by Jack Vance
“I am Spanchetta Clattuc of Clattuc House. My son, Arles, so I believe, is under your supervision?”
Fleck considered. “Nominally so, and for a fact I see him from time to time.”
Spanchetta frowned. She wanted a brisk businesslike and understanding, without evasions or glib little ambiguities. This Instructor Fleck had made a bad beginning. “Please, sir, if you will! You are Arles’ instructor in mathematics?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Hm. He seems to be having problems and he insists that he is not to blame. He feels that the material is presented incorrectly.”
Instructor Fleck smiled a cool sad smile. “I will teach him any way he likes, so long as he does the work. He cannot absorb the subject by osmosis; he must do the drills and work out the problems, all of which is admittedly tedious.”
Spanchetta glanced around at the circle of students who had paused to watch and listen, but was in no wise deterred. She lowered her voice an ominous half octave. “Arles seems to feel that he has been singled out for harassment and criticism.”
Fleck nodded. “In this case, Arles has reported the facts correctly. He is the only member of the class who takes a surly attitude toward his work. Inevitably, he is the only one criticized.”
Spanchetta sniffed. “I am thoroughly disconcerted. Clearly, something is amiss.”
“It is a sad case!” said Fleck. “Would you care to sit down and rest until you feel better?”
“I am not ill, but outraged! It is your duty to teach the subject fairly and fully to each member of the class, making every allowance for individual temperament!”
“Your remarks are well-taken! I would feel gloom and guilt, but for a single consideration: each of Arles’ other instructors finds the same problem: a kind of obstinate laziness which defeats the best of intentions.” Fleck looked around the circle of onlookers. “Have you people nothing better to do? This matter is no concern of yours.” Then, to Spanchetta: “Step into the classroom, if you will. It is unoccupied at this time and I have something to show you.”
Spanchetta followed Fleck to his desk, where he handed her several sheets of paper. “Here is a sample of Arles’ work. Instead of finishing the problems, he draws grotesque faces and what appear to be dead fish.”
Spanchetta took a deep breath. “Bring Arles here! We shall hear what he has to say.”
Fleck spoke into the telephone and presently Arles sidled into the room. Spanchetta shook the papers in his face. “Why do you draw corpuscles and dead fish instead of solving your problems?”
Arles cried out indignantly. “Those are art studies: drawings of nude human figures!”
“Whatever you call them, why are they here instead of the proper work?”
“I was thinking about something else.”
Fleck looked at Spanchetta. “Is there any other way I can help you, Madame Spanchetta? If not . . .”
Spanchetta jerked her hand at Arles. “Go back to your class!”
Arles thankfully departed.
Spanchetta turned to Fleck. “I need not emphasize that Arles must receive a passing grade. Otherwise he will lose his Agency status.”
Fleck shrugged. “He has much work to make up. The sooner he starts and the harder he works, the better his chances of passing.”
“I will put this to him. Strangely, I dreamt of this entire episode last night. The dream began in just this fashion; I remember every word!”
“Amazing!” said Fleck. “Madame, I wish you good day.”
Spanchetta paid no heed. “In the dream poor Arles was given a failing grade, which seemed to set in motion a whole string of misfortunes which even involved the instructor. It was a realistic and rather terrible dream.”
“I hope it is not precognition,” said Fleck.
“Probably not. Still - who knows? Odd things happen.”
Fleck considered a moment. “Your dream is the oddest of them all. As of this moment Arles is dropped from the class. Superintendent Sonorius Offaw will henceforth deal with his case. Good day, madame. There is nothing more to be said.”
On the following day, Superintendent Sonorius called Arles and Spanchetta to his office. Spanchetta emerged shaking with rage. Arles, morose and glum, hunched along behind her. Spanchetta had learned that she must hire a special tutor in mathematics, at her own expense, and that at the end of each quarter-term Superintendent Sonorius himself would supervise the examinations.
Arles at last saw that, like it or not, the halcyon times of indolence and languor had come to an end. Grumbling and cursing, he set himself to his toil, under the bleak tutelage of an instructor appointed by Superintendent Sonorius.
For hours on end, during all his spare time, Arles drilled on fundamentals and all the material that he had scamped before, and presently, somewhat to his own surprise, he discovered that the subject was not as difficult as he had assumed.
To make the situation even more irksome, Sessily Veder now returned to Araminta Station. Sessily, one of Floreste’s Mummers, had met her mother and her younger sister, Miranda (better known as Squeaker), at Soumjiana on the world Soum. The three had then gone on to visit a wealthy Veder connection at his villa on the romantic Calliope Coast, between Guyol and Sorrentine on the world Cassiopeia 993:9.
Sessily, a year or so younger than Glawen, was totally charming; everyone conceded as much. A joyful providence had graced her with every natural asset: a cheerful intelligence, a fine sense of humor, a friendly affectionate disposition; and in addition - almost unfairly - glowing good health, a beautiful slim body and an impish snub-nosed face under a cap of loose brown curls.
Sessily’s only detractors were one or two of the older girls, namely Ticia and Lexy, who seemed pallid and severe when Sessily joined the company. “Vain little exhibitionist!” they muttered to each other, but Sessily only laughed when the comments were reported to her.
For Sessily schoolwork came easily. She entered lyceum a year earlier than ordinary, which placed her in Glawen’s class. When she traveled, she took her lesson books with her and on her return to Araminta Station merged effortlessly into the work of her class.
Sessily seemed to bring a vital new dimension to the lyceum. She was perhaps not consciously a flirt; still she took an innocent delight in exercising the wonderful new knack she had so recently discovered.
Sessily was the main reason why Arles so reluctantly had given up the Mummers, thus abandoning Sessily to the attentions of Kirdy Wook, Banceck Diffin and others, even though Sessily had shown no one conspicuous favor.
This year Floreste’s spectacles at Parilia would be curtailed. Sessily would take part, along with the orchestra and some others, but to Arles’ relief, neither Evolution of the Gods nor First-Fire would be presented, thus depriving Arles’ rivals of opportunities denied to Arles himself.
For her part Sessily felt no partiality for anyone connected with the Mummers. At Soumjiana one or two incidents had taught her something of the almost frightening forces she could generate but not control. She had decided that after Parilia she would retire from the troupe. “I guess things will never be the same,” Sessily told herself. “Isn’t it odd? The only boy I like hardly looks at me, while the others become familiar if I’m so much as polite!”
In this latter category Arles was preeminent. He had developed a tactic for intercepting her when she came to the refectory for lunch and taking her willy-nilly to a side table and there devoting the entire hour to a discussion of himself and his plans for the future. “The truth is, Sessily, that I’m one of those fellows who are not satisfied with just the ordinary! I know what is absolutely top quality in this world, and I propose to get it. That means going after it, with no ifs, ands, or buts! I’m not one of this world’s losers! That’s for sure! I’m telling you this so you’ll know the kind of fellow I am! And I’ll tell you something else, quite frankly. Arles reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m interested in you. Very much so! Don’t you think that’s nice?�
��
Sessily pulled away her hand. “No, not really. You should broaden your interests in case I’m not available.”
“Not available? Why not? You’re alive and I’m alive.”
“True. But I’m going away on a solitary tour of the universe, or might become a Trappist monk.”
“Ha, ha! What a joke! Girls can’t be Trappist monks!”
“Still, if I did, I’d be very unavailable.”
Arles said crossly: “Can’t you be serious?”
“I am very serious . . . Excuse me, please. I see Zanny Diffin over yonder and there’s something I must tell her.”
On the following day, despite Sessily’s attempt to hide holding a folder in front of her face, Arles found her sitting alone in the shade of the gadroon tree, and sat down at her table. With one plump white finger he pushed down the folder and smiled a wide toothy smile at her over the top. “Peekaboo! It’s Arles. And how is the young Trappist monk today?”
“l plan to cut off all my hair and paint my face blue, and wear a mustache, so people won’t recognize me,” said Sessily.
“Ha, ha! That’s marvelous! Can I do the cutting and the painting? I wonder what Master Floreste would say, especially if I painted myself red, and we showed up hand in hand!”
“That act would be called ‘Nightmare of a Maniac.’ Floreste will never see it. I’m quitting the Mummers.”
“Really? That’s good news! I’m out of the Mummers too, until my grades get better. We’ll be together all next summer.”
“I think not. I’m working at Opal Springs Lodge.”
Arles leaned forward. Today he had primed himself with a strategy from his Manual of the Erotic Arts. “There’s something I ‘d like to talk to you about. Would you like to own a space yacht?”
“What a foolish question. Is there anyone who wouldn’t?”
Arles said earnestly: “You and I should make plans together, about the kind of yacht we want. For instance, how do you like those new Spang Vandals? Or the Model Fourteen Nasebys with the after-saloon? They’re not so common and maybe not quite so flashing, but the appointments are truly superb! What’s your opinion?”
“Anything would be nice,” said Sessily. “However, there’s the matter of ownership. I’m too much of a coward to steal and too poor to buy.”
“Don’t worry there! Just trust me in that department! I’ll find the money, and we’ll buy one together, and go roaming! Think of the fun we could have!”
Sessily gave her hand a flippant wave. “My mother has much more money than I do. Why don’t you talk it over with her? You could take your mother along too, and you’d all have a wonderful time.”
Arles stared at her with black eyebrows lofted in displeasure. According to the Manual, girls never responded in this fashion. Was Sessily some kind of a little freak? He asked peevishly: “Wouldn’t you like to visit the Glass Towns of Clanctus? And the canals of Old Kharay? And don’t forget Xanarre, with the alien ruins and the floating cloud-cities.”
“Right now I’ve simply got to visit the girls’ room. You sit here and dream away to your heart’s content.”
“Wait one moment! I’ve decided to escort you to Parilia! What do you say to that?”
“l say, make another decision, since I have different plans.”
“Oh? With whom are you going?”
“Tra-la-la! That’s my secret! I may even stay home and read a book.”
“What! During Parilia? Sessily, I insist that you be serious!”
“Arles, please excuse me! If I stand here and wet myself I will be very serious indeed!”
Sessily departed, leaving Arles glowering after her. Sessily, so he noticed, did not go directly to the girls’ room, but stopped to talk to Glawen, where he sat alone. He looked up smiling and pointed to something in the book which lay open on the table. She put a hand on his shoulder and bent over to look; then she said something and went off to the girls’ room. When she emerged a few moments later she went directly to join Glawen, without so much as a glance elsewhere.
With ostentatious displeasure Arles rose to his feet and left the refectory.
Glawen, like many others, had also become captivated by Sessily. He liked her saucy mannerisms, her jaunty style of walking, her trick of glancing sideways with a half-smile hinting of delicious mischief. But whenever Glawen thought to talk with her it seemed that someone else came bustling up to monopolize her attention. He was therefore pleasantly surprised when she joined him at his table. “Well, Glawen, I’m back, and I’ve got to ask you a question.”
“Very well. Ask away.”
“Someone told me that you said, in your opinion, I was a hateful little frump.”
“Did they, now!” said Glawen, startled.
“Do you admit to that, Glawen?”
Glawen shook his head. “Somebody else must have said it. Arles, possibly.”
“And you don’t even think that I am?”
“Definitely not. I’d like to tell you sometime what I really think, but you’re always with half a dozen others, and I can’t get a word in.”
Sessily said thoughtfully: “Arles just asked if he could escort to Parilia. I said no, because I was going with someone else.”
“Oh? Who?”
“I don’t know yet. I suppose someone nice will ask me before too long.”
Glawen started to speak but the bell rang for classes. Sessily jumped to her feet and was gone. Glawen sat looking after her. Could she possibly have been suggesting something so unexpected and so wonderful as to be almost incredible?
Arles tried to walk Sessily home as often as possible, but on this particular afternoon he was delayed in class and Sessily gratefully set off by herself. Glawen, who had been waiting, almost missed her, but ran to catch up.
Sessily looked over her shoulder. “For a dreadful moment I thought it was Arles.”
“No, it’s me, and I’ve been thinking over your problem.”
“Really, Glawen? How very kind! Has anything occurred to you?”
“Yes! I thought that I might ask to be your escort.”
Sessily stopped short and turned to face him. She smiled into his face. “Glawen! What a surprise! Are you sure you’re not just being kind?”
“Quite sure. Very sure indeed!”
“And you don’t think me a hateful little frump?”
“l never did.”
“In that case - yes!”
Glawen turned and looked at her in sheer joy and took her hands. “For some reason I feel very strange inside, as if I were full of bubbles.”
“I do too. Could it be for the same reason?”
“I don’t know.”
“Probably not exactly the same. Don’t forget, I’m a girl and you’re a boy.”
“I haven’t forgotten for an instant.”
“We’re supposed to have different reasons for doing the same things. At least that’s what Floreste says. It’s what makes the world go round, according to Floreste.”
“Sessily, what a wise person you are!”
“It’s nothing, really.” Sessily moved a step forward and kissed him. Then she jerked back as if aghast at her own daring. “I shouldn’t have done that! You’ll think me very bold.”
“Well - not too bold.”
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks, and I just couldn’t wait any longer.”
Glawen reached to put his arm around her, but Sessily became perversely coy. “Only I may do the kissing; not you.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Perhaps not . . . Don’t delay, then; we don’t want to be late getting home from school!”
Arles, sauntering along Wansey Way, turned his head and saw Glawen and Sessily where they stood in the shade of a weeping willow. He halted to stare, then gave a hoot of mocking laughter, “Haw, haw! I have interrupted a tender moment! Isn’t this a somewhat public place for intimacies? Glawen, I never expected such conduct from you!”
Sessily laughed. �
��Glawen has been kind and that is why I am kissing him. I may well do it again. Are you leaving?”
“What’s the hurry? I might learn something interesting.”
“In that case, we’ll go.” Sessily took Glawen’s arm. “Come; the neighborhood has gone to pieces.”
The two departed with full dignity, and Arles was left standing in the road. Sessily looked anxiously up at Glawen. “I hope you haven’t let him annoy you.”
Glawen gave his head a dour shake. “I feel foolish.” Sessily’s arm stiffened and Glawen added hastily: “Because I couldn’t make up my mind what to do! Should I have punched his face? I stood there like a dummy! And, truly, I’m not afraid of him!”
“You did exactly right,” said Sessily. “Arles is a lummox! Why trouble yourself and get all sweaty? Especially since you have no real chance of beating him.”
Glawen blew out his breath. “I suppose you’re right. But if it happens again . . .”
Sessily squeezed his arm. “I don’t want you involved in fool rows on account of me. Are you going to walk me home?”
“Of course!”
At the portal giving on the avenue to Veder House, Sessily looked up and down the way. “I must be careful; my mother already thinks I’m a hoyden.” She tilted her face and kissed Glawen, who tried to catch her in his arms. Sessily laughed and drew back. “I must go.”
Glawen said huskily: “Will you meet me this evening, after supper?”
Sessily shook her head. “There’s a chart I must draw for school and I must practice the tunes I’m supposed to play at Parilia. After that I am supposed to be in bed . . . Still, now that I think of it, tomorrow night Mother will be at her committee meeting, and I won’t be under such strict control - which evidently would seem to be necessary.”
“Tomorrow night, then. Where?”
“Do you know our rose garden, on the east side of the house?”
“Where all the statues stand on guard?”
Sessily nodded. “I’ll come out, if I can, about two hours into the evening. I’ll meet you where the steps come down from the upper terrace.”
“I’ll be there.”
The next day was Milden;11 there was no school. For Glawen the day seemed to drag on interminably: minute after minute after minute.
