Grass

  Rigo's nostril lifted. "What work is that? More charities? Resettling the homeless Grassians? More widows and orphans?"

  Father James shook his head, giving Rigo a perceptive, tilt-headed look. "No widows or orphans, Uncle Rigo. No. The foxen are the only other intelligent race man has ever found. I've already sent an inquiry to Shame, to the Church in Exile. Despite what Father Sandoval says, I'm confident the Secretariat will think it important for us to find bonds of friendship with the foxen. Kinship, as it were. To find a way to share ourselves. Marjorie says that even small beings may be friends." He laughed, shrugging. "But then you know – "

  "I don't know," he replied angrily. "She talks very little to me."

  "Well," theyoung man reflected, "that's probably natural. You always talked very little to her, Uncle Rigo. She says she used to suffer from the Arbai disease."

  "Arbai disease?"

  "Terminal conscientiousness," he replied, his brow furrowed. "Scrupulousness of the kind that creates conditions making poverty and illness inevitable, then congratulates itself over feeding the poor and caring for the sick. Those are my words, not hers, and I may have it wrong … "

  He nodded, then walked away as Marjorie had done, leaving the two to discuss threats and confrontations, knowing as they did so that anything they might propose was as useless as what they had already done. Neither Marjorie nor Father James would change minds in the time before the ship for Terra left, even though both of them were to know by then that what they were doing was a good deal more complicated than they had assumed.

  20

  In the Tree City of the Arbai, spring gave way to an endless summer, and summer to an endless fall. The season moved slowly toward winter, day succeeding day in a kind of tranquil haze. The inhabitants of the city knew they must go down to winter quarters soon, but they delayed. Two, or perhaps more, were waiting for a certain occasion; others waited for no occasion at all. Sun still spangled the tops of the trees. The wind was only occasionally chill. On most days, it was warm enough to sit beside an open window with a book, or with a letter …

  "My dear Rigo," Marjorie wrote.

  You have written once more to ask that Tony and I return to Terra. Tony must answer for himself. I've written several times since you left, attempting to explain why I can't return. It seems silly to use these same words over and over again when they meant nothing before. It is autumn here on Grass. That means years have gone by where you are. After all this time, I wonder why you even care.

  She looked out the window of her house to see Rillibee Chime drop down onto the plaza, returning from a climb among the treetops. Other young Green Brothers were still up there. She could hear them yodeling to one another. The older Brothers, including Elder Brother Laeroa, were in their Chapter House, away among the trees. There were still Green Brothers upon Grass, and would be. Who would make grass gardens if the Brothers went away?

  "All the leaves are curling or falling or withdrawing into the twigs," Rillibee called to her. "All the little things that live up there are going down." He stopped beside Stella, who was reading on the plaza. "Froggy things and all, burrowing down into the mud."

  Stella looked up from her book. Her face was open and childlike, yet it was not a child's. She was a young woman once more, though a different woman than she had been. "Even the furry ones?"

  "Those, too," he replied, leaning over to kiss her while she kissed him back. From a window across the bridge two faces appeared, two mouths making kissy noises, teasing, with a kind of feral abandon. Like young dogs, tearing at something.

  "You," Rillibee called. "Get back to your lessons."

  Obediently, the two heads withdrew. "They're doing better," remarked Stella. "Janetta can read ten whole words, and Dimity almost never takes her clothes off anymore."

  "Your brother's a good teacher."

  "Foxen are good teachers," she replied. "They don't make you learn to read or talk human or anything. Dimity and Janetta can talk foxen a little. I wish I could just talk foxen."

  "Don't you want to be able to talk to your mother?"

  Stella wrinkled her nose.

  Marjorie stared at the mostly blank page on her lap-desk and sighed silently. No. Even now, Stella did not particularly want to talk to her mother, though she was much nicer about it than she had once been. Soon there would be no mother to talk to, so there was no profit in regret.

  "How about talk to me?" Rillibee asked.

  "Yes," Stella caroled. "Yes, I want to talk to you."

  "What do you want to do this afternoon?"

  "Go say hello to Brother Mainoa. Pretty soon he'll be all by himself, so we'd better say hello now."

  "That's true." Rillibee nodded, taking her hand as they set slowly off toward the bridge, stopping every step or two to exclaim at a creature or a leaf or a flower.

  Marjorie returned to her letter.

  Thank you for bringing us current on what has happened at Sanctity. We had already heard that the Hierarch had been overthrown in absentia and that Sanctity itself has been invaded and largely destroyed. The last time Rillibee went to Commons, he was told that Sanctity is only a shell, that the angels upon the towers raise their trumpets to an empty sky. He also learned that all those in the Israfel perished of the plague on an unsettled planet where they'd fled for refuge. They must have carried the plague with them from Grass. I remember Favel Cobham and weep for him. He was a goodhearted boy.

  "Stop." She heard Stella's voice.

  Marjorie looked out. Rillibee had stopped obediently, just short of the bridge. "Why are we stopping?" he asked her.

  "I want to see the Arbai lovers. They're coming along the bridge now."

  The two humans on the bridge and the one in the house watched the inhuman lovers bending across the rail, curling into one another; arms, entwined. "What're their names?" Stella said in a stage whisper.

  "You know their names as well as I do," Rillibee replied.

  "Tell me!"

  "The probably-a-boy's name is Ssanther. The probably-a-girl's name is Usswees."

  "Arbai names."

  "Yes. Arbai names."

  Marjorie mouthed the well-known names to herself. Experts had come from Semling and Shame to record the language spoken in this city and connect it to written words. According to them, the tiny projectors hidden among the trees would go on working for another century or more, throwing Arbai images into the city they had built and died in. Similar projectors had been found in the other city, buried in the ruined walls, lost under the soil, the source for the mysterious visions which had filled the ruins. Now that the specialists understood the language, Arbai artifacts were no longer so enigmatic. Scientists had even succeeded in restoring the Arbai transporters, at least from this end, though they had not been tested yet. She turned back to her writing.

  Here on Grass, the foxen have determined to take charge of their lives. Several new villages have been built with solar-powered fences to keep peepers in and Hippae out. Those foxen who are still capable of doing so have begun laying eggs in these areas. The peepers that hatch from foxen eggs will be kept separately. Foxen will eat only those hatched from Hippae eggs. In time, through this purposeful predation, the malice of the Hippae may be abated.

  The Green Brothers have begun gardens around these villages. Where the gardens of Opal Hill once flourished, I have stood upon a newly sprouted first surface which may one day astonish the great Snipopean. The foxen agree that beauty must not be allowed to perish, that whatever else is done, beauty must be conserved lest we impoverish our destinies. Even Klive will be reborn.

  Marjorie put down her stylus and rubbed at her cramped fingers as she continued to stare out the window, remembering Klive. Remembering Opal Hill. Such glory in the grass. Even Snipopean could not have told that glory, for he had not danced with the foxen …

  She came to herself with a start. She was merely filling pages, giving herself something to occupy the last few hours. Everything was done that she
had to do. Her pack lay beside the door, its contents carefully selected. Who could have thought a promise would carry her so far.

  Outside on the plaza, Stella tugged at Rillibee. "Come on." she said. The two of them went along the bridge toward its island end. In the flat green meadow at its base, at the foot of a tall fruit-bearing tree, Mainoa's grave lay, the herbage above it constantly littered with fruit and seeds and scraps of rind.

  Marjorie rose, confronting one of the wall panels carved by Persun Pollut. The first one he had done with his left hand was crude, though full of harsh vitality. The later ones had gained in subtlety and ease of line. He was a great artist, Persun. Too great to stay here on Grass. Elsewhere, he could have a new right hand cloned for him. Well, soon the unwilling tether that held him on Grass would be untied. Then, perhaps he would go …

  Marjorie closed the lid of her writing desk, took it by its handle, and went after Stella and Rillibee. Around her the shadow Arbai moved and spoke. Their words had been translated. Their motives were understood. Confronted with evil, these had chosen to die, Marjorie mourned them, but could not regret them. They had been too good to do good. Someone had said that once. Rillibee, she thought. Rillibee, who loved Stella.

  The two of them were sitting by Mainoa's grave mound when she came down the hill. "And how is Brother Mainoa today?" she asked. Stella leaned forward to neaten the fragrant herbs, brushing away the litter. "He's going to be lonesome out here by himself."

  "I don't think so," Marjorie said, turning slowly to take in all of the meadow: behind its protective fence, the twisted arch of the Arbai transporter, glowing with opalescent light; the blossoming reeds at the edge of the mire; the shaggy trees, towering into heights of heartbreak gold. She turned back to the young ones with a smile. "Not Brother Mainoa. He'll be very interested in everything that happens, all winter long. And the foxen will come talk to him. They come out above ground in the winter."

  "What are you doing?" Rillibee asked her, indicating the desk she was carrying. "Writing a book?"

  She shook her head ruefully, "Rigo has asked for explanations. Yet again."

  "Father James says he may be trying to accumulate evidence in order to have your marriage set aside."

  She looked thoughtful for a moment, then laughed. "I hadn't thought of that, but it's probable! Father Sandoval undoubtedly put him up to it. Perhaps the laws on Terra have changed and he would be allowed to father a new family. Well, in any case, this may be my last opportunity to try telling him about his former one." She shrugged, confronting Rillibee's look with a calm face.

  "You're still determined to – "

  "It isn't determination, Rillibee. I made a promise. I've always tried to keep my promises, when I could."

  "Tell Daddy Rillibee and I are going to have a baby." said Stella. "Tell him that we're going to name it Joshua. Or Miriam."

  Two of Rillibee's magic names. Names he would hold sacred if all hell came against him. Now he would give the baby one of them, sending it out like a firefly into darkness. In time there would be others, lighting up nothingness with bright names, like the burning names of stars. Marjorie smiled, thinking that she would not tell Rigo that. He would not understand.

  From above came a trill, a purr. Foxen. Marjorie trilled in answer. From the neighboring meadow, a horse whickered in reply.

  "Did you see the new colt?" Stella asked suddenly.

  Marjorie nodded. "This morning. Mother and baby doing well. All sixteen of the horses doing well, as a matter of fact. The foxen have been talking to the foals again. I keep getting these very percipient looks! Blue Star's new baby looks exactly like Don Quixote. Mayor Bee's terribly excited."

  "The mayor gets the colt, does he?" Rillibee asked.

  "Well, I promised. A few Hippae showed up at the interdict village near Klive, and the mayor wants to lead the expedition."

  "In accordance with the plan," he said.

  "In accordance with the plan," echoed Stella.

  In accordance with the plan, thought Marjorie. She sat down and put the desk on her lap, looking at it with resignation. Father James was probably right. Rigo wanted written evidence of her dereliction, her apostacy.

  "We'll let you get back to it," said Rillibee. "I'll go relieve Tony. He's been working with Dimity and Janetta. They'll never be right, Marjorie. Everyone knows that now. I don't know why Tony goes on … "

  "He's stubborn," Marjorie said. "Like me. Has he said anything?" she asked, a little anxiously. "About after … ?"

  Rillibee nodded, frowning. "He's going back to Terra. He thought his father's request over carefully, and he's decided to return, at least for a while. Since he and Stella were the only children Rigo was allowed to have, Tony thinks going back, for a while at least, is only fair." He took her hand and pressed it, sharing her disappointment. Then he and Stella went away from her, up the green hill.

  Marjorie sighed. She had hoped Tony would stay. In the winter, he would have lived closely in Commons, acquiring age, acquiring friends. In the spring Amy bon Damfels would be coming to the Tree City with Emmy and her mother. Marjorie had envisioned Amy and Tony – Still, if he wanted to go back … He was still very young. Perhaps he felt he needed at least one parent.

  She opened the desk and started a new paragraph. If Rigo wanted proof she was crazy or ungodly or whatever, why not give it to him?

  You needn't refer to my religious duties, Rigo. I have not forgotten them …

  We came to Grass together, out of duty. On Terra I had become much accustomed to duty, much concerned with propriety. Even when I knew I was doing very little good with my visitations, I persisted, out of duty. It has recently occurred to me that I was not too different from the bons. As they rode the Hippae and were enslaved, so I rode custom and was enslaved. I was a very good child and woman. I was scrupulous in my behavior. I confessed regularly and followed my confessor's advice. I did good deeds, even feeling guilty because I sometimes broke men's laws of discipline to do what I thought of as God's laws of mercy. I was faithful to you because it was my duty, and I did what duty required because I thought God would be offended if I didn't.

  Here on Grass there was more duty. I found myself looking ahead to the time I could die and wouldn't have duty anymore. Here I was, barely forty, Terran, wanting to die so I could quit going through all these motions! So, I went out into the grasses one day, courting death, but what offered itself was not really death and the horror of that made me realize what I was doing.

  Duty simply was not enough. There had to be more than that!

  Father James suggested that perhaps we were viruses. I know now that he meant to be funny. He thinks I lack humor. I do. Everyone says so, even Tony. Because I do, I took his words seriously. Later I came to think we might be like other things, like white cells or neurotransmitters. Warriors or message carriers. Such cells have a purpose, or at least a function in the body they inhabit. They have evolved to have that function. So we, in the body which we inhabit, may have evolved or be evolving to have similar purpose or function, though we are, I believe, only very small beings …

  Up among the leaves she heard Father James' voice raised in disputation with the foxen. Now that he was head of an official mission to the foxen, he did a lot of disputation and he always raised his voice when his logic was weak. Lately they had been discussing sins of the flesh and he had been raising his voice a lot. The foxen were not believers in sins of the flesh, and they offended the priest by quoting back at him the scripture he had once quoted to them.

  Across the meadow one of Rillibee's red and blue pet parrots called over and over to itself, "Songbird Chime. Joshua Chime. Miriam Chime. Stella … "

  Marjorie turned back to the pages once more.

  When mankind thought that his was the only intelligence and earth was his only place, it was perhaps fitting to believe that each man had individual importance. We were all there was. Like frogs, each thinking its own puddle was the center of the universe, we believed t
hat God worried over us each of us. Strange that we should realize Pride is a sin yet still be willing prey to such arrogance.

  We had only to look around us to know how foolish the idea was. Where was the farmer who knew each of his seeds by name? Where was the beekeeper who labled his bees? Where was the herdsman who distinguished among individual blades of grass? Compared to the size of creation, what were we but very small beings, as bees are small, as seeds of corn are small, as blades of grass are small?

  And yet corn becomes bread; bees make honey; grass is turned into flesh, or into gardens. Very small beings are important, not individually but for what they become, if they become …

  The Arbai failed because they did not become. Mankind almost failed. We squatted on Terra almost too long. We left only because we had ruined our planet and had to leave or die. Then, once we had swarmed far enough to find new homes, we let Sanctity stop us from going on. 'Fill up the worlds,' it said. 'Go no farther. Take no risks.' And we went no farther. We took no risks. We grew. We multiplied. We did not become …

  A trill came from behind her. She did not need to turn to know who was there. He touched her neck as delicately as a leaf fall, a claw barely extended, the tiniest prick.

  "Now?" she breathed.

  He dropped her pack on the ground beside her.

  She wavered. "I haven't said goodbye to Tony, to Stella!"

  Silence.

  She had said goodbye. Every hour of the past season had been goodbye. Father James had given her his blessing only this morning. There was nothing left to say. He touched her once more.

  "I must finish this," she said, bending above her letter.

  ... We did not become. We did not change.

  But change must come. Risk must come. God knows there are enough of us that we can afford some losses! Why else are we so many? And though the grass be numberless as stars, there must still be a first shoot set out to make a garden ...