Foundation's Edge - Isaac Asimov [109]
"It was nothing, Novi. You are not to fear." He patted her nearer hand. "There is nothing to fear. Do you understand?"
Fear--or any strong emotion--twisted and spoiled the symmetry of her mind somewhat. He preferred it calm and peaceful and happy, but he hesitated at the thought of adjusting it into that position by outer influence. She had felt the previous adjustment to be the effect of his words and it seemed to him that he preferred it that way.
He said, "Novi, why don't I call you Sura?"
She looked up at him in sudden woe. "Oh, Master, do not do so."
"But Rufirant did so on that day that we met. I know you well enough now--"
"I know well he did so, Master. It be how a man speak to girl who have no man, no betrothed, who is--not complete. You say her previous. It is more honorable for me if you say 'Novi' and I be proud that you say so. And if I have not man now, I have master and I be pleased. I hope it be not offensive to you to say 'Novi.' "
"It certainly isn't, Novi."
And her mind was beautifully smooth at that and Gendibal was pleased. Too pleased. Ought he to be so pleased?
A little shamefacedly, he remembered that the Mule was supposed to have been affected in this manner by that woman of the First Foundation, Bayta Darell, to his own undoing.
This, of course, was different. This Hamishwoman was his defense against alien minds and he wanted her to serve that purpose most efficiently.
No, that was not true--His function as a Speaker would be compromised if he ceased to understand his own mind or, worse, if he deliberately misconstrued it to avoid the truth. The truth was that it pleased him when she was calm and peaceful and happy endogenously--without his interference--and that it pleased him simply because she pleased him; and (he thought defiantly) there was nothing wrong with that.
He said, "Sit down, Novi."
She did so, balancing herself precariously at the edge of the chair and sitting as far away as the confines of the room allowed. Her mind was flooded with respect.
He said, "When you saw me making sounds, Novi, I was speaking at a long distance, scholar-fashion."
Novi said sadly, her eyes cast down, "I see, Master, that there be much to scowler-fashion I understand not and imagine not. It be difficult mountain-high art. I be ashamed to have come to you to be made scowler. How is it, Master, you did not be-laugh me?"
Gendibal said, "It is no shame to aspire to something even if it is beyond your reach. You are now too old to be made a scholar after my fashion, but you are never too old to learn more than you already know and to become able to do more than you already can. I will teach you something about this ship. By the time we reach our destination, you will know quite a bit about it."
He felt delighted. Why not? He was deliberately turning his back on the stereotype of the Hamish people. What right, in any case, had the heterogeneous group of the Second Foundation to set up such a stereotype? The young produced by them were only occasionally suited to become high-level Second Foundationers themselves. The children of Speakers almost never qualified to be Speakers. There were the three generations of Linguesters three centuries ago, but there was always the suspicion that the middle Speaker of that series did not really belong. And if that were true, who were the people of the University to place themselves on so high a pedestal?
He watched Novi's eyes glisten and was pleased that they did.
She said, "I try hard to learn all you teach me, Master."
"I'm sure you will," he said--and then hesitated. It occurred to him that, in his conversation with Compor, he had in no way indicated at any time that he was not alone. There was no hint of a companion.
A woman could be taken for granted, perhaps; at least, Compor would no doubt not be surprised. --But a Hamishwoman?
For a moment, despite anything Gendibal could do, the stereotype reigned supreme