Narabedla Ltd (34 page)

And that was just the human beings. At Meretekabinnda’s advice I had invited all the aliens I knew, and a few I didn’t think I did. Most of them showed up, too. Binnda brought two bottles of Glenlivet Scotch and another Mnimn named (I think) Fl’tstitsni. Fl’tstitsni was female. At least, I assumed so, watching them dance with all their limber limbs entwined around each other. The Tlotta-Mother didn’t come herself, of course—she couldn’t—but three of her bedbug drones were there, skittering around under everybody’s feet and taking chittering part in the conversations, one of them in English. Even Barak came, bringing Dr. Boddadukti with him. I was not real easy in the Duntidon’s presence, though he seemed affable enough. Barak himself was a little sulky because the Mother had backed Binnda up in declining to do the Busoni
Turandot,
but he seemed to enjoy the music and the dancing, burping out compliments to the couples on the floor. He only stayed a minute, though—complained he couldn’t stand the smell of the Earth food and beverages.

That was a good thing. It wasn’t until he and Boddadukti left and the air had cleared out a little that the rest of us could enjoy them.

Enjoy them we did. Well, most of us did, most of them. I made the mistake of trying Tricia’s vegetable quiche, and she caught me at it. “Oh, isn’t it any good?” she asked anxiously. “I was afraid I’d spoiled it. I couldn’t get any hing to put into it so I used onions, even though they’re not acceptable to Lord Krishna.”

“It’s fine,” I lied, chewing without swallowing. “I don’t miss the hing at all.”

“But we always used hing in the commune, and, hey, nobody’s eating the eggplant salad either,” she said disconsolately, but then I felt a huge hand on my shoulder and turned to see Conjur grinning at me.

“You eatin’ that stuff?” he demanded. “You got guts, Nolly. Listen, Binnda’s looking for you. He’s outside. Says he’s got some people he wants to introduce to you.”

The reason they were outside was that one of the “people” was one of those big things that look like a praying mantis, a Ptrreek, and another was one of the skinny baboons with the pine-needle Mohawks. Both were fourteen feet tall. They almost touched the imitation sky of the ceiling, but they weren’t any uglier than the third “person” Binnda had invited. That was a Hrunwian, and he looked, more than anything else, like a five-foot, Cellophane-skinned shrimp.

I swallowed the miserable quiche as Binnda introduced us, beginning with the Ptrreek. “This is Mr. Tsooshirrisip, who is in charge of all exotic entertainers for the Ptrreek. He particularly admires works about your human The Earth superstitions.”

I didn’t try to shake hands. I couldn’t have reached his, anyway.

The shrimplike Hrunwian, whose name I didn’t catch at all, whistled something that Binnda translated as, “He hopes to see you soon. And here is Neereeieeree”—Binnda didn’t so much speak the name as whinny it—“who is of course an Aiurdi. They have never had any of your The Earth entertainers on his planet, but one can always hope they will change their minds, can’t one?”

“One can,” I said. This time I did shake hands, although it was more like clutching a whiskbroom. Apparently it was the right thing to do, because Binnda beamed at me.

“Since not all of our guests can come into your rather small house,” he said merrily, patting my shoulder, “suppose you and I bring them something from the bar, eh? Come along, then!” And on the way he whispered, “They’re very important people, my dear boy! We’re so lucky they decided to come—it can mean great things for our tour. And, oh, it’s a fine party!”

I thought he was right about that. It was a good party, and I was being a good host. After I’d seen that our weirdo guests in the street had plenty of good The Earth liquor and even some of Tricia’s not so good The Earth macrobiotic food, I circulated. I told pretty little Maggie Murk that she looked lovely in her off-the-shoulder, 1920s, flapper-skirted dress (which was very true), and the other soprano, Sue-Mary Petticardi, said, “Thank you,” for her as she drew her away. I told Ephard Joyce I was glad to see him there (which was a lie), and he said to me, “You know, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what you said. About me being a star back home, that is.” I pointed out to Bart Canduccio where I kept the
regalo
he had given me, right next to the skry, and he informed me that I was a good enough fellow but that (looking poisonously at Ugolino Malatesta) some of my friends didn’t deserve me. I told the Ptrreek, Tsooshirrisip (out in the street, of course), that I was delighted to see all our races mingling in social harmony—by then I was fairly well liquored—and he whistled something that my Purry translated as, “If you come to our planet I hope you’re not as repulsive as the last bunch.”

But Binnda pulled me away apologetically. “Don’t mind anything he says,” he whispered. “You’ll win them over, I know you will. Have another drink.” And he refilled my glass from the bottle he carried wound into one arm.

Apparently Binnda had not noticed that my glass was already half full. I had never drunk half-and-half Scotch and Jack Daniel’s before. It didn’t matter. The party was going well, and I was beginning to float.

I was also beginning to feel very conscious of the sights and smells of the pretty women who were gracing my home. I caught sight of Maggie Murk dancing with the Russian tenor, Dmitri Arkashvili, and it suggested something to me. Maggie was singing Zerlina to my Don Giovanni, and there had been something definitely warm-blooded in the way she responded to me in the flirtation scene in rehearsals. As soon as indefatigable Purry began the next selection I cut in.

Maggie felt as good in my arms as she looked and smelled. I whispered in her ear, “You know, this party won’t last forever. I wonder if you’d like to stay a bit when it’s over.” She snuggled closer. “But the Kekketies will clean everything up for you,” she said demurely.

“Oh, well, I wasn’t thinking so much of doing housework,” I told her, tracing her rib cage with my fingertips. “Maybe not even stay here at all, you know? We could go down to that place with the pool and the waterfall, just the two of us, where it’s nice and quiet—”

I felt a vigorous tap on my shoulder. I turned in annoyance to see which mannerless male was trying to cut in, but it wasn’t a male at all. It was tall, dark, somber Sue-Mary Petticardi, glaring at me. “Malcolm Porchester’s looking for you,” she told me. “Maggie! Don’t you think it’s about time we thought of going home?”

I gazed after them, Maggie meekly following as the taller, older woman tugged her along. It was a downer, all right. Then I turned to see Malcolm Porchester at the door of my bedroom, beaming as he beckoned to me. “Come and look,” he said proudly. Tricia came over to me, giggling an odd little giggle. She took me by the arm and led me into the bedroom.

There on my dresser Porchester had made a sort of sand painting, a picture of me (it did look a little like me) dressed in my Don Giovanni finery, making a sweeping bow. Porchester hadn’t used sand. The stuff had produced almost a monochrome—white, yellow, brownish powders. I noticed that there were a dozen little plastic spoons arranged around the edges of the picture, but I didn’t understand their meaning at first.

“Thanks a lot, Malcolm,” I said. “It’s beautiful, only how am I going to keep it from getting ruined?”

“It’s not meant to
keep,”
said Malcolm, sounding offended.

Tricia was already handing me one of the little spoons. “You get the first hit,” she said. “I was the one that supplied the three different kinds of coke, but the artwork was Malcolm’s idea. Go ahead, Nolly, take a toot. It’s really all very mild stuff.”

Comprehension struck. “Ah,” I said, temporizing. “It’s, uh, very nice of you.”

I didn’t entirely mean it. I’d never done cocaine, not even at parties. Back in the old days on Earth I had always been uneasy when someone brought out the little silver snuffbox or the plastic pouch, and I was twice as uneasy here. What were the drug laws on Narabedla? No one had told me. Was this going to mean something like slow time? Or even worse?

From the doorway I heard Binnda’s voice. “What is this I smell? Can it really be some of your good The Earth coke? May I?”

So it wasn’t against the local laws, after all.

Actually I didn’t need cocaine, or the joints that my next-door neighbor, the figure-skater, was passing around. The drinks and the party had me high enough already. Everybody seemed to be having a good time. Even Norah Platt, in spite of her advanced years, was cutting the rugs with the best of them, and when she collapsed on the briefly vacated edge of the couch I knelt beside her. “Having fun? You look like a teenager out there!”

“Oh, I feel that way, Nolly dear! It’s a wonderful party. And of course I’m completely recovered. Dr. Boddadukti is so
very
good, and doesn’t even leave a scar—I do wish we’d had barber-surgeons like him when I was a girl! So gentle!”

Well, I’d had all those drinks. “But Norah,” I said reasonably, “he drinks human blood.”

“You never saw him do that!”

“I saw him lick it off his claws, and he didn’t spit it out.” 

“Well,” said Norah vaguely, “what difference does it make, really? The Duntidons don’t eat
intelligent
beings anymore, so I suppose in a way it’s a treat for him—oh, thank you, Ugo dear.” She was talking to the castrato, who had brought over a pair of drinks for them.

I didn’t even look at him. “What do you mean, any
more?”
She looked exasperated. “Oh, Nolly, what difference does it make what they used to do in the old days when they had wars? One does hear these stories about the Duntidons, but they’re all in the past, aren’t they?” Malatesta somehow managed to squeeze into a space on the couch beside her, listening politely.

“In any case,” he told me in Italian, slow enough for Norah to follow, “we do not need to see Duntidons very often, do we?”

“I think not,” Norah said. “As I understand it, we’ll be visiting the Hrunwians and the Ptrreek.”

“Have you been to those places?”

“Nolly, dear,” she said, “I’ve been to
all
the places. All the ones that let people in, anyway. Remember how long I’ve been here! These are quite nice ones. Well, true, the Ptrreek do smell a bit odd, and the Hrunwians are a bit rough and ready, you know. But there’s a zoo on the Ptrreek planet; if we have time I’d love to see it again with you. We could pack a lunch, just the two of us.”

“Careful, careful,” Malatesta warned good-naturedly. “This good young man will think you have an amatory interest in him.”

“Why should she not?” demanded Bart Canduccio, drunk and nasty. I hadn’t seen him approach, but there he was, wavering as he stood over us. “She has already shown that she can take interest even in a eunuch!”

I could have told him that, true or not, that was not a good thing to say.

Malatesta’s good humor dried up like spit on a skillet. He pushed himself away from Norah and bravely stood up to Canduccio. He snarled something unpleasant—all I could make out was the word “
ubriaco
” meaning drunk—and Canduccio responded in kind. Operatic Italian was not enough to follow that exchange. All I could be sure of was that it was dirty, unpleasant, and loud. Loud enough so that the people around were turning toward us, and even Purry’s music faltered as he peered over at us.

Norah stood up angrily. “Ugo! Bart! The two of you, stop this at once or I’ll never speak to either of you again—oh, you
beast,”
she hissed at Canduccio as he flung some more Italian at her and flounced out of the room.

Malatesta shrugged, triumphant. Norah turned to me. “I do apologize, Nolly,” she said penitently. “Bart simply can’t drink distilled liquor, it makes him crazy. And he’s just the tiniest bit jealous, you know, because he stopped in last night and found Ugo and me watching a film together.”

“A cassetta,” Malatesta corroborated in English, grinning. “Your, how is it called,
Deep-a T’roat.”

Norah scowled at him. “But do go on with the party, please,” she called to the room at large. “Tricia! Come dance with Nolly. Purry, start the music again, please?”

In spite of what Malatesta had said (not to mention what I’d seen with my own eyes when we were getting ready for our little operations), I had trouble thinking of Norah Platt as a functioning sexual person. The knowledge of her age kept getting in the way, and when Tricia whispered in my ear, “Was she, Nolly? Coming on to you, I mean?” I was shocked.

“She’s two hundred years old!” I said.

“But, hey, that’s not answering my question,” she said, pressing against my chest. “And I saw the way you were hitting on Maggie Murk. You’re wasting your time there, you know. Sue-Mary keeps her all to herself.”

“Oh, hell,” I said, startled. It was true that the two of them lived together, and spent a lot of time whispering to each other. But I just hadn’t thought.

Tricia said dreamily, “You know, you do have pretty neat pecs. For a singer, I mean.”

Dozen-year-old memories were coming back to me. I could feel interest developing inside me. “Tricia,” I whispered, “I like yours, too.”

And what might have come of it I don’t know, but Binnda spoiled it. He ended the party.

“Dear members of the Greater Bolshoi Opera Company and honored friends,” he called, sounding very pleased with himself. “May I have your attention?”

He had climbed up onto the table next to the skry, steadying himself against it with one limber arm. “It is a tragedy to end such a joyous occasion, but all good things must come to an end. And I have an announcement to make.”

That took care of the party. People turned toward him, even coming in from outside to hear. Already the Kekketies, taking their cue from him, were beginning silently to move about, collecting empty glasses and debris. Through the door to my bedroom I could see the Mother’s drones carefully sweeping up the last few grains of cocaine—I supposed to take home to Mama.

When he had everyone’s full attention, Binnda said, “This is more than a housewarming party for our dear Nolly Stennis. It is the beginning of a wonderful new episode in the dissemination of the operatic culture of your The Earth among the Fifteen Associated Peoples. My announcement is this: I have just reached agreement with our good friends from Hrunw and Ptrreek. Our tour begins at once! Tomorrow we leave for the Ptrreek planet, and our first public performance of this greatest of all opera seasons!”