Read Online I Live With You by Carol Emshwiller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carol Emshwiller
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what we’re fighting for—beyond, that is, the usual rhetoric we use to make ourselves feel superior. Now I suppose I’ll never know the real reasons.
The boys knock. I rouse myself and say, “Come.” Try, that is. At first my voice won’t sound out at all and then it sounds more like a groan than a word. The boys tell me the women have called down from the wall. They want to send in a spokesman. The boys want to let him in and then hold him hostage so that we’ll all be let out safely.
I tell them the women will probably send in a woman.
That bothers the boys. They must have had torture or killing in mind but now they look worried.
“Tell them yes,” I say.
It must smell terrible in here. I even smell terrible to myself, and it’s uncomfortable sitting in my own mess. I prop myself up as best I can. I hope I can keep to my senses. I hope I don’t throw up in the middle of it. I put my dagger, unsheathed, under the pillow.
At first I think the boys were right, it’s a man, of course a man. Where would they have found him, and is he from our side or theirs? That’s important. I can’t tell by the colors. He’s all in tan and gray. He’s not wearing any stripes at all so I can’t tell his rank. He stands, at ease. More than at ease, utterly relaxed, and in front of a colonel.
But then … I can’t believe it, it’s Una. I should have known. Dressed as a man down to the boots. I have such a sense of relief and after that joy. Everything will be all right now.
I tell the boys to get out and shut the door.
I reach for her, but the look on her face stops me.
“You shot me in the leg on purpose, didn’t you! My good leg!”
“I meant to shoot the bad one.”
She opens all the windows, and the door again, too, and shoos the boys away.
“Let me see.”
She’s gentle. As I knew she’d be.
“I’ll get the bullet out, but first I’ll clean you up.” She hands me leaves to chew for pain.
As she leans, so close above me, her hair falls out of her cap and brushes my face, gets in my mouth as it does when we have copulation day. I reach to touch her breast but she pushes me away.
I should kill her for the glory of it… the leader of the women. I’d not be thought a failure then. I’d be made a general in no time.
But, as she pulls away the soiled quilts, she finds my dagger first thing. She puts it in the drawer with her kitchen knives.
I think again how… (and we all know, only too well) how love is a dangerous thing and can spoil the best of plans. Even as I think it, I want to spoil the very plans I think of. I mean if she’s the leader then I could deal with her right now, as she leans over me—even without my dagger. They may be good shots, but can they wrestle a man? Even a wounded one?
“I chose you because I thought, of all of them, you might listen.”
“You know I won’t ever be let come down to copulation day again.”
“Don’t go back then. Stay here and copulate.”
“I have often thought to bring you up to the mountain dressed as a man. I have a place all picked out.”
“Stay here. Let
everybody
stay here and be as women.”
I can’t answer such a thing. I can’t even think about it.
“But then what else do you know except how to be a colonel?”
She washes me, changes the bed, and throws the bed clothes and my clothes out the door. Then she gets the bullet out. I’m half out of my head from the leaves she had me chew so the pain is dulled. She bandages me, covers me with a clean blanket, puts her lips against my cheek for a moment.
Then stands up, legs apart. She looks like one of our boys getting ready to prove himself. “We’ll not stand for this anymore,” she says. “It has to end and we’ll end it, if not one way, then another.”
“But this is how it’s always been.”
“You could be our spokesman.”
How can she even suggest such a thing. “Pillows,” I say. “Spokesman for the nipples.”
Goodness knows what the mothers are capable
The boys knock. I rouse myself and say, “Come.” Try, that is. At first my voice won’t sound out at all and then it sounds more like a groan than a word. The boys tell me the women have called down from the wall. They want to send in a spokesman. The boys want to let him in and then hold him hostage so that we’ll all be let out safely.
I tell them the women will probably send in a woman.
That bothers the boys. They must have had torture or killing in mind but now they look worried.
“Tell them yes,” I say.
It must smell terrible in here. I even smell terrible to myself, and it’s uncomfortable sitting in my own mess. I prop myself up as best I can. I hope I can keep to my senses. I hope I don’t throw up in the middle of it. I put my dagger, unsheathed, under the pillow.
At first I think the boys were right, it’s a man, of course a man. Where would they have found him, and is he from our side or theirs? That’s important. I can’t tell by the colors. He’s all in tan and gray. He’s not wearing any stripes at all so I can’t tell his rank. He stands, at ease. More than at ease, utterly relaxed, and in front of a colonel.
But then … I can’t believe it, it’s Una. I should have known. Dressed as a man down to the boots. I have such a sense of relief and after that joy. Everything will be all right now.
I tell the boys to get out and shut the door.
I reach for her, but the look on her face stops me.
“You shot me in the leg on purpose, didn’t you! My good leg!”
“I meant to shoot the bad one.”
She opens all the windows, and the door again, too, and shoos the boys away.
“Let me see.”
She’s gentle. As I knew she’d be.
“I’ll get the bullet out, but first I’ll clean you up.” She hands me leaves to chew for pain.
As she leans, so close above me, her hair falls out of her cap and brushes my face, gets in my mouth as it does when we have copulation day. I reach to touch her breast but she pushes me away.
I should kill her for the glory of it… the leader of the women. I’d not be thought a failure then. I’d be made a general in no time.
But, as she pulls away the soiled quilts, she finds my dagger first thing. She puts it in the drawer with her kitchen knives.
I think again how… (and we all know, only too well) how love is a dangerous thing and can spoil the best of plans. Even as I think it, I want to spoil the very plans I think of. I mean if she’s the leader then I could deal with her right now, as she leans over me—even without my dagger. They may be good shots, but can they wrestle a man? Even a wounded one?
“I chose you because I thought, of all of them, you might listen.”
“You know I won’t ever be let come down to copulation day again.”
“Don’t go back then. Stay here and copulate.”
“I have often thought to bring you up to the mountain dressed as a man. I have a place all picked out.”
“Stay here. Let
everybody
stay here and be as women.”
I can’t answer such a thing. I can’t even think about it.
“But then what else do you know except how to be a colonel?”
She washes me, changes the bed, and throws the bed clothes and my clothes out the door. Then she gets the bullet out. I’m half out of my head from the leaves she had me chew so the pain is dulled. She bandages me, covers me with a clean blanket, puts her lips against my cheek for a moment.
Then stands up, legs apart. She looks like one of our boys getting ready to prove himself. “We’ll not stand for this anymore,” she says. “It has to end and we’ll end it, if not one way, then another.”
“But this is how it’s always been.”
“You could be our spokesman.”
How can she even suggest such a thing. “Pillows,” I say. “Spokesman for the nipples.”
Goodness knows what the mothers are capable
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