‘In a way. She was trapped in that life. It was extremely limited.’
‘And, of course, she was sexy.’
He flushed. ‘That’s my own affair, don’t you think?’
‘I think we’ve shared enough of ourselves that we can talk about it, Tasmin. Take it as agreed. She was sexy. She made you feel – powerful. Protective.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Did you ever really look at her, Tasmin? Did you really evaluate how much of her you liked? Did you make a conscious choice, based on how well you got along? Did you ever compare her with other women?’
He made an impatient gesture, which she immediately and correctly interpreted.
‘There weren’t any other women. You were completely tied up in yourself and your work, and you weren’t looking for someone who could live happily with you. She was pretty and sexy and she was doing a menial job, which you regarded with aristocratic distaste. She was there. She needed someone, and you responded.’
‘I suppose,’ he said, flushing. ‘You make it sound superficial, but all the conscious choice business is pretty cold-blooded, isn’t it?’
‘Is it? I don’t know, Tasmin. I’ve never been married. All I know is, given your nature, you probably take a lot of care in the fitting of your Tripsinger robes. You were probably very selective about picking a mule from the stables. I know you take infinite care in checking out your synthesizer, because I’ve seen you do it. After all, those things are important and essential to you. But according to you, you didn’t give that much care to seeking a wife. You simply found her, like a bit of crystal in your path. You let her get accustomed to you, let her learn to depend on you without ever making any conscious decision to do so. Then, having done that, you couldn’t in good conscience let her down.’
He glared at her. Nothing she had said was really incorrect, and yet she infuriated him.
‘You are admirable in many respects, Tasmin. And honorable. But you are sometimes so damn stubborn it takes my breath away.’
‘You’ve no right to say that,’ he blurted. ‘I left Deepsoil Five to find out why she died. I’ve traveled God knows how many miles trying to find out why she died. One thing led to another thing, and they all led to Harward Justin – him and his minions. You say Justin isn’t that responsible? Then you tell me why she died.’
‘She could have died, Tasmin, because she knew you were disappointed in her and she wanted to do something you would wholly approve of.’
‘You’re saying I killed her….’
‘I’m saying that when any of us get into relationships where one person totally depends on another, we kill something. Ourselves, perhaps. Or them.’
‘We got along!’
‘Of course you did! Good Lord, Tasmin, between you and Jamieson, I’ve heard all about your life together. You were in love with Jubal, and she was scared to death of it. You were fascinated by the Presences, and she was in sheer terror of them. You were always forgiving her for it. Always making excuses for her. Always patronizing her. She may have died because she wanted to live up to your expectations, Tas. Oh, maybe she was brou-sotted at the time, I hope so, so that she didn’t know what was coming – maybe in her fogged up mind she decided to do one marvelous thing that you would have to admire.’
He gasped at her, unable to find words.
‘It’s true. You were at least as responsible as anyone else. But all you want to do is blast someone to make yourself feel better. First it was Lim, but he was dead. Then it was me, but you decided it wasn’t my fault. Then it was Harward Justin, but he got killed without your help, much. Now who is it going to be? Some mutinous trooper who doesn’t know a Presence from a piece of rock salt?’
Donatella was crying, partly for herself. ‘Quit looking for someone to blame, Tasmin, and get on with your life….’ She understood his feelings very well. She had been through it herself, with Link. She got up and left him there, staring at the steam rising from the cup in front of him.
When the troops marched out, Tasmin did not go with them. He was outside the city, at the foot of the Emerald Eminence, singing with Bondri Gesel.
‘Donatella said it,’ he sang, ‘but it isn’t true….’
They sat in quiet sunlight while machines thundered in the city, clearing away rubble, finding bodies, occasionally finding one that lived. Tasmin couldn’t identify what was going on inside himself, a kind of freshness coming, as though someone had opened a window inside him so that a chill, pure wind blew into him. It hurt. It was very cold and it hurt.
‘It wasn’t the whole truth, what Donatella said.’ He gasped again. ‘You know about us, Bondri. With us – each of us sees the truth our own way, from our own totally egocentric point of view, and then we insist on that. It’s like kids, fighting. You did. I didn’t. You did, too. You viggies don’t have those kinds of arguments. When you sing it, it comes out, “He felt hurt that she seemed to do this, and she was wounded at his lack of consideration, but neither intended such an outcome.”
‘Yes, you perceive us properly,’ sang Bondri Gesel. ‘We would sing that, more or less.’
‘I guess that once the words of memory are set into our minds in a specific way, that’s how we remember. We can’t remember the thing happening, we just remember the words we told ourselves about it. I told my mother once that I didn’t want a blind woman for my mother, and she remembered that for years. Every time she remembered it, she cried. She said blind is what she was, and if I said what I did, it meant I didn’t want her. I don’t think that’s what I meant, and yet it’s true. She
