Part 8 (2/2)
James stopped chopping for a moment and frowned. ”What is insurance'”
”Let me guess. They don't have insurance in the future.”
”Not to my knowledge.”
”Great. Just great. So I'll be out of a job.”
”I would not concern myself, were I you. My time is three centuries hence. I think it unlikely you will live
long enough to find yourself out of a job.”
He took a potholder, pulled the chicken out from under the broiler, and flipped it over with tongs. ”I
believe this will be edible,” he said with satisfaction, closing the oven door, ”although I have never used these precise ingredients.”
”Well, you could have tried to find a recipe.”
”A what'”
Annie waved at the neat shelf of books. ”In those cookbooks there are tons of recipes. I'm sure you could have found one for chicken.”
Frowning slightly, he pulled down one of the cookbooks and opened it. He glanced at it for a moment or
two, flipping pages, then shrugged and put it back. ”That would not have done me the slightest bit of good.”
”Why not'”
”I cannot read.”
Her mouth dropped open. Her first thought was that in his time they used a different written language.
But that made no sense. He spoke English clearly enough, although a lot of idioms had obviously changed in the intervening years. She closed her mouth. ”Doesn't anyone read in your society'”
”Certainly. People do. Slaves do not.”
She felt a pang of pity at how casually he accepted the notion that he was not a person. Despite her a.s.surances, despite his determination to win his freedom, there was still a part of him that thought of himself as less than human. She wondered if subconsciously he always would.
”Well,” she said, watching him as he carried the salad to the round gla.s.s table, ”here everyone needs to
know how to read. Would you like to learn'”
He set the bowl carefully on the table, then turned to her with an expression of wonder. ”You would teach me how to read'”
”Well, I could try,” Annie said. ”I'm not the greatest teacher in the world. Would you like to try'”
He nodded eagerly. ”Please.”
”Right after dinner, then.”
Dinner was, as promised, edible. In fact, making allowances for James' unfamiliarity with twenty-first
century food, it was quite good. After broiled chicken, brown rice, and salad with honey-mustard dressing, Annie got up and found some chocolate ice cream in the freezer. She scooped it out into two bowls and carried it to the table. James regarded it dubiously.
”What is that'”
”Chocolate ice cream. Food of the G.o.ds.”
James looked more suspicious than before. ”As I recall, you said something similar about coffee.”
Annie waved a hand. ”Coffee is an acquired taste. Chocolate isn't. Trust me. I've never known anyone
who didn't love chocolate.”
She dug her spoon into the ice cream and started eating, watching with amus.e.m.e.nt while James put a
very tiny amount on his spoon and tasted it. She saw his eyes grow wide with delight.
”It is delicious!” he exclaimed.
Annie grinned. ”Told you.”
James liked ice cream so much that he had a second bowl. Annie watched him polis.h.i.+ng off his second serving. ”If you keep that up,” she said, ”you're going to get fat.”
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