“What is it, Hodge?”
“Wait.”
Obediently she paused. I reached over and took her in my arms. She looked at me, not startled, but questioning. Just as my mouth reached hers she moved slightly so that I kissed her cheek instead of her lips. She did not struggle but lay passively, with the same questioning expression.
I held her, pressing her against the pine boughs, and found her mouth. I kissed her eyes and throat and mouth again. Her eyes stayed open, and she did not respond. I undid the top of her dress and pressed my face between her breasts.
“Hodge.”
I paid no attention.
“Hodge, wait. Listen to me. If this is what you want you know I will not try to stop you. But Hodge, be sure. Be very sure.”
“I want you, Catty.”
“Do you? Really want me, I mean.”
“I don't know what you mean. I want you.”
But it was already too late; I had made the fatal error of pausing to listen. Angrily I moved away, picked up my basket, and sullenly began to search for mushrooms again. My hands still trembled, and there was a quiver in my legs. To complement my mood a cloud drifted across the sun and the warm woods became chilly.
“Hodge.”
“Yes?”
“Please don't be angry. Or ashamed. If you are I shall be sorry.”
“I don't understand.”
She laughed. “Oh my dear Hodge. Isn't that what men always say to women? And isn't it always true?”
Suddenly the day was no longer spoiled. The tension melted, and we went on picking mushrooms with a new and fresh innocence.
After this I could no longer keep all thoughts of Catty Out of the intimacy with Barbara; now for the first time her jealousy had grounds. I felt guilty toward both, not because I desired both, but because I didn't totally desire either.
Now, years later, I condemn myself for the lost rapturous moments; at the time I procrastinated and hesitated as though I had eternity in which to make decisions. I was, as Tyss had said, the spectator type, waiting to be acted upon, waiting for events to push me where they would.
XVI. OF VARIED SUBJECTS
“I can't think of anything more futile,” said Kimi, “than to be an architect at this time in the United States.”
Her husband grinned. “You forgot to add, 'of Oriental extraction.'
Catty said, “I've never understood. Of course, I don't remember too well, but it seems to me Spanish people don't have the same racial fanaticism. Certainly the Portuguese, French, and Dutch don't. Even the English are not quite so certain of Anglo-Saxon superiority. Only the Americans, in the United States and the Confederate States, too, judge everything by color.”
“The case of the Confederacy is reasonably simple,” I said. “There are about fifty million Confederate citizens and two hundred and fifty million subjects. If white supremacy wasn't the cornerstone of Southron policy a visitor couldn't tell the ruling class at a glance. Even as it is he sometimes has a hard time, what with sunburn. It's more complicated here. Remember, we lost a war, the most important war in our history, which was not unconnected with skin color.”
“In Japan,” said Hiro, “the lighter-colored people, the Ainu, used to be looked down on. Just as the Christians were once driven underground at exactly the same time they themselves drove the Jews underground in Spain and Portugal.”
“The Jews,” murmured Catty vaguely. “Are there still Jews?”
“Oh yes,” I said. “Several million in Uganda-Eretz, which the British made a self-governing dominion back in 1933 under the first Labour cabinet. And numbers most everywhere else, except in the German Union since the massacres of 1905—1913.”
“Which were much more thorough than the antiOriental massacres in the United States,” supplied Hiro.
“Much more thorough,” I agreed. “After all, scattered handfuls of Asians were left alive here.”
“My parents and Kimi's grandparents among them. How lucky they were to be American Japanese instead of European Jews.”
“There are Jews in the United States,” announced Kimi. “I met one once. She was a theosophist and told me I ought to learn the wisdom of the East.”
“Very few of them. There were about two hundred thousand at the close of the War of Southron Independence on both sides of the border. After the election of 1872, General Grant's Order Number Ten, expelling all Jews from the Department of the Missouri, which had been rescinded immediately by President Lincoln, was retroactively reenacted by President Butler, in spite of the fact that the United States no longer controlled that territory. Henceforth Jews were treated like all other colored peoples—Negroes, Orientals, Indians, and South Sea Islanders—as undesirables to be bribed to leave or to be driven out of the country.”
“This is very dull stuff,” said Hiro. “Let me tell you about a hydrogen reaction—”
“No, please,” begged Catty. “Let me listen to Hodge.”
“Good heavens,” exclaimed Kimi, “when do you ever do anything else? I'd think you'd be tired by now.”
“She will marry him one of these days,” predicted Hiro; “then the poor fellow will never be allowed to disguise a lecture as a conversation again.”
Catty blushed, a deep red blush. I laughed to cover some constraint. Kimi said, “Go-betweens are out of fashion; you're a century behind the times, Hiro. I suppose you think a woman ought to walk two paces respectfully behind her husband. Actually, it's only in the United States women can't vote or serve on juries.”
“Except in the state of Deseret,” I reminded her.
“That's just bait; the Mormons gave us equality because they were running short of women.”
“Not the way I heard it. The Latter Day Saints have been the nearest thing to a prosperous group in the country. Women have been moving there for years; it's so easy to get married. All the grumbling about polygamy has come from men who can't stand the competition.” Catty glanced at me, then looked away.
Had she, I wondered afterward, been thinking how Barbara would have rejected my observation furiously? Or about that day in the spring? Or about Hiro's earlier comment? I thought about it, briefly, myself.
I also thought of how easily Catty fitted in with the Agatis and contrasted it with the tension everyone would have felt if Barbara had been there. One could love Barbara, or hate her or dislike her or even, I supposed, be indifferent to her; the one thing impossible was to be comfortable with her.
The final choice (was it final? I don't know. I shall never know now) hardened when I had been nearly six years at Haggershaven. It had been “on” between Barbara and me for the longest stretch I could recall, and I had even begun to wonder if some paradoxical equilibrium had not been established which would allow me to be her lover without vexation and at the same time innocently enjoy a bond with Catty.
As always when the hostility between us slackened, Barbara spoke of her work. In spite of such occasional confidences it was still not her habit to talk of it with me. That intimacy was obviously reserved for Ace, and I didn't begrudge him it, for after all he understood what it was all about and I didn't. This time she was so full of the subject she could not hold back, even from one who could hardly distinguish between thermodynamics and kinesthetics.
“Hodge,” she said, gray eyes greenish with excitement, “I'm not going to write a book.”
“That's nice,” I answered idly. “New, too. Saves time, paper, ink. Sets a different standard; from now on scholars will be known as 'Jones, who didn't write The Theory of Tidal Waves,' 'Smith, unauthor of Gas and Its Properties,' or 'Backmaker, nonrecorder of Gettysburg and After.'”
“Silly. I only meant it's become customary to spend a lifetime formulating principles; then someone else comes along and puts your principles into practice. It seems more sensible for me to demonstrate my own conclusions instead of writing about them.”