“What I hate the most is the way you slap peanuts into your mouth. I can’t watch television, because the whole sofa shakes,” she said without hesitation. Then changed the subject, understanding his gentleness with her in bed. She began to talk about her bleeding, which had been caused by the beating on the prison ship. Her flows were less frequent now, so she must be mending.
Only now did he make a connection between Anabel’s phone calls and the arrival of Ra Mahleiné’s medical records.
The damn witch waits like a vulture, he thought. She regrets that she didn’t finish my wife off when she had the chance.
27
Max’s widow, Bette Hoffard, was put in the room vacated by Hilgret. Wordless, pale as a corpse, she swept her surroundings with dull, unseeing eyes and took an enormous number of psychotropic pills. Often she forgot meals. Then Edda would send Laila up to her.
The insurance money allowed Edda to add a floor to the house. Although she asked 440 packets for the new apartment, she quickly found a taker: a worker at the local immigration office. Edda told everyone that the new tenants were Ian and his wife Phyllis.
The introductions were made at dinner. Ra Mahleiné wore a colorful sweater; she had just finished knitting it. The others at the table were gray and glum: Helga in mourning; Edda with her mind elsewhere; Zef bored, his Mohawk drooping; Gavein worried; and the Hougassians silent—they had had to send their daughter back to the hospital, because among Laila’s burns was an infected place that made grafting impossible.
Ian was a short, broad man of about sixty, his hair very thin. Gavein had seen him before and quickly remembered where. Ian’s wife was taller than her husband, wore glasses, had short curly hair, and was too animated and talkative. Both were reds, their hair dyed black except for the obligatory strip.
“Ian Yacrod Hanning,” he said, presenting himself. Although he would not be moving to Ayrrah for several years yet, he gave his Significant Name in the Ayrrah style. Yacrod belonged to the group of the Names of Man.
“Phyllis Yacrodda,” said his wife, and they both sat.
“So many whites here!” he remarked, looking around. It was not the most diplomatic beginning, since the Hougassians were opposite him and in their best clothes. Fatima had even gone to the trouble of tying a turban.
“On the other hand,” retorted Haifan, “we never had such reds before.”
Zef put a finger in his nose.
We are indeed an odd group, thought Gavein. Ian is the normal one here. In Davabel there are very few homes where you eat at a table with whites. The people here twist the name Ra Mahleiné, but only because they twist everything. Actually, Magdalena, Magda is not so bad. And out of me they’ve made a Dave.
There was an awkward silence. Zef dug deeper, with pleasure, into his left nostril.
Edda saved the situation by bringing in a bowl of steaming pasta. To eat, Zef had to stop playing with his nose.
“I seem to know you,” said Ian, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “But I can’t place you.” He thought a moment. Gavein didn’t help him. “Dave… that’s it, Dave. You came for paperwork, for a woman named after a cat.”
“That’s correct.”
“So you are Mrs. Dave Throzz?” he asked Ra Mahleiné, who practically spat like a cat, her eyes flashing gold. The gold meant she was angry. And if it was visible even through the lenses of her glasses, she was angry indeed.
It dawned on Ian that he had somehow offended the people around him. He tried to mend things. “I understand you perfectly, Dave. If in my life I discovered such a snowflake, I would protect it like the apple of my eye.”
Speaking so honestly got him into trouble.
“You could keep the snowflake in the freezer,” remarked Phyllis, tight-mouthed.
“I once invited you both to dinner,” Ian said, “and now look, we are neighbors.” He was doing his best.
Phyllis couldn’t let things stand at that. “Dave,” she said, “may I ask you something?”
Gavein nodded.
“People say that blacks have a scent, that reds have none, and that whites stink. Could you tell me if it’s true? You understand, I’m only talking about body odor.”
The barb was well aimed, because Edda and Zef were reds. Gavein had no wish to antagonize either of them. “Absolutely true,” he replied. “And the body odors all change the moment one moves from Davabel to Ayrrah.”
To his wife he whispered, “Let’s take our pizza upstairs.”
“No,” she said. “This is live entertainment, better than the canned stuff on TV. Let’s sit and watch.”
Phyllis went on. “Ian says he can tell when people have just arrived from Davabel. In time, the whites learn to use special deodorants, extra-strength. Ian has booklets that give advice about body odor. Isn’t that true, Ian?” She turned to her husband. “They say white women have a different kind of period, and that’s the reason they stink even worse than the men,” she added.
Fatima blanched, which accentuated the pimples on her face. Massmoudieh looked around helplessly.
“Actually, no, it’s the reds who stink,” said Zef, running a palm along his fiery red comb, which had been stiffened with egg white. “Me, for example. I’m a regular polecat if I don’t clean my nose out properly. The smell comes from my snot.” He put a finger in, extracted a gray ball, and flicked it on the tablecloth in Phyllis’s direction.
Ra Mahleiné giggled.
Zef pulled another missile from his nostril. This time, by accident, he hit Haifan’s newspaper.
“Whites ought to keep to themselves,” declared Phyllis, setting aside all innuendo when the third ball of snot landed on the edge of her plate.
“I’m only getting rid of my body odor,” Zef said apologetically.
Unfortunately his barrage didn’t cease with that, so everyone had to leave the table before the next course.
28
When Ra Mahleiné later warmed up a couple of slices of pizza for the two of them, she almost dropped the pan, she was laughing so hard.
“Yes, he dealt with her,” Gavein said. “Stupid people ought to be put in reservations.”
“Absolutely not. They make you feel good. You know, in Lavath I had no idea the reds hated us so much.”
“And the blacks who came from Llanaig had the same experience. Though I think social segregation in Lavath was taken less seriously than it is here.”
“I never considered the reds or grays worse than us.”
“I know. Or even blacks.” He smiled at her.
“You see? I married you precisely to put myself in a better mood.”
“And did it work?”
“I’m not complaining.”
Their conversation was continued in bed. The pizza burned.
29
The next day, he didn’t go to the bookstore.
Early in the morning, Wilcox called and asked Gavein if someone could fill in for him. He said he had to finish reading some book. Gavein didn’t object.
They went down to the dining room. Ra Mahleiné settled on the sofa, covered herself with a blanket, and watched television as she knitted.
Edda was ironing her sheets. Zef was deep in thought over some lecture notes, sitting cross-legged in the armchair but not thinking it necessary to remove his shoes. Gavein smiled, beholden to the young man for having come to the rescue.
“I didn’t know you knew them, Dave,” Edda said, with a long, hard look.
“I knew only Ian. He took care of an official matter for me. Then he gave me his card and an invitation. That’s all.”