Free Worlds by Joe Haldeman

(Have to go reread Daniel’s last letter, for confidence.)
    21 Sept.    Didn’t mention that before I met Benny yesterday I talked to Hawkings and Lou, at the seminar, and they suggested that I try out some sport that doesn’t involve trajectories—if I learn how to play handball or volleyball here, I’ll just have to start all over again when I get home.
    Hawkings suggested fencing. (He was appalled to find out that I didn’t know how to handle any kind of weapon; I’m afraid I laughed out loud.) There’s a beginners’ group that meets every Thursday morning, so I went down there today.
    They do two kinds, sport fencing and self-defense. I’m sure Hawkings had the latter in mind, but it looks too rough to be fun. I bruise too easily.
    It’s awkward at first. The postures and steps seem artificial, clumsy. But it is exciting—I’ve never played a competitive sport more physical than chess—and the more advanced beginners look as graceful as dancers. It’s a real workout, too, which is what I’m interested in. Hard on the ankles, though.
    We moved into the twentieth century in entertainment seminar today, still doing music. Listened to a couple of hours of jazz, rock, blues, and so forth. Never mentioned Dixieland.
    26 Sept.    Haven’t written for several days because I’ve been in the hospital. Hard to write now.
    Thursday night a man attacked me in front of the dorm, as I was coming home from dinner. Right in front of the stairs.
    He came up behind me and squeezed a hand over mymouth, and put a knife to my throat. He told me to drop my bag, and he kicked it away.
    He cut the waistband of my slacks and pulled them down, then pulled down my underclothes, and I bit him, hard. When he pulled his hand away I screamed. I didn’t feel him stab me in the buttock. He wrestled me to the ground and I kept screaming. He banged my head against the sidewalk, twice, forehead and face, then grabbed a handful of hair and jerked up. I was still screaming when he tried to cut my throat; both dormitory doors burst open and six or seven people came charging down the stairs. They tore the man off me and I just lay there slowly fading, while they scuffled with him. A woman turned me over and put my head in her lap, and I vaguely heard a siren over the ringing in my ears.
    The next couple of days are a blur of anesthetics and tranquilizers. Inventory: broken nose, slight concussion, three broken teeth, dislocated shoulder, superficial (!) knife wound below the chin, deep puncture wound in the left buttock, bruises and scrapes all over.
    He really wanted to kill me. I think he wanted to kill me
first
, and then rape what was left. I can’t imagine such an animal. Whenever I think of him my heart wants to explode with rage. And fear. They say he’s in “grave” condition, from the beating he got from my rescuers. I hope he dies. I really hope he dies. I want to go home.
    27 Sept.    Feeling better. They closed all the wounds and put in new teeth the first day, but have been holding me for observation and therapy. I guess the therapy’s working; I haven’t cried all day. For a while it was hours at a time. Maybe I’ve lost the knack.
    I don’t know much about the therapy because most of it’s under hypnosis. A doctor talks to me every morning, checking me. He admitted this morning that there’s a drug involved in the interview (one of my wake-up shots). I knew there was; it makes me babble.
    Benny came by a couple of days ago with my books. I sent him away too abruptly. I didn’t want him there when I started crying, and I didn’t especially want the company of any male. That’s over now.
    Lots of visitors today. Keyes came over and we commiserated about the shortcomings of the male race. We changed the subject when Benny showed up (they knoweach other, not surprisingly), and we played cards for a while, before they had to go to class. Lou and Hawkings showed up together, on their way to the seminar (Lou