But Miss Smith did not attack. She unwrapped her wraparound, revealing one firm fresh breast, and tucked the knife into a flat holster under her arm. "I just wanted you to understand," she said.
"I would never have struck you," he said, numbed by both her weapon-readiness and the glimpse of her torso. But it sounded ridiculous, for there he stood with sword ready. He sheathed it quickly.
"Of course not. I checked your file, once I got your name straight. You were a tribal chieftain, but you never took a woman. What I meant was: understand about me. That I was wild once. I'm not really a crazy. Not when it counts."
"You--used the dagger?"
"When I saw you fighting those brutes--the blood--it was as though a dozen years had peeled away, and I was the gamin again. I found the knife in my hand, there in the cab."
"Twelve years! You fought as a small child?" Her mouth quirked. "How old do you think I am?"
"Nineteen." It was an unfortunate fact that most married women lost their beauty early. At fifteen they were highly desirable; ten years later they were faded. The unmarried lacked even that initial freshness. Miss Smith was obviously not in the first bloom, but still pretty enough.
"I am twenty-eight, according to Dr. Jones' best estimate. No one knows for sure, since I had no family."
Three years older than Neq himself? That was incredible. "Your breast says nineteen."
"When I was nineteen--" she said, mulling it over. "When I was nineteen, I met a warrior. A strong, dark man. Maybe you know of him. Sos--Sos the Rope?"
Neq shook his head. "I knew a Sos once, but he had no weapon. I don't know what happened to him."
"I would have gone nomad with him--if he had asked me." She thought for a moment, still breathing quickly. "I would have gone nomad with anyone."
This was all awkward, and Neq's hands were Clammy, and he didn't know what to say.
"I'm sorry," she said. "It was the blood, the action--it made me react in an uncivilized way. I shouldn't have shown you."
"I thought you were sick. In the cab."
"I was. Emotionally. Let's forget it."
They climbed back into the truck, but he didn't forget it. He kept trying to coincide that ripe breast with her advanced age. What secret did the crazies have, to preserve a woman so?
And her knife. That motion had been swift and sure. She had run wild once; such talents were not readily come by, and a woman did not carry a weapon unless she knew how to use it.
Dr. Jones had said that many crazies including himself had once been nomads. This was one such.
They stopped and had a supper heated on the engine--that saved time and fuel--before he brought himself to the point. "Why did you come with me?"
"The real reason? As opposed to the one I claimed?"
He nodded.
"I suppose I still crave what I can't have. A way of life, a--a freedom from responsibility. A--a man."
A half-pleasant chill went through him. "There are crazy men."
"A man," she said with emphasis. "Like you." "Are--are you asking for my bracelet?"
Even in the dusk he could see the flush rise to her face, and he hoped his own cheeks were not betraying him as mercilessly. "A woman doesn't ask."
His heart was beating, and suddenly he desired her intensely despite her age and her crazy ways. She had asked, in her fashion, and she was more approachable than the women he had encountered before. Perhaps because of the very things that had seemed to put her beyond any such connection. A literate, knife-bearing, twenty-eight year old crazy!
He had come to know her as a person before seriously considering her as a potential sex object, and that made a considerable difference. Three days... and that was longer than he had known any other woman this intimately... except Nemi.
"I never gave my bracelet--even for a night."
"I know. But I don't know why."
"I--was afraid of being refused." He had never spoken this truth before. "Or that it wouldn't work."
"Would that be so bad? To--fail?" Now he could see her pulse actually making the clothing quiver rhythmically. She was as wrought up about this conversation as he was. That helped, in a way... and hurt, in another way.
"I don't know." It made no sense, intellectually, for he could face defeat in the circle without such shame. But with a woman, his fear seemed insurmountable.
"You are handsome enough, strong enough," she said. "I don't think I've seen a more comely nomad. And you sing beautifully. I don't think you would be refused."
He studied her yet again, comprehending her meaning. It was darker now, but his night vision illuminated her more clearly than ever. He was shivering With tension and incredulous passion. Slowly he reached his right hand over to his left wrist, touching the gold band there.
She did not move. Her eyes were on his hands.
He grasped the bracelet, twisting. It slid about his wrist but did not come away. He would have to spring it out a little, for that. But his hand would not cooperate.
Miss Smith watched him, the flush remaining on her face. It enhanced her beauty.
Neq forced his fingers apart as though he were straining at hand-wrestling and hooked them into the open section of the band. Slowly he applied pressure. Sweat trickled down his neck. His arm jerked nervously.
At last he got the metal off. His wrist felt naked, cold. He lifted the bracelet, seeing the sweat marks on it. He wiped it ineffectively on his shirt, trying to make it clean. Then, inch by inch, he carried it toward her.
Miss Smith raised her left hand. Unsteadily their two arms came together. The gold touched her wrist.
And she snatched her arm away. "No--no--I can't!" she cried.
Neq was left with his bracelet extended, refused. It was the very thing he had feared, all these years.
"Oh Neq, I'm sorry!" she said. "I didn't mean it like that. I didn't know this would happen."
Neq remained with the bracelet extended, his eyes fixed on it. He didn't know how he felt.
"It isn't what you think," she said. "I--I'll take it. The first shock..." She raised her wrist again... and dropped it. "I can'tl"
Slowly Neq brought the band back to his own arm, and clasped it there.
"I'm ashamed," she said. "I never thought--please, don't be angry."
"I'm not angry," he said around a thick tongue.
"I mean--don't feel rejected. It's me, not you. I never--I--I'm worse than you. Oh, that sounds awful!"
"You never had a man?" Neq discovered that analyzing her problem was much easier than doing something about his own.
"Never." She forced a laugh. "If I had been a normal nomad, I'd be a grandmother by now."
Not far from the truth. "Not even this Sos?"
"I don't think he was ever really aware of me. He had some nomad woman on his mind; that's why he came to the school."
"I guess it's all right," he said after a pause.
"I don't understand." She spoke more freely now that the crisis had passed.
"I didn't really want to give you my bracelet. I Just wanted to see if I could do it. So that I wouldn't have to see myself as a coward."
"Oh."
He saw that he had been cruel. And it had been a lie. "I don't mean that I don't want you. It's the--the principle." Now he sounded like a crazy himself, and it was still a lie. "It's that you're old--older than I am. And a crazy."
"Yes." Yet she was not a crazy, not exactly. And had she been a full nomad, he would not have been able even to proffer his bracelet, ironically.
And her simple agreement to his lies and his half-lies made it worse. "You don't look old. If you hadn't told me--"
"Can't we let it drop?"
He should have been silent from the start. It would have spared her needless shame and improved his own image. He had failed--not in proffering the bracelet, but in trying to talk about it.