Dinner that evening was a gala occasion aboard the ship. The steward
ordered the holiday feast prepared in celebration of Nestir's
announcement. And, for the officers, he broke out of the special cellar
the last case allotment for Crew One of the delicate Colta Barauche
('94). He ordered the messman to put a bottle of it to the right of
each plate.
The captain came down from his stateroom after the meal had begun. He
nodded curtly to the officers when he entered the mess hall, walked
directly to his place at the head of the table, sat down and morosely
began to work the cork out of his wine bottle with his teeth.
"You'll spoil the flavor, shaking it that way," the third mate
cautioned. He was particularly fond of that year.
The captain twisted the bottle savagely, and the cork came free with a
little pop. He removed the cork from between his teeth, placed it very
carefully beside his fork, and poured himself a full glass of the wine.
"Very probably," he said sadly.
"I don't think hit'll do hit," the first mate said. "He hain't shook
hard enough to matter."
The captain picked up the glass, brought it toward his lips--then,
suddenly having thought of something, he put it back down and turned to
Nestir.
"I say. Have you decided on this Carstar thing yet, Father?"
The little priest looked up. He laid his knife across the rim of his
plate. "It has ramifications," he said.
When the third mate saw that his opinion on the wine was not
immediately to be justified, he settled back in his chair with a little
sigh of disapproval.
"Well, what do you _think_ your decision will be, Father?" the steward
asked.
Nestir picked up his knife and fork and cut off a piece of meat.
"Hummmm," he said. "It's hard to say. The whole issue involves, as a
core point, the principle of _casta cum mae stotiti_."
The first mate nodded sagely.
"The intent, of course, could actually be--ah--_sub mailloux_; and in
that event, naturally, the decision would be even more difficult. I
wish I could talk to higher authority about it; but of course I haven't
the time. I'll have to decide something."
* * * * *
"He had a very pretty wife," the third mate said.
"Yes, very." Nestir agreed. "But as I was saying, if it could be
proven that the culstem fell due to no negligence on his part, either
consciously or subconsciously, then the obvious conclusion would be
that no stigma would be attached." He speared his meat and chewed it
thoughtfully.
"But it wasn't at all bloody," the wife of the second mate said. "I
scarcely think he felt it at all. It happened too fast."
Nestir swallowed the mouthful of food and washed it down with a gulp of
wine.
"The problem, my dear Helen," he said, "is one of intent. To raise
the issue of concomitant agonies is to confuse the whole matter. For
instance. Take Wilson, in my home state of Koltah. Certainly _he_ died
as miserable a death as anyone could desire."
"Yes," said the second mate's wife. "I remember that. I read about it
in the newspapers."
"But it was a case of obvious _intent_," continued Nestir, "and
therefore constituted a clear out attempt to avoid his duty by
hastening to his Reward."
Upon hearing the word duty, the captain brightened.
"That," he said to Nestir, "my dear Father, is the cardinal point of
the whole game, y'know." He scratched the back of his left hand. "Duty.
And I must say, I think you're being quite short-sighted about the
Casting Off date. After all, it's not only a question of _how_ we go,
but also a question of leaving only after having done our duty. And
that's equally important."
"The Synod of Cathau--" Nestir began.
"Plague take it, Father! Really, now, I must say. The Synod of Cathau!
Certainly you've misinterpreted that. Anticipation can be a joy,
y'know: almost equal to the very Reward. Anticipation should spur man
in duty. It's all noble and self sacrificing." He scratched the back of
his right hand.
The second mate had been trying to get a word in edgewise for several
minutes; he finally succeeded by utilizing the temporary silence
following the captain's outburst.
"You don't need to worry about _your_ Casting Off, Captain. You can
leave that to me. I assure you, I have in mind a most ingenious
method."
* * * * *
The captain was not visibly cheered; he was still brooding about the
sad absence of a sense of duty on the part of Nestir. "I will welcome
it," he said, "at the proper time, sir. And I certainly hope--" His
eyes swept the table. "I _certainly_ hope to be Cast Off by an officer.
It would be very humiliating, y'know, to have a crew member do it."
"Oh, very," said the steward.
"I don't know," the second mate's wife said, "whether you better count
on my husband or not. I have my own plans for him."
"This problem of Carstar interests me," the third mate said. "Did I
ever tell you about my wife? She strangled our second baby."
"He was a very annoying child," his wife said.
"He probably wouldn't have lived, anyway," the third mate said. "Puny
baby."
"That," said Nestir, "is not at all like the Carstar case. Not at all.
Yours is a question of _saliex y cuminzund_."
The first mate nodded.
"It seems to me that the whole thing would depend on the intent of the
strangler."
"Captain," the steward said, "you really must let me give you some of
that salve."
"That's very kind of you, but I...."
"No bother at all," the steward said.
"As I see it," Nestir said, "if the intent was the natural maternal
instinct of the mother to release her child from its duty, then...."
"Oh, not at all," the third mate's wife said. "I did it to make him
stop crying."
"Well, in that case, I see no reason why he shouldn't get his Reward."
"I certainly hope so," the third mate said. "Jane worries about it all
the time."
"I do not," Jane contradicted.
"Now, honey, you know you do so."
At that moment, he lost interest in his wife and leaned across the
table toward the captain, "Well?" he asked.
The captain rolled the wine over his tongue. "You were right, of
course."
The third mate turned triumphantly to the first mate. "There, I told
you so."
The first mate shrugged. "I never do say nothin' right," he said. "I
hain't got no luck. I've spent more years un all ya, carpenterin' up a
duty log that's better un even th' captain's. An' hit's Martha an' me
that gotta wait an' help th' next crew. Lord above knows how long time
hit'll be afore we uns'll got ta have a Festival."
"Oh, really, now. Now. Duty, duty," the captain reprimanded him mildly.
"Duty! Duty! Duty! You all ur in a conspiracy. You all want me ta die
uv old age."
"Nonsense," said the steward. "We don't want anything of the sort.
After all, someone has to orient the new crew."
"Quite right," said the captain. "You ought to be proud."
* * * * *
The first mate slammed his napkin in the middle of his food and stalked
out of the mess hall.
"Quite touchy today," Nestir observed.
"By the way," the third mate said. "Wanda gave me a petition to give to
you, Father."
"Wanda?"
"Yes. She's sixteen, now."
"Wanda who?" the steward asked.
"Wanda Miller, the bosun's daughter."
"I know her," Helen said.
"She's the oldest child on the ship, and she wants you to sign her
adult petition so she can be in the Festival, Father."
"She's so young...."
"Sixteen, Father."
"After all, one must have done some duty," the captain said.
"He wants you to sign it so he can take her in the Changing of the
Wives," Jane said.
Nestir fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, I'll look at her record," he
said.
"It's an idea," the second mate said. "Otherwise, we'll be short one
woman."
"There wouldn't be one short if _he_ had brought a wife," the first
mate's wife said, looking squarely at the captain.
"Now, Martha. I place duty above pleasure. You're just angry, y'know,
because you have to stay with your husband."
"All right, so I am. But it's true. And if Carstar hadn't been killed,
there would have been two short." She shot a wicked glance at Nestir.
"Why don't you and him share a woman--"
"Martha!"
"Although the Prophet knows what woman in her right mind would consent
to...."
"Well," said Nestir hesitantly.
"Listen," the third mate said, "the second's right. If you don't sign
it, someone will have to do without a woman."
Nestir blushed. "I'll look it over very carefully, but you must realize
that the priestcraft...."
"Actually, in a way, it would be her duty to, you see. Think of it like
that: as her way to do her duty."
"She's too young for you, dear," Jane said to her husband.
"Oh, I don't know," the steward said. "Sometimes they're the best, I
hear."