‘For an intelligent man, you’re often singularly unobservant – even obtuse. Surely you realize that she’s in love with Max. Haven’t you noticed the way she looks, when you put your arm around him?’
Floyd had never imagined that he would see Curnow looking abashed, but the blow seemed to have struck home.
‘Zenia? I thought everyone was joking – she’s such a quiet little mouse. And everyone’s in love with Max, after their fashion – even Catherine the Great. Still… um, I guess I should be more careful. At least while Zenia’s around.’
There was a prolonged silence while the social temperature rose back to normal. Then, obviously to show that there was no ill feeling, Curnow added in a conversational tone: ‘You know, I’ve often wondered about Zenia, Somebody did a marvellous job of plastic surgery on her face, but they couldn’t repair all the damage. The skin’s too tight, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her laugh properly. Maybe that’s why I’ve avoided looking at her – would you credit me with so much aesthetic sensitivity, Heywood?’
The deliberately formal ‘Heywood’ signalled good-natured needling rather than hostility, and Floyd allowed himself to relax.
‘I can satisfy some of your curiosity – Washington finally got hold of the facts. It seems she was in a bad air crash and was lucky to recover from her burns. There’s no mystery, as far as we can tell, but Aeroflot isn’t supposed to have accidents.’
‘Poor girl. I’m surprised they let her go into space, but I suppose she was the only qualified person available when Irma eliminated herself. I’m sorry for her; apart from the injuries, the psychological shock must have been terrible.’
‘I’m sure it was; but she’s obviously made a full recovery.’ You’re not telling the whole truth, said Floyd to himself, and you never will. After their encounter on the approach to Jupiter, there would always be a secret bond between them – not of love, but of tenderness, which is often more enduring.
He found himself suddenly and unexpectedly grateful to Curnow; the other was obviously surprised at his concern for Zenia, but had not attempted to exploit it in his own defence.
And if he had, would it have been unfair? Now, days later, Floyd was beginning to wonder if his own motives were altogether admirable. For his part, Curnow had certainly kept his promise; indeed, if one did not know better, one might have imagined that he was deliberately ignoring Max – at least while Zenia was around. And he treated her with much greater kindness; indeed, there were occasions when he had even succeeded in making her laugh out loud.
So the intervention had been worthwhile, whatever the impulse behind it. Even if, as Floyd sometimes ruefully suspected, it was no more than the secret envy that normal homo or heterosexuals feel, if completely honest with themselves, toward cheerfully well-adjusted polymorphs.
His finger crept back toward the recorder, but the train of thought had been broken. Inevitably, images of his own home and family came crowding into his mind, He closed his eyes, and memory recalled the climax of Christopher’s birthday party – the child blowing out the three candles on the cake, less than twenty-four hours ago but almost a billion kilometres away. He had played the video back so often that now he knew the scene by heart.
And how often had Caroline played his messages to Chris, so that the boy would not forget his father – or view him as a stranger when he returned after missing yet another birthday? He was almost afraid to ask.
Yet he could not blame Caroline. To him, only a few weeks would have passed before they met again. But she would have aged more than two years while he was in his dreamless sleep between the worlds. That was a long time to be a young widow, even a temporary one.
feather flag
I wonder if I’m coming down with one of the shipboard maladies, Floyd thought; he had seldom felt such a sense of frustration, even of failure. I may have lost my family, across the gulfs of time and space, all to no purpose. For I have achieved nothing; even though I have reached my goal, it remains a blank, impenetrable wall of total darkness.
And yet – David Bowman had once cried: ‘My God! It’s full of stars!’
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