He had come to admire the deftness with which she could defuse a quarrel. They’d had too many lately. Chuckling, he relaxed. “You’re right, I am a fool to waste good drinking time on politics, especially when it’s in the company of a sexy woman.”
Inwardly there passed through him: He may have delivered himself into my hands, though. I’ll get a tape of the proceedings tomorrow. If they went as I imagine, well, the next issue of The Chart Room is almost ready to go to press. I barely have time to pull TannahuTs editorial and slip in another that’ll be pure Schadenfreude to write.
Natalia laid a hand over his. “You’re pretty sexy yourself, for your information,” she said. “Horrible old reactionary, but if word got around about what you’re like in bed, I’d have to fight the women off with a shillelagh.”
Her smile faded. She sat quiet a while before adding softly, “No, I take that first part back. I think you’re down on governments because you’ve seen victims of their blunders and, yes, cruelties. It would be better if you were in charge. Under that crusty exterior, you’re fine and considerate.”
“And too smart to want power,” he interpolated.
“And you are not old, either,” she went on. “Not in any way that counts.”
“Sixty-seven, last time I looked.” At Robert Cauldwell’s birth certificate. “I could be your father, or your grandfather if my son and I had been a tad precocious.” I could be your hundredfold-great-grandfather. Quite possibly I am.
He felt her gaze on him, but didn’t meet it. “When / look, I see a person who appears younger than me. It’s eerie.”
“Persistent ancestors, I’ve told you.” A bottle of hair dye, to pretend indulgence of that small vanity. “I’ve also told you you should start shopping for a newer model. I honestly don’t want it to get too late for you.”
“We’ll see.” A single time in their three-year union had she suggested marriage. Were he using a different, younger personality he might well have gone through with it. As was, he couldn’t explain what a dirty trick on her it would be.
The thought flitted through him that if he did make known what he was and Giannotti’s estimate of the rate of progress thereafter proved right, Natalia could become immortal herself. Probably rejuvenated, too; given such a command of biochemistry, that ought to be easy. But while he was fond of her, he had not permitted himself to fall really in love for centuries; and he didn’t feel ready to unleash incalculable consequences on the world. Not this evening, at least.
She put on gaiety. “Who’s your Danish pen pal?”
He blinked. “What?”
“In today’s mail. Otherwise nothing special— Hey, important, is it?”
His heart thudded. “I’ll see. Excuse me a minute.”
He’d not thought about the post. It lay on a corner table. As he took the envelope postmarked Copenhagen, he saw the printed name and address of a hotel and, hand-written above it, “Helmut Seeker.”
His agent in Frankfurt, receiving responses to an advertisement published throughout northern Europe, then following up on any that seemed to come from a person who might fit his requirements—of course, Becker had merely been told that the Rufus Lab wanted to contact members of long-lived families; if they were young but showed intelligence, as evinced by an interest in history, that was ideal—
Hanno forced his mouth and hands into steadiness. He opened the letter. It was in stilted English, but there was no reason Natalia shouldn’t read it. She knew about the project, considered the approach unscientific but tolerated it together with the rest of his eccentricities. In fact, he should give her every appearance of openness, to hide the excitement that roared within him. “Apparently I’ve got a little trip ahead of me,” he told her.
4
They were friendly folks in the Lost River country, and besides, Chinese farmers had always done well throughout Idaho. So when Mr. and Mrs. Tu became tenants of the property that Tomek Enterprises owned, neighbors made them welcome. Their background was interesting to hear about, he a small landowner in Taiwan, she the daughter of a Japanese trade representative there. Marriages tike that faced.problems in Asia, even this long after the war. Also, they had some difficulties with the Kuomintang government, nothing terrible but enough to make them feel restricted and harassed. Through her family they met Mr. Tomek himself, who arranged for them to come to America. At first their Engtish was broken, but they soon became pretty good at it. Still, they never quite fitted in. They managed the fields and herds well. They kept the house spic and span, and if some things in it were kind of odd, you had to expect that. They were well-behaved, polite, helpful. However, they held themselves back, joined no church or social club or anything, got along in company but didn’t really open up, repaid invitations with fine food and pleasant conversation but took no lead in sociability. Well, they were Orientals, and maybe that made them feel sensitive about having had no children.
After six years they did stir gossip and uneasiness. They’d gone off on vacations from time to time, like most people, except that they said practically nothing about where it was to or what they’d done. Now they came back with a pair of youngsters from Chicago, slum kids, been in trouble, one of them black. It wasn’t an adoption, the Tus explained; they simply aimed to see what a real home in a healthy environment could do. They had letters to show this was okay with the authorities.
Their neighbors worried about mischief, misleading of their own children, maybe drugs. Edith Harmon, who was a forceful lady, took it upon herself to call when Shan was away and have a heart-to-heart talk with Asagao. “I understand yonr feelings, dear, and it’s kind of you, but we have so much do-gooding these days.”
Asagao smiled and asked, “Is do-badding better?” She went on at once: “I promise you it will be all right. My husband and I have guided lives before now.”
“Really?”
“It gives meaning to ours. Or perhaps you have heard about the Buddhist concept of acquiring merit. Here, let me warm that coffee for you.”
And it did succeed. There was a little friction at first, especially in school. The boy got into a couple of fights, the girl was caught shoplifting. Their fosterers straightened them out fast and thoroughly. Shan might not be the smartest man alive, but he was no dummy either, and he had a way of getting others to do what he wanted that did not come just from great physical strength. Asagao was quiet, gentle, and—the neighborhood discovered—sharp as a tack. The kids worked hard on the ranch and soon worked hard in school. They became popular. After four years they left, of an age and qualified to take jobs waiting for them elsewhere. Folks missed them, and didn’t object to the new waifs who then arrived. Instead, the community felt proud.
The Tus didn’t go looking for children. They told how they had been appalled at what they read or saw on TV, afterward witnessed for themselves. Inquiring around, they came on an outfit, small but with branches in several big cities, that tried to make placements. Mutual trust developed. The original experience showed what they had to offer and what sort of kids would likely benefit from it. After that, the organization chose and sent.
Shan and Asagao figured three at a time was as much as they could rightly handle, and not if those all came at once. So two years had passed when they got the third member of the second group. She was a fourteen-year- old from New York. They met her at the Pocatello airport and drove her back to their place.
To start with, Juanita was a handful and a half, nervous as a trapped bobcat, often sullen, sometimes exploding in screams and curses that shocked the ranch hands. They had learned patience and firmness, though. The youngsters already there had gotten to a point where they too were a steadying, calming force. Above all, the married couple was, and also the beautiful land, open air, honest labor, hearty food. It helped that this was summer; Juanita didn’t have school to cope with as well. Soon she was turning into quite the little lady.
One day Asagao asked her to come along, the two of them alone, and help pick berries in a hidden nook of the hills, more than an hour away on horseback. They packed a lunch and took their tune. On the way home, shy young dreams began to reach lips. Asagao well knew how to keep talk aflow without pushing.
Yesterday a thunderstorm had broken a hot spell. The air was full of wayward breezes and soft smells. Light was lengthening from the west, but still held that upland brilliance which made the mountains seem almost next door and yet left you feeling what a vastness you looked across. Clouds towered white into dizzying depths of blue.
