Free Dreaming Jewels by Theodore Sturgeon Page A

hunger. Four times she pursed her lips to speak, and could not, and tears wet his shoulder instead. He lay quiet, warm and with her—just a child, but so much with her.
    She dried his shoulder with the sheet, and put her arms around him again. And gradually, the violence of her feeling left her, and the all but cruel pressure of her arms relaxed.
    At last she said two things that seemed to mean the pressures she felt. For her swollen breasts, her aching loins, she said, “I love you, Horty. I love you.”
    And later, for her hunger, she said, “I wish I was big, Horty. I want to be big…”
    Then she was free to release him, to turn over, to sleep. When she awoke in the dripping half-light, she was alone.
    He had not spoken, he had not moved. But he had given her more than any human being had ever given her in her whole life.

7
    “Z EE …”
    “Mmm?”
    “Had a talk with the Maneater today while they were setting up our tent.”
    “What’d he say?”
    “Just small-talk. He said the rubes like our act. Guess that’s as near as he can get to saying he likes it himself.”
    “He doesn’t,” said Zena with certainty. “Anything else?”
    “Well—no, Zee. Nothing.”
    “Horty, darling. You just don’t know how to lie.”
    He laughed. “Well, it’ll be all right, Zee.”
    There was a silence. Then, “I think you’d better tell me, Horty.”
    “Don’t you think I can handle it?”
    She turned over to face him across the trailer. “No.”
    She waited. Although it was pitch black, she knew Horty was biting his lower lip, tossing his head.
    “He asked to see my hand.”
    She sat bolt upright in her bunk. “He didn’t!”
    “I told him it didn’t give me any trouble. Gosh—when was it that he fixed it? Nine years ago? Ten?”
    “Did you show it to him?”
    “Cool down, Zee! No, I didn’t. I said I had to fix some costumes, and got away. But he called after me and said to come to his lab before ten tomorrow. I’m just trying to think of some way to duck it.”
    “I was afraid of this,” she said, her voice shaking. She put her arms around her knees, resting her chin on them.
    “It’ll be all right, Zee,” said Horty sleepily. “I’ll think of something. Maybe he’ll forget.”
    “He won’t forget. He has a mind like an adding machine. He won’t attach any importance to it until you don’t show up; then, look out!”
    “Well, s’pose I do show it to him.”
    “I’ve told you and told you, Horty, you must never do that!”
    “All right, all right.—Why?”
    “Don’t you trust me?”
    “You know I do.”
    She did not answer, but sat rigidly, in thought. Horty dozed off.
    Later—probably two hours later—he was awakened by Zena’s hand on his shoulder. She was crouched on the floor by his bunk. “Wake up, Horty. Wake up!”
    “Wuh?”
    “Listen to me, Horty. You remember all you’ve told me—please wake up!—remember, about Kay, and all?”
    “Oh, sure.”
    “What was it you were going to do, some day?”
    “You mean about going back there and seeing Kay again, and getting even with that old Armand?”
    “That’s right. Well, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
    “Well, sure.” He yawned and closed his eyes. She shook him again. “I mean now, Horty. Tonight. Right now.”
    “Tonight? Right now?”
    “Get up, Horty. Get dressed. I mean it.”
    He sat up blearily. “Zee… it’s night time!”
    “Get dressed,” she said between her teeth. “Hop to it, Kiddo. You can’t be a baby all your life.”
    He sat on the edge of the bed and shivered away the last smoky edges of sleep. “Zee!” he cried. “Go away? You mean, leave here? Leave the carnival and Havana and—and you?”
    “That’s right. Get dressed, Horty.”
    “But—where will I go?” He reached for his clothes. “What will I do? I don’t know anybody out there!”
    “You know where we are? It’s only fifty miles to the town you came from. That’s as near as we’ll get this year.