Part 10 (1/2)
”Well, then, go, if you like,” she said. He parted a curtain that formed one of the walls, and left. I started to follow him.
”Please?” I heard her voice.
I stopped. From behind the curtain came applause.
”Won't you have a seat?”
Without a word I sat down. She had a magnificent profile. Her ears were covered by little s.h.i.+elds of pearl.
”I am Aen Aenis.”
”Hal Bregg.”
She seemed surprised. Not by my name -- it meant nothing to her -- but by the fact that I had received her name so indifferently. Now I could get a close look at her. Her beauty was perfect and merciless, as was the calm, controlled carelessness of her movements. She wore a pink-gray dress, more gray than pink; it set off the whiteness of her face and arms.
”You don't like me?” she asked quietly.
”I don't know you.”
”I am Ammai -- in The True Ones.”
”What is that?”
She regarded me with curiosity.
”You haven't seen The True Ones?”
”I don't even know what it is.”
”Where did you come from?”
”I came here from my hotel.”
”Really. From your hotel. . .” There was open mockery in her tone. ”And where, may I ask, were you before you got to your hotel?”
”In Fomalhaul.”
”What is that?”
”A constellation.”
”What do you mean?”
”A star system, twenty-three light years from here.”
Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted. She was very pretty.
”An astronaut?”
”Yes.”
”I understand. I am a realist -- rather well known.”
I said nothing. We were silent. The music played.
”Do you dance?”
I nearly laughed out loud.
”What they dance now -- no.”
”A pity. But you can learn. Why did you do that?”
”Do what?”
”There -- on the footbridge.”
I did not answer immediately.
”It was. . . a reflex.”
”You were familiar with it?”
”That make-believe journey? No.”
”No?”
”No.”
A moment of silence. Her eyes, for a moment green, now became almost black.
”Only in very old prints can one see that sort of thing,” she said, as if involuntarily. ”No one would play. . . It isn't possible. When I saw it, I thought that. . . that you. . .”
I waited.
”. . . might be able to. Because you took it seriously. Yes?”
”I don't know. Perhaps.”
”Never mind. I know. Would you be interested? I'm friends with French. But you don't know who he is, do you? I must tell him. . . He is the chief producer of the real. If you are interested. . .”
I burst out laughing. She gave a start.
”I'm sorry. But -- ye G.o.ds and little fishes, you thought of giving me a job as. . .”
”Yes.”
She did not seem to be offended. Quite the contrary.
”Thank you, but no. I really don't think so.”