"I'm not surprised," said Wade.
"He has some excuse; his wife has become a Rwonist."
"Oh? Maybe she left him because of the kind of man he is."
"You could argue either way."
"How does Mrs. de Retske find the perfect husband?"
Molly shrugged."I haven't seen her since. Say, Eric, aren't you on some international commission to do with the Rwons?" '
"Yes. That's the kind of thing that makes it tough for us."
"How?"
"Well, you can't really blame the Rwons because they treat a woman better than any terran husband. Always kind and considerate and reliable; always appreciative of improvements in the house; always admiring the new hat or coiffure." Wade shot an appraising glance at his cousin, five years his senior."You could do worse yourself."
"Thanks, but if I have to put up with another man, I want a man."
Wade sighed."You always were a lusty wench. Most women are glad to put up with a Rwon's shortcomings for the other benefits."
"Besides," said Molly Kirkland, "I don't care to be anybody's possession —anybody's slave."
"Oh, that's nominal, and purely voluntary as far as Earthwomen are concerned. They have this caste-system in. which everybody's the property of a member of a higher caste. But it's a mild form of slavery; you can't make your 'property' work for you."
"How do they cause your commission trouble?"
"Well," said Wade, wiping his high forehead (for the Kessler's air-conditioner had long since given up its mechanical ghost), "you can see how a man like Bert de Retske would feel. He's just an ordinary human being with the usual lusts and vices, and bad temper, and his wife deserts him for an extra-terrestrial monkey. Even though it's not living in sin, he feels he's the victim of unfair competition, and wants us to erect a marital tariff-wall around the earth. On the other hand, though the Rwons have some odd customs, they're peaceable and friendly and have clever ideas we can use. So v/e don't want to antagonize them, see?"
"I see."
"By the way, what's become of my old girl-friend, Vida Honeth?" said Wade, his heart pounding despite his ostentatious nonchalance.
"What we've been talking about."
"Huh?"
"She's become a Rwonist too."
"O-oh!" said Wade, staring at the instrument-panel. He felt as if a stick of plutonium had just gone off in his viscera, but kept his voice steady. He also felt a sneaking sympathy for the disreputable de Retske."I ran into her uncle last year at a conference on extra-terrestrial relations, and he told me she hadn't married."
"That's why, though her family doesn't like to talk about it... What are you staring around like that for? Hoping for a glimpse of Vida?"
Damn, thought Wade. He should have remembered his cousin's shrewdness. With an effort he refrained from peering about the streets of Clarksburg. Molly continued: "It's a waste of time anyway."
"You mean she's not living in the house at Aquilon?"
"Oh, she's there. But she has the house to herself because none of her family will come while it is there—"
"A prejudiced attitude," interrupted Wade, "but dog my cats if I don't see their point of view."
"As I was saying, she doesn't come into Clarksburg because she feels the people here look on her as the victim of some horrible vice. It drives in and does the marketing instead."
"Hmm. Is this the only Rwon in the county?"
"The only one I know of."
"Then it must be the one I saw in Greene's this morning. Oh, well, it doesn't matter," said Wade with forced levity as Molly parked."I refuse to cope with the Rwonan problem on my own time."
Molly shot him a glance of irony and got out to shop.
THREE HOURS later, Eric Wade was driving back towards Lake Scajadaga to pick up his three savages. He expected to find Will Shapiro and his wife somewhat limp from their experience, but Will had asked for it.
The matter of Vida Honeth continued to churn his thoughts. His first reaction had been that he had lost all interest in her; she might as well have died. However, with the passage of time, the image of the small dark girl began to edge back into his consciousness for all he wished to shut her out.
(Girl? She was three years younger than he, which would make her thirty-six or seven. Say "woman.")
Rolling out of Clarksburg, he shifted the Tecumseh into automatic as he reached the state highway. A moment later he shifted back into manual and whirled the car, tires squealing, on to the dirt road that ran past the hamlet of Aquilon. He told himself that he was merely saving a couple of miles, but he knew this to be a singularly transparent excuse.
Five minutes later Wade slowed down for the Honeth driveway/He was aware of a curious pressure within himself, as if conflicting emotions had caused the blood in his skull to boil. He struck the steering-wheel with his fist.
The leading emotion of which he was aware was. a burning curiosity. He must look into this matter. If he did not, he would probably never see Vida Honeth again and never know just what was going on and how he, himself, really felt. And then there was a twinge of chauvinistic planetary jealousy. A human husband, even one of another race or nation, he could have wished well to; but for her to take up with a Rwon seemed like a waste of good womanhood.
The car nosed into the driveway and crept up the long hill and around the bend, flanked by trees, to the house. This was a field-stone farmhouse built in 1998 and remodelled in 2035.
Fie rang the door-bell. The emotions might still churn within, but the suave facade was now that of Dr. Eric Wade, Professor of Political Science and counsellor to the great of the earth.
As the day was very hot for September, the entrance was barred by the screen-door only. Wade had a glimpse of a small person in jeans, with a kind of turban around her head. As his eyes adjusted to the light of the interior, it seemed to him that Vida did not look a day older than the last time he had seen her, thirteen years before. (Maybe the screen has a softening effect, he. thought. )
Then came the words: "Why, Eric! For heaven's sake! Come in, but why didn't you 'phone so as not to catch me in the middle of housecleaning?"
He shook her small firm hand and was led in. As he stood in the archway opening into the living-room, a sound from the rear came to his ears. In came the Rwon he had seen in Greene's that morning. Vida said: "Eric, this is my friend, Zdaor. Dear, this is Professor Eric Wade. Maybe you've heard of him?"
"I have indeed," said the tinny voice; "it is a great pleasure."
The clawed hand, something like a bird's foot, came smoothly out to grasp Wade's hand. Vida said: "You two wait here while I go to make myself look human. Zdaor, get Dr. Wade a drink. He's an old friend."
Zdaor said: "What would you like, Pi'ofethor? Scotch? Rye..."
WADE OPTED for rye-on-rocks. While waiting he prowled around looking at books and magazines. He had the habit of many intellectuals of minutely inspecting the books of every new house he entered, as if he could thereby gain an insight into the owner's personality. Most of these books were in a Rwonan language, written with a signary of dots and bars. Wade could make out only an occasional word. His ears made him aware of the return of the Rwon with refreshments.
"I must brush up on my languages," he said with an insincere smile."I tried Enyau once, but all those prefixes and affixes and suffixes and infixes defeated me."
Zdaor spread a hand in a shrugging gesture, though a genuine shrug was impossible to it because its arms were firmly jointed to its skeleton instead of being loosely hung in muscle like those of a terran mammal."It is no worse than some of your terran tongues. I do not sink any of our languages are so highly inflected as the Bantu tongues, or have so many rules as Arabic, or such irregular spelling as your own English. But before talking let us drink. Ceswo to interplanetary friendship!"