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Tarnsman of Gor :: Норман Джон
Страница: 12 из 145I wanted to feel no sympathy with him, yet I found that I could not help it. I was angry with myself. He had deserted my mother and me, had he not? And what was i2 now that he felt some regret? And how was it that he had spoken so innocently of "all of them," whoever they might be? I did not want to find out.
Yet, somehow, in spite of these things, I found that I wanted to cross the room, to put my hand on his arm, to touch him. I felt somehow a kinship with him, with this stranger and his sorrow. My eyes were moist. Something stirred in me, obscure, painful memories that had been silent, quiet for many years — the memory of a woman I had barely known, of a gentle face, of arms that had protected a child who had awakened frightened in the night. And I remembered suddenly another face, behind hers.
"Father," I said.
He straightened and turned to face me across that simple, strange room. It was impossible to tell if he had wept. He looked at me with sadness in his eyes, and his rather stern features seemed for a moment to be tender. Looking into his eyes, I realized, with an incomprehensible suddenness and a joy that still bewilders me, that someone existed who loved me.
"My son," he said.
We met in the center of the room and embraced. I wept, and he did, too, without shame. I learned later that on this alien world a strong man may feel and express emotions, and that the hypocrisy of constraint is not honored on this planet as it is on mine.
At last we moved apart.
My father regarded me evenly. "She will be the last," he said. "I had no right to let her love me."
I was silent.
He sensed my feeling and spoke brusquely. "Thank you for your gift, Tarl Cabot," he said.
I looked puzzled.
"The handful of earth," he said. "A handful of my native ground."
I nodded, not wanting to speak, wanting him to tell me the thousand things I had to know, to dispel the mysteries that had torn me from my native world and brought me to this strange room, this planet, to him, my father.
"You must be hungry," he said.
"I want to know where I am and what I am doing here," I said.
"Of course," he said, "but you must eat." He smiled. "While you satisfy your hunger, I shall speak to you."
He clapped his hands twice, and the panel slid back again. I was startled. Through the opening came a young girl, somewhat younger than myself, with blond hair bound back. She wore a sleeveless garment of diagonal stripes, the brief skirt of which terminated some inches above her knees. She was barefoot, and as her eyes shyly met mine, I saw they were blue and deferential.
Yet, somehow, in spite of these things, I found that I wanted to cross the room, to put my hand on his arm, to touch him. I felt somehow a kinship with him, with this stranger and his sorrow. My eyes were moist. Something stirred in me, obscure, painful memories that had been silent, quiet for many years — the memory of a woman I had barely known, of a gentle face, of arms that had protected a child who had awakened frightened in the night. And I remembered suddenly another face, behind hers.
"Father," I said.
He straightened and turned to face me across that simple, strange room. It was impossible to tell if he had wept. He looked at me with sadness in his eyes, and his rather stern features seemed for a moment to be tender. Looking into his eyes, I realized, with an incomprehensible suddenness and a joy that still bewilders me, that someone existed who loved me.
"My son," he said.
We met in the center of the room and embraced. I wept, and he did, too, without shame. I learned later that on this alien world a strong man may feel and express emotions, and that the hypocrisy of constraint is not honored on this planet as it is on mine.
At last we moved apart.
My father regarded me evenly. "She will be the last," he said. "I had no right to let her love me."
I was silent.
He sensed my feeling and spoke brusquely. "Thank you for your gift, Tarl Cabot," he said.
I looked puzzled.
"The handful of earth," he said. "A handful of my native ground."
I nodded, not wanting to speak, wanting him to tell me the thousand things I had to know, to dispel the mysteries that had torn me from my native world and brought me to this strange room, this planet, to him, my father.
"You must be hungry," he said.
"I want to know where I am and what I am doing here," I said.
"Of course," he said, "but you must eat." He smiled. "While you satisfy your hunger, I shall speak to you."
He clapped his hands twice, and the panel slid back again. I was startled. Through the opening came a young girl, somewhat younger than myself, with blond hair bound back. She wore a sleeveless garment of diagonal stripes, the brief skirt of which terminated some inches above her knees. She was barefoot, and as her eyes shyly met mine, I saw they were blue and deferential.