I said, "I can speak for Colin. Ireland. It's English-speaking. He thinks of himself as Irish."
Quentin said, "But he's not Irish."
I said, in a tone sharper than I wanted to use (okay, maybe I was still smarting about being left out of whatever secret Vanity and Quentin were sharing): "He picked Irish! That's the nationality he picked."
Vanity said, "Do we all get to pick nationalities? I'll be Spanish."
Her tone of voice was so light and gay that I had to laugh. So, I can't stay mad at her. I said playfully, "A Spanish redhead?"
"Everyone knows the Spaniards are the most romantic people on Earth. Spanish women get to knife their unfaithful lovers"She said to Quentin, "Nemo is Latin. I guess that makes you an Italian."
Quentin said, "Don't I get to pick, myself? The Ro-mani, whom you call the gypsies, retain the remnants of the Egyptian lore. All the true practitioners of the Art these days are Romani."
Vanity looked at me. "What about you, Amelia?"
"Easy," I said. "American. Neil Armstrong, Chuck Yeager, the Wright Brothers, and Sally Ride. What do they all have in common? Americans."
"Yuri Gagarin was Russian," said Vanity.
"Women in America carry guns and own businesses. They kick ass and they use rough language like
'kick ass' and nobody looks cross-eyed at them. American women are the greatest."
Vanity said, "Victor… ?"
Victor said, "We are picking a destination, not choosing nationalities. This conversation is irrelevant"
Vanity said, "Wherever we pick, we might be there for a long time. We may have to become natives. So which nationality would you pick, if you had to?"
Victor decided to play along. He did seem more easy and relaxed than the Victor I knew. Of course, the Victor I knew had spent every minute of his life inside what he thought of as a prison. Maybe this Victor was new.
He said, "Logically, from the way the question is asked, given that wording, only Amelia's answer is correct."
"Thanks!" I said. "But how can there be a right or wrong answer to a question of opinion?"
"The question was asked, which nationality would I choose? The question contains a false-to-facts assumption. Every nationality—with one exception—is something you are born into. It is not a matter of choice. One must be born Spanish to be Spanish, born Gypsy to be Gypsy. Americans are a self-selected group. Americans are people dedicated to a proposition that all men are created equal. It's a matter of choice."
Vanity said, "Can I be Spanish-American, then?"
I said, "If we are really going to pick a destination… ?"
Victor said, "I don't mind being back on topic. Yes?"
"I do not want to go to Australia."
Quentin smiled, and said, "It is not really peopled entirely with criminals, any more than Cornwall is all smugglers."
"A woman cannot own a gun there," I said.
"Why is that important?" said Quentin. "I hope we're not planning to shoot someone."
I said only: "The next Grendel gets it."
There was a moment of dull silence after that.
Victor said calmly, "I vote with Amelia. Only an armed man is free; anyone else is the ward or dependent of such a man. Besides, America is richer than Australia, bigger. Easier to blend in. We can hide."
Vanity said, "Hollywood. Everyone in the world watches the movies made in America. We can be famous:?
Quentin just laughed, and spread his hands. "The only people on Earth with no tradition and no lore, a people utterly cut off from the ancient masters. A land famed only for its materialism and lack of high culture. Fine. Not only am I outvoted, but we all are going to go wherever Vanity wants, because she is the only one who can steer the boat."
Vanity sat down on the bench, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She meditated for a moment, or maybe she slept, or maybe she entered another state of consciousness for which I have no name.
The Argent Nautilus leaped about, and sped like an arrow in another direction.
A ship—as huge as a city floating on the water—was spotted off the bow, came abreast of us, and was far astern in a matter of moments. I saw the giant ocean liner astern, a shadow on the bright horizon behind us, only a dot.
Vanity smiled, opening her eyes. "I asked for the biggest ship I could find, heading for New York. The Queen Elizabeth II Do you think they'll pick up four kids and a bird in a stranded motorboat? They might make us work, but maybe we have enough money to pay for tickets. Ap Cymru gave us a lot. A whole lot. I wonder why he gave us so much?"
1.
It was a palace.
I found it hard to believe that mortal men, the same race that lived in such humble circumstances in the fishing village of Abertwyi, could construct something so fair, and yet so mighty in size. If someone told me later that it was the handiwork of immortal elves, or the proud sons of Atlantis, I would have been less surprised. Of course, it was made by Englishmen, who probably have more than a touch of the blood of magical races in them. How many a sailor out of Bristol brought back a mermaid as his wife, whose fishtail dropped off, replaced by legs when the church bells rang on her wedding day?
Since the gods destroy the memories of men, we can be certain of no answer.
And do not tell me the sea people don't lust for their air-breathing cousins ashore! I came so narrowly close to being Mrs. Grendel Glum I nearly choked.
2.
Our suite was gigantic, at least five hundred square feet. Was that normal for cabins, or did other people have smaller ones? It was done all in a tan-and-gold color scheme, with two marble bathrooms and a salon separate from the two bedrooms. There was a staircase. We had our own staircase in the suite.
Aboard ship, there were at least three restaurants, a bar and grill, a discotheque, the most enormous swimming pool I had ever seen occupying deck after deck. My mind boggled at the idea of carrying, aboard a ship, a body of water large enough to row a boat across.
And there was a beautiful, beautiful gymnasium. The spa occupied at least a third of the deck, and I would estimate the deck area to be at least a thousand feet stem-to-stern and one hundred feet wide.
The vessel carried its own row of shops, and not just any shops. There was a Harrods on the promenade deck.
A library. Did I mention that the floating palace had its own library? A theater. Both a film theater and a Broadway show production, as if we had already arrived in New York, and were carrying part of that metropolis with us.
There was a statue made of gold in the middle of the restaurant dining room.
There was a series of lectures being given by authors. I attended one, but it was strange to think of an author being alive, and not being Greek or Latin. The author talked about things I did not understand, and the other people in the audience laughed at his witty comments, which made no sense to me. I assume they all knew about things, famous people or events, I had not been told about.
There was a parking garage for people who wanted to carry their cars across the Atlantic. I counted at least fifteen elevators, for people who did not want to walk up and down the ten decks. This vessel was taller than the Great Hall on the estate, taller than the church steeple in Abertwyi, taller than any building I had ever seen.
And there was television! There was no one to stop you from watching it if you went over the one-hour-a-week limit. There were over one hundred channels. The television in the room had a little box you could hold in your hand and make it change channels and control the volume. Victor could lie on his bed, and did not need to hold the little box in his hand to switch channels; he could emit the signals from his nervous system.