Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [393]
Something in the lines which formed about Immya’s mouth suggested she was attempting to chew over these weighty matters; but she switched instead to a contemplaion of Billy’s remarks. Her intelligence told her that if the statement proved true, it would be of great importance – if not immediately, then a few centuries ahead, when, the scanty records suggested, fat death pandemics were due.
Thinking so far into the future was not a local habit. She gave him a nod and said, ‘I will think about it, Billish, and bring your perception before our medical society when next we meet. If we understand the true nature of this malady, perhaps we can find a cure.’
‘No. Disease essential for survival …’ He could see that she would never accept and he could never explain his point. He compromised by forcing out, ‘I told your father.’
The remark deflected her interest from medical questions. She stared away from him, swathing herself in silence, seeming to shrink into herself. When she spoke again, her voice was deeper and harsher, as if she too had to communicate from within an imprisonment.
‘What else did you do with my father? In Borlien. Was he drunk? I want to know – did he have a young woman on the boat from Matrassyl? Did he have carnal knowledge of her? You must tell me.’ She leaned over him, to grasp him as her brother had done. ‘He’s drinking now. There was a woman, wasn’t there? I ask you for my mother’s sake.’
The intensity with which these words were spoken frightened Billy; he strove to sink deeper into the tree, to feel the rough bark gripping his eddre. Bubbles came from his mouth.
She shook him. ‘Did he have carnal knowledge? Tell me. Die if you will, but tell me.’
He tried to nod.
Something in his distorted expression confirmed her guess. A look of vindictive satisfaction came on her face.
‘Men! That’s how they take advantage of women. My poor mother has suffered from his debauchery for years, poor innocent thing. I found out years ago. It was an awful shock. We Dimariamians are respectable people, not like the inhabitants of the Savage Continent, which I hope never to have to visit …’
As her voice died, Billy attempted an inarticulate protest. It served to rekindle the fire of Immya’s animosity. ‘And what about the poor innocent girl involved? And her innocent mother? I long ago made that brother of mine, the bane of my life, confess to me everything my father does … Men are pigs, ruled by lust, unable to keep faith …’
‘The girl.’ But Abathy’s name became entangled with the knots in his larynx.
*
Gloaming enveloped Lordryardry. Freyr sank to the west. Bird songs became fewer. Batalix took up a position low on the horizon, where it could glare across the water at the scaley things piled on the shore. Mists thickened, obscuring the stars and the Night Worm.
Eivi Muntras brought Billy some soup before she retired to bed. As he drank, terrible hungers rose from his very eddre. His immobility was overcome, he sprang at Eivi, bit her shoulder and tore flesh from it. He ran about the room screaming. This was the bulimia associated with the late stages of fat death. Other members of the family came running, slaves brought lights. Billy was cursed and cuffed and strapped down to his bed.
For an hour he was left, while the sound of ministrations came from the other end of the house. He endured visions of eating Eivi whole, of sucking her brains. He wept. He imagined that he was back on the Avernus. He imagined he was eating Rose Yi Pin. He wept again. His tears fell like leaves.
Boards creaked in the corridor. A dim lamp appeared, behind it a man’s face floating