The Care and Feeding of Ravenously Hungry Girls

by Anissa Gray

  “Who is that?” asked Issib.

  “That’s the one that the Oversoul wants to go back to Earth to see,” said Luet. “That’s the one we’re all going to go back there to see. Don’t you understand? The Keeper of Earth is calling us all in our dreams, one by one, telling us things. And what happened in Father’s dream is important because it really does come from the Keeper. If we could just put it together and understand it . . .”

  “But something coming from Earth—it would have to travel faster than light,” said Issib. “Nothing can do that.”

  “Or it sent these dreams a hundred years ago, at lightspeed,” said Nafai.

  “Sent dreams to people who aren’t even born?” said Luet. “I thought you had dropped that idea.”

  “I still think that the dreams might be sort of—in the air,” said Nafai. “And whichever of us is sleeping when the dream arrives, has the dream.”

  “Not possible,” said Hushidh. “My dream was far too specific.”

  “Maybe you just worked the Keeper’s stuff into your own dream,” said Nafai. “It’s possible.”

  “No it isn’t,” said Hushidh. “It was all of a piece, my dream. If any of it came from the Keeper of Earth, it all did. And the Keeper knew me. Do you understand what that means? The Keeper knew me and she knew . . . everything.”

  Silence fell over the group for a moment.

  “Maybe the Keeper is only sending these dreams to the people it wants to have come back,” said Issib.

  “I hope you’re wrong,” said Nafai. “Because I haven’t had one like that yet. I haven’t seen these rats and angels.”

  “Neither have I,” said Issib. “I was thinking that maybe—”

  “But you were in my dream,” said Hushidh, “and if the Keeper is calling to me, she wants you, too.”

  “And we were both in Father’s dream,” said Nafai. “Which is why we have to find out what it meant. It’s obviously more than just telling us to be good. In fact, if that’s what it was for it did a pretty lousy job, since it made Elemak and Mebbekew furious to be singled out in the dream because they refused to come to the tree.”

  “So join us,” said Issib. “Touch the Index and ask.”

  The longer arm of Issib’s chair held the Index so he could rest his hand on it; the others gathered near and touched it, too. Touched it and questioned it, asking over and over again, silently in their minds . . .

  “No,” said Issib, “nothing’s happening. It doesn’t work this way. We have to be clear.”

  “Then speak for us,” said Hushidh. “Ask the question for all of us.”

  With their hands all on the Index, Issib put voice to their questions. He asked; they waited. He asked again. They waited again. Nothing.

  “Come on,” said Nafai. “We’ve done everything you asked. Even if all you can tell us is that you’re as confused as we are, at least tell us that.”

  The voice of the Index came at once: “I’m as confused as you are.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?” asked Issib in disgust.

  “Because you weren’t asking me what I thought of it, you were asking what it means. I was trying to figure it out. I can’t.”

  “You mean you haven’t yet,” said Nafai.

  “I mean I can’t,” said the Index. “I don’t have enough information. I can’t intuit the way you humans do. My mind is too simple and direct. Don’t ask me to do more than I’m capable of. I know everything that is knowable by observation, but I can’t guess what the Keeper of Earth is trying to do, and you exhaust me when you demand that I try to do it.”

  “All right,” said Luet. “We’re sorry. But if you learn anything ...”

  “I’ll tell you if I think it’s appropriate for you to know.”

  “Tell us even if you don’t,” demanded Issib.

  But the Index’s voice did not come again.

  “It can be so infuriating dealing with the Oversoul!” said Nafai.

  “Speak of her with respect,” said Hushidh, “and perhaps she’ll be more cooperative with you.”

  “Show it too much respect and the computer starts thinking that it’s really a god,” said Issib. “Then it’s really hard to deal with.”

  “Come to bed,” said Luet to Nafai. “We’ll talk of this again tomorrow, but tonight we need our sleep.”

  It took little persuasion to get Nafai to follow her to their tent, leaving Hushidh and Issib alone.

  They sat in silence for a while. Issib felt the uncomfortableness as if it were smoke in the air; it made it hard to breathe. It was Father’s dream that had brought them together here, to speak to the Oversoul through the Index. It was an easy thing to show Hushidh how comfortably he dealt with the Index; he was confident of himself, when it came to the Index, even when the Oversoul was itself confused and couldn’t answer aright. But now there was no Index between them—it rested voiceless in its case, where Nafai had placed it, and now only Hushidh and Issib remained, and they were supposed to marry each other and yet Issib couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “I dreamed of you,” said Hushidh.

  Ah! She had spoken first! At once the pent-up need to speak brought words to Issib’s lips. “And you woke screaming?” No, that was a stupid thing to say. But he had said it, and—yes, she was smiling. She knew it was a joke, so he didn’t have to be embarrassed.

  “I dreamed of you flying,” she said.

  “I do that a lot,” he said. “But only in other people’s dreams. I hope you didn’t mind.”

  And she laughed.

  He should have said something else then, something serious, because he knew she was doing all the hard part—she was saying serious things, and he was deflecting them with jokes. That was fine to make them comfortable with each other, but it also kept turning away from the hard things she was trying to say. So he knew he should help her say the hard things, and yet he couldn’t think of what they were, not now, sitting here with her in the Index tent, alone. Except that he knew he was afraid, for she needed a husband and it was going to have to be him except he had no idea if he could do any of the husbandly things for her. He could talk, of course, and he knew Hushidh well enough to know that she was a talker, when she knew you—he’d heard her speak passionately in class, and also in private conversations that he’d overheard. So they’d probably be able to talk, except that for talking they wouldn’t need to marry, would they? What kind of father would I be? Come here right now, son, or I’ll mash you with my chair!

  Not to mention the question of how he’d get to be a father in the first place. Oh, he had worked out the mechanics of it in his own mind, but he couldn’t imagine any woman actually wanting to go through with her part of it. And so that was the hard question that he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Here is the script for how we’ll make babies—are you willing to consider taking the starring role? The only drawback is that you’ll have to do everything, while I lie back and give you no pleasure whatsoever, and then you’ll have the babies while I help you not at all, and finally when we get old you’ll have to nurse me till I die except that it won’t make much difference since you’ll probably have been nursing me all along, since once I have a wife everybody will expect to leave off helping me, so it’ll be you, performing personal services that will disgust you, and then you’ll be expected to receive my seed and bear me babies after that and there’re no words I can bring to my lips that could persuade you to do that.

  Hushidh looked at him steadily in the silence. “You’re breathing rather heavily,” she said.

  “Am I?” he asked.

  “Is that passion or are you as scared of all this as I am?” she asked.

  Yes. More scared. “Passion,” he said.

  It wasn’t very light inside the tent, but it wasn’t very dark, either. He could see her make a decision, then reach up under her blouse and do something or other, and when she brought out her hands again, he could see that her breasts now moved freely under th
e cloth. And because she did that, he was more scared than ever, but he also felt just a touch of desire, because no woman had ever done such a thing in front of him, and certainly not for him, for him to see on purpose. Only he was probably expected to do something now and he had no idea what to do.

  “I’m not very experienced at this sort of thing,” said Hushidh.

  What sort of thing? he wanted to ask, but then decided not to, since he understood exactly what she meant and it wasn’t a good moment to joke.

  “But I thought we ought to perform a kind of experiment,” she said. “Before we decide anything. To see if you could possibly be attracted to me.”

  “I could,” he said.

  “And to see if you can give anything to me,” she said. “It’ll be better if we can both enjoy it, don’t you think?”

  Her words were so matter-of-fact. He could hear, though, from the trembling in her voice, that it wasn’t matter-of-fact to her. And for the first time it occurred to him that she probably didn’t think of herself as a beautiful woman. She was never one that the young men in the school had drooled over behind her back; now it occurred to Issib that she might be perfectly aware of that, probably was aware, and that she might be as frightened about whether he would desire her as he was about whether he could please her. It put them on something closer to equal terms. And instead of worrying about whether she’d be disgusted, he could give some thought to what she might enjoy.

  She moved closer to him. “I asked my sister Luet,” she said, “what men do for women that she thought you might be able to do for me.” Her hands now rested on the arms of the chair. And now her right hand dropped down and rested on his leg. His thin, thin leg; he wondered how it felt to her, this thigh that barely had muscle on it. Then she pressed closer to him and he realized that his hand was now touched by the cloth of her blouse. “She said that you could do buttons.”

  “Yes,” he said. It was hard, but he had learned to button and unbutton clothing that fastened that way.

  “And I assumed that meant you could also undo them.”

  Only then did he realize that he was being invited.

  “An experiment,” he said.

  “A midterm exam,” she said, “in unbuttoning and opening, with an extra credit question later.”

  He lifted his hand—it was such hard work—lifted it and took hold of her blouse’s top button. It was a bad angle—backhanded.

  “Not a good angle, is it?” she said. Then she moved her right hand to his other thigh, and higher, and then leaned in front of him. Now he could use both hands, and unbuttoning her blouse was almost easy, even though he had never had to unbutton someone else’s clothing before. It occurred to him that this would be a useful skill with children who hadn’t learned to dress themselves yet.

  “Perhaps you can improve your time on the next one,” she said.

  He did. And now as he worked, the skin of his hands brushed against her breasts. He had dreamed, day and night, of touching a woman’s breasts, but had always believed that it would never be more than a dream. And now, as he unbuttoned each button, she lifted herself higher, so the next lower button would be in reach, and this moved her breasts closer to his face, until finally, by turning his head just a little, he would be able to kiss her skin.

  His fingers unbuttoned the last button, and now the two sides of her blouse swung free, too. I can’t I can’t, he said, and then he did anyway, turned his head and kissed her. The skin was a little sweaty, but also soft and smooth, not like skin that had been weathered—not like his own hands, smooth as they were, or even his mother’s smooth cheek, which he had often kissed; this was such skin as had never touched his lips before, and he kissed her again.

  “You only got an average mark for unbuttoning and opening,” she said, “but your extra credit work seems promising. You don’t always have to be that gentle.”

  “I’m actually being as rough and brutal and manly as I can,” he said.

  “Then it’s fine,” she said. “You can’t do it wrong, you know. As long as I know you’re doing it because you want to.”

  “I do,” he said. And then, because he realized that she needed to hear it, he said, “I want to very much. You’re so . . . perfect.”

  She seemed to wince a little.

  “Like what I imagined,” he said. “Like a dream.”

  Then her hand moved, and tested him as well, to see how he was responding, and though his first instinct was to hide, to shy away, for once he was glad that his body wouldn’t allow him to move away that quickly, because she needed also to know that he had been aroused.

  “I think the experiment was a success, don’t you?” asked Hushidh.

  “Yes,” said Issib. “Does that mean you want me to stop now?”

  “No,” she said. “But someone might come into this tent at any moment.” She drew away and rebuttoned her blouse. She was breathing rather heavily, though. He could hear her despite his own heavy breathing. “That was a lot of exercise, for me,” he said.

  “I hope to wear you out.”

  “Can’t unless you marry me,” he said.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Will you?”

  “Is tomorrow soon enough?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then maybe I should go and get your parents.” Her blouse was buttoned by now, and she got up and left the tent. Only then did he realize that whatever the underwear was that had bound breasts before, it was lying in the middle of the carpet, a little white pile. He dropped his right hand to the controls of his chair and made the chair’s long arm go out and pick it up, then bring it close to him. He could see how the undergarment was made, and thought it was rather ingenious, but at the same time resented the way the elasticized fabric must hold a woman’s breasts close to her body all the time. Maybe the women wore such things only for riding camels. It would be sad if they were confined like that all the time. Especially for him, because he liked very much the way Hushidh’s body moved under her blouse when this had been removed.

  He told his chair to stow it in the small case under the chair; it complied. Only just in time—Hushidh came back in at once with Father and Mother. “I can’t very well complain that it’s too sudden,” said Father. “We’ve been expecting this and hoping it would come sooner rather than later.”

  “Do you want us to call everyone together for the ceremony?” asked Mother.

  And have them spend a half hour being alternately bored by the ceremony and curious about how Hushidh and Issib would handle sex? “No thanks,” he said. “All the important people are here.”

  “Well, too bad,” said Hushidh. “I asked Luet and Nafai to come in, too, as soon as they’ve notified Zdorab and Shedemei about the new sleeping arrangements.”

  Issib hadn’t thought of that—Hushidh had been sharing a tent with Shedemei, just as Issib had with Zdorab. The two of them would be forced together before they were ready, and ...

  “Don’t worry,” said Father. “Zdorab will sleep here with the Index, and Shedemei will stay where she is. Hushidh will move in with you, because your tent is already . . . equipped.”

  Equipped with his private latrine arrangements, the pans for his sponge baths, his bed with the mattress of air bubbles so he didn’t get bedsores. And in the morning, he’d need to void his bladder and his bowels, and he’d say, Shuya, darling, would you mind bringing me my jar and my pan? And then wipe up after me, there’s a dear . . .

  “And Nafai and Zdorab will come in the morning, to help you get ready for the day,” said Father.

  “And to teach me,” said Hushidh. “That’s not going to be a barrier between us, Issib, if you’re to be my husband. I refuse to let it bother me, and you must refuse to let it bother you.”

  Easier said than done, thought Issib, but he nodded his agreement, hoping that it would be true.

  The ceremony took only a few moments, once Nafai and Luet got there. Nafai stood
with Issib and Luet with Hushidh, while Mother and Father took turns saying the parts of the ceremony. It was really the women’s marriage ceremony, which was the usual way in Basilica, and so Father had to be prompted now and then to say his part right, but that was just part of the ceremony, or so it felt, to have Father’s voice repeating the words Mother had just spoken, so gently, to remind him. At last it was done, and Rasa joined their hands. Hushidh bent to him in his chair, and kissed him. It was the first time his lips had touched hers, and it surprised him. It also pleased him very much, and besides, during the kiss she knelt down beside the chair and as she did, her breasts came to press against his arm, and all he really wanted was for everyone else to leave them alone so he could see how the rest of the experiment would go.

  It was another half hour, with some teasing and joking from Nafai and Luet, but at last they were alone in Issib’s tent, and they took up the experiment where they left off. When Hushidh was naked, she lifted him out of the chair—he knew that she was surprised at how very light he was, though Nafai had no doubt assured her that she’d have no difficulty lifting him, tall as he was. She undressed him and then brought her body near him, so he could give to her as much as she would give to him. He thought that he could not bear how powerful the feelings were as he could see the pleasure he was giving her, and feel the pleasures she was giving him; his body spent itself almost the very moment she eased herself upon him. But that was all right, too, for she still held him, and moved upon him, and kissed him, and he kissed her cheek, her shoulder, her chest, her arm, whenever a part of her came near his lips; and when he could, he pulled his arms around her so that when she moved atop him, she could feel his hands also on her back, her thighs; gently, weakly, capable of nothing, really—but there. Was that truly enough for her? Was it something she could enjoy, again and again, forever?

  Then, instead of wondering, it occurred to him to ask.

  “Yes,” she said. “You’re done, then?”

  “The first time, anyway,” he said. “I hope it didn’t hurt you too much.”

  “A little,” she said “Luet told me that I shouldn’t expect to be overwhelmed the first time anyway.”