Episode 10 of “Homage to Luxenben”

As we filed out of the amphitheater, I noticed that the scattered patches of fog that floated across the park grounds had enveloped the moon in a bright halo.  This astronomical observation somehow brought to mind one that Matty had made earlier that evening—her colorful description of the Semi whose head, viewed from above, resembled an eclipse.  Then all of sudden it came to me.

“Neuman,” I told her excitedly.  “I know how we can find him.”

When it was apparent she had not heard me the first time, I repeated my remarks but with no better luck.  The old bird’s hearing was not good under the best circumstances and the surrounding babble did not help matters.  Every Pageant-goer seemed to have something to say, whether it was a com­parison between this year’s performance and last, praise for the de­livery of this or that actor, or a declaration from one of the more sea­soned attendees that, however smoothly directed this production, it could not hold a candle to the spirited ren­dition “x” years ago¾“x” being approximately one-half the age of the said authority.  Even solitary individuals could not keep their mouths shut, but whether this was to vo­calize views already known to the conversant head telepathi­cally or simply to avoid calling attention to their unaccom­panied status, I had no way of knowing. (To this day, I am not sure if the Luxanders extra­ordi­nary physiognomy tended to assuage loneliness by virtue of always having a built-in listener or, in fact, intensified that despair on ac­count of the certain boredom that listener was bound to experience.)

“What did you say?” Matty asked when she deemed that the crowd had thinned sufficiently for us to converse.

“Neuman,” I repeated a third time.  “I know how we can find him.”

“Oh no,” she replied as she wagged her head back and forth, “I’m not going up again.”

“You don’t have to.  You’ve found him already.”

Matty looked at me strangely.  “It wasn’t Neuman.  I told you it was one of them.  Some poor guy with a headectomy.”

“No, not him.  The other one.  You know.  The one with a fringe on top.”

“Neuman’s bald?  Why didn’t you say so?”

“Not bald; religious!  He always wears a white yarmulke.  From thirty feet, he must have looked bald.”

“I thought I saw creases,” Matty reflected, “but I figured they might have been an illusion; you know, like the canals, you know.  At twelve knots, you gotta be careful.”

“Next time, how about sticking to reconnaissance, and let me handle the interpretation,” I suggested smugly.

“There isn’t going to be any next time if you don’t brief me right,” Matilda hissed. “I’m sick of these wild goose chases.”

“Oh, come on, Matty.  You did me a big favor and I really appreciate it.  What do I do now?  You said he was part of a group from Research?”

“Yeah, I recognized the Full in charge.  Phillip Mulhouse.  He’s a case worker on the staff.”

The Re­search Institute.  The first thing that came to mind was Surge’s circular.  Conrad’s insinuations about the place took on a more ominous note now that they struck closer to home.  “I don’t like the idea of his being held there.”

“Because of what Conrad said?  I told you Surge makes up things all the time just to stir up trouble.  I guarantee you, they know nothing about it.”

“Do you?  Have you heard anything about what they’re doing in there?  It’s got to have something to do with Semis.  Why else would it be here?”

“Use your common sense.  Research is a scientific facility.  There’s bound to be plenty of things about us Semis that their scientists would be interested in.  Our evolution, taxonomy, DNA we have in common, whatever.”

“If it’s that innocent, why keep it locked up?  Nobody can get in without a pass.”

“For the same reason all commercial labs are kept off limits.  Why would they give their competitors a look at what they’re doing.  Nothing sinister about it.  It’s security, plain and simple.”

“All right.  But I’m still worried.  Look how long he’s been locked up in there.”

Matty scrolled her pupils upward.  “Why do you say ‘locked up?’  Those guys weren’t chained together in leg irons.  I told you they were being supervised, that’s all. “Look, if you’re so concerned about your buddy, why don’t you try to see him?”

“See him?  How?”

“How do you think?  Just call and ask.”

“And they’d let me in?  Just like that?”

“No harm in trying.”

From behind came the injunction, “Hey, wait up!”

Matilda swiveled her head around to peer behind us.  The next thing I knew she was coiling her neck into an attack position and ruffling her feathers as noisily as possible.  After spinning around to see what alarmed the old bird, I would have mim­icked her reaction had I the wherewithal.  There was Ed­die thumping his way towards a junction of his walk with ours.  It lay just ahead.

Instinctively I looked for some sign of guilt but there was nothing in his smiling countenance or con­fident quick steps to suggest that he had recently dined on anything more controversial than tofu.  Evidently it was a matter of out of sight, out of mind.  Short of rudeness that, God only knows why, seemed impermissible at the time, there was no escaping his company on the single path that would take us back to the dormitory.

“Geez, they really stretched things out, didn’t they?” Eddie said by way of a greeting.  “Never would have happened back on Ruinecam.  The whole audience would have walked out an hour ago.  Myself included.”

I could see Matty’s feathers quiver slightly evidenc­ing, no doubt, an underlying attack of goose flesh.  Nevertheless,  she managed to contain herself.  Sounding almost concili­atory, she said, “Greta told me how little patience you Ruinecamian males have.”

“She ought to know, I guess.”  Eddie‘s lips opened in a weak smile.  “She tested it enough.”

“You mean her complaining about her kids?  The poor dear said that instead of apologizing, you practically chewed her head off.”

“Greta said that?”  Eddie shook his head wistfully and gave a low, almost inaudible whistle.

“Her very words.  She said you guys could fly off the handle at the least little thing.  She had every right to be upset,” insisted Matty.

“Not according to her marriage vows.  She was supposed to love, honor, obey, and keep her damned mouth shut.”

“That’s not the way females are treated here, and you know it.”

“So what?  You’re trying to apply Luxan mores retroactively to a marriage that had nothing to do with them.  Won’t wash.  There are multicultural issues involved.   Sociobiological differ­ences.”

“Sociobiological differ­ences, my claws.”  Matty hissed.  “You can’t go around murdering people whenever you feel like it.”

“I don’t.  Only when I’m hungry.  It’s a matter of survival,” declared Eddie.  “Ruinecamians  have to recy­cle their community supply of protein.  It’s the only way we can make it.”

“Hogwash!  You can get all the protein you want right in the dining room three times a day.”  Matty shot back.

Fearing that my lack of moral support might be con­tri­buting to Matty’s anger, I took this be­lated opportu­nity to come to her aid.  “Matty’s right,” I admonished. “Commu­nal protein’s no excuse for your wolfing down your family like a string of sausages.”

“Oh, you’re saying sausages would have been okay, I suppose,” Eddie countered.

“Of course they’re okay.”

“Real sausages?  Like in grinding up animals and stuffing them back in their own intestines?”

I was at a loss to answer, but not Matty. “Don’t give me that,” she squawked.  “A salami on rye is one thing.  A family on a roll, is another.”

“Right,” Eddie retorted.  “It’s the difference between exploiting every animal you can get your hands on and making do among your own kind.  On Ru­inecam there really isn’t any choice.  Everybody’s half starved all the time.  If we want meat, there’s none of this la-de-da detouring to the butcher shop for the simple reason there aren’t any butcher shops.  We’re the only animal species left, so when things get bad enough—when there’s not even enough beans to go around—all we can do is eat family style.  Provided the kids don’t skedaddle first.”

“But you’re not on Ruinecam,” I declared stoutly.  “You’re on Luxenben.  Here the common practice—not to mention elementary good manners—dic­tates that when one takes one’s family to dinner, as many indi­viduals ex­it the meal as first entered into it.”

Eddie flattened his ears back, an indication I gathered of mounting surliness.  “That’s easy for you to say.  But you can’t grow up on Ruinecam without developing certain reflexes.  And they don’t go away just be­cause you happen to switch habitats.  Fast on the gnaw, you know what I mean?”

I could well imagine that poor Matty was torn between two of her strongest allegiances.  On the one hand, she was a strong feminist, and what feminist could help being of­fended by so grievous an example of uninhibited male appe­tite?  At the same time, the Semi Compound had no stauncher advocate of genetic diversity than Matilda; no matter who or what the curators saw fit to fling into the Upsem Dorm, the good creature was always there to lend the newcomer a helping hand.  Her liberal attitude in this regard showed through as well in her role as the dorm’s unofficial house mother.  In­appropriate behavior on the part of one Semi or another was a daily occurrence, but good Matty could always be counted on to handle it with a common sense mix of understanding, and firmness.  She stopped challenging the little beast and allowed him to continue recounting the deprivations he had suffered on his native planet.

Pleased with the op­portunity to strengthen his case, Eddie proceeded to unburden himself of long suppressed images.  The social order on Ruinecam had collapsed along with the original kingdoms sev­eral cen­turies before, and since then the planet had sunk deeper and deeper into anarchy.  Nowadays tribal chieftains ruled with only their own self-preservation in mind—a not unreasonable objective given the regularity with which they were assassinated.

The same shock waves that destroyed Ruinecam’s politi­cal or­der also swept away personal liberties, the administration of justice, standards of behavior, and decent living standards.  The only place to find even mention of former lifestyles was in children’s books in which once common amenities were referred to as magical gifts dispensed by fairy god­mothers.

When I asked the cause of Ruinecam’s disintegration, Eddie recounted the history of his unfortunate planet.  It so happened that on Ruinecam precocious sexuality, hyperactive libidos, short gesta­tion periods, and estimable fecundity combined to create a most formidable birth rate that, in the past, had been merci­fully held in check by a corre­spondingly formidable death rate.  When medical advances reduced infant mor­tality and lengthened life spans, the population dam gave way and, in a surprisingly few generations, an unman­ageable flood of little beasties engulfed the land.  At the advent of this torrent of pups, the more farsighted of the Ruinecamian statesmen recognized that the planet could not long sustain so drastic an imbal­ance and argued for drastic remedies.  However, even such obvious measures as not allowing a family of four on relief to return for more assistance as a family of five, was characterized as insensitive and voted down.  Thus prevailing attitudes, regarded as empathetic at the time, allowed population growth to continue unabated.

When the political system literally collapsed under the weight of Ruinecamian avoirdupois, the planet reverted to primitive social and economic structures albeit at the expense of previous standards.  Over time, customs took hold that only a few generations before would have been regarded with utmost abhorrence.  For example, the tra­di­tional function of funerals was expanded not only to re­move one more mouth from the table, but to incrementally re­load the table itself, as it were, at least for the mourn­ers lucky enough to be invited.  As part of the etiquette sur­rounding this ritual, Eddie recalled, bunches of vegeta­bles were sent to the bereaved instead of funeral wreathes, broths substituted for embalming fluids, and ice sculpture replaced candelabra alongside the laid-out loved one.

Going on in this unhappy vein, Eddie related that births—particularly those within the bonds of wedlock where, it was presumed, at least a degree of premeditation was in­volved—became subject to increasing public disfavor. And those obste­tricians, who, in quest of illicit profits, de­parted from their ethical abortion practices, were confined to back-alley birth mills.  Legal disputes were oftentimes settled by the award of the loser to the winner which, grim as it sounds, was not as un­civilized as those out-of-court settlements in which justice was meted out by the faster jaw.

Matty asked the little beast if he foresaw any hope for improvement in the status of his compatriots.  Might not, for example, a restoration of religious principles play a constructive role in the absence of politi­cal order? Eddie’s surprising response was that organized religion had never lost its hold on the Ruinecamian soul, and, in fact, every custom he described was fully in accord with current religious principles.  The same priest, for example, who put on his chasuble to deliver a eulogy, would, at its conclusion, just as gingerly replace it with a napkin.  Indeed, religion had come to play an even larger role in their affairs as secular authority dimmed, but this, if anything, had served only to widen the latitude afforded their behavioral practices thanks to the legendary elasticity of religious scruples when accommodation de­manded.

The only balm offered by the church for the misery of life upon Ruinecam was the virtue of resignation and, under­standably enough, this attribute it raised above all others.  Never in this life was one expected to find anything on Ru­inecam better than what he had—the only purpose of life be­ing endurance, the only wanted virtues, fortitude and tithing.

Eddie would have been better advised to stop there but, given this rare chance to unburden himself, concluded his horrendous account with a brief description of Ruinecam’s judicial system.  It was, he said, enlisted—or compelled, however one chose to characterize it—to do its share in controlling population growth.  The death sentence was not only universally applied to all major crimes but a host of minor infractions as well, including burglary, jaywalking, mugging, double-parking, pick pocket­ing, nagging, shoplifting, and littering, to name a few of the more common.

I assumed the little beast was prepared to go on but he was momentarily distracted by one of his animalcule houseguests.  He produced a half smile, excused him­self, and, with a polite lift of his eyebrows, lunged back­wards in its pursuit.  I took the opportunity to glance at Matilda to see how she was taking his last disclosure.  As I feared, not well.  The calm she had exhibited the last few minutes had been an affectation that could no longer be sustained.  Latching upon one particular word in his account, Matty’s eyes flashed emergency signals and her head abruptly switched into an unsustainably fast wind­shield-wiper mode.

“Did you say ‘nagging?’” she spit out as she hopped from one foot to the other.

As ill-suited as Eddie’s dentition seemed to be for the purpose, the hunt was soon over, the prize bagged, and the proud hunter en­abled to return to the subject at hand.

“What?” Eddie responded with understandable caution.

“Nagging!  That was on your list of capital crimes!”

“Yeah, I guess so.  Like I said, lots of…”

For a moment the poor bird took to stabbing her bill repeatedly into her feathers, as though frenetic preening was far and away the most effective response to the situation possible.  Then, whip­ping her beak from her breast cage as though she were draw­ing a revolver from its holster, she emitted an open-billed shriek and, with a few vio­lent flaps, catapulted into the dark­ness.

If there were any doubt in my mind as to the depth of Matilda’s indignation, her impulsive flight re­solved it, for, although she had qualified years before and maintained a license ever since, I knew she hated night flying.  I hoped she would have the presence of mind to simply follow the lighted path back to the dorm and call it quits.  Just the thought of her gal­livanting about in the dark, dependent upon outworn in­stru­men­tation and unpracticed skills, made me cringe as I stood there on the path, my eyes turned in the direction in which the old bird had disappeared.

Eddie, on the other hand, was unperturbed.  “She’ll be all right once she gets a little circulation past that air-cooled brain of hers,” he noted comfortingly.

I felt guilty.  I owed it to poor, open-hearted Matilda to have been more supportive than I was.  Fearful that my mo­tives may have been misconstrued by Eddie as an indication of sympathy for him—or, worse yet, as some sort of invita­tion for male bonding—I trudged ahead with as much speed and as little conversation as possible.  Eddie’s doings were none of my business and I wanted to hear no more of them.

“Slow down, willya?” he called out.  “I want to ask you something.  Do you think the curators will be pissed?”

“I’d be surprised if they weren’t.  They didn’t go to all the trouble of putting together the collection just to see it eaten away.  Remember orientation?  Why in the hell do you think they spent so much time talking about healthful lifestyles?  Not just for our health, that’s for sure.”

“Hell, I didn’t give it a second thought at the time.  What do you think they’ll do to me?”

“How should I know?  But I’d be surprised if they let you keep your trusty status.”

“Don’t even talk like that.  Not after all the grief I went through qualifying.  One stretch in that place is enough.  I’ve had it with Research.”

I abruptly slowed my pace and allowed Eddie to catch up.  “Research?  You were interred there?”  For yet another time that evening the institution loomed large.

“Yeah.  Seemed like forever.”

“Were you able to move around?  Talk to other Semis?” I asked.

“Just a few of the cleaning people.  They got quite a few Semis in there doing the menial stuff.”

“I have a friend in there.  His name is Neuman?  We came here together.”

“Nope.  But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.  It’s a big place,” said Eddie.  “What’s he in for?”

“I don’t know.  Some minor infraction, maybe.  He can be a little delusional too.  The kid’s only nineteen, and the change in planets could have shook him up some.”

“Hmph!” Eddie shrugged.  “Psycho case, huh.  They handled those in a different building.  It’s restricted.  Guards and everything.”

The very word “restricted,” in the gloom of this late hour, conjured up Conrad’s forebodings.  I wished Matty hadn’t prevented me from reading the Surge’s flyer.  “I’m going to try to see him tomorrow.  What goes on inside that place, anyway.  Before I go I…

Eddie cut me off.  “It’s been a long day.  What’d say we put it off till after breakfast.  Be glad to talk about it then, okay?”

“Sure.  See you in the courtyard outside the cafeteria?”

“Suits me.”
With each of us dwelling on our own thoughts, what lit­tle distance remained to the dorm was accomplished without further conversation.  As we neared the lighted entrance, we saw Matilda dead ahead, perched on a heavy branch overhanging the walk.  I could tell that all was not well.  The old bird sat unmov­ing, panting heavily through her opened beak.  The dull orbs of her eyes bulged outward as though pressured by recol­lections of her night-flying escapade and her left leg was bent painfully at the knee.

“Don’t ask,” she said landing heavily on the walkway beside me.

In contrast with Matty’s dejection, Eddies spirits rose when we neared the Upsem Dorm.  While I held back to keep company with Ma­tilda who could gain ground only by taking one painful hop at a time, he strutted confidently ahead in the van.

One end of the first floor was reserved for married couples and it was a window in one of these units that Eddie attended to as he neared the building.  His interest was rewarded when, to our surprise, out of the window popped Greta’s head shouting a friendly, pique-free greeting.  Eddie immediately responded with a warm salutation of his own that led me to suspect that reconciliation and possibly even a new litter was in the offing.

Greta’s resurrection led me to reevaluate the little beast in a somewhat more forgiving light.  I had to ad­mit that behind that gruff aspect and formida­ble rows of teeth, Eddie had a pretty good head on his shoul­ders.  It seemed to me that he had acquitted himself about as well as anyone could under the circumstances.  Just how well that sin­gle head of his would stand up against those of his Enforcement Agency prosecu­tor in the Zoo’s Depart­ment of Internal Security was an­other matter; concoct­ing a defense against a charge of familycide ag­gravated by can­nibalism would, I feared, have its difficulties.