Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold [234]
After a time he said, "I guess I understand now why Drou was so worried about being pregnant."
"Do you?" said Cordelia.
"Lady Vorpatril's troubles make mine look . . . pretty small. God, that looked painful."
"Mm. But the pain only lasts a day." She rubbed her scar. "Or a few weeks. I don't think that's it."
"What is, then?"
"It's . . . a transcendental act. Making life. I thought about that, when I was carrying Miles. 'By this act, I bring one death into the world.' One birth, one death, and all the pain and acts of will between. I didn't understand certain Oriental mystic symbols like the Death-mother, Kali, till I realized it wasn't mystic at all, just plain fact. A Barrayaran-style sexual 'accident' can start a chain of causality that doesn't stop till the end of time. Our children change us . . . whether they live or not. Even though your child turned out to be chimerical this time, Drou was touched by that change. Weren't you?"
He shook his head in bafflement. "I wasn't thinking about all that. I just wanted to be normal. Like other men."
"I think your instincts are all right. They're just not enough. I don't suppose you could get your instincts and your intellect working together for once, instead of at cross-purposes?"
He snorted. "I don't know. I don't know . . . how to get through to her now. I said I was sorry."
"It's not all right between you two, is it?"
"No."
"You know what's bothered me most, on the journey up here?" said Cordelia.
"No . . ."
"I couldn't say goodbye to Aral. If . . . anything happens to me—or to him, for that matter—it will leave something hanging, unraveled, between us. And no way to ever make it right."
"Mm." He folded a little more into himself, slumped in the chair.
She meditated a bit. "What have you tried besides 'I'm sorry'? How about, 'How do you feel? Are you all right? Can I help? I love you,' there's a classic. Words of one syllable. Mostly questions, now I think on it. Shows an interest in starting a conversation, y'know?"
He smiled sadly. "I don't think she wants to talk to me anymore."
"Suppose," she leaned her head back, and stared unseeing down the hallway. "Suppose things hadn't taken such a wrong turn, that night. Suppose you hadn't panicked. Suppose that idiot Evon Vorhalas hadn't interrupted with his little horror show." There was a thought. Too painful, that might-not-have-been. "Drop back to square one. There you were, cuddling happily." Aral had used that word, cuddling. It hurt too much to think of Aral just now, too. "You part friends, you wake up the next morning, er, aching with unrequited love . . . what happens next, on Barrayar?"
"A go-between."
"Ah?"
"Her parents, or mine, would hire a go-between. And then they'd, well, arrange things."
"And you do what?"
He shrugged. "Show up on time for the wedding and pay the bill, I guess. Actually, the parents pay the bill."
No wonder the man was at a loss. "Did you want a wedding? Not just to get laid?"
"Yes! But . . . Milady, I'm just about half a man, on a good day. Her family'd take one look at me and laugh."
"Have you ever met her family? Have they met you?"
"No . . ."
"Kou, are you listening to yourself?"
He looked rather shamefaced. "Well . . ."
"A go-between. Huh." She stood up.
"Where are you going?" he asked nervously.
"Between," she said firmly. She marched down the hall to Lady Vorpatril's door, and stuck her head in. Droushnakovi was sitting watching the sleeping woman. Two beers and the sandwiches sat untouched on a bedside table.
Cordelia slipped within, and closed the door gently. "You know," she murmured, "good soldiers never pass up a chance to eat or sleep. They never know how much they'll be called on to do, before the next chance."
"I'm not hungry." Drou too had a folded-in look, as if caught