Chapter 6

There was no point in half measures,so Titus had Shell give him a tour of the stable before their ride. Nobody should accuse him of showing the white feather! And he’d wager that, in the effort to keep him calm and unworried, if he didn’t bring up assassination nobody else would. Out of sight, out of mind, that was the strategy. He found however that he was inspecting the street throngs the way he used to survey the South African veldt. He had got into the trick of regarding this future era as a perfectly benign place, a Heaven on earth where miracles were a daily occurrence. Well, now the bloom was off the rose. He sneered at his own innocence.

He had never seen a stable arranged on vertical principles, with several levels of stalls connected by ramps. How the moderns loved height, if even their stables had to reach for the sky! Neither Shell nor Miranda seemed to think it strange. “Miranda loves it here,”Shell said. “She’s more comfortable with animals than people.”

How sadly she spoke! Titus watched the child work her way down the dimly-lit aisle, patting noses and dispensing bits of carrot. Ponies and horses leaned over the rails of their stalls,waiting their turn. He chose his words, acutely conscious that he had the power to cause pain. “Is it incorrect,” he began. “Would it be all right to ask — what is Miranda’s ailment? I don’t want to upset you.”

“Oh no, Titus, it’s all right...Miranda has an autistic disorder. That means she has a neurological birth defect that interferes with language and social interaction.” This was Greek to him,but others must have reacted similarly because she immediately offered an example: “For instance, she has problems telling what details are important and which are irrelevant. Luckily she’s quite high-functioning in some areas. She can read and write, and you can understand her speech when she wants to talk. You did really well with it last time.”

He listened carefully to the terms she used. “She talks like wires. Telegrams.” She blinked, and he realized telegrams must be as obsolete as togas. “She’s like —like Ariel. The spirit imprisoned in the cloven pine. You had the right Shakespeare play when you named her, but the wrong character.”

Shell seemed impressed with this morsel of erudition, which was fortunate since it was nearly the only thing he could recall of the West End performance of The Tempest that Mother had dragged him to. She said, “If we keep up her progress, she’ll be able to live independently as an adult.”

He had never heard of this autism problem — where had all these ailments been in 1912? — but he knew what to say.“It must be a grief to you, Shell. She’s a beautiful child.”His new boots, not yet broken in, creaked annoyingly with each step,underlining the inadequacy of his words.

“I try to be optimistic. That’s an important quality, don’t you think so?”

“The mental game absolutely essential. There are times when you have to concentrate on the positive, even if it’s against all common sense.”

“I guess you would know.” She dusted some chaff off the front of her riding breeches. “It was studying autism, and working to communicate with Miranda, that got me into communications theory. And that’s what got me into the Fortie project. So there is a bright side.”

He was ashamed of his relief that the talk had turned into another channel. “Communications theory? Is that what’s called for, to be an explorer these days? I don’t even know what that is.”

“Have Kev show you the film. They’re always running it over at the museum. The dancing doctor film is one of those cases where a picture really is worth a thousand words.”

He recalled the phrase. “That’s right. You’re the dancing doctor.”

“If I’m not careful they’ll carve it on my tombstone.”

“Have you ever seen the photograph of mine? Actually it’sa memorial plaque. Mother polished it every week. A blazing great brass thing like a tea tray, in the village church at Gestingthorpe. I’d be ashamed to ever go near it.”

She laughed, and the sound in the low passageway made Miranda turn. Was she concerned? Amused? Jealous that her mother was laughing with a stranger? Under the straight-cut bangs her round face was wooden, unreadable. For an instant Titus got a glimpse into Miranda’s strange world. She could know and feel, but to communicate that knowledge and emotion called for supreme effort. At least he, drowning in the incomprehensible and alien, could fall back on the eternal basics of human discourse — laughter, conversation, smiles. He had the seventy percent that made comprehension possible. He would never complain of his difficulties again.“I’ve always had the luck of a pox doctor,” he said fervently.

“You sure do.”

He scowled at his own carelessness— they had been well on the way to forgetting the entire water fountain business for a time. But she seemed willing to let it drop again. “Are the carrots all gone?” she said to Miranda, very clearly. It reminded Titus of the way she had spoken to him, when he woke on the hospital table. Miranda didn’t reply, but held out the empty plastic bag.

He spoke to the child with the same clarity. “Is it time to ride?”

Miranda looked at Shell, who consulted her wristwatch. “Oh, I think so. Come dear, let’s show Titus the way down to the yard.”

Today he was up on a fat black horse named Bouncer. One of these days he’d look over the stable stock,select the best animal, and ensure that he always rode it. Riding in a small party was better than chaperoning children. The horses had room to trot down the main trail, splashing grandly through the puddles. Titus noted that Miranda knew how to post, and had a better seat than Shell. “How long have you been riding?”

“Only a couple years. I took it up to keep Miranda company, but she has more time for it than me.”

“You’re quite good,” he called to the child, who didn’t look round. “It must come naturally to her. You,on the other hand, are not going to set the Thames on fire, Shell.”

“I do have other commitments on my time, Titus! But do you hear, Miranda? Praise from a cavalry officer is worth something.”

“That’s the sort of job I should plump for. Work on horseback, like that mounted policeman.”

“I don’t think they’d let you be a cop,Titus. Mostly, people who ride pay for the privilege these days.”

Miranda said, “Pinto canter.”

“Ripping idea!” Immediately Titus clapped his heels into Bouncer’s sides, urging him into a run. The only thing better than letting your horse go was jumping, which there were probably no facilities for in a city park. Even cantering was possible only on this long straight stretch of the trail. It was like a sweet draught of wine, as Bouncer splashed through the puddles and kicked the wet gravel up in passing. Titus forgot everything in the pleasure of it.

Behind him, Miranda on Pinto kept up gamely. Poor Shell was left quite at the post. When he pulled up he could hear her hallooing from back among the trees, distant and small and more than a little alarmed. “Are you all right, Miranda?”

“Fun.” For the first time she smiled at him, and he smiled too, at one with her in delight.

Shell came trotting belatedly up. “Don’tdo that! Suppose something came out of a side trail? This is a city park!”

“Daddy lets gallop,” Miranda said.

“When you’re in Wyoming it’s different.”She appealed to Titus. “Here in town you have to ride more sedately,right?”

“I suppose,” he conceded reluctantly. “But we went like fun. Where or what is Wyoming? Do they ride there?”

“It’s one of the western United States. There are bits of it that are pretty unspoiled and wild. My ex moved out there when he couldn’t stand city traffic any more.”

“Wise fellow. Ah — is it bad form, to praise a man to a woman who has divorced him?”

“Nope.” They were walking their horses abreast now, with Miranda a little ahead. Shell grinned across at him. “Titus, I’m so proud of you, working like that on your social adaptation! You’redoing better than anyone expected.”

“Did you really expect me to curl up and die at the sight of a taxi?”

“Of course not. But we worried about culture shock. The sort of thing that drove Native Americans to alcoholism, or that kills off New Guinea tribesmen.”

“But they’re just natives — what do you expect...“ He could see from her expression that he was heading off on a wrong tack, and hastily corrected himself. “I think you underestimate the basic qualities that all men have in common. Any man, of any age or time,would — “ He racked his brain for examples. “Would see this wood and lake as beautiful, for instance. Or would recognize you as a lovely woman.”

She stared at him, her mouth open,and indeed he himself could hardly believe such brazen words had tripped off his tongue. But then she said, “Oh! Whew, I get it — this is the gallant British gentleman thing, like helping women who drop their bags or giving them your chair. For a second you had me worried. You can’t distract me with flattery, Titus. Whether you like it or not, you are getting a quickie history lesson — it’ll do you good. For the past couple generations,discrimination for reasons of gender, race, age, or sexual orientation has been illegal, and as a result...”

He listened with only half an ear. Egalitarianism was an American hobbyhorse — even in his day Yanks had been foolishly obsessed with equality. The rest of his attention was focused within. What on earth had he said there, and why? It was totally untrue, for one thing. Shell was no beauty by any standard, with her unladylike ways and freckles — too long in the tooth, too down-to-earth, and yes, too competent, like Mrs. Scott. And, in his sisters’ term, a bossy-boots: full of notions!

But now he came to think on it,Titus realized he had actually known very few eligible females. He had had little opportunity in the Army, and there were none on the Polar expedition. No doubt this now gave Shell a spurious value, simply because he was spending so much time with her. Pinto had seemed a handsome pony yesterday, though Titus could have enumerated the creature’s conformation faults with exactitude—

“Titus! I don’t think you’re listening to a word I say!”

He jumped so that Bouncer almost shied. Automatically he took his mount in hand. “Not at all, Shell. I was attending closely.”

She hooted. “Huh! I could watch you drifting away. But it’s my own fault. The lecture is not your mode of learning.”

“I was indeed listening! I was thinking how Mrs. Scott would have enjoyed the liberalism of your modern era.”

“Mrs. Scott — oh, Captain Scott’s wife, the artist. Kev brags how he’s descended from one of her pals. Yes, I reads he was something of a feminist. How did you like her?”

Cautiously, Titus said, “She was a topper. An absolutely beautiful creature.”

She chewed on that for a second,extracting the true meaning. “She scared the lot of you spitless.”

He fought back a grin. “Iadmit I avoided her as much as possible.”

“And now, poor Titus! You’re marooned on a planet full of liberated women.”

“If Buck Rogers managed, so can I.” Damn it, was she pitying him? That was intolerable. Quickly he changed the subject. “Shell,where do I find a tobacconist’s?”

“A what?”

“A shop that sells pipe tobacco,” he said impatiently. “You can’t tell me that tobacco is unknown in this country. I know for a fact that Raleigh brought it back from America. It was in the history book.”

“Forget it, Titus. As your doctor Sabring would never allow it. Smoking is unhealthy.”

He rejected an ungentlemanly comment on Sabrina. “Where did you pick up that odd idea? Tobacco is good for the lungs, if anything. I’ve been smoking fags and pipes for ten years myself. No, fifteen.”

“Where is Kev when I need him? All right, Titus, let’s keep this simple. We’ll go into the history of tobacco health research some other time. Every building in New York is a no-smoking zone, so you can’t possibly smoke while you’re within doors. And I don’t even know where you’d buy the stuff. On the net, maybe? I’ve never even seen a pipe, except in a museum. Could you postpone the entire question for awhile?”

There seemed to be no help for it,so he accepted and moved on. “Can that slug you’re riding run? Race you to the corner!”

“You have your nerve, Titus, when you just promised you would do no such thing!”

He grinned at her. “Come,Shell. When was the last time you were able to get shot of being responsible,and just indulge a whim?”

She gave him another one of those pointed looks, but then laughed and urged her horse into a fast trot. Sweeping Pinto and Miranda up along in their progress, they clattered in fine style to the end of the avenue.

oOo

That evening at bedtime Titus reckoned up the days in the notebook Lash had brought him. He got a total of eight. Eight days of new life in the future! He felt he was beginning to get the hang of 21^st century existence. He knew this sensation was misleading. This strange world had its enemies as well as friends. But still a sense of triumph stole over him. All this time, he had been doing as he had advised Shell: concentrating on the positive and deliberately not seeing the negatives. But now perhaps, he had found his feet enough so that a balanced view could be achieved.

He lay down in the bed with its hard high modern mattress, and pulled the delightful sleek covers up with a sigh. It was going to be difficult living here, but not impossible. In fact he had played himself in damned well, probably better than most. The naval habits of rank would have made the classless and egalitarian American philosophy an insuperable obstacle for Scott. And Wilson, a man who left the room whenever anyone swore, would have blanched at the age’s bare female knees and casual profanity.

So Titus slept, and he dreamed: not of England or Antarctica, but of Syria and Lebanon. In the Army, posted in Cairo, he had gone to Damascus in 1906 with the Colonel to buy polo ponies. The real-life trip had been uneventful, a jaunt to the Holy Land. But in the dream, he wandered through the mazy alley ways of Damascus, lost. Beggars whined and clawed at his coat, and vendors in grimy robes thrust rubbish at him insisting he buy, edging too near. Horns wailed, and strange odours sweet and appalling assailed his nose. Nobody understood him when he asked his way in English, and he spoke no Aramaic. He tried to think calmly, to find his direction, but tripped on baskets and matting and heaps of ordure, so that he never got himself straight. The swarthy faces around him leered and twitched, alien. And the cold breath of lurking danger blew down on the back of his neck. A foolish panic seized him that he would miss the ship to Cairo, never to return to places he knew. He began to hurry, and found himself running until he thought his heart would burst.

He woke gasping, streaming with sweat. Without thinking he flicked the light on and sat up in bed. Just a nightmare! Roll over and think of something pleasant — that was Mother’s advice from his nursery days.

His door swung open, and an older woman he had never in his life seen before put her head in. “Hello Titus,”she chirped. “Are you all right?”

Titus clutched his covers. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Sigrid, your night duty nurse. If you — “

“And how the devil do you come to be spying on me?”

“Captain Oates, it’s our job to keep an eye on you. Now, I’m just going to check your vital signs...“

“If you come in here, I’ll — “ Well, damnit, what threat could he use? These brassy female medicos hadn’t the modesty to be put off by the sight of a man in his pyjamas. A male orderly he could come to blows with, but no gentleman could strike a woman. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said, resorting to snobbery with his most well-bred drawl. “I just want to sleep!”

For a moment she looked nervous. “Well,if you’re sure you feel all right...”

“Good night.” He punched his pillow with such vehemence that she retreated immediately. Titus glowered around the little room. They must have some way of watching him. Surely people who could explore the stars didn’t need judas peepholes. But he couldn’t imagine how a spying system would work. The walls and ceiling were white and smooth,blandly denying all complicity. Finally he clicked out the light again, taking refuge in darkness.

Copyright © 2008 Brenda W. Clough