After some time he went slowly to his bed.
Outside, beyond the house, the great rivers of blood still fell with unchecked force over the black cliffs, filling the swirling lake where cryptic monsters swam and on which obsidian islands still bobbed, their dark green fleshy foliage rustling in a hot, sweet wind; but Mrs. Amelia Underwood's piece-de-resistance had been abandoned long since by her forgotten guests.
25. The Call to Duty
For the first time in his long life Jherek Carnelian, whose body could always be modified so that it did not need sleep, knew insomnia. Oblivion was his only demand, but it refused to come. Line after line of thought developed in his brain and each line led nowhere and had to be cut off. He considered seeking Jagged out, yet something stopped him. It was Amelia, only Amelia — Amelia was the only company he desired and yet (he must admit this to himself, here in the dark) presently he feared her. Thus in his mind he performed a forward step only, immediately thereafter, to take a backward — forward, backward — a horrid little dance of indecision which brought, in due course, his first taste of self-disgust. He had always followed his impulses, without a grain of self-consciousness, without the suggestion of a question, as did his peers at the End of Time. Yet now it seemed he had two impulses; he was caught like a steel ball between magnets, equidistant. His identity and his actions had hitherto been one — so now his identity came under siege. If he had two impulses, why, he must be two people. And if he were two people, then which was the worthwhile one, which should be abandoned as soon as possible? So Jherek discovered the old night-game of see-saw, in which a third Jherek, none too firm in his resolves, tried to hold judgement on two others, sliding first this way, then the other — "I shall demand from her…" and "She deserves better than I…" were two beginnings new to Jherek, though doubtless familiar to many of Mrs. Underwood's contemporaries, particularly those who were frustrated in their relationships with the object of their affections, or were in a position of having to choose between old loyalties and fresh ones, between an ailing father, say, and a handsome suitor or, indeed, between an unlovable husband and a lover who offered marriage. It was halfway through this exercise that Jherek discovered the trick of transference — what if she experienced these torments, even as he experienced them? And immediately self-pity fled. He must go to her and comfort her. But no — he deceived himself, merely wishing to influence her, to focus her attention on to his dilemma. And so the see-saw swung again, with the judging Jherek poorly balanced on the pivot.
And so it might have continued until morning, had not she softly opened his door with a murmured query as to his wakefulness.
"Oh, Amelia!" He sat up at once.
"I have done you an injury," she whispered, though there was none to overhear. "My self-control deserted me today."
"I am not quite sure what it is that you describe," he told her, turning on the lamp by his bed so that it shed just a fraction more light and he could see her haggard face, red with crying, "but you have done me no injury. It is I who have failed. I am useless to you."
"You are brave and splendid — and innocent. I have said it before, Jherek: I have robbed you of that innocence."
"I love you," he said. "I am a fool. I am unworthy of you."
"No, no, my dear. I am a slave to my upbringing and I know that upbringing to be narrow, unimaginative, even brutalizing — ah, and it is essentially cynical, though I could never have admitted it. But you, dearest, are without a grain of cynicism, though I thought at first you and your world were nothing else but cynical. And now I see I am on the verge of teaching you my own habits — cynicism, hypocrisy, fear of emotional involvement disguised as self-denial — ah, there is a monstrous range…"
"I asked you to teach me these things."
"You did not know what you asked."
He stretched a hand to her and she took it, though she remained standing. Her hand was cold, and it shook a little.
"I am still unable to understand all that you say," he told her.
"I pray that you never shall, my dear."
"You love me? I was afraid I had done something to destroy your love."
"I love you, Jherek".
"I wish only to change for you, to become whatever you wish me to be…"
"I would not have you change, Jherek Carnelian." A little smile appeared.
"Yet, you said…"
"You accused me, earlier, of not being myself." With a sigh she sat down upon the edge of his bed. She still wore the tattered oriental dress, but she had removed her feathers from her hair, which was restored to its natural colour, though not its original cut. Most of the paint was gone from her face. It was evident to him that she had slept no better than had he. His hand squeezed hers and she sighed for a second time. "Of not being your Amelia," she added.
"Not accused — but I was confused…"
"I tried, I suppose, to please you, but could not please myself. It seemed so wicked…" This smile was broader and it mocked her own choice of words. "I have been trying so hard, Jherek, to enjoy your world for what it is. Yet I am constantly haunted first by my own sense of duty, which I have no means of expressing, and second by the knowledge of what your world is — a travesty, artificially maintained, denying mortality and therefore defying destiny."
"Surely that is only one way of seeing it, Amelia."
"I agree completely. I describe only my emotional response. Intellectually I can see many sides, many arguments. But I am, in this, as in so many other things, Jherek, a child of Bromley. You have given me these power-rings and taught me how to use them — yet I am filled with a desire to grow a few marigolds, to cook a pie, to make a dress — oh, I feel embarrassed as I speak. It seems so silly, when I have all the power of an Olympian god at my disposal. It sounds merely sentimental, to my own ears. I cannot think what you must feel…"
"I am not sure what sentimentality is, Amelia. I wish you to be happy, that is all. If that is where fulfilment lies for you, then do these things. They will delight me. You can teach me these arts."
"They are scarcely arts. Indeed, they are only desirable when one is denied the opportunity to practise them." Her laughter was more natural, though still it shook. "You can join in, if you wish, but I would not have you miserable. You must continue to express yourself as you wish, in ways that fulfil your instincts."
"As long as I can express myself the means is unimportant, Amelia. It is that frozen feeling that I fear. And it is true that I live for you, so that what pleases you pleases me."
"I make too many demands," she said, pulling away. "And offer nothing."
"Again you bewilder me."
"It is a bad bargain, Jherek, my dear."
"I was unaware that we bargained, Amelia. For what?"
"Oh…" she seemed unable to answer. "For life itself, perhaps. For something…" She gasped, as if in pain, but then smiled again, gripping his hand tighter. "It is as if a tailor visits Eden and sees an opportunity for trade. No, I am too hard upon myself, I suppose. I lack the words…"
"As do I, Amelia. If only I could find adequate phrases to tell you what I feel! But of one thing you must be certain. I love you absolutely." He flung back the bedclothes and sprang up, taking her hand to his breast. "Amelia, of that you must he assured!"
He noticed that she was blushing, trying to speak, swallowing rapidly. She made a gulping noise.
"What is it, my dear?"
"Mr. Carnelian — Jherek — you — you…"
"Yes, my love?" Solicitously.
She broke free, making for the door. "You seem unaware that you are — Oh, heavens!"