Robert Silverberg - Tourist Trade

In that bleak moment came a surprise. For as he shook and quivered in the force of that dismal ejaculation something opened between them, a barrier, a gate, and the hotel melted and disappeared and he saw himself in the midst of a bizarre landscape. The sky was a rich golden-green, the sun was deep green and hot, the trees and plants and flowers were like nothing he had ever seen on Earth. The air was heavy, aromatic, and of a piercing flavor that stung his nostrils. Flying creatures that were not birds soared unhurriedly overhead, and some iridescent beasts that looked like red velvet pillows mounted on tripods were grazing on the lower branches of furry-limbed trees. On the horizon Eitel saw three jagged naked mountains of some yellow-brown stone that gleamed like polished metal in the sunlight. He trembled. Wonder and awe engulfed his spirit. This is a park, he realized, the most beautiful park in the world. But this is not this world. He found a little path that led over a gentle hill, and when he came to the far side he looked down to see Centaurans strolling two by two, hand in hand, through an elegantly contoured garden.

Oh, my God, Eitel thought. Oh, my God in heaven!

Then it all began to fade, growing thin, turning to something no more substantial than smoke, and in a moment more it was all gone. He lay still, breathing raggedly, by her side, watching her breasts slowly rising and falling.

He lifted his head. She was studying him. “You liked that?”

“Liked what?”

“What you saw.”

“So you know?”

She seemed surprised. “Of course! You thought it was an accident? It was my gift for you.”

“Ah.” The picture-postcard of the home world, bestowed on the earnest native for his diligent services. “It was extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

“It is very beautiful, yes,” she said complacently. Then, smiling, she said, “That was interesting, what you did there at the end, when you were breathing so hard. Can you do that again?” she asked, as though he had just executed some intricate juggling maneuver.

Bleakly he shook his head, and turned away. He could not bear to look into those magnificent eyes any longer. Somehow—he would never have any way of knowing when it had happened, except that it was somewhere between “Can you do that again?” and the dawn, he fell asleep. She was shaking him gently awake, then. The light of a brilliant morning came bursting through the fragile old silken draperies.

“I am leaving now,” she whispered. “But I wish to thank you. It has been a night I shall never forget.”

“Nor I,” said Eitel.

“To experience the reality of Earthian ways at such close range—with such intimacy, such immediacy—”

“Yes. Of course. It must have been extraordinary for you.”

“If ever you come to Centaurus—”

“Certainly. I’ll look you up.”

She kissed him lightly, tip of nose, forehead, lips. Then she walked towards the door. With her hand on the knob, she turned and said, “Oh, one little thing that might amuse you. I meant to tell you last night. We don’t have that kind of thing on our world, you know—that concept of owning one’s mate’s body. And in any case, Anakhistos is not male, and I am not female, not exactly. We mate, but our sex distinctions are not so well-defined as that. It is with us more like the way it is with your oysters, I think. So it is not quite right to say that Anakhistos is my husband, or that I am his wife. I thought you would like to know.”

She blew him a kiss. “It has been very lovely,” she said. “Goodbye.”

When she was gone he went to the window and stared into the garden for a long while without looking at anything in particular. He felt weary and burned out, and there was a taste of straw in his mouth. After a time he turned away.

When he emerged from the hotel later that morning, David’s car was waiting out front.

“Get in,” he said.

They drove in silence to a cafe that Eitel had never seen before, in the new quarter of town. David said something in Arabic to the proprietor and he brought mint tea for two.

“I don’t like mint tea,” Eitel said.

“Drink. It washes away bad tastes. How did it go last night?”

“Fine. Just fine.”

“You and the woman, ficky-ficky?”

“None of your ficky-ficky business.”

“Try some tea,” David urged. “It not so good last night, eh?”

“What makes you think so?”

“You not look so happy. You not sound so happy.”

“For once you’re wrong,” Eitel said. “I got everything I wanted to get. Do you understand me? I got everything I wanted to get.” His tone might have been a little too loud, a little too aggressive, for it drew a quizzical, searching look from the Moroccan.

“Yes. Sure. And what size deal? That is my business, yes?”

“Three million cash.”

“Only three?”

“Three,” Eitel said. “I owe you a hundred and fifty thousand. You’re doing all right, a hundred and fifty for a couple of hours’ work. I’m making you a rich man.”

“Yes. Very rich. But no more deals, Eitel.”

“What?”

“You find another boy, all right? I will work now with someone else, maybe. There are plenty of others, you know? I will be more comfortable with them. Is very bad, when one does not trust a partner.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“What you did last night, going off with the woman, was very stupid. Poor business, you know? I wonder, did you have to pay her? And did you pay her some of my money too?”

David was smiling, as always. But sometimes his smiles were amiable and sometimes they were just smiles. Eitel had a sudden vision of himself in a back alley of the old town, bleeding. He had another vision of himself undergoing interrogation by the customs men. David had a lot of power over him, he realized.

Eitel took a deep breath and said, “I resent the insinuation that I’ve cheated you. I’ve treated you very honorably from the start. You know that. And if you think I bought the woman, let me tell you this: she isn’t a woman at all. She’s an alien. Some of them wear human bodies when they travel. Underneath all that gorgeous flesh she’s a Centauran, David.”

“And you touched her?”

“Yes.”

“You put yourself inside her?”

“Yes,” Eitel said.

David stood up. He looked as though he had just found a rat embryo in his tea. “I am very glad we are no longer partners, then. Deliver the money to me in the usual way. And then please stay away from me when you are in this city.”

“Wait,” Eitel said. “Take me back to the Merinides. I’ve got three more paintings to sell.”

“There are plenty of taxi drivers in this city,” said David.

When he was gone, Eitel peered into his mint tea for a while and wondered if David meant to make trouble for him. Then he stopped thinking about David and thought about that glimpse of a green sun and a golden landscape that Agila had given him. His hands felt cold, his fingers were quivering a little. He became aware that he wanted more than anything else to see those things again. Could any Centauran make it happen for him, he wondered, or was that only Agila’s little trick? What about other aliens? He imagined himself prowling the nightclub, hustling for action, pressing himself up against this slithery thing or that one, desperately trying to re-enact that weird orgasmic moment that had carried him to the stars. A new perversion, he thought. One that even David found disgusting.

He wondered what it was like to go to bed with a Vegan or an Arcturan or a Steropid. God in heaven! Could he do it? Yes, he told himself, thinking of green suns and the unforgettable fragrance of that alien air. Yes. Yes. Of course he could. Of course.