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drive off evil spirits."
FIVE
We got home exhausted, two hours after Second Sunset, but none of us could
sleep, so we didn't try. Bruce had accessed a new collection of
paintings, just arrived from
Buisson in the Metallah system, and was running up the holos of them for
Bieris, so the two of them were unavailable for conversation. "Want to come
over to my place for a drink or two?" Aimeric asked.
I said yes; with the sun down it was cold outside, though nothing
compared to
Utilitopia. We didn't bother with the cat, but we did hurry over to Aimeric's
house. We had just poured wine when our corns chimed personal letters for both
of us.
It was from Marcabru, finally. I set myself to read it calmly; in Occitan,
though you are honor-bound to your friends, there's a lot of rivalry and most
people climb to the top over a lot of former friends. So if he were angry at
me for any reason and he might well be or if he was just writing to brag, the
letter might be nasty. It was part of the risk you ran by having interesting,
ambitious friends.
Giraut, you silly toszet, The big news comes first, of course
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Yseut is to be the Queen for next year. And you are not here, for whatever
silly reason. Did you actually do all that for the love of that flighty little
beauty whose name, just at the moment, I can't recall?
"Garsenda," I said aloud. I had not thought of her in days.
Well, you are the veritable donz de finamor, and I shall see to it that your
reputation spreads far and wide, for as well you must know any glory I can
give you will be returned to me as the friend of a legend. So you will surely
have a place among the jovents when you return.
Perhaps it was just having spent the day assembling the Center, but I suddenly
felt a lurch of overpowering homesickness. I wanted to drink at Pertz's, to
visit Raimbaut's grave, to be hiking in North Polar Spring and sailing on the
wide seas of Wilson, or just to lie in the warm red sunlight on the beach
south of Noupeitau. I wanted to get drunk, to cross epees with someone over
some trivial cause, to be in finamor, to be back in my old apartment. I
blinked back tears and read on:
Yseut is absolutely radiant as Queen-elect, and it's affected her writing in
the most marvelous way, so that it's become (if such a thing indeed
could ever be) even more artificial and epigrammatic, until it's just
the sheerest scrim of beautiful shimmering words over an absolutely cold void,
like a lace of frost crystals in space. As Queen, she'll surely publish a lot,
and I shall immediately send you every volume.
But you mustn't think that's our only activity. We've not even had time to go
to the North Polar
Mountains
this year the ice is literally exploding downward off the glaciers
some effect from the terraforming heaters. Artificial, of course, and thus not
a fit subject for art, but what a splendid thing to see all that ice plunge
into the newly rushing rivers. But we've had no time, for where one of the
boring old men who would normally be King for this term would simply wear the
suit-biz, Yseut must actually set fashions, and so she must decide
what suits her best, describe it to designers, have it made
and in my nonofficial role as Consort I must do much the same thing ...
it's exhausting and we do almost nothing but talk to tailors and designers and
shop for clothes. I
find that even though I have to feel that the exaggerated, primary-colored
sleeve has about run its course, it will take one more fashion season to kill
it, so I am ordering everything just as exaggerated as possible, sot that
perhaps in six stanmonths I can suddenly, boldly, go some other way.
I looked at pictures of Caledon clothes but it looks as if the only vus they
permit were taken either in their prisons, or on mountain-climbing
expeditions. At least all the interior vus looked as if people
were dressed for the former, and all the exteriors as if they were dressed for
the latter. You couldn't really be wearing such dreadful things, could you?
Please, please, in nomne deu, write and tell me that you would never even
think of it!
I must report that all is of course not well here; what can you expect since
we have acquired this damned, damned infestation of Interstellars? They have
moved into and occupy two more of the old familiar places in the Quartier des
Jovents
I won't tell you which ones, as they weren't places we went commonly, but
jovent places from a century or more ago, enough to break your heart to see
them turned over to onstage sadoporn with all the young beauties
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and the strong young men struggling for their turn on the stage.
I confess that I did lie a bit above, and of course remember Garsenda's name,
and her person, perfectly well. I don't know whether you'll take this
as good news, or bad, or simply as confirmation, but she is absolutely
the social and performing star of the Interstellars, with all their clubs
fighting to get her. I do trust the news will no longer bring you pain, and no
doubt you've already found some delightful young donzelha, her hair clipped
close like a man's and a vision of loveliness in her thermal underwear,
coveralls, and plastic boots ... now don't be angry, you know how I tease!
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