Off in the darkness, Lajoolie began to cry.
Lajoolie’s Tears
I had never imagined I would make her weep. Though I am clever and warm and most well-intentioned, it turns out I am not always adept at saying the right things to people. As you must know by now, I have not had a great deal of experience in social circumstances; I spent much of my early life with no one to talk with but my sister, and she never burst into tears. At least not until the Explorers came.
So perhaps there are times when my words have an adverse effect. I do not mean to be upsetting; but sometimes it happens, and then I am upset too. It is quite most dismaying to find you have accidentally hurt someone’s feelings. I never intend that ever. And it is just too bad that some people (especially alien people) are so unexpectedly vulnerable.
I never intend to be cruel.
Though I had wanted to conserve my remaining energy, I rose immediately and let myself be guided by the sound of Lajoolie’s whimpers: shuffling blindly through the darkness until I could wrap her in my arms. When I did, the big woman did not push me away. She was seated on the cabin’s unused bed, so I sat beside her and let her sob into my jacket.
After a time, when her tears began to ease, I murmured, “Why are you crying, foolish one? Tell me, and I shall try to make it better.”
“It’s just…” Lajoolie whispered. “It’s just…” She succumbed to more sniffles.
“Come,” I said, “let us talk about this. I inquired whether you were mentally disturbed, and then you began all this fuss. Does that mean you are emotionally damaged? You have been tormented and abused?”
“No,” she answered in a small voice. “I was never abused.” Sniffle, sniffle. “By anyone.” Sniffle, sniffle. “But you thought…you said I was putting on an act, pretending to be…something I’m not. And I am putting on an act, but I must be terrible at it if I can’t fool some alien who’s only known me a few hours.”
“Ah, but I am more perceptive than most of the universe. Especially the parts of the universe that are vacuum.” I paused. “What precise type of act are you putting on?”
She did not answer right away. I was beginning to realize Lajoolie never did anything right away; she preferred to ruminate at length before committing herself to action. At last, however, she said in a low voice, “Have you heard of arranged marriages?”
“Of course,” I told her. “They are a narrative device found in works of fiction—designed to explain why persons who lust after each other cannot consummate their passion until the end of the book.”10
“Arranged marriages aren’t just fictitious, Oar. They’re quite popular in some cultures.”
“Popular with whom?” I asked. “Those who rent rooms for illicit affairs?”
Lajoolie tried to pull away from me, but I held on. She stopped struggling after a moment, but said most angrily, “This isn’t about affairs, Oar! It’s not about sex at all.”
“Then what is it about?”
“It’s about…oh, you’ll never understand.”
“Do you believe me stupid or deficient in some way? Or is it that you think an alien can never comprehend your niceties of emotion?”
“I don’t mean that. I just…”
“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me everything, and I shall be a sympathetic listener. Or if I am not a sympathetic listener, you can say to yourself, I was right that Oar cannot understand. Then you will feel better for being correct all along, and you will find you have stopped crying.”
Her next sniffle sounded slightly like a laugh…and in time, with many Lajoolie-like pauses, she explained her Dire Position.
On Being A Wide Woman
According to Lajoolie, all Divian men (including Tye-Tyes, Freeps, and myriad other sub-breeds) are attracted to females with broad shoulders. There is an evolutionary reason for this liking—in ancient days, muscular bodies indicated good health and breeding potential—but that is not what Divian men think about when they slaver over the width of a woman; they simply think how fine it would be to nuzzle such luxuriant flesh.
Therefore, Tye-Tye women are much in demand on Divian worlds. Tye-Tyes were originally engineered to live on a planet with high gravitation, so they had to be inordinately strong just to keep moving; but after Tye-Tyes were created, Divian men from other breeds took one look at the muscular Tye-Tye women and went most thoroughly goggle-eyed.
Though slavery had been outlawed for centuries, non-Tye-Tye males of wealth and privilege found ways to purchase desirable Tye-Tye girls for purposes of matrimony. Or simply for sex. This practice became a major component of the Tye-Tye economy…which led to a thriving industry wherein young girls were put through Diverse Regimens Of Training in order to make them more salable. This meant, for example, that brides produced for the off-world market were educated in useful skills: they learned many languages; they became adept at social graces such as music, witty conversation, and how to berate servants; and of course they lifted heavy weights in all directions so as to increase their natural charms.
Most of the girls sold as brides submitted quite willingly—they were young and impressionable, not to mention they had been told from birth what an honor it was, being purchased by strangers because of one’s appearance. These girls Did Not Know Any Better. But after marrying rich husbands (or being sold as mistresses), they seldom remained in the same state of ignorance; inevitably, they met other women who enjoyed very different circumstances, and they also met men who whispered such words as “Freedom” and “Love” and “Meet me behind the house when everyone else is asleep.” As time went on, an unquestioning girl-bride became an established woman-wife who was not so naïve and controllable as she once was. The woman’s husband/master/owner would try to control her anyway, at which point he would discover an important truth:
These women were very strong.
Not just a little bit strong—they were prodigiously strong, with muscles on muscles on muscles. Men lusted after them for that very reason. But these muscles made the women exceedingly dangerous in bed (which is where the men fervently wanted them). A few men endeavored to deal with the situation by resorting to chains, manacles, and other forms of restraint, not to mention embarking on schemes to crush the women psychologically…but the logistics of this are fraught with complications when your intended victim is muscular in the extreme, not to mention that it takes a certain kind of male to implement such a program with sufficient ruthlessness. Most men who acquired Tye-Tye brides did not want the women as punching bags; they simply desired wives who looked jaw-droppingly gorgeous and who would competently attend to wifely duties without causing undue fuss.
In many cases, husband and wife resolved their differences through awkward nocturnal discussion: there would be a divorce, or an arrangement, or even a reconciliation wherein man and woman decided they could do worse than staying together. But some couples were not so adroit at devising peaceful solutions—some just resorted to violence. Wives dismembered their husbands with greatly exuberant ripping; husbands shot their wives without as much gleeful style, but with equally permanent effect; scenes of domestic horror were played up on the news, and dominated the public consciousness in the form of jokes, catchphrases and urban legends. “So this guy had a Tye-Tye wife…”
Such negative publicity agitated the Tye-Tye marriage brokers and seriously threatened their business. Male customers still lusted after wide-shouldered Tye-Tye brides, but buyers demanded that adequate measures be taken to avoid wifely insubordination. Thus began a lengthy period during which Tye-Tye girls were subjected to more than just classes in etiquette, needlepoint, and power-lifting; they were also brainwashed with potent pharmaceuticals so they would submit to their eventual masters.
These measures were kept secret from the men who purchased the women, just as the backroom procedures for carving up cows are hidden from those who purchase meat. However, it turns out that husbands can often tell when their wives have been systematically reduced to emotion
al cripples…and many men prefer to have a partner-in-life who is not a pretty shell wrapped around a festering void of numbness.
The Tye-Tye marriage brokers once again found themselves forced to change tactics. This time, they opted for simplicity—they took hostages.
Lajoolie’s Situation
When Lajoolie’s parents sold her to a Tye-Tye marriage broker, they also sold her brother Xolip. Xolip did not know this; Lajoolie’s parents did not know it either. But a frightening man explained to Lajoolie that little Xolip would be slain in a most brutal fashion if Lajoolie did not conduct herself with acceptable diligence and devotion. If Xolip’s murder did not improve Lajoolie’s attitude, the frightening man would kill Lajoolie’s other brother…then her father…then her mother…then random children off the street, chosen on the basis of youthful beauty and joy-filled radiance.
This man was so frightening, Lajoolie did not doubt he would carry out these threats. If Lajoolie’s new husband ever complained to the marriage brokers about her behavior, young Xolip would suffer a freak playground mishap wherein the boy’s ear-globes were accidentally cut off and mailed to Lajoolie in a box. The same would occur if Uclod died under suspicious circumstances, if Lajoolie were seen sporting with another man, if certain standards of beauty and hygiene were not maintained…in short, if Lajoolie did anything that cast unfavorable light on the marriage agency which sold her to the Unorr family.
“But that is horrible!” I said. “Does Uclod know of this?”
According to Lajoolie, he did not. Customers were not told how marriage brokers kept their “employees” in line, and of course, the women themselves were forbidden to speak of it. Lajoolie would not tell Uclod the truth, even if she swore him to secrecy: he would be outraged, for he was a decent-hearted person, even if he came from a family of criminals who thought purchasing him a wife was a nice birthday present. In the long run, the little orange man might also start asking himself, “Does my wife care for me at all, or is she only pretending to like me for fear of injury to her loved ones?” This would hurt the little man’s feelings and undermine his faith in the Marital Partnership.
Lajoolie assured me she did like Uclod; she liked him a great deal, and thought she was very lucky. For one thing, Uclod turned out to be in a similar position to Lajoolie herself: his criminal Grandma Yulai had told him he had to agree to the marriage or else. It was a tradition in the Unorr family that older generations ruled the younger in matters of marital choice. If junior Unorrs did not obey their elders when it came to accepting a spouse, the youngsters were deemed too disloyal to be trusted in anything else. They immediately found themselves out on the street…or possibly under the street, if one was being paved nearby.
So it was not Uclod’s fault that Lajoolie was in this dire situation; indeed, she could readily understand if Uclod resented her, regarding her as an undesired stranger foisted upon him when he would have preferred to make his own choice. But Uclod had been the soul of kindness since their recent wedding—he treated Lajoolie as an equal, he included her in everything he did, and he seemed to like having her around.
In return, Lajoolie played the role that had been drilled into her through constant lessons in wifely deportment. Deference. Meekness. Modesty. A type of retiring femininity wherein she pretended to be small and demure, even though she was big and powerful.
This is why, for example, she spoke in false high-pitched tones. All Tye-Tyes had low voices—they were large people with large throats, and vocal cords like the strings of a bass viol. But the marriage brokers had decided a Tye-Tye’s natural voice was apt to remind small men (like Uclod) that the woman was a brawny behemoth who could easily cause grievous bodily harm. Therefore, Lajoolie feigned a falsetto, as well as missish helplessness and delicately modest submission.
“Does Uclod enjoy such displays of quivering frailty?” I asked.
“All men do,” she replied. “That’s what I was taught.”
“Why should you believe the teachings of awful people who threaten your kin? And anyone who says, ‘All men enjoy this,’ is certainly incorrect, for men are changeable ones who do not like anything all the time. In my experience, men get sudden ideas in their heads: that it is weak or unmanly to accept certain types of attention, even if they were happy with identical behavior two days ago. To your great astonishment, what they loved yesterday is the absolute worst thing you can do today…and they look upon you with disgust or pity, as if you are some loathsome insect who turns their stomach.”
Lajoolie stiffened a bit in my arms. “Uclod isn’t like that,” she said.
“Perhaps he is not like that yet,” I told her. “Someday, however, he will be in a terrible mood because of nothing in particular, and he will glare at you and snap, ‘Why do you always talk like that, so goddamned artificial? You could drive a man crazy!’ Or perhaps he will not say anything at all…but he will think it, and every word that comes out of your mouth will make him angrier. You will not understand why he glares so hatefully, and you will ask, ‘What is wrong?’ but he will wince at the sound of your voice. There will be nothing you can say to make him love you again, since it is your very voice he despises; but you speak to him anyway because you are crazed and unhappy, and you think there must be words to make it all better again, if you can only say them in exactly the right way. You know you are only making it worse, but you cannot help yourself…”
All this time I had been holding Lajoolie in the dark. My one arm was wrapped around her back and my other was holding her hand, a position most suitable for giving comfort to a person who has recently been moved to tears. Now she let go of my hand; a moment later, I felt her arms curl around me, pulling me in until my cheek lightly pressed against her shoulder. “All men aren’t like that, either,” she said softly. “Most of them try to be decent. The man who used you and killed your sister—he was the exception, Oar, you know that.”
“He was an utter fucking bastard,” I whispered. “And even though he’s been dead for years, he still makes me feel most sad.”
“Obviously, he affected you deeply,” Lajoolie answered with the ghost of a chuckle. “Do you realize you actually used a contraction? You said, ‘even though he’s been dead.’”
I jerked away from her in horror. Then I started to scream. I screamed and I screamed and I screamed and I screamed; then I screamed some more.
Contractions
Here is why I screamed.
My own native tongue has contractions similar to those in English—inelegant short forms created by jamming words together. In the highest literature of my people, you can tell that characters are not well-bred when they use such figures of speech. Cultured persons always speak correctly; it is only the uncultured who treat the language with slovenly lack of enunciation.
This distinction impressed itself deeply on my mother. When my sister and I used contractions—which we did occasionally through carelessness or rebellion—our mother would chide us and say that good clever pretty girls should not speak sloppily. She herself never used contractions…until one day when I was twelve years old and Mother had a slip of the tongue.
You can imagine how Eel and I teased her about it. Mother hotly denied she said any such thing: “You girls must have dirt in your ears if you cannot hear what I say!” We had to go wash thoroughly, then do a number of unpleasant chores that were completely unnecessary, since all chores in our village were handled by automatic devices.
In a day or two, Mother slipped again—another contraction. This time Eel and I prudently did not point it out; but we caught each other’s eye and indulged in a moment of sisterly acknowledgment. We did not have dirt in our ears. It was our mother who had grown lax.
Such slips soon became a common occurrence…increasing to several times a day…then almost every time our mother spoke. Once in a while, when we did not feel like good clever pretty girls—when we felt like defiant clever pretty girls—we would use contractions ourselves, right to Mother’s face, j
ust waiting for her to berate us. We were eager to cry back at her, “You use words like that all the time!”
Alas, our mother had ceased to notice; or more accurately, she had ceased to care. Her brain was becoming Tired. Indifference to enunciation was an early sign.
When we realized that, my sister and I swore an oath to the Hallowed Ones: we would never use a contraction again. We would speak with utmost precision, never letting ourselves get carried away with excitement or emotion. It soon became fierce superstition—that our brains would never grow Tired as long as we avoided untidy speech. Deprived of contractions, Senility had no chink through which it might enter our heads.
From that day to this, I had kept my oath. I had kept myself safe. I had never said the fatal words.
Now the spell was broken.
Or perhaps it was I who was broken. That is why I screamed.
10 I hope you are not surprised that I was familiar with Tales of Romantic Longing. Under the tutelage of the teaching machines in my village, I learned much more than arithmetic and the social graces. Indeed, there was a time when my planet had a thriving literature, rife with tales of Star-Crossed Lovers Separated By Fate…who either pined in stoic silence their whole lives or else threw caution to the winds and thereby precipitated great social upheavals, but either way ended tragically mere inches from each other in the same Ancestral Tower, with their brains too Tired to realize they were together at last.
18
WHEREIN I AM BRIEFLY UNCONSCIOUS
A Short Tussle
Ascending Page 21
