The Gods Themselves

She said, "They won't care," and immediately felt sorrowful that her Parental would be hurt at that. He still called them "little-left" and "little-right," but little-left was all involved with his studies and little-right kept talking about forming a triad. Dua was the only one of the three who still felt- Well, she was the youngest. Emotionals always were and with them it was different.

Her Parental only said, "You will tell them anyway." And they stood looking at each other.

She didn't want to tell them. They weren't close any more. It-had been different when they were all little. They could hardly tell themselves apart in those days; left-brother from right-brother from mid-sister. They were all wispy and would tangle with each other and roll through each other and hide in the walls.

No one ever minded that when they were little; none of the grown-ups. But then the brothers grew thick and sober and drew away. And when she complained to her Parental, he would only say gently, "You are too old to thin, Dua."

She tried not to listen, but left-brother kept drawing away and would say, "Don't snuggle; I have no time for you." And right-brother began to stay quite hard all the time and became glum and silent. She didn't understand it quite then and Daddy had not been able to make it clear. He would say every once in a while as though it were a lesson he had once learned-"Lefts are Rationals, Dua. Rights are Parentals. They grow up their own way."

She didn't like their way. They were no longer children and she still was, so she flocked with the other Emotionals. They all had the same complaints about their brothers. They all talked of coming triads. They all spread in the Sun and fed. They all grew more and more the same and every day the same things were said.

And she grew to detest them and went off by herself whenever she could, so that they left and called her "Left-Em." (It had been a long time now since she had heard that call, but she never thought of that phrase without remembering perfectly the thin ragged voices that kept it up after her with a kind of half-wit persistence because they knew it hurt.)

But her Parental retained his interest in her even when it must have seemed to him that everyone else laughed at her. He tried, in his clumsy way, to shield her from the others. He followed her to the surface sometimes, even, though he hated it himself, in order to make sure she was safe.

She came upon him once, talking to a Hard One. It was hard for a Parental to talk to a Hard One; even though she was quite young, she knew that much. Hard Ones talked only to Rationals.

She was quite frightened and she wisped away but not before she had heard her Parental say, "I take good care of her, Hard-sir."

Could the Hard One have inquired about her? About her queerness, perhaps. But her Parental had not been apologetic. Even to the Hard One, he had spoken of his concern for her. Dua felt an obscure pride.

But now he was leaving and suddenly all the independence that Dua had been looking forward to lost its fine shape and hardened into the pointed crag of loneliness. She said, "But why must you pass on?"

"I must, little mid-dear."

He must. She knew that. Everyone, sooner or later, must. The day would come when she would have to sigh and say, "I must."

"But what makes you know when you have to pass one? If you can choose your time, why don't you choose a different time and stay longer?"

He said, "Your left-father has decided. The triad must do as he says."

"Why must you do what he says?" She hardly ever saw her left-father or her mid-mother. They didn't count any more. Only her right-father, her Parental, her daddy, who stood there squat and flat-surfaced. He wasn't all smooth-curved like a Rational or shuddery uneven like an Emotional, and she could always tell what he was going to say. Almost always.

She was sure he would say, "I can't explain to a little Emotional."

He said it.

Dua said in a burst of woe, "I'll miss you. I know you think I pay you no attention, and that I don't like you for always telling me not to do things. But I would rather not like you for telling me not to do things, than not have you around to tell me not to do things."

And Daddy just stood there. There was no way he could handle an outburst like that except to come closer and pinch out a hand. It cost him a visible effort, but he held it out trembling and its outlines were ever so slightly soft.

Dua said, "Oh, Daddy," and let her own hand flow about it so that his looked misty and shimmery through her substance; but she was careful not to touch it for that would have embarrassed him so.

Then he withdrew it and left her hand enclosing nothing and he said, "Remember the Hard Ones, Dua. They will help you. I-I will go now."

He went and she never saw him again.

Now she sat there, remembering in the sunset, and rebelliously aware that pretty soon Tritt would grow petulant over her absence and nag Odeen.

And then Odeen might lecture her on her duties.

She didn't care.