"Ceswo. That's good!"
"It is hot, thir. And our conditioner is in Clarksburg undergoing repairs. But tell me, Professor Wade, are you not a member of the Advisory Commission on Interplanetary Relationships?"
"That's right."
"Ah." The Rwon smiled (an artificial gesture, as the true Rwonan smile was performed by twitching the ears)."What will your distinguished Commission advise the Assembly about the new bill to regulate the residence of Rwons on earth?"
Here we go again, thought Wade."We haven't completed our report yet. And you know terran politicians; they may ignore it. Have you any suggestions?"
"Oh, yes, if I may present them wissout boring you. In the first place, we contend..."
The argument was fluent, cogent, and delivered with charming adroitness. The only trouble was that Wade had heard it all before in the course of his work on the Commission. He was glad when Vida came back in a proper dress and hair-do. She was still a damned pretty woman, thought Wade, though now he could see hints of age, such as gray hairs among the black.
"Oh, Zdaor!" she said."Eric's heard all that. I want to talk about him. I was sorry to hear about your wife, Eric; you have children, haven't you?"
"Three little monsters."
"What a thing to say! What are they like?"
"The older boy's a muscular, extraverted young hellion; the younger's a maladjusted genius who has to do everything differently from everybody else. As for the little girl..."
For a while the talk ran upon such personalia: relatives, friends, jobs, money, personal adventures and accomplishments. Then, subtly, Zdaor brought the talk back to human-Rwon-an relationships. Vida kept refilling the glasses before Wade had a chance to half-empty his.
ERIC WADE'S tensions relaxed. The room swam gently. If he could only stop this damned dull argument about the rights of wrongs—he meant the rights of Rwons—things would be perfect. Somewhere along the line he resolved not to drink any more, because he was going to have to drive on manual. But that resolution got mislaid along with his recollection of the phenomenal drinking-capacity of Rwons.
"... but," Zdaor was saying, "you admit we do no harm. We abide by your terran laws and do not upthet your economic systems. Why, then, all these hostile new restrictions? Anybody would sink—"
"I'll tell you!" shouted Wade, banging the wooden arm of the ancient Morris-chair. The only way to stop this individual would be to give it the unpalatable truth. Wade realized that he was shouting and repeated in a lower tone: "I'll tell you, Zdaor old pal." With effort he focussed on the gray baboon-like face."You're an example yourself."
"How can that be? I take care to offend no one—"
"Look. Itsh—it's like this. You know, my wife died last year. Damn fine wife. We didn't always get along, but that was as much my fault as hers."
"I do not see the connection."
"Well, she left me with three kids. Prob'ly grow up to be good citizens, but meantime they drive me nuts. Utterly, ^absolutely, indubitably psychotic. Never was much good at handling them."
"I still do not thee—-"
"Tried getting housekeepers, or boarding 'em out with relatives. Nothing works. My damned brother's in Africa, frinstance, and housekeepers are all thieves or incompetents. What's the answer? Get a new wife. Eligible widower, good salary. Shouldn' have trouble. What do I do? Start looking up all my old girl-friends of fifteen-twenty years ago. Look up Vida here. What do I find? You tell me, Zdaor old pal."
"Ah, I see. But, my friend, why blame me? If she had not come into my possession, she would probably have married another earthman and be just as inaccessible."
"And maybe not. How long you two been—uh—going together?"
"Four years last May," said Vida."Eric, can't we talk about something less embarrassing?"
Wade ignored the last request and said with owlish solemnity to Zdaor: "See? Told you."
"Told me what? I do not understand—"
"Damn it, you don't want to see!" cried Wade in a passion."How many of you are on earth? Fourteen thousand? No, skipped a decimal; hundred and forty thousand. More coming every year."
"Well?"
"At least a hundred and thirty thousand of 'em have got terran women living with 'em. Living in non-sin, you might say. Where does that leave. us terran males? We can't compete with you in charm and virtue—"
"Why don't you go for a walk, Eric?" said Vida."You'll feel better. We have a fine garden."
"I've smelled my quota of flowers for the day, thanks. Now, you listen here, Zdaor—"
The Rwon said: "But we are such a small fraction of your population— what is it? Three billion?"
"Nevertheless and notwithstanding, every man who can't find a proper mate shub-subconsciously blames it on you, and says why should that goddam monkey—"
"Please, Dr. Wade. We try to adapt ourselves, but one sing we do not like is to be called monkeys."
"If you don't like it, you know where you can go. Right back—"
Zdaor rose."It has been very interesting, Professor. You must excuse me, for I have work—"
"Oh, no you don't! Jush when—"
"Please Eric, you're making a fool of yourself," said Vida."If you can't be pleasant, you'd better—"
Wade heaved himself out of his chair."Not till I've finished telling this monkey—"
Splush!
Wiping his stinging, streaming eyes, Eric Wade was vaguely aware that the Rwon had thrown the remains of a glass of rye-and-ice in his face. When he could see again he took a staggering step towards a blur he identified as Zdaor. He cocked his fist.
Then the light went out.
AS CONSCIOUSNESS returned to Eric Wade, he became aware that he was lying on his back on the sofa in the Honeth house. The thing that had aroused him was a yellow ray of the evening sun, shining slantwise across the room on his face. His belt had been loosened and his shoes removed. He had a headache, a foul taste in his mouth, and a burning thirst.
But his physical discomfort was nothing compared to the spiritual agony that settled upon him as, with horrible clarity, he remembered his drunken conversation with and attack upon Zdaor. What in the name of all the gods had possessed him? He had not made such an obnoxious ass of himself since he was an undergraduate, twenty-odd years before. He, Eric Wade, never got drunk and insulted people as did louts like Bertram de Retske. His career would be ruined if this got out. And these people had only been kind and courteous to him.
What was wrong with him? Of course there was the heat, and his state of emotional upset, and Vida's habit of pouring a little into your glass when you weren't looking. But nothing could atone for this horrible gaffe...
His head began to clear and the throbbing to abate. As he lay wondering whether he should try to slink out without exposing those in the house to his defiling presence, Vida came in.
"Awake?" she said.
"Guess so." Wade swallowed with effort."What happened?"
"Zdaor pushed you, and you fell and hit your head on the arm of the chair. We had Dr. Federico in, and he said you'd be all right when you came out of your drunken stupor."
Wade felt his scalp and located the goose-egg."Where's it? I mean Zdaor? I've got to apologize..."
"He's packed up and gone."
"Gone?" said Wade stupidly.
"Yes."
"You mean it was so insulted that..."
"No, it wasn't that. First he was terrified of trouble with us 'natives, ' but the doctor reassured him."
"What then?" said Wade, wincing at a throb.
"You know their system of property?"
"Yes."
"Well, you proved to Zdaor that you needed me more than he did, so under their custom he had to give me to you. If it had just been love—or what they call 'that strange terran glandular madness'—he wouldn't have been influenced. But when you showed him you needed somebody to keep your house and children, you had him."