Филип Фармер - The Lovers

He listened to her efforts to translate the American into the vernacular wog until he grew tired of the banalities of the comic and pulled her down to him.

Always, there was the light left on above them.

Yet, they had their misunderstandings, their disagreements, their conflicts.

Jeannette was neither puppet nor slave. When she did not like something Hal did or said, she was often quick to say so. And, if he replied sarcastically or violently, he was likely to find himself attacked verbally.

Not too long after he had hidden Jeannette in his puka, he returned after a long day at the ship with a heavy growth of stubble on his face.

Jeannette, after kissing him, made a face and said, 'That hurts; it is like a file. I'll get your cream and rub off your whiskers myself.'

'No, don't do that,' he said.

'Why not?' she said as she walked toward the unmentionable. 'I love to do things for you. And I especially love to make you look nice.'

She returned with the can of depilatory in her hand.

'Now, you sit down, and I will do all your work for you. You can think of how much I love you while I'm removing those so-scratchy wires on your face.'

'You don't understand, Jeannette. I can't shave. I am a lamedhian now, and lamedhians must wear beards.'

She stopped walking toward him and said, 'You must? You mean that it is the law, that you will be a criminal if you don't?'

'No, not exactly,' he said. 'The Forerunner himself never said a word about it, nor has any law been passed making it compulsory. But – it is the custom. And it is a sign of honor, for only a man worthy to wear a lamedh is allowed to grow a beard,'

'What would happen if a non-lamedhian grew one?'

'I don't know,' he said, annoyance apparent in his voice. 'It has never happened. It's – just one of those things you take for granted. Something only an outsider would think about.'

'But a beard is so ugly,' she said. 'And it scratches my face. I would as soon kiss a pile of bedsprings.'

'Then,' he said angrily, 'you'll either have to learn to kiss bedsprings or learn to get along without kisses. Because I have to have a beard!'

'Listen to me,' she said, going up close to him. 'You don't have to! What is the use of being a lamedhian if you don't have any more freedom than before, if you must do what is expected of you? Why can't you just ignore the custom?'

Hal began to feel both fury and panic. Panic because he might alienate her so far she would leave and because he knew that if he gave in to her he would be regarded suspiciously by the other lamedhians on the Gabriel.

As a result, he accused her of being a stupid fool. She replied with equal heat and harshness. They quarreled; the night was half over before she made the first movement toward a reconciliation. Then, it was dawn before they were through proving they loved each other.

In the morning, he shaved. Nothing happened at the Gabriel for three days, nobody made any remarks, and he put down to guilt and imagination the strange looks he saw – or thought he saw. Finally, he began to think that either nobody had noticed or else they were so busy with their duties that they did not think it worthwhile to comment. He even began wondering if there were other annoyances connected with being a lamedhian which he could do away with.

Then, the morning of the fourth day, he was called to the office of Macneff.

He found the Sandalphon sitting behind his desk and fingering his own beard. Macneff stared with his pale blue eyes at Hal for some time before replying to Hal's greeting.

'Perhaps, Yarrow,' he said, 'you have been too concerned with your researches among the wogs to think about other things. It is true we live in an abnormal environment here, and we are all concentrating on the day we start the project.'

He rose and began pacing back and forth before Hal.

'You surely must know that as a lamedhian, you not only have privileges, you have responsibilities?'

' Shib, abba. '

Macneff suddenly wheeled on Hal and pointed a long bony finger at him.

'Then, why aren't you growing a beard?' he said loudly. And he glared.

Hal felt himself grow cold, as he had so often when he was a child and his gapt, Pornsen, had made this same maneuver toward him. And he felt the same mental confusion.

'Why, I-I-'

'We must strive not only to attain the lamedh, we must strive to continue to be worthy of it. Purity and purity alone will make us succeed, unending effort to be pure!'

'Your pardon abba,' said Hal, his voice quivering. 'But I am making a never-ending effort to be pure.'

He dared to look the Sandalphon in the eyes when he said that, though where he got the courage he did not know. To lie so outrageously, he who was living in unreality, to lie in the presence of the great and pure Sandalphon!

'However,' Hal continued, 'I did not know that shaving would have anything to do with my purity. There is nothing in The Western Talmud or any of the Forerunner's books about the reality or unreality of a beard.'

'Are you telling me what is in the scriptures?' shouted Macneff.

'No, of course not. But, what I said is true, isn't it?'

Macneff resumed his pacing, and he said, 'We must be pure, must be pure. And even the slightest hint of pseudofuture, the smallest departure from reality, may dirty us. Yes, Sigmen never said anything about this. But it has long been recognized that only the pure are worthy to emulate the Forerunner by having a beard. Therefore, to be pure, we must look pure.'

'I agree with you wholeheartedly,' said Hal.

He was beginning to find courage in himself, a firmness. It had suddenly occurred to him that he felt so shaken because he was reacting to Macneff as he had to Pornsen. But Pornsen was dead, defeated, his ashes thrown to the wind. And it had been Hal himself who had scattered them at the ceremony.

'Under ordinary circumstances, I would let my whiskers grow,' he said. 'But I am living among the wogs now so I may do more effective espionage, besides conducting my researches. And I have found out that the wogs regard a beard as an abomination; they have no beards themselves, you know. They do not understand why we let ours grow if we have means to remove them. And they feel uneasy and disgusted when in the presence of a bearded man. I can't gain their confidence if I have one.

'However, I plan to grow one the moment the project is begun.'

'Hmm!' sid Macneff, fingering the hairs on his face. 'You may have something there. After all, these are unusual circumstances. But why didn't you tell me?'

'You are so busy, from morning to bedtime, that I did not want to bother you,' said Hal. He was wondering if Macneff would take the time and trouble to investigate the truth of his statement. For the wogs had never said one word to Hal about beards. He had been inspired to make his excuse when he remembered having read about the initial reactions of the American Indians to the facial growth of white men.

Macneff, after a few more words on the importance of keeping pure, dismissed Hal.

And Hal, shaking from the reaction of the lecture, went home. There, he had a few drinks to calm himself, then a few more to uninhibit himself for the supper with Jeannette. He had discovered that if he drank enough, he could overcome the disgust he felt on seeing food go into her naked mouth.

One day, Yarrow, returning from the market with a large box, said, 'You've really been putting away the groceries lately. You're not eating for two? Or maybe three?'

She paled. 'Maw choo! Do you know what you're saying?'

He put the box on a table and grabbed her shoulders.