“Trouble?” she inquired, becoming aware of his distress. “Food bad?”
How could he explain, without similarly embarrassing her? But she insisted on knowing. Finally he set down bowl and spoon, put his two hands on her projecting knees, and pushed them together.
For a moment she was confused, then startled. Then she burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that she fell over backwards, drawing her legs up against her body and kicking her feet from the knees. This was no improvement; not only was her indecorous region in view, it was flexing. His face was now burning.
Finally she exhausted her mirth. Then she kneeled beside him, kissed him on the cheek, and gave him another lesson in clothing and culture. “Blue jeans,” she said, touching the tights. “Okay. No show bad.”
Maybe so, by her definition, but the suggestion was nevertheless overpowering.
She pointed to his crotch. “You. Sit. Same.”
That was true, but he was a man. Also, his clothing was considerably looser in that region, revealing no private contours.
Colene was unconvinced. “Oh, Darius—you make me laugh.”
True, he had made her laugh—and he had experienced no depletion. But he realized that was because magic was not operative in this reality. Here, it seemed, the transfer of emotion did not cost the source. Indeed, he had not even been trying to make her laugh; she had done it on her own.
That gave him something to think about. Was it possible that she was a self-generating joy person? If so, she was perfect! But he could not presume too much; her ready laughter might merely be because her level was high, and could be as readily depleted as that of any other person.
At least he had learned something: in this reality, the mere fact of physical material covering a region was considered sufficient discretion. Her entire genital region had been exposed in outline, but because there was opaque material between her flesh and his vision, she had no concern. That explained her action of the night too: her breast had been quite tangible to his touch, soft and warm, yet because there had been a thin barrier of material, she considered it no exposure. Apparently she believed that he could have no sexual excitement if he saw or touched the outline, rather than the direct flesh. Perhaps that was the way of men here, being unmoved by views that would have maddened men of his own reality. He would school himself to react accordingly, difficult as it would be.
Now he was glad he had been cautious during the night!
Had a woman of his own reality come to him in the manner Colene had, lightly garbed, sharing his bed, and placing his hand on parts of her body, it could only have been because she wished very much to fornicate with him. Her Yes and No would have been merely indications of the approach he was to make: first kissing, then fondling, and finally copulation if she did not change her mind. It would have indicated phenomenal trust in him, for men were not known for diffidence once embarked on the exploration of female flesh. He had assumed that her actions were not identical in significance to those of women of his own reality, and made no attempt at all to pursue a sexual experience. This, as it had turned out, had been the correct course.
But how would it have been if he had not been greatly depleted from exposure, thirst, and hunger? At that time, the thing he needed most had been warmth. She had brought him that, and it had enabled him to sleep in comfort and to recover more of his well-being. A sexual effort might have been beyond his means. So he had taken her warmth, and nothing else, gambling that her ways differed from those of women in his own reality. Had he been robust, he surely would have interpreted her actions as an invitation. In that he would have been gravely mistaken, as he now understood, after seeing her way with clothing.
He had, he knew, been lucky.
“You. Think.” She tapped her head as she spoke, watching him.
“Yes. I. Think.” He tapped his own head. That was a new word, but clear in this context.
“Think. What?”
“What” was a general query term he had learned to use. When he pointed to an object and said “What?” she would name the object. Now she was inquiring what he was thinking.
How could he tell her? It was complicated, and he lacked the vocabulary, and perhaps the information would affront her. “No,” he said, smiling to show that this was intended as a positive negation rather than bad feeling.
“Yes,” she said insistently. He was beginning to realize that she did not respond well to “No” when she wanted something. “Tell. Me.”
He was obliged to try. He cast about for some way, and saw a small inert figure in the corner, in the likeness of a very young girl. There was something common to both realities! Like all who were serious about magic, she had effigies.
Serious about magic? But there was no magic here, as far as he had been able to ascertain! He had been making another potentially dangerous assumption.
“Try,” he agreed. He pointed to the effigy. “What?”
Colene looked. “Doll,” she said, picking it up. She cradled it as if it were a baby. “Play.”
Play? Was that what they called sympathetic magic? No, probably it meant something quite different. He would have to be extremely careful about that term, until he was sure of its nature. “Doll. Me.”
She gave him the effigy. He held it with his left hand, and extended his right hand. “Doll. Me.”
Colene considered momentarily, then went to the corner. There, in a box, was another figure. This one was male. Good.
She gave him the second doll. He held up the male. “Me.” Then the female. “You.”
She nodded. She was paying close attention.
He put the male down and covered it with a corner of a blanket. Then he brought the female, as if she were walking. She came to lie beside the male.
“Last night,” Colene said.
“Night,” he agreed; that seemed to be the time of darkness. But he made sure. He waved his hand, indicating their surroundings. “What?”
“Day. Light.”
“Night Light,” he said, pairing the opposites.
“No. Night. Day. Dark. Light. Night-Dark. Day-Light.”
After a moment they got it straight. This was Day, and the time of sleeping was Night.
He indicated the dolls. “Day. No. Night. Yes.”
She nodded again. “You. Me. Night.” There was no doubt of her interest.
Now he needed to convey the concept of his home reality. That might be impossible. “You. Me. Things. Here.” He gestured, trying to show themselves and their surroundings. “Day. Night. Day. Night. There.” He tried to indicate something far away.
Colene said something, seeming to understand. He hoped that was the case. “Here.” He touched the two dolls. He moved the arm of the male to touch the female’s head section. “Yes.” Then her chest region. “Maybe.” Finally her leg. “No.” After that he put them close together without motion.
Colene nodded. “Us. Last night.”
Us. Evidently the two of them. “Yes.” Then he made the faraway gesture. “There.” He moved the dolls to another place. Then he repeated the action between them. But this time the male doll did not sleep. Instead it became more active, covering the female.
She still seemed to understand, but was not concerned. “You. Me. Here,” she said firmly. “No. There.”
Clear enough. She understood that in his Mode, she could not expect to be left alone at night. But in her Mode, the local customs prevailed.
DAYS passed. Each night Colene came to share her warmth with him, though she brought another blanket that sufficed against the cold. He held her and did no more, though his strength was returning and he did desire her. She was young, he reminded himself, probably not more than five years into nubility, but enticing.