Gene Wolfe - Home Fires

Chelle winced.

“Exactly. But who could have grabbed your mother? Only the old man, and even then she would have had to linger. I think he must have said something that made her remain behind. Something I didn’t hear.”

“I didn’t either. I wasn’t paying attention to them. What was it?”

“I think I know,” Skip said, “but we may be able to ask them in a minute or two. Or we may learn it without asking.” He nodded slightly in the direction of the couple threading their way through the tables toward them, and stood up.

Here they come, he tall and very straight despite his age, she a full head shorter in the highest of high heels. Her arm’s through his; she is in possession. In her free hand, a tiny bag bright with synthetic gems, a little gold bag that speaks loud for her, telling the world she won’t have to pay, that a handkerchief, a lipstick, and a mirror are all she’ll need tonight.

There’s a bond between them stronger than Vanessa’s frail arm, or stronger (as I should say) than the arm that she has been loaned by the woman named Edith Eckhart. In this world, it is the invisible things that are strongest.

What forges that bond?

Not intercourse, though it is tempting to say it is. It forms, sometimes, between couples who have not so much as kissed, and once formed is stronger than steel, a bond that cannot be broken, though it can rust away.

There was, God knows, such a bond between Susan and me. I doubt that there was a person in our office who failed to sense it. I was Skip—when I was alone. Alone, she was Susan. Put us in the same room, be it as big as a banquet hall, and we became SkipandSusan.

Sometimes SusanandSkip. I should not forget that because it is as true as a human thought can be. In that infirmary room we were SusanandSkip, though Dr. Ueda was not there long enough to sense it—or I don’t think she did.

Look! Here in the air between us, Dr. Ueda. That is the bond, still bright, though others are brighter. Not yet red with rust, though it is rusting. It had begun to rust last year, in fact.

And now I know, or think I know, why Susan joined the suicide ring.

Can I have meant more than life to her? It seems incredible, but without me what did she have? No daughter and no son, because I never gave her any.

Virginia waves, and Chelle waves back. Do they sense the bond between Chelle and me?

Is there any bond there to sense?

Vanessa waved. “We’re late, and it’s all my fault. I was silly as a girl, trying on dresses and shoes. I wanted to wear this, but my shoes didn’t match. Charles took them away from me—why are you staring, Chelle dear?”

“I—I didn’t recognize Charlie. All the time we were in that room…”

The white-bearded man pulled out a chair for Vanessa. “It’s the beard, of course. The beard and the simple fact that you haven’t seen me for almost three years that have been nearer twenty-three for me.” He sat. “I’m a great deal older, even if you’re not. A great deal older and a good deal thinner.”

Vanessa said, “I wanted to make it a big surprise, darling, but Charles thought it might be unpleasant and fall ever so flat. So we didn’t.”

The white-bearded man said, “Is it unpleasant, honey? You divorced me, so I’m no longer your father. Will you accept me as a friend of your mother’s?”

“She isn’t. I divorced her, too. You—you’re just a couple I know now. You’re her date.”

The white mustache twitched.

“I’m trying to get used to that, I guess. I—I’ve been calling her Mother, and she was waiting for me when I came dirtside. Her and Skip. We—we’re contracted, Skip and me. But…”

“But she was there,” the white-bearded man prompted. “She was there waiting for you.”

“Yeah. She was and we hugged and all that. I … Oh, dammit! I was glad to see her. It was wonderful.”

Vanessa smiled at Skip. “You see? I know I was a nuisance.”

“To whom I was rude,” Skip said. “I apologize.” He turned to the white-bearded man. “You were with your daughter when she was captured. Captured on your order?”

“I was not, and she was not.” The white-bearded man picked up his menu. “I was in the room with her after she was captured, but I did not order her capture. Will this cross-examination survive the arrival of our food?”

“It isn’t a cross-examination,” Skip said. “I’m just curious. Rick Johnson was plainly a spy. Do you know who he was spying for?”

“Certainly. The Os. I suppose you’ll need to prove that in court if I’m put on trial. The roast beef’s good here—”

“I haven’t said I’ll take your case.”

Vanessa surprised everyone by asking, “What about the hijackers, Charles? Can you tell us who they were working for?”

“With certainty?” The white-bearded man shook his head. “The EU, probably, but I’m not sure of it. I was about to say that the roast beef’s good. My doctor tells me I’ve got to eat fish, but I tried the roast beef last night and found it delicious.”

Chelle said, “Have you had the yam and macadamia crusted red snapper?”

The white-bearded man appeared to study her over the top of his menu. “No, I haven’t, honey. I might try it tonight, though.”

“You two were contracted. You and Mother.” Chelle glanced at Skip.

The white-bearded man’s nod was barely perceptible.

“Yes, we were,” Vanessa put in.

“Only you broke up, didn’t you?”

The white-bearded man glanced at Vanessa. “That was none of my doing. Ask your mother.”

Vanessa smiled. “He means your biological mother, Chelle darling. The woman who carried you in her womb. He’s aware that you and I are divorced.” She turned the smile on Skip. “That was none of my doing, Counselor. She sicced the Army’s lawyers on me.”

Chelle said, “You voided your contract with Charlie, though.”

“I did. We’re still married, however.”

Chelle looked puzzled.

“It’s religious, darling. Not law. They separated the two, oh, a long time ago. If I’d divorced Charles, we’d no longer be married. But it seemed like such a bother. Just voiding our contract cost a lot.”

The white-bearded man muttered, “You hoped I’d do it.”

“I did not!”

A waiter arrived to take their orders. Vanessa asked for roast lamb, and the white-bearded man for filet mignon. Chelle said, “What are you having, Skip?”

“A hard time imagining what went on in Jerry Brice’s room.”

“Shouldn’t we talk about it in private?”

“The part that you mean, yes. The part that I mean, no.”

The waiter cleared his throat.

Chelle asked him, “What’s good tonight?”

“I’d try the filet of sole, ma’am.”

“Fine. I’ll have that. Rice pilaf and spinach. Tossed salad, vinegar and oil.”

The waiter wrote.

Skip told him, “Lamb and mint jelly.”

When the waiter had gone, the white-bearded man said, “What puzzles you, young man? I feel quite certain I can put all your doubts to rest.”

“A great many things. And thank you for that ‘young man.’ ”

“My pleasure. You may not credit my answers, of course. You’re of a skeptical turn of mind.”

“We’ll see. I believe you implied that you were not there at the time Chelle was brought in.”

“He wasn’t,” Chelle said, “and I was scared to death. Then he came in, and he was probably hoping I’d recognize him, but I didn’t.”

“That you would recognize me,” the white-bearded man told her, “and keep your knowledge to yourself.”

“I didn’t recognize you either, Charles,” Vanessa said.