aircloth, shiny and bright and flickering back the glow of the torches. It danced as it rose …
“Lant!” Purple cried. “What’s — what’s happening? Why are they here?”
I tore my eyes off the bag of wind. “Purple — why did you name the women?”
“Why not?” He seemed doubly confused. “I couldn’t just keep calling every one of them ‘Hey, you,’ could I?” There was a moan from somewhere behind me. I ignored it.
Purple continued, “I had trouble remembering the order, Lant. There were too many of them. I mean, it was easy to remember to call a woman ‘Trone’s wife,’ but she got insulted if I forgot to call her ‘Trone’s second wife.’ ”
“Third,” I remembered.
“Third. You see? It was slowing things up. So I made up some names —
“Easier?” I looked about me. Perhaps a score of villagers remained. They seemed to huddle together, holding their torches high against the night. The others had not fled, but seeped away into the darkness while Purple and I were talking.
I glanced nervously at the sky — but his thing had vanished.
“Easier?” I repeated. “They’re here to burn you, Purple. Or they were.”
“Um,” he said. He looked vaguely about him. “Where’s my balloon? It was right here a minute ago — I was holding it —”
“You mean that thing — that thing that went up into the sky?”
His face lit up, “It did? You mean it worked?”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“It actually
I nodded again.
It didn’t seem to bother him much — he still kept glancing at the sky. He was preoccupied with the balloon. “For what?” he asked. “For naming women?”
“Purple, you’re a magician — you should have known better! I suppose you named them right out in public, in the hearing of others, so that every woman who spins now knows the names of every other woman! Well, did you?”
“Certainly. Why not?”
I groaned. “Because they’ll use magic on each other! And magic is too powerful to be placed in the hands of fools and women! They’ll get above themselves, Purple! First you lave given them a profession, now you give them names. They’ll think they’re as good as men!”
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” he said perceptively. “Very well, Lant, what would you like me to do? Shall I take their lames away?”
“Could you?”
“Certainly. I’ll do it for you — I’ll memorize their numbers and their husbands’ names instead — anything to make peace.”
I couldn’t believe he would give up so easily, so casually. Is casually as he had given them … Timidly I repeated, You’ll take their names away?”
“Of course,” said Purple, “what do you think I am? Some kind of fiend?” He laughed boomingly, showing his teeth. Twenty villagers moaned softly and pushed closer together.
Purple bent back to his water pot again, began fiddling with his battery wires. I watched as he fastened a large piece of cloth to the funnel of the pot. “Another airbag?”
“Huh? Oh, yes — another balloon.” He spread the cloth between his hands. “We made the first ones today.” Slowly, he bag began puffing up. He held it so it would fill evenly. Watch!” he said, “Watch — it’s filling with hydrogen!”
I took a step forward, curious in spite of myself. Behind me, the small knot of men who remained also edged forward.
The bag was puffy now, almost its full size. It grew rounder as we watched. I fancied I could hear the bubbles flowing up through the water, through the spout and into the bag. Purple watched it narrowly. At last he lifted the windbag from the pot spout and tied its neck. He let it go. It wasn’t quite as large as the other, nor was it as full — but ; lifted into the air
It floated toward the little knot of twenty.
“It works! It works!” Purple was exultant. He did a little dance of delight.
We backed away as the thing drifted nearer. Pilg held his torch before him to ward it off. The bag ignored the warning, floated closer and —
Suddenly was a ball of flame!
A bright orange flash of heat and light!
I don’t know what happened after that. Most of us reached home, one way or another; but Ford the Digger ran straight off a cliff, and nobody could find Pilg at all.
But the trouble didn’t end that easily.
When Purple told the women that they could no longer have any names, there arose such a weeping and wailing that one would have thought that all the men in the village were beating their wives in unison.
In fact many of them took to beating their wives in order to stop them from wailing — but that only increased their anguish. In a short time it became apparent that we had a spontaneous revolt in our hands.
Quite simply, the wives refused to work, to cook, and even to do the family-making thing unless we granted them the right to bear names.
“No,” I told my own wives, “the old ways are best. If I let you have names, the Gods will be angered.”
They looked at me adamantly, “But, La-ant, beloved master and faithful husband —”
“There are no buts about it,” I insisted. “There will be no names.”
“Then there will no family-making either.” They said with a whimper.
I looked at these two women. The number one wife I had purchased while still wearing the fur of youth. She had been with me for many years and had borne me two fine sons and only one daughter. She had been a faithful companion, and I had trained her to my moods well. She was no longer as sleek as she once was, but I would not discard her to the vagaries of the old womens’ compound. No, she was too well suited for the duties of running my home.
And the number two wife, sleek and sassy. Young she was, and only a wife of three cycles. She had borne me only daughters. She was spoiled and shrill.
Abruptly, I found myself mourning the loss of the number three wife, the modest and sweet one. She had talked little, and the others had bullied her, but she had been the most gentle. She had borne one son, but both she and he had been lost in the destruction of the old village.
I wondered about the possibility of gaining a new wife. Perhaps I should discard these two if they were going to be so difficult. After all, there were plenty of women around — they would jump at the chance to marry a man such as I.
But then, most of the good women were already married. It was only the flightier and shriller ones who were still single — and even the most comely of those was none too attractive.
Besides, if any other men were thinking in the same manner as I, there would be such a demand for wives that many would go without.
The possibility of trading my wives for the wives of someone else also occurred to me — but who wanted to inherit someone else’s bad habits? No, I would just as soon keep these women.
But, no family-making thing.
I could try taking them by force — but they would probably make such grimaces and terrible expressions that there would be no enjoyment in it.
No — I must be the master in my own house. If they would not accept my wishes, then I would discard them and bring in new wives. I could have my pick of the village. After all, was I not the Speaker?
