“I am sorry,” said Ponter, regaining his control. He used his long thumb to wipe the tears from his eyes. “It is just that sometimes your people do have ridiculous ideas.” He smiled. “When you talk about hidden ovulation, you mean that human females do not have genital swelling when they are in heat, right?”
Mary nodded. “Chimps and bonobos do; so do gorillas and most other primates.”
“But humans did not stop having such swelling in order to hide ovulation,” said Ponter. “Genital swelling disappeared when it was no longer an effective signal. It disappeared when the climate got colder and humans started wearing clothing. That sort of visual display, based on engorging tissues with fluid, is energetically expensive; there was no value in maintaining it once we were covering our bodies with animal hides. But, at least for my people, ovulation was still obvious due to smell.”
“You can smell ovulation, as well as menstruation?” asked Reuben.
“The … chemicals … associated with them, yes.”
“Pheromones,” supplied Reuben.
Mary nodded slowly. “And so,” she said, as much to Ponter as to herself, “males could go off for weeks at a time without worrying about their females being impregnated by somebody else.”
“That is right,” said Ponter. “But there is more to it than that.”
“Yes?” said Mary.
“We say now that the reason our male ancestors—I think you have the same metaphor—‘headed for the hills’ was because of the, ah, unpleasantness of females during Last Five.”
“Last Five?” said Louise.
“The last five days of the month; the time leading up to the beginning of their periods.”
“Oh,” said Reuben. “PMS. Premenstrual syndrome.”
“Yes,” said Ponter. “But, of course, that is not the real reason.” He shrugged a little. “My daughter Jasmel is studying pre-generation-one history; she explained it to me. What really happened was that men used to fight constantly over access to women. But, as Mare has noted, the only time access to women is evolutionarily important is during the part of each month when they might become pregnant. Since all women’s cycles were synchronized, men got along much better for most of the month if they retreated from females, only to return as a group when it was reproductively important that they do so. It was not female unpleasantness that led to the split; it was male violence.”
Mary nodded. It had been years since she’d co-taught that course on Sexual Power Relationships, but it seemed downright typicaclass="underline" men causing the problem and blaming women for it. Mary doubted she’d ever meet a female from Ponter’s world, but, at that moment, she felt real affinity with her Neanderthal sisters.
Chapter 37
“Healthy day, Daklar,” said Jasmel, coming through the door to the house. Although Jasmel Ket and Daklar Bolbay still shared a home, they had not spoken much since the dooslarm basadlarm.
“Healthy day,” repeated Bolbay, without warmth. “If you—” Her nostrils dilated. “You’re not alone.”
Adikor came through the door as well. “Healthy day,” he said.
Bolbay looked at Jasmel. “More treachery, child?”
“It’s not treachery,” Jasmel said. “It’s concern—for you, and for my father.”
“What do you want of me?” said Bolbay, looking through narrowed eyes at Adikor.
“The truth,” he said. “Just the truth.”
“About what?”
“About you. About why you are pursuing me.”
“I’m not the one under investigation,” said Bolbay.
“No,” agreed Adikor. “Not yet. But that may change.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I am prepared to have you served with documents of my own,” said Adikor.
“On what basis?”
“On the basis that you are unlawfully interfering with my life.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Adikor shrugged. “We’ll let an adjudicator decide that.”
“It’s a transparent attempt to stall the process that will lead to your sterilization,” said Bolbay. “Anyone can see that.”
“If it is—if it is that transparent, that flimsy—then an adjudicator will dismiss the matter … but not before I have had a chance to question you.”
“Question me? About what?”
“About your motive. About why you are doing this to me.”
Bolbay looked at Jasmel. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“It was also,” said Jasmel, “my idea that we come here first, before Adikor proceeded with the accusation. This is a family matter: you, Daklar, were my mother’s woman-mate, and Adikor here is my father’s man-mate. You have been through a lot, Daklar—we all have—with the loss of my mother.”
“This has nothing to do with Klast!” snapped Bolbay. “Nothing.” She looked at Adikor. “It’s about him.”
“Why?” said Adikor. “Why is it about me?”
Bolbay shook her head again. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Yes, we do,” said Adikor. “And you will answer my questions here, or you will answer them in front of an adjudicator. But you will answer them.”
“You’re bluffing,” said Bolbay.
Adikor raised his left arm, with his wrist facing toward her. “Is your name Daklar Bolbay, and do you reside here in Saldak Center?”
“I won’t accept documents from you.”
“You’re just delaying the inevitable,” said Adikor. “I will get a judicial server—who can upload to your implant whether you pull out the control bud or not.” A pause. “I say again, Are you Daklar Bolbay, and do you reside here in Saldak Center?”
“You would really do this?” said Bolbay. “You would really drag me before an adjudicator?”
“As you have dragged me,” said Adikor.
“Please,” said Jasmel. “Just tell him. It’s better this way—better for you.”
Adikor crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well?”
“I’ve nothing to say,” Bolbay replied.
Jasmel let out a great, long sigh. “Ask her,” she said softly when it was done, “about her man-mate.”
“You don’t know anything about that,” snapped Bolbay.
“Don’t I?” said Jasmel. “How did you learn that Adikor was the one who had hit my father?”
Bolbay said nothing.
“Obviously, Klast told you,” said Jasmel.
“Klast was my woman-mate,” said Bolbay, defiantly. “She didn’t keep secrets from me.”
“And she was my mother,” said Jasmel. “Neither did she keep them from me.”
“But … she … I …” Bolbay trailed off.
“Tell me about your man-mate,” said Adikor. “I—I don’t think I’ve ever met him, have I?”
Bolbay shook her head slowly. “No. He’s been gone for a long time; we separated long ago.”
“And that’s why you don’t have children of your own?” asked Adikor, gently.
“You’re so smug,” replied Bolbay. “You think it’s that simple? I couldn’t keep a mate, and so I never reproduced? Is that what you think?”
“I don’t think anything,” said Adikor.
“I would have been a good mother,” said Bolbay, perhaps as much to herself as to Adikor. “Ask Jasmel. Ask Megameg. Since Klast died, I’ve looked after them wonderfully. Isn’t that so, Jasmel? Isn’t that so?”
Jasmel nodded. “But you’re a 145, just like Ponter and Klast. Just like Adikor. You might still be able to have a child of your own. The dates for Two becoming One will be shifted again next year; you could …”
Adikor’s eyebrow rolled up. “It would be your last chance, wouldn’t it? You’ll be 520 months old—forty years—next year, just like me. You might have a child then, as part of generation 149, but certainly not ten years later, when generation 150 will be born.”