Time Enough for Love

  “Really, Ira? I do hum and sing; I know that. But I don’t hear it myself. It’s like the purring of a cat; it just means that I’m functioning okay, board all green, operating at normal cruising. It means that I feel secure, relaxed, and happy—and, come to think of it, I do.

  “But ‘The Born Loser’ doesn’t have a mere dozen verses, it has hundreds. What I sang was only a snatch of what Noisy used to sing. He was always fiddling with a song, changing it, adding to it. I don’t think this one started out as his; I seem to remember a song about a character whose overcoat was usually in hock clear back when I was very young and raising my first family, on Earth.

  “But that song belonged to Noisy when he got through filing off serial numbers and changing the body lines. I heard it again, oh, must have been twenty, twenty-five years later, in a cabaret in Luna City. From Noisy. But he had changed it. Fixed up the scansion, given it a proper rhyme scheme, dolled up the tune. But the tune was still recognizable—in a minor key, wistful rather than sad, and the words were still about this third-rate grifter whose topcoat was always in hock and who sponged off his sister.

  “And he had changed, too. A shiny new instrument, a tailored spaceman’s uniform, gray hair at the temples—and star billing. I paid a waiter to tell him that ‘Happy’ Daze was in the audience—not my name then, but the only name Noisy had for me—and after his first group he came over and let me buy him a drink while we swapped lies and talked about our happy days at dear old Hormone Hall.

  “I didn’t mention to him that he had left us rather abruptly and that the girls had gone into a decline over it, worrying that he might be dead in a ditch—didn’t mention it because he did not. But I had had to investigate his disappearance because my staff was so demoralized by it that the place felt like a morgue—no way for a parlor house to be. I was able to establish that he had gone aboard the ‘Gyrfalcon’ when she was about to lift for Luna City and had not left her—so I told the girls that Noisy had had a sudden opportunity to go home again but had left a message with the port captain for each of them—then added more lies to personalize the good-bye he hadn’t made. It perked them up and lifted the gloom. They still missed him, but they all understood that grabbing a ride home was not something he could postpone—and since he had ‘remembered’ to send a message to each of them, they felt appreciated.

  “But it turned out that he did remember them, mentioned each by name. Minerva dear, here is a difference between a blinded flesh-and-blood and one who has never been able to see. Noisy could see a rainbow any time he cared to, by memory. He never stopped ‘seeing,’ but what he ‘saw’ was always beauty. I had realized that, some, back when we were on Mars together, for—don’t laugh—he thought I was as pretty as you are, Galahad. Told me that he could tell what I looked like from my voice, and described me to me. I had the grace to say that he flattered me but let it lie when he answered that I was too modest—even though I’m not handsome now and wasn’t then and modesty has never been one of my vices.

  “But Noisy thought all the girls were beautiful, too—and in one case this may have been true and certainly several of them were pretty.

  “But he asked me what had become of Olga and added, ‘Golly, what a little beauty she was!’

  “Kinfolk, Olga wasn’t even homely, she was ugly. Face like a mud pie, figure like a gunnysack—only on an outpost like Mars could she get by. What she did have was a warm and gentle voice and a sweet personality—which was enough, as a customer might pick her through Hobson’s choice on a busy night, but once he had done so, he picked her some later time on purpose. Mean to say, dears, beauty will lure a man into bed, but it won’t bring him back a second time, unless he’s awfully young or very stupid.”

  “What does bring him back a second time, Grandfather?” asked Hamadryad. “Technique? Muscular control?”

  “Have you had any complaints, dear?”

  “Well . . no.”

  “Then you know the answer and are trifling with me. Neither of those. It’s the ability to make a man happy, principally by being happy about it yourself—a spiritual quality rather than a physical one. Olga had it in gobs.

  “I told Noisy that Olga had married shortly after he left, happily so, and had three children last I had heard . . which was an utter lie, as she had been killed accidentally and the girls bawled about it and I didn’t feel good myself and we had shut the place down for four days. But I couldn’t tell Noisy that; Olga had been one of the first to mother him, had helped bathe him and had stolen some of my clothes for him while I slept.

  “But they all mothered him and never fought over him. I have not deviated from our subject in this rambling account of Noisy; we’re still defining ‘love.’ Anybody want to take whack at it now?”

  Galahad said, “Noisy loved every one of them. That’s what you’ve been saying.”

  “No, Son, he didn’t love any of them. Fond of them, yes—but he left them without looking back.”

  “Then you are saying that they loved him.”

  “Correct. Once you figure out the difference between what he felt toward them and what they felt toward him, we’re almost home.”

  “Mother love,” said Ira, and added gruffly, “Lazarus, are you trying to tell us that ‘mother love’ is the only love there is? Man, you’re out of your mind!”

  “Probably. But not that far out. I said they mothered him; I did not say a word about ‘mother love.’ ”

  “Uh . . he bedded all of them?”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised, Ira. I never tried to find out. Irrelevant in any case.”

  Hamadryad said to her father, “Ira, ‘mother love’ can’t be what we’re trying to define; it is often only a sense of duty. Two of my brats I was tempted to drown, as you may have guessed seeing what little demons they were.”

  “Daughter, all your offspring were charming children.”

  “Oh, fuff. One has to give a baby mothering no matter what, or it will grow up to be a still worse monster. What did you think of my son Gordon as a baby?”

  “A delightful child.”

  “Really? I’ll tell him that—if I ever have a male child I name ‘Gordon.’ Sorry, old darling, I shouldn’t have trapped you. Lazarus, Ira is a perfect grandfather, one who never forgets a birthday. But I’ve suspected that Minerva kept track of such things for him and now I know it. Right, Minerva?”

  Minerva did not answer. Lazarus said, “She’s not working for you, Hamadryad.”

  Ira said sharply, “Of course Minerva keeps track of such things for me! Minerva, how many grandchildren do I have?”

  “One hundred and twenty-seven, Ira, counting the boy child to be born next week.”

  “How many great-grandchildren? And who is having the boy?”

  “Four hundred and three, sir. Your son Gordon’s current wife Marian.”

  “Keep me posted on it. That was the baby Gordon I was thinking of, Miss Smarty; Gordon’s son Gordon . . uh, by Evelyn Hedrick, I think. Lazarus, I deceived you. The truth is that I am migrating because my descendants are crowding me off this globe.”

  “Father, are you really going to? Not just talking?”

  “Still top secret until after the decennial Trustees Meeting, dear. But I am. Want to come along? Galahad and Ishtar have decided to go; they’ll set up a rejuve shop for the colony. You’ll have five to ten years in which to learn something useful.”

  “Grandfather, are you going?”

  “Unlikely to the nth degree, my dear. I’ve seen a colony.”

  “You may change your mind.” Hamadryad stood up, faced Lazarus. “I propose to you, in the presence of three witnesses —four; Minerva is the best possible witness—a contract for cohabitation and progeny, term to be selected by you.” Ishtar looked startled, then wiped all expression from her face; the others said nothing.

  Lazarus answered, “Granddaughter, if I weren’t so old and tired, I would spank you.”

  “Lazarus, I am your granddaughter only by courtes
y; you are less than eight percent of my total ancestry. Less than that in terms of dominant genes, with a vanishingly small probability of unfavorable reinforcement; the bad recessives have been weeded. I’ll send my genetic pattern over for your inspection.”

  “That’s not the point, dear.”

  “Lazarus, I’m certain you’ve married your descendants in the past; is there some reason to discriminate against me? If you’ll tell me, perhaps I can correct it. I must add that this submittal is not contingent on your migrating.” Hamadryad added, “Or it could be for progeny only, although I would be proud and happy to be permitted to live with you.”

  "Why, Hamadryad?”

  She hesitated. “I am at loss to answer, sir. I had thought that I could say, ‘I love you’—but apparently I do not know what that word means. So I have no word in either language to describe my need , . and went ahead without one.”

  Lazarus said gently, “I love you, dea—”

  Hamadryad’s face lit up.

  He continued: “—and for that very reason I must refuse you.” Lazarus looked around him. “I love all of you. Ishtar, Galahad . . even that ugly, surly father of yours, dear, sitting there and looking worried. Now smile, dear, for I’m certain that there are endless young bucks anxious to marry you. You smile, too, Ishtar—but not you, Ira; it would crack your face. Ishtar, who is relieving you and Galahad? No, I don’t care who is scheduled. May I be alone the rest of today?”

  She hesitated. “Grandfather, may I keep the observation station manned?”

  “You will anyhow. But will you limit them to dials and gauges or whatever it is you use? No eye or ear on me? Minerva will tell you if I misbehave—I’m certain of that.”

  “There will be neither eye nor ear on you, sir.” Ishtar stood up. “Come along, Galahad. Hamadryad?”

  “Just a moment, Ish. Lazarus—have I offended you?”

  “What? Not at all, my dear.”

  “I thought you were angry with me over . . what I proposed.”

  “Oh, nonsense. Hamadarling, that sort of proposal never offends anyone; it is the highest compliment one human can pay another. But it did confuse me. Now smile and kiss me good-night, then come see me tomorrow if you wish. All you kids kiss me good-night; there’s nobody sore at anybody. Ira, you might stick around a bit if you will.”

  Like docile children they did so, then went into Lazarus’ penthouse and took transport down. Lazarus said, “A drink, Ira?”

  “Only if you are having one.”

  “We’ll skip it then. Ira, did you put her up to it?”

  “Eh?”

  “You know what I mean. Hamadryad. First Ishtar, now Hamadryad. You’ve manipulated this whole deal from the moment you snatched me out of that flophouse, where I was dying decently and quietly. Have you again been trying to tie me down to whatever scheme you have in the back of your mind by waving pretty tails under my nose? It won’t work, man.”

  The Chairman Pro Tem answered quietly, “I could deny that—and for the hundredth time have you call me a liar. I suggest that you ask Minerva.”

  “I wonder if that would be any assurance. Minerva!”

  “Yes, Lazarus?”

  “Did Ira rig this? With either of the girls?”

  “Not to my knowledge, Lazarus.”

  “Is that an evasion, dear?”

  “Lazarus, I cannot lie to you.”

  “Well . . I think you could if Ira wanted you to, but there is no point in my inquiring into it. Give us privacy for a few moments, dear—recording mode only.”

  “Yes, Lazarus.”

  Lazarus went on, “Ira, I wish you had answered Yes. Because the only other explantation is one I do not like. I ain’t pretty and my manners are not such as to endear me to women—so what do we have left? The fact that I am the oldest man alive. Women sell themselves for odd reasons and not always for money. Ira, I do not choose to stand at stud for pretty young things who would not waste a moment on me save for the prestige of having a child by, quote, The Senior, end of quote.” He glared. “Right?”

  “Lazarus, you are being unjust to both women. As well as unusually obtuse.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve watched them. I think they both love you—and don’t give me any double-talk about what that verb means; I am not Galahad.”

  “But—Oh, crap!”

  “I won’t argue on that basis; ‘crap’ is a subject in which you are the Galaxy’s top authority. Women do not always sell themselves and they do fall in love . . often for the oddest reasons—if ‘reason’ is a word that can apply. Granted that you are ugly, selfish, self-centered, surly—”

  “I’m aware of it!”

  “—to me. Nevertheless women don’t seem to care much how a man looks . . and you are surprisingly gentle with women. I’ve noticed. You say those little whores on Mars all loved that blind man.”

  “Some of them weren’t little. Big Anna was taller than I am and weighed more.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. Why did they love him? Don’t bother to answer; why a woman loves a man—or a man loves a woman—can be rationalized only in survival terms, and the answer has no flavor, unsatisfying. But—Lazarus, when you’ve completed rejuvenation and you and I have finished our Scheherazade bet, however we finish it—are you going away again?”

  Lazarus brooded before answering: “I suppose so. Ira, this cottage—and garden and stream—that you’ve lent me are very nice; the times I’ve gone down to the city I’ve hurried back, glad to be home. But it’s just a resting place; I won’t stay here. When the wild goose cries, I go.” Lazarus looked sad. “But I don’t know where and I don’t want to repeat the things I’ve done. Perhaps Minerva will find that new thing for me, when it’s time to move on.”

  Ira stood up. “Lazarus, if you weren’t so stinking suspicious and mean, you would give both women the benefit of the doubt and leave them each with child to remember you by. It wouldn’t cost you much effort.”

  “Out of the question! I do not abandon children. Or pregnant women.”

  “Excuses. I will adopt, in the womb, any child you sire before you leave us. Shall I have Minerva place that in permanent and bind it?”

  “I can support my own kids! Always have.”

  “Minerva. Transfer it and bind it.”

  “Completed, Ira.”

  “Thank you, best Little Nag. Same time tomorrow, Lazarus?”

  “I suppose so. Yes. Call Hamadryad, will you, and ask her to come, too?—tell her I asked you to. I don’t want the kid’s feelings hurt.”

  “Sure, Gramp.”

  COUNTERPOINT

  IV

  On the level in the Executive Palace of Mr. Weatheral’s private apartments Hamadryad waited with Galahad while Ishtar left orders for the rejuvenation technicians on watch there. Then the three took transport down and across, still inside the Palace, to an apartment Ira had placed at Ishtar’s disposal—a dwelling larger and more lavish than her quarters in the Rejuvenation Clinic and much more luxurious than the penthouse cottage save that it had no garden; it was intended for a Trustee or other V.I.P. guest—not that its luxury mattered much, as Ishtar and Galahad spent most of their time and took most of their meals with Lazarus, and used it mainly for sleeping.

  Minerva had placed a dozen-odd lesser accommodations with Ishtar for her watch list, one of them for Galahad. He did not need it and Ishtar had Minerva reassign it to Hamadryad when she had become an unofficial part of the team caring for the Senior. Hamadryad sometimes slept in it rather than go to her country home—without telling her father, as the Chairman Pro Tem did not encourage members of his family to use Palace quarters unnecessarily. Or she sometimes stayed with Ishtar and Galahad.

  This time all three went to Ishtar’s apartment; they had matters to discuss. On arrival there Ishtar checked:

  “Minerva?”

  “Listening, Ishtar.”

  “Anything?”

  “Lazarus and Ira are talking. Private
conversation.”

  “Keep me advised, dear.”

  “Certainly, dear.”

  Ishtar turned back to the others. “Who wants a drink or something? Too early for dinner. Or is it? Ham?”

  Galahad answered, “A bath for me, then a drink. I was all set for a dip—hot and sweaty—when Lazarus kicked us out.”

  “And stinky,” Ishtar agreed. “I noticed it in the transport.”

  “A bath wouldn’t hurt you, big arse; you were exercising as hard as I was.”

  “Regrettably true, my gallant knight; I was careful to sit downwind from our elders after that last match. Ham, get us all something tall and cold while Stinky and I get clean.”

  “Will you two settle for Idleberry Jolts or whatever is handy? While we all bathe? I don’t have the excuse of heavy exercise, but I broke out with fear stink when I put the proposal to Gramp. And muffed it! After all your coaching, Ish. I’m sorry!” She started to sniffle.

  Ishtar put her arms around the younger woman. “There, there, dear—stop it. I don’t think you muffed it.”

  “He refused me.”

  “You laid a good foundation—and shook him up, which he needed. You startled me with your timing but it will work out all right.”

  “He probably won’t even let me come back!”

  “Yes, he will. Stop shaking. Come, dear; Galahad and I will give you a long, relaxing back rub. Stinky, fetch the fizz and join us in the shower room.”

  “With two women around I have to work. Okay.”

  When Galahad arrived with cold drinks, Ishtar had Hamadryad stretched out facedown on the massage table. Ishtar looked up and said, “Dear, before you get wet, see if there are three towel robes in the rack; I didn’t check.”

  “Yes, ma‘am; no, ma’am; right away, ma‘am; will that be all, ma’am?—plenty of robes; I dialed for more this morning. Don’t bruise her, you don’t know your own strength. I’m going to need her, later.”

  “And I’m going to swap you for a dog, sweetheart, and sell the dog. Pass around those drinks, then come help, or you won’t get either of us later. If ever. We’re busy agreeing that all males are beasts.” She continued to massage, gently, firmly, with professional skill, down Hamadryad’s back while the massage table matched her appropriately down the subject’s front. She let Galahad hang a drink around her neck and place its nipple in her mouth without slowing her careful fingers.