Part 13 (1/2)
”Yes, nice to meet you, sir,” Deitel said. ”So where is . . .”
And his voice trailed off.
Deitel looked at Chuy, then at Rucker, and then at the ginger.
Finally, Deitel found his voice.
”Um, Tracy?”
”Why, of course, old boy,” Tracy said excitedly.
Chuy and Rucker didn't blink or seem phased. Actually, they looked amused. This was another of their jokes?
”I, um . . . that is, er . . . you're Tracy? You've been married to Chuy for three years?”
Tracy grasped Chuy's hand and squeezed it. ”Three years and three days.”
Chuy gave Tracy a peck on the cheek.
Deitel just didn't know what to say. If he had any thoughts on how libertine or decadent these western societies were, he did not consider them now. He chose the most appropriate and polite option-he said nothing.
”No worries, old boy. Yes, we're benders. Nothing to be embarra.s.sed about for you or us, yes?” Tracy said. ”But I expect that it's not exactly what you expected.”
Deitel nodded and smiled a stiff grin.
”But life would be very dull if everything occurred as expected, no?” Chuy finished.
Deitel, well, he was Old World. He had to ask.
”You're serious? You're not having me on?” he asked, though very respectfully.
”Well, it's not exactly common-more common in Brazil than the Freehold,” Chuy said. ”But the Freehold has its share of pansy clubs. William Haines is the biggest screen star in Cabo Madera, after all, and he's made no secret that he bends. Married to Jimmie s.h.i.+elds.”
”And a tall drink of water Jimmie is,” Tracy said in a teasing voice.
Chuy poked the English ginger playfully in the ribs and then put his arm around him.
”So . . . um . . . you're sure then?” Deitel asked, cringing at the stupidity of the question.
”Last I checked” Chuy said.
”It's not even legal in Britain, and one suspects it's the national past time of at least half of all British men,” Deitel said.
Rucker laughed at that one.
”Well, here it's a church's business who gets married, not the law, so long as everyone's of age,” Chuy said. ”We have a wide variety of churches.”
And there it went-that sense of normalcy. It crept in over breakfast, and then it slipped away like trying to hold mercury. Not that falschamenn, as they were called in Germany, were unheard of-especially among the upper cla.s.ses, or as part of the boarding school experience. But to engage in such brashly open deviancy was, well, unseemly in most of German society even before the rise of the New Order.
Oddly, though, this wasn't the strangest thing Deitel had seen since his arrival in the Western Hemisphere. So there was that.
Rucker checked his watch.
”Doc, you and Tracy stick around. Lysander should be arriving in about twenty minutes. Chuy and I need to go finish prepping the Raposa. Terah has a private conference room set up for one P.M. for the briefing.”
”The Terror?” Chuy asked, his expression unsettled for the first time.
”Don't even start,” Rucker said as they headed off the to the maintenance deck. ”Yeah, she's here.”
Deitel didn't know what to expect when he was stuck one-on-one with Tracy-an English bender. No, that wasn't very polite. He was Chuy's . . . um . . . He was Chuy's, and proper manners meant he shouldn't take notice. Even though in his mind he was already seeing all the coming awkward silences. The start/stop cadence of forced fraternization and obligatory laughter. He groaned inwardly.
Twenty minutes later and Deitel's sides hurt from laughing.
Tracy's medical knowledge was impressive. The man knew horses like a professional breeder. And they even talked about their mutual fear of heights.
None of that mattered.
Tracy Lago knew the best dirty nurse and dirty medical schoolteacher jokes Deitel had ever heard.
When the PA announced that the charter from Austin would be landing presently, he was giving Tracy his own cynical take on the New Order and its mustachioed master-expressing criticisms that had been bottled up inside him for five years now.
”What I still don't get is, how did the little man not get into art school? I mean, all you have to do is open the door, really,” Tracy was saying. ”The only thing that's more of a joke in terms of university concentration is the 'education major' they offer in Union States.”
”Ach. I don't know. But I'm sure somehow the Hebrews were to blame,” Deitel said. ”He manages to blame them for everything, anyhow.”
Tracy paused for a moment.
”Before Lysander gets here,” he said, ”how is Rucker holding up? You know, with the whole Terah thing?”
”It is difficult if not impossible to say. When I first saw them together, it looked as if she'd kissed him and then hit him with a closed fist,” Deitel said. ”Or hit him and then kissed him.”
The Englishman nodded. ”That sounds about right.”
”On the flight here, they spent most of their time behind closed doors, and at least some of the noise they made was not amorous in nature,” Deitel said. ”When I asked Rucker if he felt okay, he said, 'Sure. Why wouldn't I?' And nothing more. Except, 'Shut up, Hans,' which is what he calls me when he's avoiding my questions.”
”West Texans are like that. The more they feel something, the less they show it,” Tracy said, putting out his cigarette. ”They have only two moods they let the world see: happy or angry.”
He could see Deitel didn't follow.
”You have to remember where they come from, how their country was forged, and what kind of people it took to tame that land. Texans don't live in the softer, subtler pastels. They live in the bold primaries,” Tracy said. ”The Brazilians, too. It's why I moved here. That, and Chuy. They're a pa.s.sionate people. Not wild-eyed, uncontrolled pa.s.sion, mind you. Focused pa.s.sions. Their edges honed.”
The doctor nodded.
”What happened with Terah and Rucker?” Deitel asked, out of genuine concern rather than voyeuristic curiosity. Okay, maybe there was a little of that in there, too.
”You're probably asking the wrong man. Or the wrong type of man,” Tracy said, and Deitel raised an eyebrow at his joke. ”But she is beautiful and pa.s.sionate. It probably doesn't help that she's a little crazy, from what I'm told.”