Part 3 (1/2)
”I don't think so,” she said. ”What do you have there, the white thing under your sweater?”
”A s.h.i.+rt.”
”What is that?”
”You never saw a s.h.i.+rt? Sort of, well, clothing. Made of nylon.”
I rolled up my sleeve and showed her.
”Interesting,” she said.
”It's a custom,” I said, at a loss. Actually, they had told me at Adapt to stop dressing in the style of a hundred years ago; I didn't want to. I had to admit, however, that she was right; brit was for me what a s.h.i.+rt was for her. In the final a.n.a.lysis, no one had forced people to wear s.h.i.+rts, but they all had. Evidently, it was the same with brit.
”How long does brit work?” I asked.
She blushed a little.
”You're in such a hurry. You still know nothing.”
”I didn't say anything wrong,” I defended myself. ”I only wanted to know. . . Why are you looking at me like that? What's the matter with you? Nais!”
She got up slowly. She stood behind the armchair.
”How long ago, did you say? A hundred and twenty years?”
”A hundred and twenty-seven. What about it?”
”And were you. . . betrizated?”
”What is that?”
”You weren't?”
”I don't even know what it means. Nais. . . girl, what's the matter with you?”
”No, you weren't,” she whispered. ”If you had been, you would know.”
I started toward her. She raised her hands.
”Keep away. No! No! I beg you!”
She retreated to the wall.
”But you yourself said that brit. . . I'm sitting now. You see, I'm sitting. Calm yourself. Tell me what it is, this bet. . . or whatever.”
”I don't know exactly. But everyone is betrizated. At birth.”
”What is it?”
”They put something into the blood, I think.”
”To everyone?”
”Yes. Because. . . brit. . . doesn't work without that. Don't move!”
”Child, don't be ridiculous.”
I put out my cigarette.
”I am not, after all, a wild animal. Don't be angry, but. . . it seems to me that you've all gone a little mad. This brit. . . well, it's like handcuffing everyone because someone might turn out to be a thief. I mean, there ought to be a little trust.”
”You're terrific.” She seemed calmer, but still she did not sit. ”Then why were you so indignant before, about my bringing home strangers?”
”That's something else.”
”I don't see the difference. You're sure you weren't betrizated?”
”I wasn't.”
”But maybe now? When you returned?”
”I don't know. They gave me all kinds of shots. Is it so important?”
”It is. They did that? Good.”
She sat down.
”I have a favor to ask you,” I said as calmly as I could. ”You must explain to me. . .”
”What?”
”Your fear. Did you think I would attack you, or what? But that's ridiculous!”
”No. If one looks at it rationally, no, but -- it was overwhelming, you see. Such a shock. I never saw a person who was not. . .”
”But surely you can't tell?”
”You can. Oh, you can!”
”How?”
She was silent.
”Nais. . .”
”And if. . .”
”What?”
”I'm afraid.”