She did, of course, though she had no idea what he meant. Spiders were part of the human heritage. Even though there were none here, children learned of them in school as they learned of tigers and elephants and bears, almost mythical creatures of Manhome.
Sam went on. “The pattern links all the points it’s connected to. So we men go back in history and come up with a great hero, and we attach our memory there. Or maybe we just go back in time and come up with a fa … an uncle, and we attach our memory there. Then we swing forward and attach the other end of that idea to someone or something else. That’s what legends are for, to give us anchoring places in time. Else we live such little lives, China Wilm, like a bit of fluff adrift upon a great wind. We need anchors. If we have them, here and there we go in our minds, knowing this story and that, putting our web to this and that, spinning and spinning. Until, when we are done, we are all bound together in the same pattern. Without them, we are strangers to one another. With them, we know one another. We are spiders of the same ilk.” He laughed. “Silk. Spiders of the same silk.”
“But you said we had no legends on Hobbs Land.”
“We don’t. We have no common ground to tie us together. So, when I want to say to you, China Wilm, that I love you as the greatest lovers ever loved, I have no names to put to them. What are Heloise and Hero to us? I read their stories, and it means nothing to me. Who are Gercord Thrust and his fair Madain? Do the words make any picture in your mind?”
She shook her head, beginning to comprehend what he was saying. “So when my son Jeopardy seeks to tell Saturday Wilm how he feels, kissing her, he has no words.”
“Ah,” he said, something wicked and sharp-toothed rearing inside him at hearing her say, “my son.” Abruptly, all his easy way with her was aground upon that particular stone in his craw. “Perhaps he will say, ‘Saturday, I love you as my mother loves my father.’”
She flushed, not speaking, balking at the word he insisted upon using, finally agreeing, “Perhaps he will.”
“And do you?”
She became very quiet. Now his voice was as it used to be, harshly demanding. Now it was like those other times, when he had wanted something from her and she hadn’t known what. “Would you be here, Sam, if I didn’t love you?”
“How would I know? I don’t know who’s been here since I was here last.” He gestured at the room, her room, into which she could invite anyone she chose.
She could have told him, no one. Perhaps she should have told him, no one, letting him lapse again into that peacefulness he had shown earlier, but it wasn’t something he should have asked. It wasn’t the way things were done among the Wilms. If she said, no one, then he would say no one until now, how about tomorrow? And if she said, no one tomorrow, he would say, what about next year? And before she knew it, she would be eaten up for all time, pledging herself where no one should have to pledge herself. “Time spins, people change,” so ran one saying in an old language. “Vota errod, Erot vode.” Or that Gharm poet Maire was always quoting. “A vow of forever stands like grass/against the scythes of change.” People did change. Even she might.
“You are here now, Sam,” she said, knowing it would not satisfy him. Knowing nothing would satisfy him.
“You will not say,” he muttered, getting out of the bed and standing at the window to see the rain. “Well, I have no better Hobbs Land words to use than these: I love you, China Wilm, as a creely loves its legs.” And he burst into harsh laughter. “The words do not satisfy me, China Wilm. I need others. Perhaps, someday, I will find them.”
She did not laugh with him. He was, perhaps, not the same man she had known before, but he was not a new man either. Something dwelt in Samasnier Girat that dwelt in no one else left on Hobbs Land. Wandering around at night was not enough. Fighting monsters was not enough. Exploring the miraculous new lakes and forests—even the brand new ones over near Settlement Three that no one had ever seen before—was not enough. He wanted something she could not give him, something no one could give him, and for a moment she wondered why he was still here, why he had not gone away with the other malcontents, wishing he would go.
So, for a time, she had loved him as she longed to do, but now the gentle time was spoiled, leaving her hurting and close to tears. She resolved once again to stay away from Sam Girat.
• • •
• Shan, Bombi, and Volsa arrived in their flier at Settlement One and were met at the flier park by Sam in a surface vehicle.
“You didn’t need to do this,” said Volsa, admiring Sam from beneath her lashes and thinking that, had she not been High Baidee, she would have set herself at this man. “We could have walked over to the guest quarters.”
“Topman, I could not have walked,” said Bombi dramatically, falling about in not entirely pretended exhaustion. “I could have walked no farther than the nearest bathhouse. I am filthy. I want nothing but
