Halfway down the tunnel, on the right, the customary green light marked a refresher.
At the head of this tunnel, seated and reading at a desk, was a Chinese gentleman in a costume that was out of fashion before Armstrong made that "one small step." He wore spectacles as old-fashioned as his dress and he himself appeared to be ninety years older than God and twice as dignified.
As we approached he put down his book and smiled at Gretchen. "Gretchen. It is good to see you. How are your esteemed parents?"
She curtsied. 'They are well. Dr. Chan, and they send you their greetings. May I present our guests Mr. Senator Richard and Mistress Gwen and Mr. Bill?"
He bowed without getting up and shook hands with himself. "Guests of the House Henderson are most welcome in my house."
Gwen curtsied, I bowed, and so did Bill, after I dug a thumb into his ribs-which Dr. Chan noticed while declining to notice it. I mumbled an appropriate formality. Gretchen went on,
"We would like to sleep in your care tonight. Dr. Chan, if you will accept us. If so, are we early enough to be given four places side by side?"
"Indeed yes... for your gracious mother spoke to me earlier. Your beds are numbers four, three, two, and one."
"Oh, good! Thank you. Grandfather Chan."
So I paid, for three, not four-I don't know whether Gretchen paid, or ran a bill, or what; I saw no money change hands. Five crowns per person per night, no extra charge for the refresher but two crowns if we wanted to shower-water not limited. Soap extra-half a crown.
Having completed business. Dr. Chan said, "Does not the tree in bonsai require water?"
Almost in chorus we agreed that it did. Our host examined the plastic film that enclosed it, then cut it open and most carefully removed the tree and pot. A vase at his desk turned out to be a water carafe; he filled a tumbler, then, using just his fingertips, he sprinkled it repeatedly. While he did this I sneaked at look at his book-a form of snoopiness I can't resist. It was The March of the Ten Thousand, in Greek.
We left Tree-San with him, and Gwen's case as well.
Our next stop was at Jake's Steak House. Jake was as Chinese as Dr. Chan but of another generation and style. He greeted us with: "Howdy, folks. What'll it be? Hamburgers? Or scrambled eggs? Coffee or beer?"
Gretchen spoke to him in a tonal language-Cantonese, I suppose. Jake looked annoyed and retorted. Gretchen threw it back at him. Remarks slammed back and forth. At last he looked disgusted, and said, "Okay. Forty minutes"-turned his back and walked away. Gretchen said, "Come, please. Now we go to see Charlie Wang about suits."
As we walked away she said privately, "He was trying to get out of doing his best cooking, as it is much more work. But the worst argument was over price. Jake wanted me to keep quiet while he charged you tourist prices. I told him, if he charged you more than he would charge my Papa, then my Papa would stop in next time and cut off his ears and feed mem to him, raw. Jake knows that Papa would do exactly mat."
Gretchen smiled with shy pride. "My Papa is deeply respected in Lucky Dragon. Back when I was young. Papa eliminated a boomer here who tried to take something free from a singsong girl, something he had agreed to pay for. Everybody remembers it. The singsong girls of Lucky Dragon made Mama and me honorary members of their guild."
The sign read: Wang Chai-Lee, Custom Tailoring for Ladies and Gentlemen-p-suit repairs a specialty. Gretchen again introduced us and explained what we needed. Charlie Wang nodded. "Bus rolls at noon? Be here at ten-thirty. In Kong you return the suits to my cousin Johnny Wang at Sears Montgomery, p-suit department. I'll call him."
Then we went back to Jake's Steak House. It wasn't steak and it was not chop suey or chow mein and it was wonderfully good. We ate until we were full to our eyeballs.
When we got back to Quiet Dreams tunnel, the overhead lights were out and many of the billets were occupied by sleeping figures. A glow strip ran down the side of me billets shelf, where it could not shine into the eyes of a sleeping guest but would light the way of anyone moving around. There was a reading light at Dr. Chan's desk, shielded from the sleepers. He appeared to be working on his accounts, as he was operating a terminal with one hand and an abacus with the other. He greeted us soundlessly; we whispered goodnight.
Coached by Gretchen we got ready for bed: Undress, fold your clothing and put it and your shoes under the head of your bedroll as a pillow. I did so, and added my cork foot. But I left on my underwear shorts, having noticed that Gwen and Gretchen had left on their panties-and Bill put his back on when he somewhat belatedly noticed what the rest of us did. We all headed for the refresher.
Even this nominal sop to modesty did not last; we showered together. There were three men in the 'fresher when we went in; all were naked. We followed the ancient precept: "Nakedness is often seen but never looked at." And the three men most strictly followed this rule: We weren't there, we were invisible. (Save that I feel certain that no male can totally ignore Gwen and Gretchen.)
I could not totally ignore Gretchen and did not try. Naked, she looked years older and deliciously enticing. I think she had a sunlamp tan. I know she had dimples I had not seen before. I see no need to go into details; all females are beautiful at the point where they burst into full womanhood, and Gretchen had the added beauty of good proportions and a sunny disposition. She could have been used to tempt Saint Anthony.
Gwen handed me the soap. "All right, dear; you can scrub her back-but she can wash her front herself."
I answered with dignity, "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't expect to wash anyone's back, as I need a hand free for grab and balance. You forget that I'm an expectant mother."
"You're a mother, all right."
"Who's calling whom a mother? I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head."
"Richard, this is getting to be beneath even my dignity. Gretchen, you wash his back; that's safest. I'll referee."
It wound up with everyone washing whatever he/she could reach-even Bill-and was not efficient but fun, with lots of giggles. They were both of the extremely opposite sex and just being around them was fun.
By twenty-two we were settled down for the night, Gretchen at the end wall, Gwen beside her, then me, then Bill. At one-sixth gee a rock shelf is softer than a foam mattress in Iowa. I went to sleep quickly.
Sometime later-an hour? two hours?-I came awake because a warm body cuddled against me. I murmured, "Now, hon' Then I came a bit wider awake. "Gwen?"
"It's me, Mr. Richard. Would you really want to see my bottom turn all pink? And hear me cry?"
I whispered tensely, "Honey, get back over by the wall."
"Please."
"No, dear."
"Gretchen," Gwen said softly, "get back where you belong, dear... before you wake others. Here, I'll help you roll over me." And she did, and took the woman-child in her arms and talked to her. They stayed that way and (I think) went to sleep.
It took me quite a while to get back to sleep.
XII
"We are too proud to Fight."
WOODROW WILSON 1856-1924
Violence never settles anything."
GENGHISKHAN 1162-1227
'The mice voted to bell the cat."
AESOP c. 620-c. 560 B.C.
Kissing good-bye while wearing pressure suits is depress-ingly antiseptic. So I think and I am sure Gretchen thought so, too. But that is the way it worked out.