Филип Фармер - The Lovers

He got to his feet. 'Sorry. I forgot you wouldn't know how to make coffee.'

'No. No. It is the liquor I am thinking of. Alcohol, not coffee.'

'Alcohol? Great Sigmen, girl, we don't drink ! That'd be the most disgust–'

He stopped. She was hurt. He mastered himself. After all, she couldn't help it. She came from a different culture. She wasn't even, strictly speaking, all human.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'It's a religious matter. Forbidden.'

Tears filled her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake. She put her face into her hands and began to sob. 'You don't understand. I have to have it. I have to.'

'But why?'

She spoke from behind her fingers. 'Because during my imprisonment, I had little to do but entertain myself. My captors gave me liquor; it helped to pass the time and make me forget how utterly homesick I was. Before I knew it, I was an – an alcoholic'

Hal clenched his fists and growled, 'Those sons of... bugs!'

'So you see, I have to have a drink. It would make me feel better, just for the time being. And later, maybe later, I can try to overcome it. I know I can, if you'll help me.'

He gestured emptily. 'But – but where can I get you some?' His stomach revolted at the idea of trafficking in alcohol. But, if she needed it, he'd try his best to get it.

Swiftly, she said, 'Perhaps Fobo could give you some.'

'But Fobo was one of your captors! Won't he suspect something if I come asking for alcohol?'

'He'll think it's for you.'

'All right,' he said, somewhat sullenly, and at the same time guiltily because he was sullen. 'But I hate for anybody to think I drink. Even if he is just a wog.'

She came up to him and seemed to flow against him. Her lips pressed softly. Her body tried to pass through his. He held her for a minute and then took his mouth away.

'Do I have to leave you?' he whispered. 'Couldn't you pass up the liquor? Just for tonight? Tomorrow, I'll get you some.'

Her voice broke. 'Oh, maw namoo, I wish I could. How I wish I could. But I can't. I just can't. Believe me.'

'I believe you.'

He released her and walked into the front room, where he took a hood, cloak, and nightmask out of the closet. His head was bent; his shoulders sagged. Everything would be spoiled. He would not be able to get near her, not with her breath stinking of alcohol. And she'd probably wonder why he was cold, and he wouldn't have the nerve to tell her how revolting she was, because that would hurt her feelings. To make it worse, she'd be hurt anyway if he offered no explanation.

Before he left, she kissed him again on his now frozen lips.

'Hurry! I'll be waiting.'

'Yeah.'

Hal Yarrow knocked lightly on the door of Fobo's apartment. The door did not open at once. No wonder. There was so much noise inside. Hal beat on the door, though reluctantly, for he did not want to attract Pornsen's attention. The gapt lived across the hall from Fobo and might open his door to see what was going on. Tonight was not a good time for Pornsen to see him visiting the empathist. Even though Hal had every right to enter a wog's home without being accompanied by a gapt, he felt uneasy because of Jeannette. He would not put it past the gapt to enter his, Hal's, puka while he was gone for a bit of unofficial spying. And, if Pornsen did, he would have Hal. All would be up.

But Hal comforted himself with the thought that Pornsen was not a very brave man. If he took the liberty of entering Hal's place, he would also take the chance being discovered. And Hal, as a lamedhian, could bring so much pressure to bear that Pornsen might not only be disgraced and demoted, he might even be a candidate for H.

Loudly, impatiently, Hal rapped on the door again. This time it swung open. Abasa, Fobo's wife, was smiling at him.

'Hal Yarrow!' she said in Siddo. 'Welcome! Why didn't you come in without knocking?'

Hal was shocked. 'I couldn't do that!'

'Why not?'

'We just don't do that.'

Abasa shrugged her shoulders, but she was too polite to comment. Still smiling, she said, 'Well, come on in. I won't bite!'

Hal stepped in and shut the door behind him, though not without a backward glance at Pornsen's door. It was closed.

Inside, the screams of twelve wog children at play bounched off the walls of a room as large as a basket-ball court. Abasa led Hal across the uncarpeted floor to the opposite end, where a hallway began. They passed by one corner where three wog females, evidently Abasa's visitors, sat at a table. They were occupied in sewing, drinking from tall glasses before them, and chattering. Hal could not understand the few words he could hear; wog females, when talking among themselves, used a vocabulary restricted to their sex. This custom, however, so Hal understood, was swiftly dying out under the impact of increasing urbanization. Abasa's female children were not even learning woman-talk.

Abasa led Hal down to the end of the hall, opened a door, and said, 'Fobo, dear! Hal Yarrow, the No-nose, is here!'

Hal, hearing himself so described, smiled. The first time he had met this phrase, he had felt offended. But he had learned that the wogs did not mean it to be insulting.

Fobo came to the door. He was dressed only in a scarlet kilt. Hal could not help thinking for the hundredth time how strange the Ozagen's torso was, with its nippleless chest and the curious construction of shoulder blades attached to the ventral spine. (Would it be called a forebone as opposed to the Earthman's backbone?)

'You are welcome indeed, Hal,' said Fobo in Siddo. He switched to American, 'Shalom. What happy occasion brings you here? Sit down. I'd offer you a drink, but I'm fresh out.'

Hal did not think his dismay showed on his face, bu Fobo must have discerned it.

'Anything wrong?'

Hal decided not to waste time. 'Yes. Where can I get quart of liquor?'

'You need some? Shib. I will go out with you. The nearest tavern is a low-class hangout; it will give you a chance to see at close range an aspect of Siddo society you doubtless know little about.'

The wog went into the closet and returned with an armful of clothes. He put a broad leather belt around his fat stomach and to it fastened a sheath containing a short rapier. Then, he stuck a pistol in the belt. Over his shoulders he fastened a long, kelly green cloak with many black ruffles. On his head he put a dark green skullcap with two artificial antennae. This head covering was the symbol of the Grasshopper clan. Once, it would have been important for a wog of that clan to have alway worn it outside his house. Now, the clan system had degenerated to the point where it represented a minor social function, though its political use was still great.

'I need a drink, an alcoholic beverage,' Fobo said. 'You see, as a professional empathist, I encounter many nerve-racking cases. I give therapy to so many neurotics and psychotics. I must put myself in their shoes, feel their emotions as they feel them. Then I wrench myself out of their shoes and take an objective look at their problems. Through the use of this' – he tapped his head – 'and this' – he tapped his nose – 'I become them, then become myself, and so, sometimes, enable them to cure themselves.'

Hal knew that when Fobo indicated his nose, he meant that the two extremely sensitive antennae inside the projectilelike proboscis could detect the type and flux of his patients' emotions. The odor from a wog's sweat told even more than the expression of his face.

Fobo led Hal down the hall to the big room. He told Abasa where he was going and affectionately rubbed noses with her.

Then, Fobo handed Hal a mask shaped like a wog's face, and he put his own on. Hal did not ask what it was for. He knew that it was the custom for all Siddo to wear nightmasks. They did serve a utilitarian purpose, for they kept the many biting insects off. Fobo explained their social function.