomorrow. The Jellicos. Tell them the Obermum wants to talk to them, privately. Secretly, Persun."

  He laid fingers on his lips, over his eyes, noting that he said nothing, saw nothing, and then departed. He returned to say yes, they would come tomorrow, and Marjorie sent an enigmatic message on the tell-me which only Rowena would understand. While he was there, she asked Persun to explain something to her.

  "At the reception, Sylvan said we would all be throwing dead bats at one another, Persun. What did he mean?"

  "The Hippae do it," he said. "At least, so I hear. Sometimes on the hunt they do it. They kick dead bats at one another."

  "Dead bats?"

  "They are everywhere lady. Many dead bats." It made no sense to Marjorie. She made a note in her book for later inquiry. There was no time now. "Rowena will talk to me," Marjorie said to Rigo. "I think we may find this has opened a door."

  "Only while she's in this state. When she grows calm, she'll close us off again."

  "You don't know that that's true."

  "I believe it is," he said stiffly. He had been stiff with Marjorie ever since the reception, since he had seen her dancing with Sylvan with that look on her face. She recognized his stiffness as barely withheld anger, but she believed his discomfort had been caused by Eugenie. Long ago she had chosen not to notice how matters went between Rigo and Eugenie, so she did not seem to notice now. Because she made no response to his evident annoyance, he believed she did not care, that she was probably thinking of someone else. So he grew more angry and she more silent; so they danced, a blindfolded minuet.

  Something in his manner, however, declared a decision had been made.

  "Rigo, you're not-"

  "Yes," he said firmly. "I have hired a riding master."

  "Gustave was just being-"

  "He was saying what all of them feel. That we are not worthy of their attention because we do not ride."

  "It isn't riding," she said with loathing. "Whatever it is they do, it isn't riding. It's loathesome."

  "Whatever it is they do," he growled, "I will do it as well as they do!"

  "You won't expect me...or the children..."

  "No," he blurted, shocked. "Of course not! What do you take me for?"

  Indeed, what did she take him for? he asked himself. They were in this mess because of Eugenie, but Marjorie had not once reproached him for bringing Eugenie here, where Eugenie certainly did not belong. As a result he felt guilt toward Marjorie and chafed under the feeling. He felt he had ill-used her even though she showed no signs of caring, not now, not ever. She had never showed hostility toward him when he spent time with Eugenie, never showed anger that he was sharing another relationship. She never said anything bitter, never threatened anything. She was always there, unfailingly correct, concerned, always agreeable, acting appropriately under every circumstance, even those which he knew he had created especially to try her. He sometimes told himself he would give his soul if she would weep or scream or throw herself at him or away from him, but she did nothing of the kind.

  He wondered if she confessed anger or jealousy to Father Sandoval. Did she tell him what she felt? Did she cry?

  Long ago he had told himself that Marjorie would never love him as he had dreamed she would because she had given all her love to horses. He had even thought he hated Marjorie's riding because she gave the horses the thing she would not give him-her passion. Horses. Even more than motherhood, or her charities.

  But now he wondered if that were true. Was it really horses who had taken her heart? Or had she merely been waiting for something else? Someone like Sylvan bon Damfels, perhaps? What did she take him for?

  He had to ask her. "Marjorie, did Sylvan bon Damfels say anything to you while you were dancing?"

  "Say anything?" She turned an anxious glance upon him, still fretting over his intention to ride with the bons. not caring about anything else. "Sylvan? What kind o
f thing, Rigo? As I recall, he said conventional things. He complimented me and Stella on our gowns. He dances well--Since he wasn't one of the ones Pollut warned us about, I could relax enough to enjoy the dance. Why? What do you mean?"

  "I wondered." He wondered what she was concealing. "What has Sylvan to do with..."

  What did Sylvan have to do with? With the way Rigo felt, seeing her. With the fact that Sylvan rode while he, Rigo, did not. He would not ask himself what the two things had to do with one another. He would not consider it--"Nothing. Nothing. I won't expect you and the children to ride in the aristos' hunt."