Cottonwood

by R. Lee Smith

  “Tell T’aki I’m sorry I missed him today,” she said. “And I’ll see him Sunday.”

  “Yes.”

  She lingered.

  “Is there something else?” he asked.

  She came back half a step, only half. “What’s your name, Sanford?” she asked softly.

  His heart gave a pang, not quite a throb, disturbing. “You couldn’t pronounce it.”

  “I could try.”

  “Nk’os’a’knko,” he said, slowly, hopelessly.

  She blinked several times. Her lips worked in silence, then fell into a defeated smile. “I can’t pronounce that,” she said.

  “I know.” And when she turned around, heard himself blurt, “I like to hear you call me Sanford.”

  “It’s a joke.”

  “Not when you say it.”

  “Sanford.” She flashed him a sad smile and walked away.

  He watched her go, in no great hurry either to collect his son or to deliver her message. The sun turned the top of her yellow hair to white. The wind blew it back and forth across the dark scar near her ear. ‘I told her I was a man,’ he thought. ‘Not a male.

  ‘A man.’

  It bothered him. He turned away before she was entirely gone and went quickly down the path.

  O’bek’we held lessons four rows south of the Heap-station. The smell was strong, but the wind was with him today and it was tolerable enough. He stood outside the crude tent where O’bek’we made his school, knowing he was very early, thinking of the human, watching the children settle in a half-circle around their legless teacher. Afternoon lessons were just starting.

  “In the beginning, all was emptiness and Ko’vi.” O’bek’we reached out to tap T’aki, who had hunkered off by himself and looked bored. “And Ko’vi commanded light and set it apart from darkness.”

  Sanford watched his son draw in the dirt, trying not to show disapproval. He had understood that lessons would be useful subjects only, reading and writing, making numbers, the basic scientific tenets. Talk of Ko’vi was best reserved for home.

  “He filled the universe with suns and from them spun orbs of substance to revolve around them, but the emptiness remained, for Ko’vi was alone. And so He passed among the many orbs and mounted them, and they became as eggs—” And this was exactly why. Sanford forced his antennae higher and kept quiet. “—and hatched from His seed into worlds teeming with life, but yang’Tak was that which He loved best and made its children in His own image.”

  One of the young ones raised a hand, a human request for speech. “Does Ko’vi hate humans?” he asked.

  O’bek’we clicked reprovingly. “Ko’vi hates none of His children.”

  “But if He likes one best, He must like one least. Is it humans?”

  ‘Yes,’ thought Sanford. ‘Dig out of that.’

  O’bek’we decided to notice him. “T’aki, your father.”

  The boy looked around, then leapt up with embarrassing speed and ran to him. Sanford paid the young man who did the teacher’s walking, and took his son away, leaving O’bek’we to drone on once more about Ko’vi and His great works in the age of creation. He told himself not to think too harshly of the curriculum. He might feel differently if he were more religious, and certainly belief in a benevolent and watchful god made a heart-lifting contrast to the reality of the camps.

  It didn’t seem right to teach children not to look too closely at reality.

  Of course, given that reality, it wasn’t right to have children in the first place.

  “Did you enjoy school?” he asked, hoping his mood didn’t show in his tone.

  “It was okay.” T’aki ran ahead to dig through a small heap of empty cans at the side of the road. “We did numbers and looked at pictures of fish. Are there fish on our world?”

  “Not exactly, but there is life in our world’s waters.”

  “Fish swim. Can we swim?”

  “No.”

  “None of us?”

  “None.”

  “Humans can. We saw pictures of that with the fish. Can Sarah swim?”

  “You’d have to ask her.”

  But now she was back in his mind and restless energy continued to bite at him. He did not want to go home yet. He watched his son scramble through another little pile of trash, and then decided to go crawl the Heaps for a while. T’aki was delighted by what was, for him, a treat. For two hours, the boy filled boxes with scrap metal and papers while Sanford mostly just watched. His son. Clever and fated to inherit the good looks of his bloodline. Honest, so far. And maybe it was still true that he should have never had a son, but he could not help but be proud.

  When the bell rang to call them in, he sold what little T’aki had so proudly gathered and dug into his pockets to pay for two showers. T’aki protested, he always did, but stood with great tolerance under the spout and let Sanford soap and scrub his chitin. Afterwards, still oddly reluctant to go home, he splurged and traded fifty credits for a sheep’s head, and took it to a communal fire to cook.

  He didn’t know anyone at the fire by name, not Earth-name and not true-name, but the company was good. T’aki was bored, but fairly well-behaved, and endured the frequent cursing and chaw-spitting without emulating it. One of the others had a can of beer and passed it in exchange for the sheep’s tongue. The beer was warm, but still alive, sour but good. Sanford took four swallows, gave T’aki one, and thought of Sarah.

  Restless. Too restless.

  Night fell. The figures at the fire came and went. The company was still good, but not enough. It occurred to Sanford that he wanted to be touched. He picked up his son—sleepy with food, T’aki curled against his chest and drew up small, chirring—and felt immediately better.

  His son. He touched the small face, slipped his fingers along the neck joint, brushed at the flicking palps. His son. His family.

  An hour passed. Maybe two. They talked of the weather and other camps they had been transferred from. They complained about their neighbors and the garbage and the stink. Now and then, some bitter mention was made of humans and chaw was spat. Now and then, quiet mention was made of those who had been killed, who mutilated, who had simply been taken away and never returned. Not much. When these things are all around, it does no good to stir up talk.

  T’aki fell asleep. Sanford watched his antennae twitch as he dreamed. He bent once to share breath, and then was embarrassed because the other men at the fire stopped talking to watch him. He felt conspicuous and lonely.

  “I think I know you,” one of them said suddenly. “Down by the water-wall where the eggs were burnt this last ten-span?”

  “Yes?” Sanford glanced up. He didn’t recognize the old man addressing him.

  “You know the little yellow-head who comes out that way? The caseworker?”

  “Isn’t that the stupidest thing yet?” another one grumbled, and spat chaw. “I have one, apparently.”

  “We all do,” said a third.

  “What for?”

  “For watching us, that’s what for. I pissed on mine. He hasn’t been back.”

  Another beer was passed.

  “Yellow-head is strange,” the old man remarked. He coughed out a bit of bone from his own meal, looked at it, and ate it again.

  “They’re all strange.”

  “Are you talking about Hummer?” the third asked, and did a remarkably good imitation of Sarah’s distracted, off-key singing, enough to make T’aki stir and mumble in his sleep. “Hell, I’ve seen her. All smiles and sunshine and singing her songs.” He drank his beer, crushed the can, tossed it at the fire. “At first anyway. Not so much anymore.”

  No. Not so much anymore. Sanford touched his son’s hand, moving the tiny fingers so that they touched his receptor pads in return.

  “I almost feel bad for her,” the third remarked.

  Another man at the fire recoiled, buzzing harshly. “What in fuck’s name for?”

  “She reminds me of me,” the third answered, star
ing at the fire. “When it all started to sink in. She’s got that same look, every day I see her, like her chitin’s cracking open, every day a little more. I hate seeing that.”

  Stunned silence.

  “Why?” someone finally asked.

  “Because I hate humans. And you could almost believe that one knows what’s going on here. You could almost believe it’s killing her to see it. And when you see it on her—” He spat chaw into the fire. It sizzled and smoked. “—it all comes back to you.”

  They all thought about that until the third one shifted and looked irritably around. “Why the hell are we talking about Hummer anyway? Who started that piss-talk?”

  “I did,” said the old man. “She brought Ni’ak’we back. After the black van took him away, she brought him back. With food. She’s going to get herself killed,” he added, as Sanford and the others buzzed at this astonishing news. “If you see her, tell her to tuck her yellow head in before one of her human friends bites it off. She might listen. Probably not.” He stood up, stretching out his aged joints to lubricate them, and limped away. Someone else came to the fire. Talk began again, this time about the storms so common to this area.

  He’d ought to go home.

  Brought Ni’ak’we back. Sanford didn’t know who that was, but ‘brought back’ implied whoever it was had been out. Brought him back. With food.

  Sarah.

  Sanford got up and left the fire. He started for home, then changed his mind, not without a dull sense of disquiet. He knew of a place—he’d never been, but he knew of it—and he went there now, under darkness, with his son in his arms. Because he didn’t know what else to do. His thoughts would not lie still and he wanted to be touched.

  It was bigger than he thought it would be: an amalgam of trailers and modular storage sheds, all pushed together with crudely-fashioned roofs and side-rooms built on to make it all one shelter. A yard had been enclosed with chain fence for the children, many of whom were up and loudly playing even at this hour, under electric lights. There were a number of women lounging outside, washing clothes, drinking, cooking, watching the children, or just talking. Some of them were playing a game, one Sanford didn’t know, with a large red ball and a netted hoop, leaping and punching indiscriminately at each other in great enjoyment while small crowds of men watched and cheered. The smell of sex was eye-stinging.

  They pissed on the outer walls, of course. To advertise. The piss baked in the sun, corroded the metal, and the female pheromones turned the whole thing a screaming shade of blue. Sanford could feel his belly-flaps warming, wanting to relax. His claspers swept the air beyond his control, gathering scent in hungry flutters.

  T’aki woke up, his own immature claspers twitching. He rubbed at his eyes and looked around, confused.

  One of the females overseeing the yard noticed him and came his way, showing her hands and bobbing her antennae in a friendly fashion. T’aki bobbed back politely enough, but clutched Sanford’s neck tighter, whispering, “Where are we?”

  “I need to talk to someone,” Sanford said, setting his clingy son down. He rubbed the boy’s shoulder-joints as he studied the strange men and women who surrounded the Blue House. Some were armed; all seemed, in some indefinable way, unsavory. “Just for a little while.”

  “Big people talk?”

  The words, her words, gave him a sting. “Yes. I won’t be long.”

  “Look at all the children.” T’aki crouched close at his side, but craned his short neck forward, hands wringing in excitement. “Look at them all!”

  “It’s two chits to watch the boy,” said the woman on reaching them. “We have clean water, no charge.”

  Sanford clicked agreement, then knelt down and took T’aki’s hand. He rubbed the soft receptor pads while waiting for her to leave again, and when they were alone, softly said, “Piss.”

  “What?”

  “Piss. Right now. Don’t undress. Just do it.”

  Hunching, palps stuttering with embarrassment, T’aki obeyed. A tiny damp patch appeared on the groin of his breeches and he looked at it in wide-eyed dismay. Sanford reached down and gave it a good rub, opening his hand fully to get the piss all the way on his own receptor pads. He wanted the scent mark, just in case.

  “I’m going inside,” he said. “You play with the other children—”

  “I peed on myself,” said T’aki woefully.

  Sanford picked up a handful of dirt and rubbed it over his son’s groin until the area was just dirty and no trace of wet remained. “Play with the children and do not leave the yard with anyone. Not with anyone. Even if they tell you they are taking you to see me, do you understand?”

  Oh, why was he doing this?

  But T’aki nodded, that queer human affectation. Sanford patted him.

  “If you get in trouble, scream as loud as you can. I’ll be just inside. There won’t be trouble,” he added.

  “It must be a big talk.”

  “Yes.” His gaze wandered; his claspers sniffed the air. “Go on now.”

  T’aki went, looking back over his shoulder until he passed through the fence. He was swallowed by children and, in seconds, romping and squealing with the rest of them entirely free of care.

  Sanford paid the two chits and went inside.

  The first room was no larger than his home, crowded by men packed onto Heap-scavenged furniture. They lounged without speaking or looking at one another, drinking beer sold for ten chits a bottle or eating canned food sold for three. Notices on the wall discouraged the spitting of chaw, and advertised the availability of ferment and fresh meat upon request. The only light came from strings of lights tacked to the ceiling like stars. They had a radio somewhere, emitting human songs softly, almost subliminally. Again, he thought of Sarah and shook it off hard. This was not the place to think of her.

  Presently, a female came to the front room to replenish the food and drink and exchange a few words with the small child taking chits. She saw him standing there and waved.

  He clicked a greeting back at her. It felt foolish to wave in return.

  She came over. “Twenty chits,” she said.

  He paid, but it surprised him. Two to watch the boy was one thing—they provided toys and clean water—but twenty for this? He found himself wondering how much she earned in a night, then thought of Sam and the things he claimed he’d done for extra food, and then, disturbingly, of Sam’s hand squeezing Sarah’s chest.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, tucking the chits away in her vest.

  “Yes.” The smell was overwhelming. He’d been ready before he’d even reached the door.

  She chirped at him cheerfully and moved the curtain, leading him into the rest of the building. The hall was narrow; the rooms which lined it, small and sealed away behind curtains. He didn’t mean to look, didn’t want to, but there was a television in one of them and his eyes went that way before he could stop himself. Through the torn curtain, he could see the image of humans mating on the monitor, shoving at one another with hard grunts and muted cries. The figures watching this joined in silence, motionless but for the male’s rubbing of his partner’s shoulders, their pheromones as thick as smoke.

  “You like the videos?” the woman whispered, and he came away from the curtain fast. Her eyes were narrow, knowing, playful. “Sometimes it’s fun to watch them. Only one chit extra for a room with videos.”

  And it was Sarah he thought of again, Sarah. He recoiled, palps snapping, and the woman rolled her shoulders in a human shrug and kept walking. She brought him to an empty room and drew the curtain. As he stood awkwardly looking for a bed, she undressed perfunctorily and hunkered down on the floor, her vens open.

  She hadn’t even asked him to piss. It unnerved him. Perhaps sensing it, she chuckled and said, “You can if you want to, mister, but I can see you’re old enough.”

  And so was she, if only just. Her vens winked at him, dark and wet. Sanford slowly unwrapped his breeches, but not all the way. He felt
strangely reticent about being naked here. This wasn’t going the way he’d hoped.

  What had he been hoping for?

  He extruded his spermatogus and mounted, settling gingerly until she had all his weight. She was well-braced, as solid in her practiced position as a statue. He heard paper rustle and looked down around her head. She was reading a magazine.

  He wanted to leave…but his belly was heavy almost to the point of pain, and he was here, wasn’t he? He’d already paid.

  ‘Just push her down,’ he thought in a nastily unexpected imitation of Sam. ‘Push her down and get inside. You know it’s what you want.’

  He wanted to leave.

  Sanford shifted and entered. She was fully open; he penetrated completely and expelled right away, wanting nothing but to get this over with. The endorphins took him. He floated, tension easing, for a count of ten. She waited until he was all the way back before releasing her own catalyst. Their fluids combined, igniting him to fresh chemical heights for another ten-count, one better and brighter than before.

  “If you want to go again,” she said as he came back, “it’s only five chits, but you have to wait outside until you’re ready so I can work.”

  Pleasure curdled into chaw.

  “No, thank you.” Sanford disengaged and quickly wrapped his loins.

  “Egg?” she asked, stretching.

  The thought of bringing a child out of this moment was obscene. “No.”

  She squatted over a pail and expelled the glistening jelly of their merging. “Is that all then?” she asked.

  He hated himself. “Yes.”

  “Would you like to share breath? Three chits.” She spread her palps and leaned forward.

  He looked at her hand, open and expectant before him. He wanted to be touched. The radio in the other room sang to him.

  “All right, well…good night then. Ask for Zho’d’kan’ when you come again. You’re cute.” She waved to him again and pulled the curtain.

  Sanford went out to collect his son. T’aki pestered him a little while about the big talk and then quieted. It was late. They went home.