Again, confusion, inner contradictions coming to the surface. But I wasn’t about to let them spoil what we had here. I touched my finger to his lips. “Patience,” I said, as lovingly as possible. “Whether we’re rock or not. This is big stuff for mere people.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m pushing again.”
“I wouldn’t have known how good a lover you are,” I said, “if you hadn’t been a little pushy.”
I napped on the trip back to Shrinktown. The tractor found its way home like a faithful horse. Charles nudged me two hours before our arrival and I came awake apologizing. I didn’t want him to feel neglected. I turned to watch the short rooster tail of dust behind, then faced Charles in the driver’s seat. “Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For being pushy.” I was about to say, “For making a woman out of me,” but the humor might not have been obvious, and I didn’t want him to think I was being flippant about what had happened.
“I’m good at that,” he said.
“You’re good at a lot of things.”
I had promised my family I would spend time at Ylla, my home station, before returning to school. There was a week left for that, but I had to go to Durrey to catch the main loop trains north. Charles would stay in Shrinktown a few more days.
We parked the tractor in the motor pool garage and kissed passionately, then walked to the Shrinktown station, promising to get together when school resumed.
When I got back to Durrey, Diane Johara — again my roommate — opened the door and smiled expectantly at me. “How was he?” she asked. “Who?”
“Charles Franklin.”
I had told her I was going on a trip Up but hadn’t given any specifics. “Have you been snooping?” I asked.
“Not at all. While I was out at the family farm, our room took messages. One of them is from a Charles at Shrinktown depot. Where’s your slate?”
I grimaced, remembering I had left my slate in the tractor by accident. Maybe that was why Charles was calling. “I’ve misplaced it,” I said.
Diane lifted an eyebrow. “I looked at the list when we got back. The same Charles we suffered with at UMS, I assume.”
“We went fossil-hunting,” I said.
“For three days …?”
“Your nose is sharp, Diane,” I said.
She followed me into my curtained area. I pulled the cot from the wall and flopped my case on the blanket.
“He seemed very nice,” Diane said.
“You want gory details?” I asked, exasperated.
Diane shrugged. “Confession is good for the soul.”
“You must have had a boring time at the farm.”
“The farm is always a dusting bore. Nothing but brothers and married cousins. But a great swimming hole. You should come with me sometime. Might meet someone you like. You’d be good for our family, Casseia.”
“What makes you think I’d transfer my contract?”
“We have so much to offer,” she said brightly.
“You’re a top pain, Diane.” I unpacked quickly and folded everything into drawers. The thought of being alone for the rest of the vacation seemed bleak.
“Any good males in your family?” she asked. “I’d transfer contracts… for someone like Charles.”
A few months before, I would have stuck my tongue out at her, or thrown a pillow. Somehow that seemed undignified. I had a lover — was a lover — and that demanded maturity in some ways even more than being in the UMS action did.
“All right. I went with Charles to a family station,” I admitted. “He’s nice.”
“He’s pretty,” Diane said wistfully. “I’m happy for you, Casseia.”
I rolled up my bag. “Can I listen to my messages in private?”
“Now you can,” Diane said.
The message from Charles made my heart pound. He was still pushing.
An hour after arriving at Shrinktown, Charles had recorded, “You left your slate in my bag. I’m sending it to your home station now. I just wanted to make sure you understand that I’m serious. I love you and I don’t think I’ll ever find another woman like you. I know you need time. But I know we can share our dreams. I miss you already.”
He was more impressed with me than I was. I sat on the edge of the cot, scared out of my wits.
I lay awake that night, aroused by the floating memories of Charles. It had been so confusing and so wonderful, but I knew I was too young to get married. Some did lawbond at my age: those who had morphed their futures since second form, who knew what they wanted and how to get it.
If I told Charles I did not wish to marry now, he would smile and say, “You have all the time you need.” And that wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear. The truth was, what needed to mature in me was my whole approach to mixing the inner life with the outer. What if Charles was not ideally suited for me? Why settle for something less than the best?
I shook my head bitterly, feeling so very selfish and even treasonous. Charles had given me everything. How could I refuse?
How could I think such thoughts and yet still profess, even to myself, that I loved him?
I sent a text message back, not trusting my voice: The time at Trés Haut Médoc was lovely. I’ll treasure it always. I can’t talk about going lawbond because I am much less sure of myself than you seem to be. I want to see you as soon as possible. We need to get together with our friends and do all sorts of things before we can even think about commitment, don’t you agree?
I signed off with Love, Casseia Majumdar. I had signed letters to distant relatives that way. Not I love you, a strong declaration, but simply, tersely, Love. Charles would be hurt by that. It hurt me to write it and not change it…
But I sent the message. I left a farewell message on the room for Diane, who was staying at Durrey to study in privacy.
Then I boarded the train to North Solis . I leaned my head against the double-paned glass and looked out at nighttime Mars, at Phobos like, a dull searchlight above the glooming hills west of Durrey.
I am frightened, I told myself. I can never again be what I was. I can never be to another what I was to Charles. Something has ended and I am afraid.
I made the trip across Claritas Fossae back to Jiddah Pla-num and Ylla, the bosom of my family, greeting my parents and brother with affection, falsely trying to convey a jaunty air of self-assurance, everything’s fine here, I’m just the same as always. But I’m a lover now, Father. Mom, I’ve had a man, and it was wonderful… I mean, he was wonderful, and I think I’m in love, but it’s going very fast, and God I wish I could talk to you, really talk…
Charles did not respond for three days.
Perhaps he had plumbed the depths of my character and decided he had made a serious mistake. Perhaps he had seen through to my basic immaturity and insincerity and decided to write me off as a Shinktown sweet after all.
My slate was delivered by postal arbeiter, but I had already ordered another, not trusting the room to record all my messages. I could not concentrate on planning my next octant’s curriculum. I was a nervous wreck.
I hated the suspense and uncertainty. I had felt I was in control and had lost that control and now it was my turn to be played on the line like a fish. Irritation turned to numb sadness. But I did not call him.
At the end of three days, as I undressed for a very lonely bed, Charles called me direct.
I robed and took his call in my room. His image came clear as life over my bed. He looked exhausted and sounded devastated and his face was ghostly pale. “I’m really sorry I’ve been out of touch,” he said. “I wish we could talk in person. It’s been a nightmare here.”
“What’s wrong?‘ I asked.
“Our BM has had all of its Earth contracts severed. I had to fly to McAuliff Valley for a family meeting. I’m there now. God, I’m sorry, you must have thought — ”