Asimov's Future History Volume 4 (70 page)

“So because you had saved me and were not really a man, I could touch you. And what’s more, you looked at me not with the hostility and repugnance of my husband–or with the carefully schooled indifference of someone viewing me on trimensic. You were right there, palpable, and your eyes were warm and concerned. You actually trembled when my hand approached your cheek. I saw that.

“Why it was, I don’t know. The touch was so fugitive and there was no way in which the physical sensation was different from what it would have been if I had touched my husband or any other man–or, perhaps, even any woman. But there was more to it than the physical sensation. You were there, you welcomed it, you showed me every sign of what I accepted as–affection. And when our skins–my hand, your cheek–made contact, it was as though I had touched gentle fire that made its way up my hand and arm instantaneously and set me all in flame.

“I don’t know how long it lasted–it couldn’t be for more than a moment or two–but for me time stood still. Something happened to me that had never happened to me before and, looking back on it long afterward, when I had learned about it, I realized that I had very nearly experienced an orgasm.

“I tried not to show it–”

(Baley, not daring to look at her, shook his head.)

“Well, then, I didn’t show it. I said, ‘Thank you, Elijah.’ I said it for what you had done for me in connection with my husband’s death. But I said it much more for lighting my life and showing me, without even knowing it, what there was in life; for opening a door; for revealing a path; for pointing out a horizon. The physical act was nothing in itself. Just a touch. But it was the beginning of everything.”

Her voice had faded out and, for a moment, she said nothing, remembering.

Then one finger lifted. “No. Don’t say anything. I’m not done yet.

“I had had imaginings before, very vague uncertain things. A man and I, doing what my husband and I did, but somehow different–I didn’t even know different in what Sway–and feeling something different–something I could not even imagine when imagining with all my might. I might conceivably have gone through my whole life trying to imagine the unimaginable and I might have died as I suppose women on Solaria–and men, too–often do, never knowing, even after three or four centuries. Never knowing. Having children, but never knowing.

“But one touch of your cheek, Elijah, and I knew. Isn’t that amazing? You taught me what I might imagine. Not the mechanics of it, not the dull, reluctant approach of bodies, but something that I could never have conceived as having anything to do with it. The look on a face, the sparkle in an eye, the feeling of–gentleness–kindness–something I can’t even describe–acceptance–a lowering of the terrible barrier between individuals. Love, I suppose–a convenient word to encompass all of that and more.

“I felt love for you, Elijah, because I thought you could feel love for me. I don’t say you loved me, but it seemed to me you could. I never had that and, although in ancient literature they talked of it, I didn’t know what they meant any more than when men in those same books talked about ‘honor’ and killed each other for its sake. I accepted the word, but never made Out its meaning. I still haven’t. And so it was with ‘love’ until I touched you.

“After that I could imagine–and I came to Aurora remembering you, and thinking of you, and talking to you endlessly in my mind, and thinking that in Aurora I would meet a million Elijahs.”

She stopped, lost in her own thoughts for a moment, then suddenly went on:

“I didn’t. Aurora, it turned out, was, in its way, as bad as Solaria. In Solaria, sex was
wrong.
It was hated and we all turned away from it. We could not love for the hatred that sex aroused.

“In Aurora, sex was
boring.
It was accepted calmly, easily–as easily as breathing. If one felt the impulse, one reached out toward anyone who seemed suitable and, if that suitable person was not at the moment engaged in something that could not be put aside, sex followed in any fashion that was convenient. Like breathing.–But where is the ecstasy in breathing? If one were choking, then perhaps the first shuddering breath that followed upon deprivation might be an overwhelming delight and relief. But if one never choked?

“And if one never unwillingly went without sex? If it were taught to youngsters on an even basis with reading and programming? If children were expected to experiment as a matter of course, and if older children were expected to help out?

“Sex–permitted and free as water–has nothing to do with love on Aurora, just as sex–forbidden and a thing of shame–has nothing to do with love on Solaria. In either case, children are few and must come about only after formal application.–And then, if permission is granted, there must be an interlude of sex designed for childbearing only, dull and brackish. If, after a reasonable time, impregnation doesn’t follow, the spirit rebels and artificial insemination is resorted to.

“In time, as on Solaria, ectogenesis will be the thing, so that fertilization and fetal development will take place in genotaria and sex will be left to itself as a form of social interaction and play that has no more to do with love than space-polo does.

“I could not move into the Auroran attitude, Elijah. I had not been brought up to it. With terror, I had reached out for sex and no one refused–and no one mattered. Each man’s eyes were blank when I offered myself and remained blank as they accepted. Another one, they said, what matter? They were willing, but no more than willing.

“And touching them meant nothing. I might have been touching my husband. I learned to go through with it, to follow their lead, to accept their guidance–and it all still meant nothing. I gained not even the urge to do it to myself and by myself. The feeling you had given me never returned and, in time, I gave up.

“In all this, Dr. Fastolfe was my friend. He alone, on all Aurora, knew everything that happened on Solaria. At least, so I think You know that the full story was not made public and certainly did not appear in that dreadful hyperwave program that I’ve heard of–I refused to watch it.

“Dr. Fastolfe protected me against the lack of understanding on the part of Aurorans and against their general contempt for Solarians. He protected me also against the despair that filled me after a while.

“No, we were not lovers. I would have offered myself, but by the time it occurred to me that I might do so, I no longer felt that the feeling you had inspired, Elijah, would ever recur. I thought it might have been a trick of memory and I gave up. I did not offer myself. Nor did he offer himself. I do not know why he did not. Perhaps he could see that my despair arose over my failure to find anything useful in sex and did not want to accentuate the despair by repeating the failure. It would be typically kind of him to be careful of me in this way–so we were not lovers. He was merely my friend at a time when I needed that so much more.

“There you are, Elijah. You have the whole answer to the questions you asked. You wanted to know my relationship with Dr. Fastolfe and said you needed information. You have it. Are you satisfied?”

Baley tried not let his misery show. “I am sorry, Gladia, that life has been so hard for you. You have given me the information I needed. You have given me more information than, perhaps, you think you have.”

Gladia frowned. “In what way?”

Baley did not answer directly. He said, “Gladia, I am glad that your memory of me has meant so much to you. It never occurred to me at any time on Solaria, that I was impressing you so and, even if it had, I would not have tried–You know.”

“I know, Elijah,” she said, softening. “Nor would it have availed you if you had tried. I couldn’t have.”

“And I know that.–Nor do I take what you have told me as an invitation now. One touch, one moment of sexual insight, need be no more than that. Very likely, it can never be repeated and that onetime existence ought not to be spoiled by foolish attempts at resurrection. That is a reason why I do not now–offer myself. My failure to do so is not to be interpreted as one more blank ending for you. Besides–”

“Yes.”

“You have, as I said earlier, told me perhaps more than you realize you did. You have told me that the story does not end with your despair.”

“Why do you say that?”

“In telling me of the feeling that was inspired by the touch upon my cheek, you said something like ‘looking back on it long afterward, when I had learned, I realized that I had very nearly experienced an orgasm.’–But then you went on to explain that sex with Aurorans was never successful and, I presume, you did not then experience orgasm either. Yet you
must
have, Gladia, if you recognized the sensation you experienced that time on Solaria. You could not look back and recognize it for what it was, unless you had learned to love successfully. In other words, you
have
had a lover and you
have
experienced love. If I am to believe that Dr. Fastolfe is not your lover and has not been, then it follows that someone else is–or was.”

“And if so? Why is that your concern, Elijah?”

“I don’t know if it is or is not, Gladia. Tell me who it is and, if it proves to be not my concern, that will be the end of it.”

Gladia was silent.

Baley said, “If you don’t tell me, Gladia, I will have to tell you. I told you earlier that I am not in a position to spare your feelings.”

Gladia remained silent, the corners of her lips whitening with pressure.

“It must be someone, Gladia, and your sorrow over Jander’s loss is extreme. You sent Daneel out because you could not bear to look at him for the reminder of Jander that his face brought. If I am wrong in deciding that it was Jander Panell–” He paused a moment, then said harshly, “If the robot, Jander Panell, was not your lover, say so.”

And Gladia whispered, “Jander Panell, the robot, was not my lover.” Then, loudly and firmly, she said, “He was my husband!”

25.

B
ALEY
’
S
LIPS
MOVED
soundlessly, but there was no mistaking the tetrasyllabic exclamation.

“Yes,” said Gladia. “Jehoshaphat! You are startled. Why? Do you disapprove?”

Baley said tonelessly, “It is not my place either to approve or disapprove.”

“Which means you disapprove.”

“Which means I seek only information. How does one distinguish between a lover and a husband on Aurora?”

“If two people live together in the same establishment for a period of time, they may refer to each other as ‘wife’ or ‘husband,’ rather than as ‘lover.”

“How long a period of time?”

“That varies from region to region, I understand, according to local option. In the city of Eos, the period of time is three months.”

“Is it also required that during this period of time one refrain from sexual relations with others?”

Gladia’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Why?”

“I merely ask.”

“Exclusivity is unthinkable on Aurora. Husband or lover, it makes no difference. One engages in sex at pleasure.”

“And did you please while you were with Jander?”

“As it happens I did not, but that was my choice.”

“Others offered themselves?”

“Occasionally.”

“And you refused?”

“I can always refuse at will. That is part of the nonexclusivity.”

“But did you refuse?”

“I did.”

“And did those whom you refused know why you refused?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did they know that you had a robot husband?”

“I had a
husband.
Don’t call him a robot husband. There is no such expression.”

“Did they know?”

She paused. “I don’t know if they knew.”

“Did you tell them?”

“What reason was there to tell them?”

“Don’t answer my questions with questions. Did you tell them?”

“I did not.”

“How could you avoid that? Don’t you think an explanation for your refusal would have been natural?”

“No explanation is ever required. A refusal is simply a refusal and is always accepted. I don’t understand you.”

Baley stopped to gather his thoughts. Gladia and he were not at cross-purposes; they were running down parallel tracks.

He started again. “Would it have seemed natural on Solaria to have a robot for a husband?”

“On Solaria, it would have been unthinkable and I would never have thought of such a possibility. On Solaria, everything was unthinkable.–And on Earth, too, Elijah. Would your wife ever have taken a robot for a husband?”

“That’s irrelevant, Gladia.”

‘Perhaps, but your expression was answer enough. We may not be Aurorans, you and I, but we are on Aurora. I have lived here for two years and I accept its mores.”

“Do you mean that human-robot sexual connections are common here on Aurora?”

“I don’t know. I merely know that they are accepted because everything is accepted where sex is concerned–everything that is voluntary, that gives mutual satisfaction, and that does no physical harm to anyone. What conceivable difference would it make to anyone else how an individual or any combination of individuals found satisfaction? Would anyone worry about which books I viewed, what food I ate, what hour I went to sleep or awoke, whether I was fond of cats or disliked roses? Sex, too, is a matter of indifference–on Aurora.”

“On Aurora,” echoed Baley. “But you were not born on Aurora and were not brought up in its ways. You told me just a while ago that you couldn’t adjust to this very indifference to sex that you now praise. Earlier, you expressed your distaste for multiple marriages and for easy promiscuity. If you did not tell those whom you refused why you refused, it might have been because, in some hidden pocket of your being, you were ashamed of having Jander as a husband. You might have known–or suspected, or even merely supposed–that you were unusual in this–unusual even on Aurora–and you were ashamed.”

“No, Elijah, you won’t talk me into being ashamed. If having a robot as a husband is unusual even on Aurora, that would be because robots like Jander are unusual. The robots we have on Solaria, or on Earth–or on Aurora, except for Jander and Daneel–are not designed to give any but the most primitive sexual satisfaction. They might be used as masturbation devices, perhaps, as a mechanical vibrator might be, but nothing much more. When the new humaniform robot becomes widespread, so will human-robot sex become widespread.”