me doesn’t mean I necessarily have a crush on her, does it?”
His wife looked up at him, her rose-red lips parted, her moss-gray eyes shining. “Oh, if only I could believe that, James!”
“Anyhow, she doesn’t know what the whole thing’s about, poor kid!”
“Poor kid!”
“Phyllis, you know you’re prettier than any tree.” That was not literally true, but reason was useless; he had to make his point in terms she could understand. “And, remember, she’s got a lot of rings—she must be centuries old—while you are only nineteen.”
“Twenty,” Phyllis corrected. “I had a birthday on the ship.”
“Well, you certainly must allow me to wish you a happy birthday, darling.”
She was in his arms at last; he was about to kiss her, and the tree seemed very remote, when she drew back. “But are you sure she doesn’t—she isn’t—she can’t be watching us?”
“Darling, I swear it!” “Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops”…. But he had sense enough not to say it, and Elysium had not one blessed moon, but three, and everything was all right.
For a while anyway.
“I see your wife is developing a corm,” the tree remarked, as James paused for a chat. He hadn’t much time to be sociable those days, for there was such a lot of work to be done, so many preparations to be made, so many things to be requisitioned from Earth. The supply ships were beginning to come now, bringing necessities and an occasional luxury for those who could afford it.
“She’s pregnant,” James explained. “Happened before I left Earth.”
“How do you mean?”
“She’s about to fruit. Didn’t I read that zoology book to you?”
“Yes, but—oh, James, it all seems so vulgar! To fruit without ever having bloomed—how squalid!”
“It all depends on how you look at it,” he said. “I—that is, we had hoped that when the baby came, you would be godmother to it. You know what that is, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. You read Cinderella to me. I know it’s a great honor. But I’m afraid I must decline.”
“Why? I thought you were my—our friend.”
“Jim, there is something I must confess: my feelings toward you are not merely those of a friend. Although Phyllis doesn’t have too many rings of intellect, she is a female, so she knew all along.” Magnolia’s leaves rustled diffidently. “I feel toward you the way I never felt toward any intelligent life-form, but only toward the sun, the soil, the rain. I sense a tropism that seems to incline me toward you. In fact, I’m afraid, Jim, in your own terms, I love you.”
“But you’re a tree! You can’t love me in my own terms, because trees can’t love in the way people can, and, of course, people can’t love like trees. We belong to two entirely different species, Maggie. You can’t have listened to that zoology book very attentively.”
“Our race is a singularly adaptable one or we wouldn’t have survived so long, Jim, or gone so far in our particular direction. It’s lack of fertility, not lack of enterprise, that’s responsible for our decline. And I think your species must be an adaptable one, too; you just haven’t really tried. Oh, James, let us reverse the classical roles— let me be the Apollo to your Daphne! Don’t let Phyllis stand in our way. The Greek gods never let a little thing like marriage interfere with their plans.”
“But I love Phyllis,” he said in confusion. “I love you, too,” he added, “but in a different way.”
“Yes, I know. More like a sister. However, I have plenty of sisters and I don’t need a brother.”
“We’re starting a conservation program,” he tried to comfort her. “We have every hope of getting some pollen from the other side of the planet once we have explained to the trees there how far we can make a little go, and you’ve got to accept it; you mustn’t be silly about it.”
“It isn’t the same thing, Jim, and you know it. One of the penalties of intelligence is a diffusiveness of the natural instincts. I would rather not fruit at all than—”
“Magnolia, you just don’t understand. No matter how much you—well, pursue me, I can never turn into a laurel tree.”
“I didn’t—”
“Or any kind of tree! Look, some more books were just sent over from Base.”
Magnolia gave a rueful rustle. “Just were sent? Didn’t they come over a month ago?”
James flushed. “I know I haven’t had a chance to do much reading to you in the last few weeks, Maggie—or any at all, in fact—but I’ve been so busy. After the baby’s born, things will be much less hectic and we’ll be able to catch up.”
“Of course, James. I understand. Naturally your family comes first.”
“One of the books that came was an advanced zoology text that might make things a little clearer.”
“I should very much like to hear it. When you have the time to spare, that is.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll get the book and read you the chapter on the reproductive system in mammals. Won’t take more than an hour or so.”
“If you’re in a hurry, it can wait.”
“No,” he told her. “This will make me feel a little less guilty about having neglected you.”
“Whereupon the umbilical cord is severed,” he concluded, “and the human infant is ready to take its place in the world as a separate entity. Now do you understand, Magnolia?”
“No,” she said. “Where do the bees come in?”
“I thought you were in such a hurry to get to Base, James,” Phyllis remarked sweetly from the doorway, wiping her reddening hands on a dish towel.
“I am, dear.” He slipped the book behind his back; it was possible that, in her present state of mind— induced, of course, by her delicate condition—Phyllis might misunderstand his motive in reading that particular chapter of that particular book to that particular tree. “I just stopped for a chat with Magnolia. She’s agreed to be godmother to the baby.”
“How very nice of her. Earth Government will be so pleased at such a fine example of rapport with the natives. You might even get a medal. Wouldn’t that be nice?… James,” she hurried on, before he could speak, “you still haven’t found any green-leafed plants on the planet, have you? Have you looked everywhere? Have you looked hard?”
“Haven’t I told you time and time again, Mrs. Haut,” the tree said, “that there aren’t any—that there can’t be any? It’s impossible to synthesize chlorophyll from the light rays given off by our sun—only cyanophyll. What do you want with a green-leafed plant, anyway?”
Phyllis’s voice broke. “I think I’d lose my mind if I was convinced that I’d never see a green leaf again. All this awful blue, blue, blue, all the time, and the leaves never fall, or, if they do, there are new ones right away to take their place. They’re always there—always blue.”
“We’re everblue,” Magnolia explained. “Sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
“Jim, I hate to hurt your feelings, but I just have to take down those curtains. The colors—I can’t stand it!”
“Pregnant women sometimes get fanciful notions,” James said to the tree. “It’s part of the pregnancy syndrome. Try not to pay any attention.”
“Kindly don’t explain me to a tree!” Phyllis cried. “I have a right to prefer green, don’t I?”
“There is, as your proverb says, no accounting for strange tastes,” the tree murmured. “However—”
“We’re going to have a formal christening,” James interrupted, for the sake of the peace. “We thought we should, since ours will be the first baby born on the planet. Everybody on Elysium will come—that is, all the human beings. Only because they can come, you know; we’d love to have the trees if they were capable of locomotor movement. You’ll get to widen your social contacts, Maggie. Dr. Lakin and Dr. Cutler will probably be here; I know you’ll be glad to see Dr. Lakin again, and you’ve been anxious to meet Dr. Cutler. They’ve been asking after you, too. I think Dr. Lakin is planning to write a monograph on you for the Journal of the American Association of
