The Lovers   ::   Фармер Филип Хосе

And if he protested to her that she was keeping him from advancing in his profession, from making more money, from moving into a larger puka, then he would have to listen to her sad, reproachful voice asking him if he actually wanted her to commit an unreal act. Would he ask her not to tell the truth, to lie by either omission or commission? He surely could not do that, for then both her self and his self would be in grave danger. Never would they see the glorious face of the Forerunner, and never . . . and so on and on-he helpless to answer back.

Yet, she was always asking him why he did not love her. And, when he replied that he did, she continued to say he did not. Then it was his turn to ask her if she thought he was lying. He was not; and if she called him a liar, then he would have to report her to the block gapt. Now, sheerly illogical, she would weep and say that she knew he did not love her. If he really did, he could not dream of telling the gapt about her.

When he protested that she thought it was shib for her to report him, he was answered with more tears. Or would be if he continued to fall into her trap. But he swore again and told himself that he would not.

Hal Yarrow walked through the living room, five-by-three meters, into the only other room-except the unmentionable-the kitchen. In the three-by two-and-a-half-meter room, he swung the stove down from the wall near the ceiling, dialed the proper code on its instrument panel, and walked back into the living room. Here he took off his jacket, crushed it into a ball, and stuffed it under a chair. He knew that Mary might find it and scold him for it, but he did not care. He was, at the moment, too tired to reach up to the ceiling and pull down a hook.

A low pinging sound came from the kitchen. Supper was ready.

Hal decided to leave the correspondence until after he had eaten. He went into the unmentionable to wash his face and hands. Automatically, he murmured the ablution prayer, 'May I wash off unreality as easily as water removes this dirt, so Sigmen wills it.'

After cleaning himself, he pressed the button by the portrait of Sigmen above the washbasin. For a second, the face of the Forerunner stared at him, the long, lean face with a shock of bright red hair, big projecting ears, straw-colored and very thick eyebrows that met above the huge hooked nose with flaring nostrils, the pale blue eyes, the long orange-red beard, the lips thin as a knife's edge. Then, the face began to dim, to fade out. Another second, and the Forerunner was gone, replaced by a mirror.

Hal was allowed to look into this mirror just long enough to assure himself his face was clean and to comb his hair. There was nothing to keep him from standing before it past the allotted time, but he had never transgressed on himself.