Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [635]
Luterin started cautiously down the street. His mood was one of elation at his escape. He could see beyond the end of the street, where it seemed eternity began. There was an unlimited expanse of snow, its dimensions emphasised by occasional trees. In the distance stretched a band of pink of the most delicate kind, where the sun Freyr still lit on a far cliff, the southern face of the northern ice cap. This vista lifted his spirits further, suggesting as it did the endless possibilities of the planet, beyond the reach of human pettiness. Despite all oppression, the great world remained, inexhaustible in its forms and lights. He might be gazing upon the face of the Beholder herself.
He passed an entranceway where a figure lurked. It called his name. He turned. Through the dusk, he saw a woman wrapped in furs.
‘You are almost there. Aren’t you excited?’ she said.
He went to her, clutched her, felt her narrow body under the furs.
‘Insil! You waited.’
‘Only partly for you. The fish seller has something I need. I am sick after that performance in there, with the silly drama and speeches. They think they have conquered nature when they wrap a few words round it. And of course my sherb of a husband mouthing the word Sibornal as if it were a mouthwash … I’m sick, I need to drug myself against them. What is that filthy curse which the commoners use, meaning to commit irrumation on both suns? The forbidden oath? Tell me.’
‘You mean, “Abro Hakmo Astab”?’
She repeated it with relish. Then she screamed it.
Hearing her say it excited him. He held her tight and forced his mouth against hers. They struggled. He heard his own voice saying, ‘Let me biwack you here, Insil, as I’ve always longed to do. You’re not really frigid. I know it. You’re really a whore, just a whore, and I want you.’
‘You’re drunk, get away, get away. Toress Lahl is awaiting you.’
‘I care nothing for her. You and I are meant for each other. That’s been the case ever since we were children. Let’s fulfil ourselves. You once promised me. Now’s the time, Insil, now!’
Her great eyes were close to his.
‘You frighten me. What’s come over you? Let me be.’
‘No, no, I don’t have to let you be now. Insil – Asperamanka is dead. The phagors killed him. We can be married now, anything, only let me have you, please, please!’
She wrenched herself away from him.
‘He’s dead? Dead? No. It can’t be. Oh, the cur!’ She started screaming and ran down the street, holding up her trailing skirt above the trodden snow.
Luterin followed in horror at her distress.
He tried to detain her but she said something which he at first could not understand. She was crying for a pipe of occhara.
The fish seller was, as she had said, at the end of the street. A short passage had been constructed beyond the original shop front, allowing passengers to enter without bringing the cold in with them. Above the door was a sign saying ODIM’S FINEST FISH.
They entered a dim parlour where several men stood, warmly wrapped, all of them metamorphosed winter shapes. Seals and large fish hung on hooks. Smaller fish, crabs, and eels were bedded in ice on a counter. Luterin took little notice of his surroundings, so concerned was he for Insil, who was now almost hysterical.
But the men recognised her. ‘We know what she wants,’ one said, grinning. He led her into a rear room.
One of the other men came forward and said, ‘I remember you, sir.’
He was youthful and had a vaguely foreign look about him.
‘My name is Kenigg Odim,’ he said. ‘I sailed with you on that journey from Koriantura to Rivenjk. I was just a lad then, but you may recollect my father, Eedap Odim.’
‘Of course, of course,’ said Luterin distractedly. ‘A dealer in something. Ivory, was it?’
‘Porcelain, sir. My father still lives in Rivenjk, and organises supplies of good fish to come up here every week. It’s a paying business, and there’s no demand for porcelain these days. Life’s better down in Rivenjk, sir, I must say. Fine feelings is about