Part 4 (1/2)
”Jim, there is something I must confess: my feelings toward you are not merely those of a friend. Although Phyllis doesn't have too many rings of intellect, she is a female, so she knew all along.” Magnolia's leaves rustled diffidently. ”I feel toward you the way I never felt toward any intelligent life-form, but only toward the sun, the soil, the rain. I sense a tropism that seems to incline me toward you. In fact, I'm afraid, Jim, in your own terms, I love you.”
”But you're a tree! You can't love me in my own terms, because trees can't love in the way people can, and, of course, people can't love like trees. We belong to two entirely different species, Maggie. You can't have listened to that zoology book very attentively.”
”Our race is a singularly adaptable one or we wouldn't have survived so long, Jim, or gone so far in our particular direction. It's lack of fertility, not lack of enterprise, that's responsible for our decline.
And I think your species must be an adaptable one, too; you just haven't really tried. Oh, James, let us reverse the cla.s.sical roles--let me be the Apollo to your Daphne! Don't let Phyllis stand in our way. The Greek G.o.ds never let a little thing like marriage interfere with their plans.”
”But I love Phyllis,” he said in confusion. ”I love you, too,” he added, ”but in a different way.”
”Yes, I know. More like a sister. However, I have plenty of sisters and I don't need a brother.”
”We're starting a conservation program,” he tried to comfort her. ”We have every hope of getting some pollen from the other side of the planet once we have explained to the trees there how far we can make a little go, and you've got to accept it; you mustn't be silly about it.”
”It isn't the same thing, Jim, and you know it. One of the penalties of intelligence is a diffusiveness of the natural instincts. I would rather not fruit at all than--”
[Ill.u.s.tration]
”Magnolia, you just don't understand. No matter how much you--well, pursue me, I can never turn into a laurel tree.”
”I didn't--”
”Or any kind of tree! Look, some more books were just sent over from Base.”
Magnolia gave a rueful rustle. ”Just were sent? Didn't they come over a month ago?”
James flushed. ”I know I haven't had a chance to do much reading to you in the last few weeks, Maggie--or any at all, in fact--but I've been so busy. After the baby's born, things will be much less hectic and we'll be able to catch up.”
”Of course, James. I understand. Naturally your family comes first.”
”One of the books that came was an advanced zoology text that might make things a little clearer.”
”I should very much like to hear it. When you have the time to spare, that is.”
”Tell you what,” he said. ”I'll get the book and read you the chapter on the reproductive system in mammals. Won't take more than an hour or so.”
”If you're in a hurry, it can wait.”
”No,” he told her. ”This will make me feel a little less guilty about having neglected you.”
”Whereupon the umbilical cord is severed,” he concluded, ”and the human infant is ready to take its place in the world as a separate ent.i.ty. Now do you understand, Magnolia?”
[Ill.u.s.tration]
”No,” she said. ”Where do the bees come in?”
”I thought you were in such a hurry to get to Base, James,” Phyllis remarked sweetly from the doorway, wiping her reddening hands on a dish towel.
”I am, dear.” He slipped the book behind his back; it was possible that, in her present state of mind--induced, of course, by her delicate condition--Phyllis might misunderstand his motive in reading that particular chapter of that particular book to that particular tree. ”I just stopped for a chat with Magnolia. She's agreed to be G.o.dmother to the baby.”