Return From The Stars Part 2

"The Cavuta?" she corrected me. "It's. . . a sort of school, plasting; nothing great in itself, but sometimes one can get into the reals. . ."

"Wait. . . then what exactly do you do?"

"Plast. You don't know what that is?"

"No."

"How can I explain? To put it simply, one makes dresses, clothing in general -- everything. . ."

"Tailoring?"

"What does that mean?"

"Do you sew things?"

"I don't understand."

"Ye G.o.ds and little fishes! Do you design dresses?"

"Well. . . yes, in a sense, yes. I don't design, I only make. . ."

I gave up.

"And what is a real?"

That truly floored her. For the first time she looked at me as if I were a creature from another world.

"A real is. . . a real. . ." she repeated helplessly. "They are. . . stories. It's for watching."

"That?" I pointed at the gla.s.s wall.

"Oh no, that's vision. . ."

"What, then? Movies? Theater?"

"No. Theater, I know what that was -- that was long ago. I know: they had actual people there. A real is artificial, but one can't tell the difference. Unless, I suppose, one got in there, inside. . ."

"Got in?"

The head of the giant rolled its eyes, reeled, looked at me as if it were having great fun, observing this scene.

"Listen, Nais," I said suddenly, "either I'll go now, because it's very late, or. . ."

"I'd prefer the 'or.' "

"But you don't know what I want to say."

"Say it, then."

"All right. I wanted to ask you more about various things. About the big things, the most important, I already know something; I spent four days at Adapt, on Luna. But that was a drop in the bucket. What do you do when you aren't working?"

"One can do a heap of things," she said. "One can travel, actually or by moot. One can have a good time, go to the real, dance, play tereo, do sports, swim, fly -- whatever one wants."

"What is a moot?"

"It's a little like the real, except you can touch everything. You can walk on mountains there, on anything -- you'll see for yourself, it's not the sort of thing you can describe. But I had the impression you wanted to ask about something else. . . ?"

"Your impression is right. How is it between men and women?"

Her eyelids fluttered.

"I suppose the way it has always been. What can have changed?"

"Everything. When I left -- don't take this in bad part -- a girl like you would not have brought me to her place at this hour."

"Really? Why not?"

"Because it would have meant only one thing."

She was silent for a moment.

"And how do you know it didn't?"

My expression amused her. I looked at her; she stopped smiling.

"Nais. . . how is it. . . ?" I stammered. "You take a complete stranger and. . ."

She was silent.

"Why don't you answer?"

"Because you don't understand a thing. I don't know how to tell you. It's nothing, you know. . ."

"Aha. It's nothing," I repeated. I couldn't sit any longer. I got up. I nearly leapt, forgetting myself. She flinched.

"Sorry," I muttered and began to pace. Behind the gla.s.s a park stretched out in the morning sunlight; along an alley, among trees with pale pink leaves, walked three youths in s.h.i.+rts that gleamed like armor.

"Are there still marriages?"

"Naturally."

"I don't understand! Explain this to me. Tell me. You see a man who appeals to you, and without knowing him, right away. . ."

"But what is there to tell?" she said reluctantly. "Is it really true that in your day, back then, a girl couldn't let a man into her room?"

"She could, of course, and even with that purpose, but. . . not five minutes after seeing him. . ."

"How many minutes, then?"

I looked at her. She was quite serious. Well, yes, how was she to know? I shrugged.

"It wasn't a matter of time only. First she had to. . . see something in him, get to know him, like him; first they went out together. . ."

"Wait," she said. "It seems that you don't understand a thing. After all, I gave you brit."

"What brit? Ah, the milk? What of it?"

"What do you mean, what of it? Was there. . . no brit?"

She began to laugh; she was convulsed with laughter. Then suddenly she broke off, looked at me, and reddened terribly.

"So you thought. . . you thought that I. . . no!"

I sat down. My fingers were unsteady; I wanted to hold something in them. I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and lit it. She opened her eyes.

"What is that?"

"A cigarette. What -- you don't smoke?"

"It's the first time I ever saw one. . . So that's what a cigarette looks like. How can you inhale the smoke like that? No, wait -- the other thing is more important. Brit is not milk. I don't know what's in it, but to a stranger one always gives brit."

'To a man?"

"Yes."

"What does it do, then?"

"What it does is make him behave, make him have to. You know. . . maybe some biologist can explain it to you."

"To h.e.l.l with the biologist. Does this mean that a man to whom you've given brit can't do anything?"

"Naturally."

"What if he doesn't want to drink?"

"How could he not want to?"

Here all understanding ended.

"But you can't force him to drink," I continued patiently.

"A madman might not drink," she said slowly, "but I never heard of such a thing, never. . ."

"Is this some kind of custom?"

"I don't know what to tell you. Is it a custom that you don't go around naked?"

"Aha. Well, in a sense -- yes. But you can undress on the beach."

"Completely?" she asked with sudden interest.

"No. A bathing suit. . . But there were groups of people in my day, they were called nudists. . ."

"I know. No, that's something else. I thought that you all. . ."

"No. So this drinking is like wearing clothes? Just as necessary?"

"Yes. When there are. . . two of you."

"Well, and afterward?"

"What afterward?"

"The next time?"

This conversation was idiotic and I felt terrible, but I had to find out.

"Later? It varies. To some. . . you always give brit."

"The rejected suitor," I blurted out.

"What does that mean?"

"No, nothing. And if a girl visits a man, what then?"

"Then he drinks it at his place."

She looked at me almost with pity. But I was stubborn.

"And when he doesn't have any?"

"Any brit? How could he not have it?"

"Well, he ran out. Or. . . he could always lie."

She began to laugh.

"But that's. . . you think that I keep all these bottles here, in my apartment?"

"You don't? Where, then?"

"Where they come from, I don't know. In your day, was there tap water?"

"There was," I said glumly. There might not have been. Sure! I could have climbed into the rocket straight from the forest. I was furious for a moment, but I calmed down; it was not, after all, her fault.

"There, you see -- did you know in which direction the water flowed before it. . . ?"

"I understand, no need to go on. All right. So it's a kind of safety measure? Very strange!"