“They have different personalities,” Glory said. “You’d think that should be the same, too.”
“One would expect so,” I said, for hadn’t I expected just that? Time to change the subject. “Your mother says you have a litter box for Falija.”
“Yes. And she knows how to use it.”
“She has a very short tail. Hardly as long as my thumb. She has a poophole.” That’s what we all called it. It isn’t polite, but the more common words are abusive and contemptuous, and the correct terms occasion intense embarrassment among the Rueful, as though they referred to something esoteric and possibly blasphemous.
“Poophole is at least a specific vulgarity rather than generalized lewdness,” said Glory, grinning at me. She sometimes quotes me word for word. She remembers a lot of things people say, whole paragraphs that seem to stick in her mind like a caramel on teeth. Funny child. I loved her very much.
“Lou Ellen was with me when the lady gave me Falija,” Glory said, not looking at me. “I asked her to stay last night, but she wouldn’t. Whenever I ask her to stay, she says, ‘No, no, Glory. It’s all right. It’s a pretty path along the water and through the fields, and I keep looking for…things.’
“Grandma, what do you think she’s looking for? It’s a mile up to the notch where the bridge is and three miles from there, by the road, to Billy Ray’s farm. Lou Ellen says it doesn’t take her any time at all, so she has to have a secret way to cross the river. She never shared it with me, and we share everything, absolutely everything, but not that, and it hurts my feelings.”
I didn’t have to answer, because Falija had wakened. She reached up with a little paw and patted Glory’s chin, wiping off a tear. Then she licked the paw, and that made Glory smile and forget about Lou Ellen.
I didn’t forget, however, because I’d seen her in that weird dream yesterday. On the pier. Talking to the strange people, Falija’s parents. I didn’t believe that dream had been real, not at all, so perhaps I was going absolutely mad, instead of simply partially mad, an idea that for some time had seemed rather convincing.
I Am Naumi, with Fernwold
“I knew a woman, Naumi,” said Fernwold, who was sitting in hot water up to his chin. “Years ago.”
“Ah,” I replied, opening one eye. “And you’re just now remembering her? Why?”
“You just reminded me of her, somehow. Perhaps it’s the way the steam curls your hair around your ears. Hers did that, too. Or maybe I was just thinking of hot pools, and it reminded me of B’yurngrad. That’s where she was…is.”
I gritted my teeth at the thought of Ferni and his woman, reminding myself sternly that this obsession was a private one, never mentioned, never to be shared. Ferni had every right to be attracted to some woman, damn her, whoever she should be. “Who is this woman?” I asked, managing to sound interested.
“Set out to be a translator for the Diplomatic Corps. Got detoured into being a bondslave. Freak accident marooned her on B’yurngrad. Siblinghood picked her up, sent her into the wastelands to learn shamanism.”
“Did she have a name?” I asked, merely to show I was listening.
“M’urgi,” Fernwold said. “That’s what the shaman named her. I forget what it means.”
“Something mythic, no doubt.” I sat up a little so I could see the arrival and departure board by the door. I liked very much being with Ferni, but if he was going to talk about women, I would just as soon be somewhere else. Besides, nonplanetary transshipment points had a reputation for last-minute changes in boarding times.
In this case, it was no help. I still had entirely too much time. I let myself slip into the wet once again. This particular transshipment point, Gilfras Station, had been established by that ancient and honored race, the Pthas, only they knew how long ago. Its current crew mined comets for water and made a very good thing out of it, that is if everyone paid what Ferni and I had paid for a private bath, and why in heaven’s name had I done that!
Ferni mused, “A name that’s mythic? I suppose that’s possible. Last time I was among other Siblings, I heard the shaman died, and M’urgi was called to active duty, still on B’yurngrad.”
“How long since you’ve seen her?” I asked.
“Been with her? Oh, ten, eleven Earth-count years, I suppose. Maybe more.”
“Not unusual for you. I didn’t see you for a full five years after we left the academy.”
His forehead furrowed as he said tentatively, “I was busy, running about. That whole time is hazy.”
“And you’re wanting to go see…what? If you remember her correctly? If she remembers you?”
With a great thrashing of water, Fernwold sat up.
“There was something about her, Naumi! When I first saw her, I felt I’d known her for years. When we talked, I could have been talking to you, she was so familiar. She could have been your identical twin.”
“No she couldn’t!” It sounded rude even to me. I amended, “That is, not if she was female.”
“I don’t mean biologically.” Ferni subsided, letting the water flow over his chin once more, stopping just short of his lips. “Psychologically, maybe. Maybe nothing, just an addled mind seeking connections.” He stared moodily into the water, seeking answers. “I applied for some leave to go find her a few years back. They said no. She was busy, too busy to be interrupted. The Siblinghood is worse than the Omnionts, I swear. At least the Omnionts let you go after fifteen years.”
“Do you want to be let go?” And oh, wouldn’t I bless and curse the day that happened. If Ferni were just…elsewhere, where he could be remembered with joy and without this constant internal battle not to get personally involved!
“That’s not what I meant!”
Silence except for the
