"No," she said slowly, "but it proved the value of things."
"It wasn't fair," George repeated. "And it didn't prove anything."
"I think it did," she said, moving away.
"No, listen, Gistla," he said. "You can't judge anything by what I did
or said. We are different, in a physical sense, but that doesn't really
matter. If a golden-haired girl materializes in front of my eyes, you
can't blame me for what my emotions did. It's still you I love. Not the
color of your skin or the shape of your mouth. But you and what you or I
or anybody else looks like isn't important!"
He followed her and caught her arm. She turned to face him. "You can say
that," she said. "Your words tell me that and your eyes, but I know it
isn't true."
The embarrassment was still inside him, but the way she denied him made
him want her more than ever. He held to her arm and then he said,
"Gistla, could you change me? I mean, so that other people, even I,
would see me as they see you--as a Venusian?"
She stood very still, staring at him.
"Could you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then do it, Gistla. I'll prove to you that nothing is important but you
and me. I'll be a Venusian, like you are. I'll go back to my family as a
Venusian and I'll take you with me. I'll prove that neither they nor
anybody else makes any difference in how I love you!"
Gistla watched him solemnly. Finally she said, "Would you really do
that?"
"Yes," he said quickly, "Yes."
"I love you, George," she said in her deep round voice.
He lifted his hands to touch her face and he found that his skin had
turned to pale green. He touched his own face, and he knew that if he
looked into a mirror he would see a round smooth head with large lidless
eyes.
"Is that what you wanted?" she asked.
"Yes," he said stubbornly. "That's what I wanted." He stood there for a
long time, trying to become used to it, fighting the fear that ran
through him every time he looked at his hands or touched his head.
Finally he said, quietly, "Let's go meet my family."
* * * * *
As they drew near the house, he knew his family was still in the patio.
He could hear the voices of his mother and father and the high, piercing
laughter of his sister.
"And, my God," he heard his sister say, "did you see the way those
horrible eyes looked at you? What ever gets into George?"
"Dear, dear, dear," he heard his mother say.