“I was trying to remove the scab,” said Bandra softly. “I thought maybe I could cover the bruise, and you wouldn’t notice, but…” She sniffled, and when a Neanderthal sniffled it was a loud, raucous sound.
“Who did this to you?” asked Mary.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Bandra.
“Of course it matters!” said Mary. “Who was it?”
Bandra rallied a little strength. “I took you into my home, Mare. You know we Barasts require very little privacy—but in this matter, I must insist upon it.”
Mary felt nauseous. “Bandra, I can’t stand by while you’re being hurt.”
Bandra picked up the washcloth and dabbed it against the side of her face a few times to see if the bleeding had stopped. It had, and she put the cloth back down. Mary led her out into the living room and got her to sit down on the couch. Mary sat next to her, took both of Bandra’s large hands, and looked into her wheat-colored eyes. “Take your time,” said Mary, “but you must tell me what happened.”
Bandra looked away. “It had been three months since he’d done it, so I thought he wouldn’t do it this time. I thought maybe…”
“Bandra, who hurt you?”
Bandra’s voice was almost inaudible, but Christine repeated the word loud enough for Mary to hear. “Harb.”
“Harb?” said Mary, startled. “Your man-mate?”
Bandra moved her head up and down a few millimeters.
“My…God,” said Mary. She took a deep breath, then nodded, as much to herself as to Bandra. “All right,” she said. “This is what we’re going to do: we’ll go to the authorities and report him.”
“Tant,” said Bandra. No.
“Yes,” said Mary firmly. “This sort of thing happens on my world, too. But you don’t have to put up with it. We can get you help.”
“Tant! ” said Bandra, more firmly.
“I know it will be difficult,” said Mary, “but we’ll go to the authorities together. I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll put an end to this.” She gestured at Bandra’s Companion. “There has to be a recording of what he did at the alibi archives, right? He can’t possibly get away with it.”
“I will not make an accusation against him. Without a victim’s accusation, no crime has been committed. That’s the law.”
“I know you think you love him, but you don’t have to stand for this. No woman does.”
“I don’t love him,” said Bandra. “I hate him. ”
“All right, then,” said Mary. “Let’s do something about it. Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes, and we’ll go see an adjudicator.”
“Tant! ” said Bandra, slapping the flat of her hand against the table in front of her. It made such a loud sound, Mary thought the table was going to splinter into kindling. “Tant! ” Bandra said again. But her tone wasn’t one of fear; rather, it was filled with conviction.
“But why not? Bandra, if you think it’s your duty to put up with—”
“You know nothing of our world,” said Bandra. “Nothing. I can’t go to an adjudicator with this.”
“Why not? Surely assault is a crime here, no?”
“Of course,” said Bandra.
“Even between those who are bonded, no?”
Bandra nodded.
“Then why not?”
“Because of our children! ” snapped Bandra. “Because of Hapnar and Dranna.”
“What about them?” asked Mary. “Will Harb go after them, too? Was—was he an abusive father?”
“You see!” crowed Bandra. “You understand nothing.”
“Then make me understand, Bandra. Make me understand, or I will go to the adjudicator myself.”
“What is it to you?” asked Bandra.
Mary was taken aback by the question. Surely it was every woman’s business. Surely…
And then it hit her, like a meteor crashing from above. She hadn’t reported her own rape, and her department head, Qaiser Remtulla, had gone on to be Cornelius Ruskin’s next victim. She wanted to make up for that somehow, wanted to never again feel guilty about letting a crime against a woman go unreported.
“I’m just trying to help,” said Mary. “I care about you.”
“If you care, you will forget you ever saw me like this.”
“But—”
“You must promise! You must promise me.”
“But why, Bandra? You can’t let this go on.”
“I have to let this go on!” She clenched her massive fists and closed her eyes. “I have to let this go on.”
“Why? For God’s sake, Bandra…”
“It has nothing to do with your silly God,” said Bandra. “It has to do with reality.”
“What reality?”
Bandra looked away again, took a deep breath, then let it out. “The reality of our laws,” she said at last.
“What do you mean? Won’t they punish him for something like this?”
“Oh, yes,” said Bandra bitterly. “Yes, indeed.”
“Well, then?”
“Do you know what the punishment will be?” asked Bandra. “You are involved with Ponter Boddit. What punishment was threatened against his man-mate Adikor when Adikor was falsely accused of murdering Ponter?”
“They would have sterilized Adikor,” said Mary. “But Adikor didn’t deserve that, because he didn’t do anything. But Harb—”
“Do you think I care what happens to him?” said Bandra. “But they won’t just sterilize Harb. Violence can’t be tolerated in the gene pool. They will also sterilize everyone who shares fifty percent of his genetic material.”
“Oh, Christ,” said Mary softly. “Your daughters…”
“Exactly! Generation 149 will be conceived soon. My Hapnar will conceive her second child then, and my Dranna will conceive her first. But if I report Harb’s behavior…”
Mary felt like she’d been hit in the stomach. If Bandra reported Harb’s behavior, her daughters would be sterilized, as, she supposed, would any siblings Harb had, and his parents, if they were still alive…although she supposed Harb’s mother might be spared, since she was presumably postmenopausal. “I didn’t think Neanderthal men were like that,” she said softly. “I am so sorry, Bandra.”
Bandra lifted her massive shoulders a bit. “I’ve carried this burden for a long time. I’m used to it. And…”
“Yes?”
“And I thought it was over. He hadn’t hit me since my woman-mate left. But…”
“They never stop,” said Mary. “Not for good.” She could taste acid at the back of her throat. “There must be something you can do.” She paused, then: “Surely you can defend yourself. Surely that is legal. You could…”
“What?”
Mary looked at the moss-covered floor. “A Neanderthal can kill another Neanderthal with one well-placed punch.”
“Yes, indeed!” said Bandra. “Yes, indeed. So you see, he must love me—for if he did not, I would be dead.”
“Hitting is no way to show love,” said Mary, “but hitting back—hard—may be your only choice.”
“I can’t do that,” said Bandra. “If the decision was taken that I hadn’t needed to kill him, a violence judgment would be brought against me, and again my daughters would suffer, for they share half my genes as well.”
“A goddamned catch-22,” said Mary. She looked at Bandra. “Do you know that phrase?”
Bandra nodded. “A situation with no way out. But you’re wrong, Mare. There is a way out. Eventually I, or Harb, will die. Until then…” She lifted her hands, unclenched her fists, and turned her palms up in a gesture of futility.