Lazarus had no reason then, or in his earlier life, to suspect that Maureen Smith had ever been anything but "faithful" by the most exacting Bible-Belt standards. He had no reason to think that she was even flirting with him. Her manner had not suggested it; he doubted if it ever would. But he held a deep certainty that she was as strongly attracted as he was, that she knew exactly where it could lead-and he suspected that she realized that nothing but chaperonage would stop them.
(But a father in residence and eight children, plus the contemporary mores concerning what can and can't be done, constituted a lot of chaperonage! Llita's chastity belt could hardly be more efficient.)
Let's haul it out into the middle of the floor and let the cat sniff it. "Sin?" "Sin" like "love" was a word hard to define. It came in two bitter but vastly different flavors. The first lay in violating the taboos of your tribe. This passion he felt was certainly sinful by the taboos of the tribe he had been born into-incestuous in the first degree.
But it could not possibly be incest to Maureen.
To himself? He knew that "incest" was a religious concept, not a scientific one, and the last twenty years had washed away in his mind almost the last trace of his tribal taboo. What was left was no more than that breath of garlic in a good salad; it made Maureen more enticingly forbidden (if such were possible!); it did not scare him off. Maureen did not seem to be his mother-because she did not fit his recollection of her either as a young woman or as an old woman.
The other meaning of "sin" was easier to define because it was not clouded by the murky concepts of religion and taboo: Sin is behavior that ignores the welfare of others.
Suppose he stuck around and managed somehow (stipulate safe opportunity) to bed Maureen with her full cooperation? Would she regret it later? Adultery? The word meant something here.
But she was a Howard, one of the early ones when marriage between Howards was a cash contract, eyes wide open, payment from the Foundation for each child born of such union-and Maureen had carried out the contract, eight paid-for children already and would stay in production for, uh, about fifteen more years. Perhaps to her "adultery" meant "violation of contract" rather than "sin"-he did not know.
But that is not the point, Bub; the real question is the only one that has ever stopped you when temptation coincided with opportunity-and this time he could consult neither Ishtar nor any geneticist. The chance of a bad outcome was slight when there were so many hurdles in the way of any outcome. But it was the exact risk that he had always refused to take: the chance of placing a congenital handicap on a child.
Hey, wait a minute! No such outcome could result because no such had resulted. He knew every one of his siblings, alive now or still to be born, and there had not been a defective in the lot. Not one. Therefore no hazard.
But- That was grounded on the assumption that his "no paradoxes" theory was a law of nature. But you've long been aware that the "no-paradoxes" theory itself involves a paradox-one that you've kept quiet about so as not to alarm Laz and Lor and the rest of your "present" (that present, not this one) family; to wit, the idea that free will and predestination are two aspects of the same mathematical truth, and the difference is merely linguistic, not semantic: the notion that his own free will could not change events here-&-now because his freewill actions here-&-now were already a part of what had happened in any later "here-&-now."
Which in turn depended on a solipsistic notion he had held as far back as he could remember- Cobwebs, all of it!
Lazarus, you don't know what trouble you might cause. So don't! Get out of town now and don't come back to Kansas City at all! Because, if you do, you're certain to try to get Maureen's bloomers off...and she's going to breathe hard and help. From there on only Allah knows-but it could be tragic for her and tragic for others, and as for you, you stupid stud, all balls and no brain, it could get your ass shot off...just as the twins predicted.
In which case, since you are not going to see your family again, there is no sense in waiting in South America for this war to end. You've seen enough of this doomed era; ask the girls to come pick you up now.
Was her waist really that slender? Or did she lace it in? Shucks, it didn't matter how she was built. As with Tamara, it simply did not matter.
Dear Laz and Lor,
Darlings, I've changed plans. I've seen my first family, and there isn't anything else I want to do in this era- nothing worth sweating out most of two years in a backwater while this war drags on to its bloody and useless finish. So I want you to pick me up now, at the impact crater. Forget about Egypt; I can't get there now.
By "pick me up now" I mean Gregorian 3 March 1917-repeat, third day of March one thousand nine hundred and seventeen Gregorian, at that meteor impact crater in Arizona.
Much to tell you when I see you. Meanwhile-
My undying love,
Lazarus
Was it her voice? Or her fragrance? Or something else?
DA CAPO-IV
Home
27 March 1917 Greg.
Beloved Family,
Repeat of Basic Message: I got here three years too early-2 August 1916-but still wish to be picked up exactly ten T-years after drop, 2 August 1926-repeat six. Rendezvous points and alternatives from basic date as before. Please impress on Dora that this results from bad data I gave her and is not her fault.
I'm having a marvelous time. I got my business cleaned up and then got in touch with my first family by looking up my grandfather (Ira Johnson, Ira) and got acquainted with him first-and with the aid of a horrendous lie and a most fortunate family resemblance, Gramp is convinced that I am an unregistered son of his (deceased) brother. I didn't suggest this; it's his own idea. Consequently it's solid-and now I'm a "long-lost cousin" in my first home. Not living there, but welcome, which is very nice.
Let me give a rundown on the family, since all of you are descended from three of them: Gramp, Mama, and Woodie.
Gramp is described in that junk Justin has been cutting down to size. No changes, Justin, save that instead of being two meters tall and carved out of granite, Gramp is almost exactly my size. I am spending every minute with him that he will let me, which usually means playing chess with him several times a week.
Mama: Take Laz and Lor and add five kilos in the best places, then add fifteen T-years and a big slug of dignity. (Quit quivering your goddamn chins!) Add hair down to her waist but always coiled up on top. I don't actually know what Mama does look like other than her head and hands became of the curious custom here of wearing clothes all over at all times. And I do mean "all over." I know that Mama has slender ankles because I once caught a glimpse. But I would never dare stare at them; Gramp would toss me out of the house.
Papa: He is away now. I had forgotten what he looks like-I had forgotten all their faces except Gramp (who uses the same face I do!) But I've seen pictures of Papa and he looks a bit like President Teddy Roosevelt- that's "Theodore," Athene, not "Franklin"-in case you have a picture in your gizzards.
Nancy: Laz and Lor as of three standard years before I left. Not as many freckles and very dignified-except when it slips. She is acutely aware of (young) males, and I think Gramp is urging Mama to tell her about the Howard setup at once, so that she'll be sure to marry in the Families.
Caroclass="underline" Laz and Lor again but two years younger than Nancy. She is as interested in boys as is Nancy-but frustrated; Mama has her on a. short leash. Quivers her chin, which Mama ignores.