Time Pressure

by Spider Robinson

  “Uh—” Snaker began, and hesitated.

  “Really, man, I’d just as soon let my stoves go out; I’ve been meaning to shovel out the ashes and—”

  “Think it through, man. If you crash here, where do you crash?”

  “Ah.” Either in the same upstairs with Snaker and Ruby, or on bedrolls on the floor immediately underneath their room. The huge vent in their floor, designed to let warm air come up, would easily pass sound. In either direction. Lucas slept in the Big House, but he didn’t count; his room was the only airtight, relatively soundproof one in the structure; he liked it that way because it was colder. The point was that if we stayed, Snaker and Ruby would have no privacy to celebrate their happy news.

  “I think Ruby finds the idea of someone watching while she’s making love stimulating. But I’m sure she’s not ready to deal with the actuality just now. Some shit like that went down around the time she and Malachi were breaking up, before I got here. I gather it was pretty intense for her.” I could well imagine. Malachi had put her and Sally through a horrid long time when he could not decide which he wanted to live with, and so lived with both to see if that would shed any light on the matter. It eventually did, but with the light came much waste heat, and Ruby was badly burned. Snaker had come to the Mountain just as I was nerving myself up to move her into my place, on an emergency first-aid basis.

  “Snake, I’ll try to say this just right. I like you and Ruby. I would be honoured to be present sometime while you two made love, as observer or…whatever. But you don’t owe me anything, okay? You two have something special and private to celebrate. Just because I showed you mine doesn’t mean you have to show me hers.”

  “Or my own. I hear you, Sam. Thanks. For myself, I’d be happy to reciprocate if Ruby were willing. Maybe it’ll happen some day. Meanwhile, I know I’ll be thinking of you and Rachel at several points this evening.”

  “‘If it’s a good lick, use it,’ as Buckley used to say.”

  “Pun intended, of course.”

  We went back indoors, collected Rachel, said our good-byes and set off on the journey back home. As the three of us walked along the Wellington Road, he told Rachel his and Ruby’s happy news. She congratulated him gravely, breaking out one of her rare smiles for the occasion. I searched her features in vain for any sign of the kind of inner turmoil that was chewing me up. But how much could be accurately read from that stone face by moonlight?

  I wondered why I had passed up the opportunity to discuss my own emotional turmoil with Snaker. He had missed Rachel’s failure to prevent Tommy’s accident, and I couldn’t bring it up then, with Rachel walking along beside us. Slowly I realized I was never going to bring it up. Maybe it was like the secret he hadn’t told Ruby: he wouldn’t have wanted me to have told him, if I had. Still, I thought briefly, I ought to warn him, not to think of Rachel as someone he could depend on to get him out of a bad fix. But I did not.

  In retrospect, I think I did not bring my problem to Snaker for the same reason I did not bring it before the whole rest of the Sunrise Hill Gang. Like them, he would have solved it—that is, have seen to the heart of it, forced me to solve it. And I was not willing to give it up, would have died to keep it…

  The tire-change went smoothly. There was some idle chatter on the drive home, praise for Ruby’s chili, anecdotes about some of the people Rachel had met and some of the more spectacularly tangled chains of relationships. She asked good questions. She had seen some of Ruby’s paintings, and praised them intelligently. When we got to Heartbreak Hotel, Rachel asked Snaker if he would come in for a while. He grinned and gunned the engine. “Darlin’,” he said, “it’s too complicated to explain, but if I get right back home tonight, I’ll wake a happy man, and if I’m two minutes late I’ll have to cut my throat. It’s a pleasure to know you, and I’ll see you sometime again.” I got out of the cab—

  —and she leaned over and kissed him for a full minute, while I stood there as discreetly as I could—

  —and she sprang from the cab and slammed the door, and “There goes my margin,” Snaker said dizzily and was gone in a shower of slush and gravel. Blue Meanie dwindled in the dark, roaring at both ends, like a flatulent lion.

  The Ashley was still going; I packed it full and damped it down for the night. The kitchen fire was dead; I lit the Kemac oil-jet in the back of the firebox, filled the firebox with softwood for a quick blast of heat to warm the bedroom above, and refilled the hot-water well. At my direction, Rachel replenished both stacks of wood from the shed. I came upon her in the living room, looking over the books and records. I wondered if any of the names could mean anything to her. I offered to show her how to use the stereo, and she politely declined. (I suppose if you dropped me back into Edison’s home, even politeness and great respect could not make me sit through more than one or two of those damned scratchy cylinders.) I said that I was very tired.

  She nodded. “Do you want me to sleep with you?”

  I remembered she had once implied that she did not make a habit of sleeping. Or did she mean—?

  I did not know what she meant, what she wanted. So I had to fall back on what I wanted. What I wanted was for her to decide. “Suit yourself,” I said, and gave her a hug.

  She pulled back far enough to look at me. “Sam? You have brought me much joy today. I have many new friends, I have learned so much.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She kissed me, more thoroughly than she had Snaker since we were not squeezed into a truck seat, and then let me go. I went upstairs and the last thing I remember is walking through the bedroom doorway. My mind must have fallen asleep before my body did.

  CHAPTER 12

  SYMMETRICALLY ENOUGH, my body woke up before my mind.

  Have you ever awakened to find that you are making love? And have been for some indeterminate time, under the impression that you were dreaming? An indescribable, blessed experience.

  My mind’s awakening was a slow, sequential process, a series of cumulative steps. I am fucking. I live. No enemies near. I am a mammal. I’m home. This is nice. I’m a male human being. My head hurts. I don’t care. This is good fucking I’m getting. Oh, I remember who I am—

  —like that. If one must wake up, that is the way to do it. It was a sweet slow lazy time, a healing and a nourishing. I became aware of Rachel’s existence almost in the instant I became aware of my own, and the distance that had been between us when I fell asleep was melted before I was awake enough to recall it.

  And when I did recall it, she knew it, by the minute hesitation in my rhythm, and murmured in my ear, “Please forgive me, Sam.”

  I chuckled. “I forgave you in my sleep. My subconscious sentries passed you through sometime in the night, so you must belong here. Forgive me for sitting in judgment on you?”

  Okay, it was a silly question. Her answer was nonverbal but quite emphatic. So I asked a few nonverbal questions, and the dialogue became spirited.

  At some point in there we began singing together, literally singing in great rhythmic cadences, in weird harmonies that diverged and converged again—like the lovemaking itself, it had been going on for some time before I noticed it. Briefly she quoted a riff she had sung in last night’s Om, and mockingly I answered it with the featureless drone Malachi preferred, and she pinched me. And then we let our voices go free as our bodies, and raised up both in song, and it was good, oh good…

  Did she really say, in the warm afterglow, “I knew you would understand”? Or did I imagine it?

  Over breakfast she raised the subject of our Agreement, and we killed several hours refining it. She planned to spend her days traveling around the Mountain, interviewing people for her imaginary book, storing data and impressions in her headband in some fashion I didn’t understand. In the mornings and evenings she was willing to lend a hand with chores. She did not know how to cook but was willing to learn, and would take a crack at anything else. She would follow my customs while under my roof. I would
not ask her anything about her ficton or near-future events in my own—more accurately, I could ask, but I agreed in advance not to so much as frown if I got a circumscribed answer or none at all. She stated that within a few weeks she would supply me with ten thousand bona fide Canadian dollars, with which I agreed to try and arrange legal residence in Nova Scotia for her. I did not ask where her money was coming from. She offered to pay cash rent in addition to labour, but I refused it. As I was searching for a tantric way to raise the remaining aspects of our Agreement, she charged right in.

  “These are all what you call ‘material-plane’ matters, Sam. Now we must make our emotional, spiritual and sexual Agreements.”

  I blinked, then grinned. “I’ve spent my life yearning for a woman who didn’t bullshit around. The reality is a little unnerving. Okay, I’ll take a hack at it. Would you know what I meant if I said, ‘I love you’? I’m not saying it—I’m asking how good a language course you got before you left home.”

  She looked wary. “Good enough to treat that phrase like an armed bomb. According to my dictionary, it has dozens of mutually exclusive meanings, and guessing the one or ones intended is terribly important.”

  “That’s one reason why I never use the word.”

  “It can mean, ‘I will meet your price for sex,’ or ‘I am fond of you,’ or ‘Your happiness is essential to my own,’ or ‘I claim ownership of you,’ or ‘I feel that I am or could be your other half.’ Are any of these close, Sam?”

  I blinked. “Uh—yes to one and two. Emphatic no to three, four and five. I’ll have sex with you whenever we both want to. I don’t mind if you have sex with others as long as you keep the noise down when I’m trying to sleep. I may have sex with others myself from time to time, although I don’t expect it to cause any great traffic problem. I care about you a lot. I don’t think anybody’s happiness is essential to my own. I don’t keep slaves. I don’t think half of me is missing. I will be your friend. I’ll keep your secrets. I’ll teach you anything you need to know about this ficton. I’ll keep you from harm if I can, and I know and understand and accept that you can’t make the same promises. And I’ll help you with your work, even if that means leaving you alone with it and dying of curiosity. Your turn.”

  She didn’t answer right away. Maybe she was thinking over everything I’d said. Maybe she was just looking at me. Whichever, it was nice. Usually I can take it or leave it alone. Being looked at, I mean. When Rachel looked at you she left eyetracks on you. “Part of my mission is to study sexual mores and customs at this pivotal juncture in history. I am surprised and pleased by your non-exclusivity clause.”

  “Careful! I’m unconventional for this ficton. So, at least in theory, are some of the other Hippies—but almost none of the Locals. As a rule of thumb, I’d suggest you use great discretion in offering sex to any man without both long hair and a beard, or any woman wearing a brassiere. Oh, there are a few sexually conservative Hippies—the Sunrise Gang in particular are strong on monogamy these days, and the Ashram crew down in the Valley are into celibacy—but they’re all used to people who feel different, they won’t be offended if you ask.”

  “Thank you, Sam. As for the rest of what you say, I echo most of it and agree to all of it. I care about you a great deal too. I will be the best friend I can be to you. I thank you for your generosity to an uninvited guest. Will you want me to sleep with you?”

  “Huh? Oh—” I don’t know about you, but when I’m talking with someone, half the time I’m not really listening, I’m thinking of what to say next or where I’d rather be or something. I was getting it through my head that you couldn’t do that with Rachel. “Pardon me, the question has never come up before. At least not in this sense. Let’s see. It certainly isn’t reasonable to expect you to waste a third of your day lying still.” Suddenly I felt almost guilty that I would be leaving her to her own devices for such long intervals. “Uh…times we make love at night, would you stay with me until I’m asleep, try to leave without waking me? And perhaps curl up with me from time to time when you weren’t doing anything else anyway?”

  “With great pleasure. And the house will be warmer at night if there is someone to keep the fires fed.”

  I smiled. “I think we have Agreement.”

  She smiled. “Shall we seal the bargain?”

  I frowned. “The chickens are hungry.”

  She kept smiling, rose from her chair and stood before me. “Then we must hurry.”

  “Yes, we must.”

  That night she called me from Sunrise Hill, to say that she would not be home, as she was going to be having sex with Snaker and Ruby. I wished her joy, and banked my fires and went to bed.

  And woke, by God, the same way I had the day before…

  I am fucking. I live. No enemies near. I am a mammal. I’m home, on my back. This is nice. I’m a male human being. My head hurts. I don’t care. This is good fucking I’m getting. Oh, I remember who I am—

  Jesus Christ, I’m fucking Ruby!

  —she’s even better than I thought she’d be—

  Jesus Christ, Snaker’s lying right beside me!

  —Rachel rides him, as Ruby rides me—

  Jesus Christ, this is dangerous!

  —not necessarily—

  Jesus Christ—

  I was wide awake. At least three friendships and a marriage were at stake, and the point of no return was near, if not here and gone—quick, Sam, run it through!

  An even number, that was good. Genders balanced, that was good. All friends, all reasonably sane, stable types, all grownups, all discreet, all clean. Neither female at risk: one protected, one pregnant. I cared about all three people…

  In the soft glow of dawn through layers of plastic, my eyes traveled up Ruby’s splendid nude body, and she was wearing the smile of the canary who has swallowed the cat. “Good morning, Sam,” she said, moving lazily up and down on me. “I’ve fantasized about this.”

  “Uh, me too. Good morning. Morning, Snake, Rachel.”

  “—mornin’, brother—”

  “—good morning, Sam—”

  “And congratulations, Ruby—Snaker told me the happy news the other night.”

  She smiled even wider. “Thanks, Sam.” We stared together at her naked belly, thinking of the life that lurked inside. Spontaneously we began to rock together.

  I giggled suddenly. “Now do you see why folks around here don’t lock their doors, Rachel?”

  Rachel smiled. She reached over and stroked Ruby’s shoulder, undid a snarl in her hair. Ruby turned to her and kissed her. They put an arm around each other. We all synchronized rhythm while they held the kiss. I watched them forever, hypnotized and profoundly aroused. Why are there so few Lesbians? I’ll never understand it.

  The obvious corollary probably struck me at the same instant that it did Snaker.

  We must have looked comical. I turned my head quickly—to find his face a few inches away from mine. His mouth was open too. Both our mouths were open. Almost touching. Our shoulders were touching, our arms. Our hands.

  His hand touched my belly, moved to the place where his lady and I were joined. I gasped. I reached blindly, touched his chest. It felt strange, weird, hairy and flat, warm, alive, interesting. My fingers came to a nipple, like a miniature of a woman’s nipple. I experimented; he sipped air. A working miniature.

  We both glanced up briefly to see Ruby and Rachel caressing as they rode us, and then our eyes met again and we kissed.

  I had had two other sexual experiences with males, years before, brief, furtive, unsatisfactory. I had never kissed a man. It was even weirder than I had thought it must be, rough and prickly and peculiar. We did not kiss with our tongues—I had morning breath, he was a smoker—but we did not kiss tentatively or fraternally, and when I decided that it did not hurt, was not intrinsically disgusting, did not seem to leave a stain, and actually kind of felt nice, not only did the skies not fall, but I found myself even harder in Ruby’s pelvi
c clutch. Or was she clutching me tighter? Someone’s fingers were in my hair. We all seemed to be heading into the home stretch. Ruby and Rachel were humming, harmonizing; suddenly Snaker and I were too, humming into each other’s mouths; we were making a drone, then a harmony; with the women we made a chord of transition that rose and fell as we rose and fell, that sought resolution as we did, that rose, rose, swelled until it was no longer song but shout; Snaker and I broke our kiss and pulled our women down to us and roared against their throats as the world blew up—

  “Thank you, darling,” Ruby said next to my ear awhile later.

  “Whuffo?” Snaker asked. (How did he know—how did I know—that he was the darling addressed?)

  “For holding off on your cigarette. I appreciate.”

  “Huh! Never thought of it, love.”

  The two most awkward moments at an orgy are just before undressing and just after the orgasms. “Uh…good morning to you guys, too,” I said.

  Ruby kissed me. “Sam, how come you and I never got around to this before?”

  I thought about it. “Silly reasons at first, and for a while. And then Snaker came and you guys got engaged and decided to be monogamous.”

  She nodded. “We still are. It’s just…well, Snaker says there is very little difference between you and him.”

  “Under the circumstances, I will not contest the slander at this time,” I said. “Uh…how shall I put this?…to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Ruby grinned. “What the hell are we doing here, you mean? Good question.” She reached across me and poked her husband in the ribs. “How did this happen, honey?”

  On the far side of him, Rachel raised up on one elbow. Snaker is right: you can’t compare tits. “It was the effortless unfolding of the universe,” she murmured.

  “It was like hell effortless,” Snaker said, breathing like a smoker. “But they’re right, Sam: it wasn’t so much planned as discovered. Ruby and I got to talking about me watching you and Rachel ball, and talking about it got us horny, and then we got to talking about that with Rachel, and we learned that Rachel enjoyed watching too, and then we learned that Ruby thought she’d like being watched, and shortly after that we learned Ruby liked watching too, and so when the three of us had been researching the whole phenomenon long enough that I couldn’t seem to get another hard-on, Ruby pointed out that you had constituted an entire third of the original Broadway cast and might have interesting data to share—”