“I know why you have come,” said Brenner. “I am only surprised that it means so much to you.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“The zard, I gather,” said Brenner, “does not know you are here.”
“No,” she said, puzzled, backing away a step. “He does not.”
“Yesterday, when we first met,” Brenner explained, “you did not wear the chain and disk outside, in the rain and mud. The zard, it seems, did not wish it dirtied. If you were on an errand for him now, or had his permission to leave the tavern, in such weather, I would suppose he would have again removed it.”
“Doubtless,” she said.
“Perhaps the cloth will protect it,” said Brenner.
“It is my hope that it will do so,” she said.
“I suggest that you hurry back to the tavern before your absence is detected.”
“Please do not leave me!” she wept.
“What you really want is clear to me,” said Brenner. “You need not cover it with so elaborate a pretense.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“What will be done with you, if you are apprehended by the zard, outside the establishment without permission?”
“I do not know,” she said. “I suppose I will be stripped, and chained to a post in the back yard, and kept there for a day or two, in the cold, in the rain and mud. Doubtless I will be whipped, such things.”
“You are bold to come here,” said Brenner.
“I love you,” she said.
“I am only surprised that so small a thing means so much to you.”
“Even if my love be no more than that of a slave, do not scorn it,” she said.
“Do not embarrass me,” said Brenner, “so prating of love.”
“What you did to me!” she said. “What you made me feel!”
“It was nothing,” said Brenner, angrily, “only an evening’s dalliance.”
“I love you!” she said. “I love you!”
“Do you want money?” he asked. “Do you want credits punched?”
She regarded him, aghast.
“The appropriate credits for your services were punched,” said Brenner. “Your use has been paid for. The zard and I are clear. The matter is done.”
“No,” she said. “Please!”
“Your use has been paid for,” said Brenner.
“I am not a whore,” she said, “who demeans you for her profit.”
“No,” he said. “You are under contract, and so your earnings go to your contract holder, who applies portions of them on your behalf, to pay off your contract.”
“Our contracts are never paid off!” she said. “We soon learn that!”
Brenner shrugged.
“To you,” she said, “I am not a whore, not even a woman under contract! To you I am a slave, only an animal to you, an animal who begs to love and serve, to give all of herself, wholly, devotedly, unquestioningly!”
“I know what you really want,” said Brenner.
“And what is that?” she asked.
“Apparently it means much to you,” he said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Surely you hinted about such things last night.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“And I understand that you do not have coins, or credits, in your own control, that you might spend as you wish.” In this respect, of course, women under contract would be rather analogous to slaves, who are totally, like other animals, without economic resources. They are totally dependent upon the master.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“Accordingly,” he said, “I can understand that even such small things may be important to you.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
He thrust his hand into his pocket. He drew forth the pastry in its wrapper. He partially unwrapped it. It was somewhat crushed now, from its sojourn in his jacket, and it was not at all likely that it was fresh, for he had obtained it at the hostel. But he did not doubt that it would still, though perhaps a bit dried, be tasty enough, and enough appreciated, given the circumstances. It reputedly housed a custard, and was roofed with a layer of chocolate.
“This is for you,” he said.
Some of the chocolate clung to the turned-back, opened wrapper.
“It is supposed to have custard in it,” he said.
He felt one of the Pons tugging at his sleeve. He looked back and he saw that Rodriguez had lined up several of the small creatures on each of the two ropes of the mud sled. Some of the other Pons had already gone through the gate and had busied themselves at their small, primitive camp outside the fence, striking tents, sacking belongings.
“Do you think this is why I have come?” she asked Brenner.