Suzette Elgin - Native Tongue

“I have your word as a gentleman?”

“Absolutely.”

Thomas steepled his fingers then, and peered at Aaron over the top of them.”

“In that case,” he said, “perhaps it would not be an entirely unacceptable idea. There’s a young girl in our dorms… her name is Perpetua. Have you noticed her, Aaron?”

He had. She was lovely. Thick brown hair, huge brown eyes, a body lush and promising, and a gentle manner that roused him every time she moved or spoke. Aaron had indeed noticed Perpetua, as had every other man in the Household.

“I may have,” he said.

“In about a year, Perpetua will be sixteen. And needing a husband. I’d like to keep her here, Aaron.”

“I see.”

“You would have been divorced a respectable length of time by her sixteenth birthday, or very soon thereafter… and Perpetua would make you a good wife. It would be a suitable alliance, in every sense of the word.”

The old fox, Aaron thought. He was going to make a trade of it. Aaron Adiness, at stud again for Chornyak Household — or no divorce. But he thought he could find considerable consolation in being sentenced to serve as stud for Perpetua. It would be the intervening year that would be difficult.

Thomas knew that, too.

“You would have to be quaintly beyond reproach during your year as a bachelor,” he said, measuring the words out. “Move into the bachelor rooms, be there in your bachelor bed every night without exception… I will not have it said that you divorced Nazareth simply to marry Perpetua.”

“It will be said no matter what I do, sir.”

“It’s one thing to have it said because people have small twisted minds; it’s quite another to have it said because you provide an excuse to say it.”

“You want my word again.”

“Indeed I do.”

A year of total celibacy… the prospect dismayed Aaron more than he had thought it would. But life with Nazareth meant permanent celibacy broken only by the occasional quick flutter on the sly… They would watch his every move, if he remained married to Nazareth; he’d be fortunate if he could find himself some draggled trollop once a year. Aaron shuddered; there were worse things than a year of monkhood.

“I swear it, Thomas,” he said swiftly. “I understand the conditions, and I’ll abide by them. To the letter.”

“Huhnh.” The sound was not pleasant, nor was the expression on his father-in-law’s face.

“I’ll know if you don’t,” said Thomas grimly. “And I’ll break you. If you deviate by so much as a wink, young man. The reputation of this Household, the reputation of the Lines, means infinitely more to me than any single member. The public already has reason enough to criticize about the manner in which we ‘send our females out to do men’s work,’ without adding scandal.”

Aaron put on the haughtiest expression he had in his repertoire.

“You have my word,” he repeated. “It should be sufficient.”

“I wonder.”

Aaron flushed, but he said nothing. There was nothing to say. Either the fellow would trust him or he wouldn’t, and there was nothing Aaron could do to influence him except sit there and allow himself to be as transparent as possible. He had nothing to hide, for once — he would abide by the conditions and consider that a reasonable price for freedom from Nazareth.

“All right, then,” said Thomas suddenly. “All right. I am not ordinarily disposed to see any excuse for divorce… but this is an unusual situation. And there’s some precedent — there was Belle-Anne. All right, Aaron; under these circumstances, and with your promise, I won’t oppose you.”

Aaron let out his breath, not realizing until he did so that he’d been holding it. It was a great relief. Too bad he couldn’t have had one more night in Nazareth’s bed before she’d gone off for the surgery, but it hadn’t occurred to him. As it hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t insist on coming back here and making his life a hell just for the satisfaction of doing so — in her place, he certainly would have gloried in the chance for revenge. It was typically female that she was either too stupid or too cowardly to seize that chance. He found himself almost grateful to her; he was not a brilliant man, but he was not so foolish that he didn’t know how large an account of bitterness he’d run up with her in the years of their marriage. He’d had a lot of fun doing it, but he knew it hadn’t ever been any fun for Nazareth; like all women, she had no sense of humor whatsoever. Like being colorblind, or tonedeaf. A curious deformity.

And now he and Thomas had managed to bring off a very efficient little bit of action here. All in one swoop, they’d gotten rid of Nazareth and the annoying reminder she would have represented, they’d arranged to keep Aaron in the house and fathering more infants — something that would have been impossible otherwise — and they’d settled the matter of a suitable husband for the luscious Perpetua. Aaron knew that in spite of Thomas’ facade of objections he must be pleased; this was the sort of thing the man considered an efficient example of household management. He had been damn near smiling when he told Aaron to go ahead and notify the Chornyak attorneys. Aaron felt that they were damn clever, he and Thomas… he was only sorry that there was no way he could brag about this little coup.

Clara saw him come up the stairs from his meeting with her brother, and read the smug satisfaction on his face correctly, but she wasn’t quick enough with her “Aaron!” to stop him as he went rushing out the door. It was clear to her that the two men had been willing to let Nazareth do what she wanted: it was also clear that Aaron had forgotten all about the fact that his wife was waiting for the decision. Unless perhaps he, or Thomas, had sent her a message directly?

Thinking hard, she didn’t hear Michaela until her name had been spoken twice, and even then she jumped.

“You’re too tired, Clara,” Michaela observed. “You’re asleep on your feet.”

“No… I was just thinking. And worrying.”

“Can I help?”

Clara explained, and Michaela touched her hand lightly.

“I’m on my way to Mr. Chornyak’s office right now,” she said, “to ask him about a new medication for your father. If you want to come along with me, we could bother him together… safety in numbers and all that.”

“I’m not afraid to speak to him alone, my dear,” Clara said. “That’s not it. I’m just trying to get my bad temper under control before I do it. I’ll wait until you’re through.”

“Well, I am afraid to go alone,” Michaela declared, “because the medicine I want costs almost three times as much as what your father’s been taking; so please come with me out of Christian charity, Clara. He won’t carry on so if he has to split the thunder and lightning between us.”

Clara looked at her, and Michaela could see by the glint in her eyes that she wasn’t fooled by the easy chatter, but she said only, “All right, Michaela,” and went with her without further comment.

And of course, as Clara had suspected, neither of the men had thought to send Nazareth a simple yes or no. Much less the news that she was about to be divorced.

“Thomas!” Clara had been shocked. “Dear heaven, Thomas…”

“What, Clara?”

“I mean that… It’s just…”

“Clara, will you please quit stammering and sputtering and speak your piece? Nazareth doesn’t care a thing for Aaron, never has, and you know it as well as I do. What’s the problem?”

Clara was helpless, and felt both helpless and absurd. There wasn’t any way to explain it to him. It had nothing to do with whether Nazareth cared about Aaron Adiness. It had to do with first undergoing that explicit demonstration of how little she was worth to the men, when they refused the money for the breast regeneration; and it had to do with then undergoing the mutilating surgery itself; and it had to do with the way a woman was treated in the public wards, especially a linguist woman; and it had to do with the pain and the grief that Nazareth would be feeling right now; and it had to do with what it would be like for her, on top of all the rest, to be told causally, by wrist computer, “Oh by the way, Aaron’s divorcing you — thought you’d want to know.”