"I am on my way up," she said.
"Barbara, you could be a popular actress, you know."
"Someday I shall be. But this does not come overnight, Scyth. It takes
work, you know."
"I have an idea that the flavor of the foreign often helps."
"This is true."
"Then I have a suggestion. Why not come along with us back to Marandis?
You have youth and beauty and ability and also the exotic flavor. It--"
"What shall I be?" she returned quietly. "The ignorant but beautiful
barbarian? A clothes horse slightly incapable of holding an intelligent
conversation? This seldom works, Scyth. I've studied history a bit and
I recall the case of a native girl called Pocahontas who was carried
from her native surroundings into the height of the civilization for
the time. She was no actress--she was _exhibited_ like a pet monkey or
a rare zoölogical specimen. She died of what they called heartbreak.
I think heartbreak in this case was a combination of loneliness, of
facing the realization that she could never really belong to the
culture, of the futility of asking to be returned to her people. In
other words Pocahontas lost the will to live. So thank you, Scyth, but
I have no desire to be a chattel, or a curiosity.... Or a museum-piece."
Scyth nodded seriously. "I see your point. But I don't agree with you.
In the first place you are indulging in a conversation with me. In the
second place, you--"
"In the first place," said Barbara pointedly, "this conversation is
being carefully kept on my level, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"Of course not. But look, Scyth, aren't you using that menslator of
yours?"
"Of course."
"Then the menslator keeps the conversation down to my level because
by its very nature it cannot convey an idea to me that is beyond my
understanding. Am I correct?"
"In a sense, yes. But--"
"Scyth, can you menslate a dog, for instance?"
"A dog has so little mind that--"
Barbara interrupted this with a wave of her hand. "So how long would it
be before you and your people became damned sick and tired of talking
down? It would be like trying to conduct an adult discussion in baby
talk, wouldn't it?"
Scyth shook his head. "Not entirely," he said. "It might be that way
at first. But this would not last. I don't know of your history, but
I assume that your Pocahontas was a true savage. You had nothing like
the menslator. Doubtless she never learned any real language and so
lacked the ability to use a language of any kind, let alone learn the
ramifications of the culture behind it. You would be on an entirely
different plane. You have a language and a culture and you are quick to
grasp a new idea. With a menslator you would learn the language well
enough in a short time and while the deeper factors of the culture
would always escape you, the superficial parts would eventually come
easy."
* * * * *
For an answer, Barbara pointed to the wall. "Scyth, on that wall is a
painting given to me by a character who calls himself an artist. Take a
gander."
Scyth looked. The painting was a mess of squiggles and blots of color.
It was iridescent here and drab there, soft lines elsewhere and sharp
contrasts somewhere else.
"Interesting," said Scyth. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure. I think that this is the painting; but all it needs is
a hole in one corner and it could be the palette that the guy used to
make the painting."
"This is apropos of what?"
"Frankly, I think it is a mess. It is something that could be
accomplished by a monkey turned loose in a paint store. But the artist
calls it 'modern' and defends his stand by stating that anybody who
criticises it is wayward, ignorant and unappreciative of the finer
moods and things of life. So put me in your culture and turn me loose.
If I criticise it will be because I am too primitive to understand
these higher bits of culture. If I enjoy something, I am looked down
upon because I can't really feel the true depth of the thing. It--"
Scyth held up a hand and his empty glass at the same time. Barbara
laughed and went to give him a refill. It also gave him time to think,
and when she came back with his highball he had the answer.
"Barbara," he said sincerely, "a lot of what you say is true. But look
at it this way. You will be a celebrity. You will, to all intents and
purposes, be among your own kind. That helps. So you can't follow the
deeper arguments nor appreciate the complexities of society as we know
them. But think of what you can see and enjoy which will be forever
denied you if you refuse my offer."
"For instance?"
"Imagine the beauty of a planet under a double sun. Imagine if you can
the beauty of a night sky with a ringed moon glowing soft over the
landscape. Coalestis is a planet where most of the minerals and rocks
combine into black stuff. Imagine the beauty of a city of polished
ebony. There are the twinworlds we call Venago One and Two. The Venagos
are separated only by about a hundred thousand miles and in the night
sky you can look up and see the other world glowing over a quarter
of the heaven, and on the dark side are the winking beauties of the
cities glowing like jewels. You will see worlds where the vegetation
grows lush; riotous colors to hundreds of feet tall and there are cold
planets where the ice and snow are always dazzling white. You will wear
sheer shimmering cloth so soft that you have no word to describe it.
You will wear jewels that glow with their own internal light. Money and
luxury will be yours, to travel as you see fit; to spend the rest of
your life flitting from star to star, seeing the varied wonders of the
universe. That is the fate of an actress in our culture, Barbara, for
Lord knows we have few enough of them."
Barbara looked at Scyth seriously. A number of things occurred to her,
and one of them was simple. If Scyth had returned to earth to see her,
it was obvious that she measured up well against the women of Marandis.
Another factor was the yearning to travel. Barbara would not have
recognized the train of thought if it had been labelled and explained,
but it was there none the less. This was her one chance to see the
greener grass on the other side of the galaxy, the chance to realize a
human dream of countless centuries.
She smiled wanly.
"You see what I mean?" asked Scyth.
"I think I do."
"Doubts?"
"Yes. I feel as though I'll be abandoning my own kind."
Scyth had been leaning forward on the loveseat. Now he came forward to
cross the room. He leaned down, took her hands, and lifted her out of
her chair.
"You'll come?"
"You make it very attractive."
"You can do nothing by staying, Barbara."
"But--"
Scyth freed one hand and fished in his jacket pocket. He came up with a
small box, deftly flipping the cover up with his thumbnail.
* * * * *
Coiled inside the box was a chain of tiny-linked metal that glowed
gently with a pale green light. Against the dark cloth of the box
lining was a scrollwork of dark metal, the setting for a stone about
a half inch in diameter. The stone itself was cut in many facets each
of which glowed in a dazzle of a different color. Scyth moved the box
gently and the facets changed color and sent flecks of polychrome
dancing against the ceiling, the walls, the floor. Flecks of light
caressed his face and sparkled into her eyes.
Barbara took a deep breath, then held it, completely entranced by the
bauble for which she had no words to describe. It was sheer beauty and
she knew that anything that she said would be completely inadequate.
Scyth freed his other hand and took the pendant by the chain. Holding
it by both ends, he held it up to her throat.
Barbara stood immobile as Scyth put his hands to the back of her neck
and fastened the clasp. Deliberately he let the tiny links slide down
across her shoulders, let the chill of the cold jewel-stone thrill her
as it slipped down her chest towards the hollow between her breasts.
Then, gently, Scyth took her by the shoulders and turned her to face
the mirror on the door. She turned under his hands as though she had no
will of her own, to look into the mirror and gasp at the rich beauty of
the gem.
Scyth drew her back against him and she leaned gently with her
forehead against his chin. He put his hands on her waist and she
covered them with hers, squeezing them as she drew his arms close
around her. She tilted her head back and turned her face to offer her
lips and he found them warm and soft. His hands caressed her. Barbara
turned in his arms to face him and he held her close.