Aggie swore. She was in the library, attempting a yoga tree pose while trying not to throw up.? She felt trapped, scared—in fact, terrified. Arthur of the North seemed to think she had the brains to pull off a paternity lie; she, however, had doubts. James the Strong was, well, strong and vengeful . . .
She stumbled.?“Oh, great pickling sperm,” she shouted.
The Librarian, with a skid, stopped at the doorway. “Ma’am?”
She glared at him. “Must you call me ‘ma’am’?”
“Apologies, ma’am.”
Aggie clutched her mouth and gagged.
The Librarian said nothing. He’d read enough to know morning sickness when he saw it, and he saw enough to know who the father was.
“The trick is to sleep with two simultaneously,” he said.
“What?” Aggie gulped.
“That’s what Wife-ie says. ‘Sleep with the enemy, sleep with your friend, and never let the right hand know what the left is doing.’” He pulled one of Wife-ie’s memoirs from a shelf and slid it toward Aggie. “You should read it. It might help.”
Aggie looked at him with a “why are you helping me?” look.
She and the Librarian had a “let’s put up with each other” sort of relationship. Him helping her was as plausible as James the Strong completing a crossword.? Aggie suspected the Librarian knew why she spent so much time in the rabbit warren. It was the way he sniffed as she entered and muttered “satisfied?” when she left. The way he, despite a Do not Disturb sign, walked in on her plotting the moons and carving up sponges with a “Feeling artistic today, are we, ma’am?”
He even collected sponges for her . . . helped her hack out a few “small enough to fit ‘whatever,’” like he knew nothing of contraception.
Arthur of the North told her not to worry, that the Librarian was just a “queer sort of fella,” the sort who “never ventured near the nurturing shed except to pick up wig tips.”
Aggie looked at his outrageous wig, perched like a Persian cat with piles. she thought.
“It’s all about doing your bit for the planet.” He pointed to the book.
“We all do our bit,” snapped Aggie.
“You’ve done more than many—mostly on your back,” said the Librarian.
She threw him a glare.
“You’ve kept James the Strong out of the nurturing shed, and the men are truly grateful. I mean before you came along, there was a waiting list.”
“Glad to be of service.” She straightened herself and, with a decisive gulp, resumed her pose.? The Librarian eyed her belly. Without thinking, she touched it.
“The future of the planet is tentative,” he said. “Poised like a four-legged creature on the tip of a needle, as precarious as the outlands.”
“The outlands are hardly precarious. We send the women there.”? She stopped, thinking of James the Strong.? “Well . . . mostly.”
The Librarian smiled like he knew what she was thinking. Then he waited until the silence was uncomfortable.
Aggie squeaked a small fart.? “Pardon,” she muttered.
“Now is the biggest moment of your life, ma’am,” said the Librarian.
She stopped. “What?”
“Every step you take is . . . well . . . crucial.”
Silence.
“You need to steer with clarity,” he said.
Aggie glared at the Librarian; him making sense was as rare as contraception.
“Must we always talk of clarity? Every time you mention that word I leave as confused as James the Strong with his tax return.
”?A lump was forming in her throat; it was going nowhere but up. She attempted a gulp.
The Librarian handed her a glass of water—the perfect temperature.
She tried a sip . . . just as James the Strong arrived, panting with distress.?“It’s Father,” he said. “You need to come. I don’t know what to do. He’s delirious, talking of-diving on beds and off springs.”
The Librarian threw Aggie a look followed by a “my lips are zipped” gesture, which James the Strong assumed was something men in stupid wigs always did.
Aggie was by Arthur of the North’s bedside in minutes, holding his hand as he gasped for breath. James the Strong stood outside; watching someone die was women’s work.? Aggie looked at the familiar face of her only true friend.
“You’re not old enough to go,” she whispered.
“Wasps know nothing of age,” he said, “and when one stings, there’s nothing you can do.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. ? she thought.
“We had our moments.” He smiled and patted her cheek.
“More than moments . . . a lifetime,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “There are no words.”
His eyes lit up as he stared to the heavens; he stretched out his hand, making as if to grab for something higher.
The medicine official looked at Aggie with a shrug. “Just the drugs, ma’am.”
“I see it all now,” Arthur of the North said.
“Maybe overdid the sedative,” muttered the medicine official.
“It’s so clear, it’s perfect,” said Arthur of the North.
The medicine official threw Aggie a look, then shouted, “what do you see? A light? An angel?”
“Bed-diving and babies.” Arthur of the North smiled. “They’re all at it.” And then, with a cough, he stopped breathing.
The medicine official looked at Aggie. “Bed-diving?”
“It’s a figure of speech,” muttered Aggie.
James the Strong, just as his father did, leaned on Aggie as she organized the funeral of the century. It was the sort of funeral any Viking would have given their eyeteeth for. The sort never seen before on Planet Hy Man.? The bonfire was higher than any statue, built from unwanted furniture, wood, leftover food, and eggshells—the smell was not brilliant.
James did not account for the smell; he was too preoccupied with height, and as he was a giant himself, that meant pretty high. ?It took three days for the bonfire to burn to waist height and three more to cool down enough to spread across fields, hen coops, and the odd hidden hemp plant. ?It was a magnificent night, and as the father of Aggie’s son went up in flames, the son fluttered about Aggie’s womb almost like he knew.
Aggie watched the celebrating crowd from the balcony with James the Strong beside her.? The women had been let loose to dance and tantalize. Apart from celebrating days, women spent their time in the nurturing sheds and used a booking system for baby-making: Arthur of the North’s suggestion, care of Aggie, not that anyone knew—apart from the Librarian.
With Arthur of the North now a pile of ash and the booking system thrown to the wind, the men soon threw themselves into fighting and rolling about on the ground, relishing the chance to impress a woman, while some women began to regret their frenzied dancing.
To many men, the booking system was on par with a visit to the dentist, and the idea of being chosen rather than making a booking went to their heads. So engrossed in impressing, the men often didn’t notice when a woman, bored and fed up, moved on.? Some women made a quick retreat, others made a mental note to avoid future death celebrations, while others, carried away, cheered like wild banshees at a cockfight.
The mixed messages confused the men.
It had been ages since they’d had to read body language, interpret a woman’s “no.” It didn’t take long for some to crumble, unable to cope when rejected, lost to another male, especially when punched in the face.? Aggie watched; she had never seen anything like it before.
“Arthur of the North would have a fit of the hairies,” she said.
James the Strong laughed. “The fighting is all playacting. The whole rape-and-pillage thing is more a ceremony than anything.” He laughed again. “Swapping and swinging.” He eyed Aggie’s belly with a sigh. “Reminds me of the good ol’ days.”
Aggie watched as a bull-like Foreigner punched a weedy man to the ground, tossed his wig to the wind, lifted a woman over his shoulders, and disappeared into the dark with a “let’s be having yer!” shout.
“Why does everything have to lead to ravaging,” muttered Aggie.
“It’s because they don’t have you,” said James the Strong. “That was me until I met you.”
She watched the wigless man as he jumped to his feet, scrabbled for his wig, and ran like a stunned chicken toward the nurturing shed.
“Really?” she muttered.
“The number of women I’ve tossed over my shoulder,” muttered James the Strong. He eyed Aggie. “You fancy a toss?”
Aggie didn’t hear.? She was too busy watching the crowd descend into a rabble, the words of the Librarian haunting her.? Did the planet really balance like a whatever on a needle?
she thought.
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