built.
'So, the problem is there are only four newcomers who have been here for less than a year. This means that we are still one person short.'
I wait for the proverbial other shoe. Cord sits down and doesn't say any more and I realize he has decided not to go through with it. And that puts the burden squarely on me. There are some people who are more than two years away from having a plot of their own, who are not newcomers. I don't know how many there are, but I'm thinking of people like Aron's daughter. But Aron is going to want to think about offering Lucille Fahey a chance to earn hazard credit at the Water Reclamation Project. So I have to be careful how to introduce it. In fact, I don't have any idea how to introduce it. I must wait for that magic moment.
Leo says, 'Perhaps the fifth person should be whoever has the least time here among the people who've been here for more than a year.'
Philippa says, 'Everybody who has been here for more than six months has been here for 32 months, at least.' Of course, because we always get newcomers at the beginning of the shipping cycle from Earth. We used to get twenty, thirty people at a time, but now they go to Communes which aren't well established.
Cord stands up again.
Aron recognizes him.
'Aron,' Cord says, 'Is it true that we consider everybody in the Commune equal?'
Aron nods. I look a Philippa. Her mouth is set.
'Well, has anyone talked to the newcomers about whether or not they particularly want to go?'
Aron says as if talking to a child. 'No one wants to go, Cord.'
'So we send the newcomers? Can we consider them equal?'
Aron looks pained. After a moment Leo says, 'The Council has to look at the good of the Commune. Newcomers are least likely to be irreplaceable.'
Cord says, 'Well, Leo, I'm intrigued to find out that you consider yourself irreplaceable.'
'I don't consider myself irreplaceable,' Leo says, stuttering a bit, 'I mispoke, but everyone knows what I meant, that landholders are unable to leave their holdings. Not like a newcomer, who doesn't have a side business and isn't trying to keep something going. And it would give a newcomer a chance to accumulate a good chunk of credit before getting their holding. And that would be helpful. It's actually a good opportunity, better than just living in the dorms, trying to get established.'
Cord nodded. 'So, then landholders can't go because our pottery kilns will be empty and the rest of us won't have breakfast bowls. No one can contest the logic of that. But I've thought of another group which has more than two years until they get their holdings. Young people, like Lucille Fahey.'
I see Aron's face tighten and I close my eyes. Cord has effectively ruined my chance of introducing the concept diplomatically. And when Cord says it I see Aron's face tighten and I know he'll stop this.
'Cord,' he says, 'the water reclamation project is hazardous duty. This commune will not send children.'
I look back at the door in time to see Alexi leave.
The meeting ends fifteen minutes later with the question of who is going to the water reclamation project still unanswered. The feeling at the end of the meeting is ugly.
I leave the cafeteria and turn left towards the dorms instead of right towards home.
I haven't been in the dorms in six years, and I've forgotten how sparse they were; two bunk beds, a couple of dressers and a closet. Bathrooms down the hall. They're mostly empty, when I first came they were full. The commune had just started giving out private holdings-during the Cleansing Winds Campaign the desire for a private holding had been seen as a desire to own more than other people, to have for oneself. Now they hold mostly newcomers and a few single men who for one reason or another live there. Most people live one or two to a room that used to hold four or more.
'Alexi Dormov?' I say a couple of times, and people point. I finally knock on a door. There's no answer. I knock again and say, 'Alexi?'
After a moment I hear a rustle, a foot hitting the floor. Then the door opens and Alexi is standing there.
'Martine?' he says.
'I saw you at the meeting.'
He nods, 'Yeah. Congratulations. You look nice.'
I'm a little dressed up, a cotton blouse and slacks. I look past him into the room.
'Come in,' he says.
It's painfully bare. He lives alone, there's nothing on the walls. The bottom bunk of one of the bunkbeds has sheets and a blanket on it, but it's unmade. Everything else is neat as a pin.
I sit down on the bare mattress. He sits down on the bed. 'I don't have coffee or anything to offer,' he says.
'I didn't expect anything,' I say. 'Alexi-'
'Don't worry about it,' he says, 'I appreciate what you've done already. I was there, I saw what it was like. They're not likely to be interested in my problems, not when the alternative is sending their own children. And I'd be the same way, if it were Theresa who was involved.'
'There might be-'
'It's all right,' he insists, 'it's only two years. It's not going to be as bad as the army, at least they won't be shooting at me.'
'There's another way,' I say.
'There is no other way,' Alexi says.
'We could get married,' I say. I mean to present it as a business proposition, but instead my voice comes out small, a bit pleading.
'What?' he says mildly.
'We could get married. If we were married, you'd be a landholder.'
'I can't ask you to do that,' he says.
'It wouldn't be a real marriage, of course,' I say. 'There are two bedrooms, we can add a third for Theresa. And if you wanted to end it, after a couple of years, of course, that would be fine.'
He shakes his head.
'Why not?' I say, in that little pleading voice I find so absurd.
'I can't,' he says, 'I can't. Martine, your beautiful house, all you've worked for. You're so, so self-sufficient. I'm nothing, just some refugee. Lenin and Mao Zedong, I can't believe this.'
'It's getting to be a bit much for one person,' I say. 'And you could establish a side business, we don't have much in the way of technicians here, you'd have more work than you knew what to do with.'
'This wasn't what I had in mind,' he says. 'Not at all.'
I shrug. 'Things happen. Think about it. Don't make up your mind, we'll talk about it tomorrow. But remember, we should have decided before next council meeting.'
'That's only a month,' he says.
I know.
'Marriage is a big thing,' he adds.
'I've been married before,' I say.
'I know. I asked everybody everything about you.' I must look non-plussed because he explains, 'I know you were a Captain. I know you're from West Virginia, I know you hated the commune when you were first here, I know you're almost never sick, you never had any children and that you're ex-husband is still in the Army and that he's stationed in California. People respect you, a lot of people came to the meeting tonight just to vote for you.'
'How did you know Evan's in California?' I ask.
'Claire, one of the newcomers from two years ago, she works in transmissions. She told me you got mail forwarded from an E. Jansch from some base in Southern California.'
I occasionally get stuff from Evan, not much, not often, and I usually pitch it.
'I admire you a lot,' he says. 'I don't want your charity, I want, well to start, I want your respect.'
'It wouldn't be charity, Dormov,' I say. 'I get up some mornings at 3:30, 4:00 a.m., and I'd expect you to do the same.'
He doesn't say anything.
