Rite of Passage

by Alexei Panshin

  “Fifty years? Oh, you know that isn’t so. I just saw your father and he isn’t even as old as my dad.”

  “Well, how old is your dad?”

  “Let’s see,” she said. She did some obvious figuring. “About fifty.”

  I said, “Well, my dad is eighty-one. Earth years.”

  She looked at me with an expression of total disbelief. “Oh, that’s a lie.”

  “And my mother is seventy-four. Or seventy-five. I’m not sure which it is.”

  Helga gave me a disgusted look and turned away.

  Well, it was true, and if she didn’t want to believe it, too bad. I won’t say it’s usual for people to be married as long as fifty years. I get the impression that people tend to get tired of each other after twenty or thirty years, and split up, and there are some people who don’t want anything as permanent as marriage and just live together. And people who don’t even know each other who have children because the Ship’s Eugenist advises it. Whatever Helga had heard, it had been a garbled or twisted version of this.

  My parents were a strange pair. They’d been married for fifty years, which wasn’t usual, and they hadn’t lived together for eight years. When I was four, my mother got an opportunity she had been looking forward to for the study of art under Lemuel Carpentier, and she’d moved out. I guess that if you’ve been married as long as fifty years, and apparently expect it to go on for maybe fifty years more, that a vacation of eight years or so is hardly noticeable.

  To tell the truth, I didn’t know what my parents saw in each other. I liked and respected my father, but I didn’t like my mother at all. I’d like to say that it was simply that we didn’t understand each other, and that was partly true. I thought her “art” was plain bad. One of the few times I went to her apartment to visit, I looked at a sculpture she’d done and asked her about it.

  “That’s called ‘The Bird,’ ” she said.

  I could see that it was meant to be a bird. Mother was working directly from a picture and it looked just like it. But it was so stiff and formal that it had no feel of life at all. I said something about that, and she didn’t like the remark at all. We got into an argument, and she finally put me out.

  So part of it was misunderstanding, but not all. For one thing, she made it quite clear to me that she’d had me as a duty and not because she particularly wanted to. I firmly believed that she was just waiting for me to go on Trial, and then she’d move back in with Daddy. As I say, I didn’t like her.

  When we got to the far side of the harbor, instead of coming directly back, as I somehow had thought we would, Ralph turned us so that we were traveling out at an angle toward the mouth of the harbor. Traveling that way, we were running at an angle through the waves, too, and the chop increased tremendously. We would go up in the air, and then quite suddenly down again, and after a few minutes of this, I was starting to feel queasy. It was a different sort of upset than I’d been suffering earlier in the day. This was nausea and accompanied by a whirling in the head.

  I said to Helga, “Can’t we go straight back? I’m starting to feel sick.”

  “This is the quickest way back,” she said. “We can’t sail directly into the wind. We have to tack, head into the wind at an angle.”

  “But we’re going so slow,” I said. It was the slow way we rammed into waves, surged high, and then pitched down on the other side that threw my stomach off stride.

  Ralph yanked on the line that was attached to the boom, and swung it over from one side of the boat to the other, turning the tiller at the same time, and we headed back in toward the quay in another slow tack. By that time, I was feeling miserable.

  “Don’t throw up,” Helga said cheerfully. “We’ll be back soon enough.” Then she raised her voice. “You’ve had it your fair turn, Ralph. Let me take over.”

  “Oh, all right,” Ralph said, quite reluctantly.

  Helga ducked back to the stern, taking the tiller and the boom line from Ralph. She nodded at me. “She’s feeling sick,” she said.

  “Oh,” Ralph said. He came forward and sat down beside me.

  He looked at me and said, “It takes a while to get your sea-legs. After you sail for a while you get used to it.”

  He didn’t say anything while we completed that leg and part of the next tack. He just watched Helga a little wistfully. I began to think that this sailing thing—provided first that you were feeling well enough to enjoy it at all—was much more fun for the person actually doing the sailing than for the passengers. Helga and Ralph, at least, both seemed to be having much more fun when they were sailing than when they were sitting up front. Perhaps it was just that they felt they had to talk to me, and that was an effort for them.

  Ralph said, “Uh, well, how do you think our fathers are getting along?”

  I swallowed, trying to keep control of my stomach. I said, “I don’t know. I don’t even know what they were going to trade for.”

  He looked at me in surprise. “You don’t even know that? We operate placer mines just to produce tungsten ore for you, we ship it all the way here, and you don’t even know it!”

  “Why don’t . . .” I paused and grabbed hard onto the side of the boat (gunwale) and fought hard to hold onto my composure as we dipped into a sudden trough. “Why don’t you mine this stuff, whatever it is, just for yourselves?”

  Somewhat bitterly he said, “We don’t know how to reduce it. You Ship people won’t tell us how. When we trade with you, all you give us is little bits and pieces of information.”

  We were heeling over into our last tack then, about to head down the last stretch to the dock.

  I said, “And why not? We preserved all the knowledge through the years since Earth was destroyed. If we gave it all to you, what would we have left to trade with?”

  “My dad says you’re parasites,” he said. “You live off our hard work. You’re Grabbies, and that’s no mistake.”

  “We are not parasites,” I said.

  “If things were the way they ought to be, we’d be the ones living like kings, not you.”

  “If we live like kings, why were you saying earlier that we had to live all crowded together in barracks?”

  He was nonplussed for a moment and then he said, “Because you like to live like pigs, that’s why. I can’t help it if you like to live like pigs.”

  “If there are any pigs around here, it’s you Mudeaters,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Mudeaters!”

  “Grabbie! Why don’t you take a bath?” He put his hand against my chest and gave a hard shove. In spite of our quarreling, he caught me unprepared, and I went tumbling overboard.

  “The feel of the water was shocking. It was colder than the air, though after the first moment not unpleasantly cold. I got a mouthful of water as I went under and it was very bad tasting, dirty and bitter. I came up, coughing and spluttering, as the boat swung on past me. I got a glimpse of Helga with her head turned back toward me and a surprised look on her face. I treaded water while I coughed out the water that had gone down my windpipe, and some that had gone down the wrong way came up the wrong way and out my nose. It took several seconds before I was breathing properly. The shock and choking did settle my stomach, I found to my surprise, but it wasn’t the way I’d have chosen to do it if I had had a choice.

  Helga had spilled the air out of the canvas and turned the tiller. The Guacamole was just rocking on the water and drifting. She stood up, looking back at me.

  “Do you need help?” she called.

  We weren’t really far from the dock, so I called, “No, I can swim in.”

  I had light clothing on. My wet, loose sleeves were a little of a problem, but I found I could manage. I’d never swum in anything but a pool before, but I found it wasn’t really a problem to stay on top of the waves, though I had to be careful that I didn’t swallow any more of that bitter water. I wasn’t a fast swimmer, but I was built enough like a cork that all I had to do was keep at it
and I had no trouble going where I wanted to.

  As it was, we were close enough to the dock when I went overboard that I was able to reach a ladder by the time they had the Guacamole all tied up. I pulled myself up and then found that I was very tired, collapsed in a heap and dripped water all over the boards of the dock. I watched as thirty feet down the way, Ralph and Helga lowered the sail and lashed the boom.

  As they finished, I got up and walked down the dock to the head of their ladder. The gravity had taken most of the energy out of me. Ralph caught on to the end of the ladder and started up. He had an apologetic look on his face as he saw me waiting. When he had gotten to the top and was just about to step out on the dock, I grabbed the ladder in both hands to brace myself, put a sandal lengthwise across his stomach, and pushed off as hard as I could.

  He had a strong grip, but I caught him off balance. He let go of the ladder, waved his arms in an attempt to hold his balance but then saw he couldn’t. He twisted to guide his fall and turned it into a dive. He entered the water cleanly just behind his little boat. I leaned over and waited until he came up. Then I gave a look to Helga.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t do anything,” she said fearfully.

  Ralph caught on to the stern of the Guacamole, and clung there. He looked up at me, hopping mad.

  “I had a real swell time,” I said. “Both of you will have to come up to the Ship sometime, and let me show you around.”

  Then I walked away, leaving a dripping trail. I pushed my wet hair back off my forehead, squeezed a little water out of my sleeves, and shook myself as dry as I could. Then I left the quay. I didn’t look back at all. Let them solve their own problems.

  I set off up the street that we’d come down. Some of the people on the street looked oddly at me as I passed. I suppose I was a strange sight, an odd little girl dressed in funny clothes and wringing wet. I wasn’t sure where I was and where I’d find the scoutship, but I wasn’t worried about it. Somehow, during the course of the hours I’d been here, Grainau had lost its power to scare me.

  As it turned out, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know my way around. Before I’d even gotten to the top of the hill I ran into the monster, the dinosaur, George Fuhonin. He’d been out looking for me, and surprisingly, I was almost glad to see him.

  He said, “What happened to you?”

  I wasn’t dripping by that time, but I was still wet looking, I’m quite sure, like a half-drowned kitten fished out of the water. Thoroughly bedraggled.

  I said, “We went swimming.”

  “Oh. Well, come back to the ship and we’ll get dried out.”

  I fell into step beside him, as best I could. We walked on silently for a few minutes, and then he said, “You know, I really didn’t intend to embarrass you. I wouldn’t have done that intentionally.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Just make sure the switch is off next time, please.”

  “All right,” he said.

  When we got back to the ship, I went into the toilet and turned on the hot air blower in the refresher. In a few minutes I was dry.

  Then I discovered that in spite of my various stomach upsets, I was hungry. I ate heartily and felt much better. There’s nothing like the feeling of being comfortably full.

  It was near nightfall outside when Daddy came back, though it was still in the middle of the afternoon by Ship time. When it started to grow dark outside, the people who’d been coming to stare all day had gone, I suppose home to dinner. When Daddy came back, there was no band playing this time.

  I heard the horses and I went outside. One of the crew went by me and down the ramp. Mr. Tubman and Daddy handed their horses over to him and then turned their attention back to Mr. Gennaro, who was standing by his own horse. They didn’t see me standing near the top of the ramp.

  In a very anxious voice, Mr. Gennaro said, “Now are you sure that this unfortunate business isn’t going to make any difference to our agreement?”

  “I’m quite sure,” Daddy said, smiling. “You made your apology and I’m quite sure my daughter got whatever satisfaction she needed from pushing your boy into the water. Now let’s drop the whole matter. Our ship will be down for the ore you have ready next week . . .”

  I didn’t wait to hear him finish. I just turned and went inside with a little glow warming me. He wasn’t mad at me.

  “What are you smirking about?” George asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said.

  Part II: Inside My World

  Chapter 7

  WE TOOK OFF SHORTLY AFTER DADDY CAME ABOARD. He and I and Mr. Tubman were sitting in the center of the downstairs lounge in easy chairs. The three crewmen were playing cards, and George Fuhonin was upstairs piloting.

  I felt quietly pleased with myself. Viewed from one angle, my time on Grainau had been nothing but one big mistake. I wasn’t bothering to view it that way, even though I did realize dimly that I had made a few errors in tact and simple good sense. It wasn’t important to me, and even now I would say that it was comparatively unimportant in real terms.

  I think I was deservedly elated. I was filled to the brim with the discovery that I could meet Mudeaters on their own home grounds and if not come off best, at least draw.

  Like the girl who first found out how to make fire, like the girl who invented the principle of the lever, like the girl who first had the courage to eat moldy goat cheese and found Roquefort, I had discovered something absolutely new in the world. Self-confidence, perhaps.

  My errors had been made. My self-confidence was still in the process of becoming. If Daddy had pointed out the errors, they would not have been mended, and the self-confidence might have been stillborn. But Daddy just smoked and smiled.

  I was curious enough about the things that Ralph Gennaro had said that I repeated his comments to Daddy and asked about them.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Daddy said.

  “There’s not much sense in even listening to a Mudeater,” Mr. Tubman said. “They have no perspective. They live in such limited little worlds that they can’t see what’s going on.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t use that word, Henry,” Daddy said. “It’s just as thoughtless as that silly word that Mia picked up. What did that boy say?”

  “ ‘Grabbie?’ ”

  “Mm, yes. That one. There’s no reason to trade insults. We have our way of life and they have theirs. I wouldn’t live as they do, but disrespect seems pointless. I’m sure there are good people among them.”

  “It’s their lack of perspective,” Mr. Tubman said. “You bet Gennaro is complaining right now that you cheated him.”

  “He might be,” Daddy said.

  “You didn’t cheat him, did you, Daddy? He seemed happy that you were willing to make a deal.”

  “When did you hear this?”

  “When you rode up.”

  “Lack of perspective,” Mr. Tubman said. “He doesn’t bargain well and he was afraid that your dad had been offended by your adventure. He gave in more easily than he had to. He was happy at the time, but he’s probably regretting it now.”

  Daddy nodded and filled his pipe again. “I don’t see any reason to mind his interests for him. As far as I’m concerned, the less we do for the colonists, the sooner they’ll learn to watch out for themselves. And all the better for them when they do. That’s where Mr. Mbele and I disagree. He believes in exceptions to rules, in treating the colonists better than we treat ourselves. I’m not ready to accept that.”

  Mr. Tubman said, “I’ll have to admit that I’ve learned things about bargaining from watching you, Miles.”

  “I hope so. You will be a poor trader if you underestimate the people you deal with. And you, Mia, will be making a mistake if you underestimate a man like Mr. Mbele. His principles are excellent—sometimes, however, he only sees one route to a goal.”

  After a few minutes, Mr. Tubman went over to make a fourth in the card game. I decided to go upstairs.

  Daddy lo
oked up as I left. He took the pipe from his mouth. It had gone out without his noticing. “Going to hear another story?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.” And I went up and spent the rest of the trip with George.

  So, I went home to Geo Quad. In my own time, I thought about things and discovered at least some of my errors, and the discovery did not hurt me, as it might have.

  Sometimes there is art of a subtle sort in not touching, in simply sitting and smoking and talking of other people. When I got back to the Ship, I was still feeling good. And it lasted until I went to sleep.

  * * *

  I sat in a large comfortable chair—uncomfortably—and waited for Jimmy Dentremont. I wasn’t twitching; I merely had a definite feeling of unease. This was the living room of the Geo Quad dorm, and very similar to the one that I had once lived in. The similarity didn’t bother me much, but I was a stranger here and a little hesitant because of it. If it hasn’t become clear previously, perhaps I should say that I always prefer to feel in command of a situation.

  The room was nicely enough appointed, but very impersonal. Individuality in a room comes from personal touches, personal care, personal interest, and the more public a room is, the less individual it is bound to be. My own room at home was more personal and individual than our living room, our living room better than the sleeping quarters of this dorm—though I hadn’t seen them, I remembered well enough what dorm sleeping quarters were like—and the quarters better than this room I was sitting in. To be a stranger in an impersonal room in which there are other people who are strangers to one another or to the place is to have the feeling of strangeness compounded.

  The dorm had a living room, where I was sitting, a kitchen and study rooms out of sight, and living quarters upstairs. When I came in I looked around, and then stopped one of the small kids who obviously belonged here, a little girl of about eight.

  “Is Jimmy Dentremont around?”

  “Upstairs, I imagine,” she said.

  Near the door there was a buzzer board for the use of people like me who didn’t live here. I looked Jimmy’s name up, then rang two longs and a short. Since it was not far out of his way, Jimmy usually stopped by for me on the way to Mr. Mbele’s, rather than me coming after him, but I had something to talk with him about today.