'In your dance,' he said, 'you were frightened.'
'Yes,' I said.
'Still,' he said, 'it is clear that you are not without talent, indeed, perhaps even considerable talent.'
I was silent.
'But it is also clear that you were holding back, that as a typical female of Earth, you would cheat men, that you would not give them all that you had to give. That sort of thing is now no longer permitted to you.'
'a€”of Earth?' I said.
'Women look well in garments such as that you are wearing,' he said. 'They are appropriate for them.'
Again I was silent. It was dark in the library, but not absolutely dark, of course. It was mostly a matter of shadows, and lighter places, of darker and lighter areas. Here where we were light came through the high, narrow windows to my left, from the moon, and from a street lamp, about a hundred feet away. It was near the western edge of the parking lot, by the sidewalk, fixed there, mainly, I suppose, to illuminate the street running at the side of the library. The front entrance is reached by a drive. It was spring. At that time I did not realize the significance of the time. The building was warm.
'Are you a 'modern woman'?' he asked.
'Yes,' I said. Again I did not know what else to say. He had asked me that question long ago, months ago, in the aisle, in our first encounter. I supposed it was true, in some sense.
'It is easy enough to take that from a woman,' he said.
I looked at him, puzzled.
'Are you a female intellectual?' he asked.
'No,' I said, as I had responded before, when he had asked the question long ago, in our first encounter.
'Yet in your personal library, that in your quarters, there are such books as Rosovtzeff' s History of the Ancient World and Mommsen' s History of Rome,' he said. 'Have you read them?'
'Yes,' I said.
'They are now both out of print,' he said.
'I brought them in a secondhand bookstore,' I said. He had spoken of my 'quarters,' and not, say, of my 'Rooms,' or my 'apartment.' To me that seemed odd. Too, as he spoke now, at greater length, his accent, as it had once been before, was detectable. Still, however, I could not place it. I was sure his native tongue was not English. I did not know what his background might be. I had never encountered a man like him. I had not known they existed.
'Women such as you,' he said, 'use such books as cosmetics and ornaments, as mere intellectual adornments. They mean no more to you than your lipstick and eye shadow, than the baubles in your jewelry boxes. I despise women such as you.'
I regarded him, frightened. I did not understand his hostility. He seemed to bear me some hatred, or some kind of woman he though I was, some hatred. I was afraid he did not wish to understand me. He seemed unwilling to recognize that there might be some delicacy and authenticity in my interest in these things, for their own value and beauty. To be sure, perhaps a bit of my motivation in their acquisition had been from vanity, but, yet, I was sure that there had been something genuine there, too. There must have been!
'Did you lean anything from the books?' he asked.
'I think so,' I said.
'Did you learn the worlds of which they speak?' he asked.
'A little about them,' I said.
'Perhaps it will do you some good,' he mused.
'I do not understand,' I said.
'But such books,' he said, 'are now behind you.'
'I do not understand,' I said.
'You will no longer need them where you are going,' he said.
'I do not understand,' I said.
'Such things will no longer be a part of your life,' he said. 'Your life is not going to be quite different.'
'I do not understand,' I said, frightened. 'What are you talking about?' 'You are doubtless the sort of female who has intellectual pretensions,' he said.
I was silent.
'Do you think you are intelligent?' he asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'You are not,' he said.
I was silent.
'But you do, doubtless, have some form of intelligence,' he said, 'in your small, nasty way.'
I looked up at him, angrily.
'And you will need every bit of it, I assure you,' he said, 'just to stay alive.'
I looked at him, frightened.
'Hateful slut,' he said.
I squirmed under his epithet. I was conscious of the light silk on my body. The bells on my ankle, jangled.
'Yes,' he said, regarding me, 'you are a modern woman, one with intellectual pretensions. I see it now, certainly, one of those modern women who desire to destroy men.'
'I don' t know what you' re talking about,' I said.
'But there are ways of treating, and handling, women such as you,' he said, 'ways of rendering them not only absolutely harmless, but, better still, exquisitely useful and delicious.'
'I don' t know what you' re talking about!' I protested.
'Do not lie to me,' he snarled.
I put down my head, miserable. The bells on my ankle moved.
'Your garment is an interesting one,' he said. 'It well reveals you.' I looked up at him, frightened.
'To be sure,' he said, 'it is a bit more ample than is necessary, not as snug as it might be, not cut as high at the thighs as it might be, not cut as deeply at the neck as it might be, and, surely, as I determined earlier, it is insufficiently diaphanous.'
I looked up at him.
'Take it off,' he said.
Numbly I pulled the tiny garment over my head and put it beside me on the carpet.
'It may be a long time,' he said, 'before you are again permitted a garment.' I trembled, naked.
The third man went to the table, that on which rested the attachA© case. He removed an object from the case. I gasped in terror. He handed it to the man in front of me. It was a whip. It had a single, stout, coiled lash.
'What do you think your name was?' he asked.
'Doreen,' I said. 'Doreen Williamson!' That had seemed a strange way to inquire my name, surely. Too, they knew so much about me. They must have known my name. What did he mean then, 'What did I think my name was?'
'Well, Doreen,' he said, 'do you still remember Harper' s Dictionary of Classical Literature and Antiquities?'
'Yes,' I said. The way he had said my name somehow alarmed me. It was almost as though that name might not be mine, really. It was almost as though he had simply, perhaps, primarily as a convenience for himself, decided to call me that, if only for the time.
'Fetch it,' he said.
I looked at the whip. I leap to my feet, in a jangle of bells, and hurried to the place where the book was. In a moment I had it and had returned, and, holding the book, knelt again before him.
'Kiss it,' he said.
I did so.
'Put it down,' he said, 'to the side.'
I did so.
