Sheri Tepper - Grass

Marjorie put down her stylus and rubbed at her cramped fingers as she continued to stare out the window, remembering Klive. Remembering Opal Hill. Such glory in the grass. Even Snipopean could not have told that glory, for he had not danced with the foxen…

She came to herself with a start. She was merely filling pages, giving herself something to occupy the last few hours. Everything was done that she had to do. Her pack lay beside the door, its contents carefully selected. Who could have thought a promise would carry her so far.

Outside on the plaza, Stella tugged at Rillibee. “Come on.” she said. The two of them went along the bridge toward its island end. In the flat green meadow at its base, at the foot of a tall fruit-bearing tree, Mainoa’s grave lay, the herbage above it constantly littered with fruit and seeds and scraps of rind.

Marjorie rose, confronting one of the wall panels carved by Persun Pollut. The first one he had done with his left hand was crude, though full of harsh vitality. The later ones had gained in subtlety and ease of line. He was a great artist, Persun. Too great to stay here on Grass. Elsewhere, he could have a new right hand cloned for him. Well, soon the unwilling tether that held him on Grass would be untied. Then, perhaps he would go…

Marjorie closed the lid of her writing desk, took it by its handle, and went after Stella and Rillibee. Around her the shadow Arbai moved and spoke. Their words had been translated. Their motives were understood. Confronted with evil, these had chosen to die, Marjorie mourned them, but could not regret them. They had been too good to do good. Someone had said that once. Rillibee, she thought. Rillibee, who loved Stella.

The two of them were sitting by Mainoa’s grave mound when she came down the hill. “And how is Brother Mainoa today?” she asked. Stella leaned forward to neaten the fragrant herbs, brushing away the litter. “He’s going to be lonesome out here by himself.”

“I don’t think so,” Marjorie said, turning slowly to take in all of the meadow: behind its protective fence, the twisted arch of the Arbai transporter, glowing with opalescent light; the blossoming reeds at the edge of the mire; the shaggy trees, towering into heights of heartbreak gold. She turned back to the young ones with a smile. “Not Brother Mainoa. He’ll be very interested in everything that happens, all winter long. And the foxen will come talk to him. They come out above ground in the winter.”

“What are you doing?” Rillibee asked her, indicating the desk she was carrying. “Writing a book?”

She shook her head ruefully, “Rigo has asked for explanations. Yet again.”

“Father James says he may be trying to accumulate evidence in order to have your marriage set aside.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s probable! Father Sandoval undoubtedly put him up to it. Perhaps the laws on Terra have changed and he would be allowed to father a new family. Well, in any case, this may be my last opportunity to try telling him about his former one.” She shrugged, confronting Rillibee’s look with a calm face.

“You’re still determined to—”

“It isn’t determination, Rillibee. I made a promise. I’ve always tried to keep my promises, when I could.”

“Tell Daddy Rillibee and I are going to have a baby.” said Stella. “Tell him that we’re going to name it Joshua. Or Miriam.”

Two of Rillibee’s magic names. Names he would hold sacred if all hell came against him. Now he would give the baby one of them, sending it out like a firefly into darkness. In time there would be others, lighting up nothingness with bright names, like the burning names of stars. Marjorie smiled, thinking that she would not tell Rigo that. He would not understand.

From above came a trill, a purr. Foxen. Marjorie trilled in answer. From the neighboring meadow, a horse whickered in reply.

“Did you see the new colt?” Stella asked suddenly.

Marjorie nodded. “This morning. Mother and baby doing well. All sixteen of the horses doing well, as a matter of fact. The foxen have been talking to the foals again. I keep getting these very percipient looks! Blue Star’s new baby looks exactly like Don Quixote. Mayor Bee’s terribly excited.”

“The mayor gets the colt, does he?” Rillibee asked.

“Well, I promised. A few Hippae showed up at the interdict village near Klive, and the mayor wants to lead the expedition.”

“In accordance with the plan,” he said.

“In accordance with the plan,” echoed Stella.

In accordance with the plan, thought Marjorie. She sat down and put the desk on her lap, looking at it with resignation. Father James was probably right. Rigo wanted written evidence of her dereliction, her apostacy.

“We’ll let you get back to it,” said Rillibee. “I’ll go relieve Tony. He’s been working with Dimity and Janetta. They’ll never be right, Marjorie. Everyone knows that now. I don’t know why Tony goes on…”

“He’s stubborn,” Marjorie said. “Like me. Has he said anything?” she asked, a little anxiously. “About after… ?”

Rillibee nodded, frowning. “He’s going back to Terra. He thought his father’s request over carefully, and he’s decided to return, at least for a while. Since he and Stella were the only children Rigo was allowed to have, Tony thinks going back, for a while at least, is only fair.” He took her hand and pressed it, sharing her disappointment. Then he and Stella went away from her, up the green hill.

Marjorie sighed. She had hoped Tony would stay. In the winter, he would have lived closely in Commons, acquiring age, acquiring friends. In the spring Amy bon Damfels would be coming to the Tree City with Emmy and her mother. Marjorie had envisioned Amy and Tony — Still, if he wanted to go back… He was still very young. Perhaps he felt he needed at least one parent.

She opened the desk and started a new paragraph. If Rigo wanted proof she was crazy or ungodly or whatever, why not give it to him?

You needn’t refer to my religious duties, Rigo. I have not forgotten them…

We came to Grass together, out of duty. On Terra I had become much accustomed to duty, much concerned with propriety. Even when I knew I was doing very little good with my visitations, I persisted, out of duty. It has recently occurred to me that I was not too different from the bons. As they rode the Hippae and were enslaved, so I rode custom and was enslaved. I was a very good child and woman. I was scrupulous in my behavior. I confessed regularly and followed my confessor’s advice. I did good deeds, even feeling guilty because I sometimes broke men’s laws of discipline to do what I thought of as God’s laws of mercy. I was faithful to you because it was my duty, and I did what duty required because I thought God would be offended if I didn’t.

Here on Grass there was more duty. I found myself looking ahead to the time I could die and wouldn’t have duty anymore. Here I was, barely forty, Terran, wanting to die so I could quit going through all these motions! So, I went out into the grasses one day, courting death, but what offered itself was not really death and the horror of that made me realize what I was doing.

Duty simply was not enough. There had to be more than that!

Father James suggested that perhaps we were viruses. I know now that he meant to be funny. He thinks I lack humor. I do. Everyone says so, even Tony. Because I do, I took his words seriously. Later I came to think we might be like other things, like white cells or neurotransmitters. Warriors or message carriers. Such cells have a purpose, or at least a function in the body they inhabit. They have evolved to have that function. So we, in the body which we inhabit, may have evolved or be evolving to have similar purpose or function, though we are, I believe, only very small beings…