Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

“Forget it. I really do not want to play games with you.”

“Okay.” The wind rolled through the trees, splashed into the water, cut the tops off ripples. It moved among the box elders, pushed dead leaves before it, tugged at his trousers. And finally faded.

“You know I can’t bring her up here.”

“Why not?”

Arnold trembled. Here, in this solid American place, on the banks of the Red River, on the edge of Fort Moxie, North Dakota, he was acutely aware of standing at the threshold of another world, looking across the top of a globe-circling forest at multiple moons and strange constellations. “Because she’s a stranger. You don’t just invite strange women into the woods.”

“You’re not afraid of her, are you, Arnold?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why don’t you make the effort?”

“Why does it have to be her? Why not Aggie? Or Rob Schilling? Or almost anybody else in town?”

“The woman on the bench is extremely attractive.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“I would like to meet her.”

“Why?”

“As simply as I can state it: I share your own appreciation for beautiful things. I would enjoy speaking with her.”

“Then do it. You don’t need me.”

“Arnold, you’ve expressed the wish that you and I had never spoken. I can assure you that if she were a jogger, we never would have.”

Arnold sighed. “You called us simians. Why would you care about a simian?” He was leaning against a tree at the edge of a glade.

“Tell me: are you familiar with the gazelle?”

“I know what it looks like.”

“Would you say that the animal is beautiful?”

“It’s all right. I can take it or leave it.”

“Picture the gazelle, with its wide eyes, and its clean, innocent features. Endow it with intelligence. Note that its compassion already exceeds the standard for most humans. Add self-awareness, of the kind that the woman has. Would you not find the creature attractive?”

Suspicion had begun to grow in Arnold’s heart. “You’re not planning some sort of assault, are you? That’s indecent.”

“Of course not. Arnold, are you thinking sex?”

“I don’t think so. You’re not capable of sex, right?” The Traveler was slow to respond. “Are you?”

“Not strictly speaking.”

“Unstrictly speaking.”

“I am capable of orgasmic response.”

Arnold shuddered. “How?”

“You have no word.” A long silence played out between them. “By engulfing something warm and intelligent and beautiful.”

He began to back away. “Engulfing?”

“It is not how it sounds. No one is harmed.”

“It sounds kinky.”

“Your term is unfamiliar. But I can guess the meaning. Emotional relations between intelligent species is not unknown, Arnold.”

“It still sounds unnatural to me.”

“It’s not even rare.”

“Raped by a wind storm. Listen, I want you to keep your hands off her.”

“Stop thinking sex, Arnold. Anyway I don’t have hands.”

“You know what I mean.”

“We are beyond sex. We are speaking of a higher emotion.”

“Love?”

“Perhaps.”

“Love is a temporary chemical imbalance.”

“Others would define it differently.”

“How would you define it?”

“As a sublime appreciation for the noblest qualities in a fellow creature. Affection ignited by passion. In the higher beings, it is accompanied by an obsession for its object’s welfare.”

“I’m not going to deliver Linda to you. The whole idea’s obscene.”

“You don’t trust me.” It sounded genuinely offended. “I would never harm anyone.”

“Ha,” said Arnold. “Look what you did to poor Floyd.”

“Floyd’s an exception. And you feel sorry for him now, right?”

“Yes.”

“You incited me to do it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Arnold, Arnold. Can you not face the truth even when we both know what it is?”

“She won’t come. Even if I wanted her to, she wouldn’t.”

Again, a restless movement in the trees. “Certainly not, if you insist on sitting there all afternoon until she gets up and leaves. Did you think she would walk over and invite you to go for a stroll by the river’s edge?”

Arnold felt a blush coming on. “You were there today, weren’t you? You didn’t tell me you’d be there.”

The grass rippled.

“I want you to stay away.”

“As you like.”

The temperature had dropped a couple of degrees, but she was there, on her accustomed bench.

Arnold understood her inclination, while the weather held, to visit the park each afternoon. Fort Moxie’s winters were long and bitter; one did not waste sun-filled days, particularly in September, when so few remained.

It was cooler today. The sun was hidden by a swirl of gray clouds.

This time, he instructed himself as he approached along the paving. Walk right up to her. Say hello as casually as you can, and sit down. He had hoped the other benches would all have occupants, but he could see immediately after coming off the parking lot that there was plenty of room for him on any bench he chose.

His mouth went dry. His pulse began picking up.

She had propped her book in her lap and seemed to be focused on it. Several children played unnoticed on the lawn behind her. She wore blue slacks, a white blouse and sweater. An oversized multi-colored scarf was laid across one shoulder. Arnold wondered what it would be like to have such a woman in his life. He suspected there must be a husband or boyfriend lingering somewhere.

He summoned all his courage and stopped in front of her. Actually stopped. He pretended to look at the box elder behind her, hoping to suggest appreciation for its subtle beauty. The truth was, of course, a box elder is anything but subtle. Meantime, he strained his peripheral vision for some sign of response from her.

She turned a page.

“Lovely day,” he said, in a strangled voice.

Dumb. Couldn’t he do better than that?

Her eyes touched him. They were vividly, electrically green. Brilliant, luminous eyes that could have swallowed him. “Yes,” she said, in a neutral, uninterested voice, “it is.” And that magnificent gaze slid off over his right shoulder and locked again on that goddam book.

Our Mutual Friend , he noted. Dickens.

An icy chill expanded in Arnold’s stomach. This is not going to work. “I noticed you here yesterday.”

She nodded without looking up.

Arnold did a kind of mental countdown from six and, on zero, took the plunge: “Do you mind if I join you?” His lungs weren’t working right, his voice had gone to a higher register, and he mumbled the last two words. Maybe mumbled all of it.

“Of course,” she said, with an inflection that neither invited nor rebuked. She moved over to make room. Plenty of room.

“Do you come here often?” he asked.

She continued to study the page. “Only to read.”

A terrible silence settled over the park. Three adolescent girls came out of the library entrance. They were laughing in the conspiratorial manner of females everywhere. He sat at his end of the bench, pushed against the planks, felt the heat rise in his face. He was trying desperately to think of something else to say.

Would you like to join me for dinner? We could discuss Dickens.