Philip Dick - The Science Fiction Anthology

“But what else do they think about us?”

Clarey was hurt. “That’s what I was getting to, if you’ll only give me time. After all, I’ve been speaking Vangtort for six months and it’s a little hard to go back to Terran and organize my thoughts at the same time.”

“Terribly sorry,” the colonel apologized, handing him a cup of tea. “Carry on.”

“Thank you. They say if you—if we—are so smart, why do we use hax or the chains like anybody else? They think somebody else must have given us the starships, or else we stole them. That’s mostly Piq’s idea; he’s the village lawyer and, of course, lawyers are apt to think in terms like that.”

“Um,” the colonel said. “We didn’t think it would be a good idea to introduce ground cars. Upset their traffic and cause dissatisfied yearnings.”

“They’re satisfied with their hax carts. They’re not in any hurry to get anywhere. But Katund’s a village. Attitudes may be different in the cities.”

“You stick with your village, old chap. If you feel a wild urge for city life, you can always take a weekend trip to Zrig. Stay at the Zrig Grasht; it’s the only decent inn. By the way, you spoke of a landlady. Do you mean at the inn?”

No, Clarey told him, at first he had put up at the inn, but he found the place noisy, the cooking poor, and the pallet covers dirty. Besides, Hanxi had kept importuning him to go on visits to a nearby township where he promised him a good time.

“I was wondering, though,” Clarey finished, “if it would be possible for an Earthman and a Damorlant to—er—have a good time together.”

“Been wondering myself!” the colonel said eagerly. “I didn’t dare ask on my own behalf, but it’s your job, isn’t it? I’ll check back with the X-T boys on Earth. Go on with your story.”

As a resident of the inn, Clarey told Colonel Blynn, he’d found that he was expected to join the men in the bar parlor every evening, where they’d drink and exchange appropriate stories. But he’d choked on the squfur and was insufficiently familiar with the local mores to be able to appreciate the stories, let alone tell any. He’d concentrated on smiling and agreeing with whatever anybody said, with the result that the others began to agree with Piq that he was a bit cracked. “They were, for the most part, polite enough to me, but I could sense the gulf. I was a stranger, a city man, and probably a bit of a lunatic.”

A few of the younger ones hadn’t even been polite. “They used to insult me obliquely,” Clarey went on, “and whisper things I only half-heard. I pretended I didn’t hear at all. I stood them drinks and told them what a lovely place Katund was, so much cleaner and prettier and friendlier than the city. That just seemed to confirm their impression that I was an idiot.”

He stopped, took a sip of tea, and continued, “The females were friendly enough, though. Every time they came into the library they’d always stop for a chat. And they were very hospitable—invited me to outdoor luncheons, temple gatherings, things like that. Embelsira—she’s the chief librarian—got quite annoyed because she said they made so much noise when they all gathered round my desk.”

He paused and blushed. “I have an idea that—well, the ladies don’t find me unattractive. I mean they’re not really ladies. That is, they’re perfect ladies; they’re just not women.”

“I’m not a bit surprised,” the colonel nodded sagely. “Very well-set-up young fellow for a native—only natural they should take a liking to you. And only natural the men shouldn’t.”

Clarey gave an embarrassed grin. “One evening I was sitting in the bar-parlor, talking to Kuqal and Gazmor, two of the older men. And then Mundes came in; he’s the town muscle boy. You know the type—one in every tri-di series. He was rather unpleasant. I pretended to think he was joking. I’ve learned to laugh like one of them. Listen.” He gave a creditable imitation of an agonized turshi.

The colonel shuddered. “I’m sure if anything would convince the chaps back on Earth that the Damorlanti aren’t human, that would do it. What then?”

“Finally he made a remark impugning the virility of librarians that I simply could not ignore, so I emptied my mug of squfur in his face.”

“Stout fellow!”

“I knew he’d attack me and probably beat me up, but I thought that perhaps if I put up a show of courage they’d respect me. There was something like that in Sentries of the Sky a year or so ago—but of course you’d have missed that episode; you were up here. Anyhow, as I expected, he hit me. And then I hit him....” He smiled reminiscently into his cup of tea.

“And then?”

“I beat him,” Clarey said simply. “I still can’t figure out how I did it. I think it must be because my muscles are heavier-gravity type.” He smiled again. “And I beat him good. He couldn’t dance at the temple for weeks.”

The colonel’s jaw dropped. “He’s a temple dancer?”

“Chief temple dancer. I was a little worried about that, because I didn’t want to get in bad theologically. So I went to the priest and apologized for any inconvenience I might have caused. He said not to worry; Mundes had had it coming to him for a long time and his one regret was that he hadn’t been there to see it. Then we touched toes and he said he liked to see a young fellow with brawn who also took an interest in cultural pursuits like reading. He trusted I’d have a beneficial effect on the youth of the village. And then he asked me to fill in for Mundes as chief temple dancer until he—ah—recovered. It’s a great honor, you know!” he said sharply, as the colonel seemed more moved to mirth than awe. “But I’ve never been much of a dancing man and that’s what I told him.”

“Very well done,” the colonel said approvingly. “But you still haven’t explained where you got lodgings and a landlady.”

“She’s Embelsira’s mother. I was invited over for dinner from time to time.... It’s a local custom,” he explained as Blynn’s eyebrows went up. “So, when Embelsira told me her mother happened to have a compartment to let with meals included, I jumped at it. Blynn, you really ought to taste those pastries of hers!”

The colonel managed to divert him onto some of the other aspects of Katundut life. When he’d finished taping everything he had to say, the colonel gave him a list of artifacts and small-sized flora and fauna the specialists on Earth wanted him to collect for his next trip, providing he could do so without arousing attention or violating tabus.

They shook hands. “Clarey,” the colonel said, “you’ve done splendidly. Earth will be proud of you. And you might bring along one or two of those pastries, by the way.”

When Clarey got back to Katund, Embelsira and her mother gave a little welcome home party for him. “Nothing elaborate,” the widow said. “Just a few neighbors and friends, some simple refreshments.”

The tiny residential dome was packed with people; the refreshments, Clarey thought, as he munched industriously, were magnificent. But then he’d been forced to live on Earth food for a weekend, so he was no judge.

After they’d finished eating, the young people folded the furniture, and, while one of the boys played upon a curious instrument that was string and percussion and brass all at once, the others danced.

Clarey made no attempt to participate. In his early youth, he’d flopped at the Earth hops—and the Damorlanti had a distinctly more Dionysian culture than his home world. He stood and watched them leaping and twirling. When they’d dropped, temporarily exhausted, he made his way over to the musician, whom he recognized as one of Piq’s numerous grandsons; this one was Rini, he thought.