But Greg was Mum’s “boy husband,” opted when she was very young, first wedding after her own–very sentimental about him, would deny fiercely if accused of loving him more than other husbands, yet took his faith when he was ordained and never missed a Tuesday.
She said, “Is it possible that your guest would wish to attend church?”
I said would see but anyhow we would rush, and said goodbye. Then banged on bathroom door and said, “Hurry with skin, Wyoh; we’re short on minutes.”
“One minute!” she called out. She’s ungirlish girl; she appeared in one minute. “How do I look?” she asked. “Prof, will I pass?”
“Dear Wyoming, I am amazed. You were beautiful before, you are beautiful now–but utterly unrecognizable. You’re safe–and I am relieved.”
Then we waited for Prof to transform into old derelict; he would be it to his back corridor, then reappear as well-known teacher in front of class, to have witnesses in case a yellow boy was waiting to grab him.
It left a moment; I told Wyoh about Greg. She said, “Mannie, how good is this makeup? Would it pass in church? How bright are the lights?”
“No brighter than here. Good job, you’ll get by. But do you want to go to church? Nobody pushing.”
She thought. “It would please your moth–I mean, ‘your senior wife,’ would it not?”
I answered slowly, “Wyoh, religion is your pidgin. But since you ask . . . yes, nothing would start you better in Davis Family than going to church with Mum. I’ll go if you do.”
“I’ll go. I thought your last name was ‘O’Kelly’?”
“Is. Tack ‘Davis’ on with hyphen if want to be formal. Davis is First Husband, dead fifty years. Is family name and all our wives are ‘Gospazha Davis’ hyphened with every male name in Davis line plus her family name. In practice Mum is only ‘Gospazha Davis’–can call her that–and others use first name and add Davis if they write a cheque or something. Except that Ludmilla is ‘Davis-Davis’ because proud of double membership, birth and option.”
“I see. Then if a man is ‘John Davis,’ he’s a son, but if he has some other last name he’s your co-husband. But a girl would be ‘Jenny Davis’ either way, wouldn’t she? How do I tell? By her age? No, that wouldn’t help. I’m confused! And I thought clan marriages were complex. Or polyandries–though mine wasn’t; at least my husbands had the same last name.”
“No trouble. When you hear a woman about forty address a fifteen-year-old as ‘Mama Milla,” you’ll know which is wife and which is daughter–not even that complex as we don’t have daughters home past husband-high; they get opted. But might be visiting. Your husbands were named ‘Knott’?”
“Oh, no, ‘Fedoseev, Choy Lin and Choy Mu.’ I took back my born name.”
Out came Prof, cackled senilely (looked even worse than earlier!), we left by three exits, made rendezvous in main corridor, open formation. Wyoh and I did not walk together, as I might be nabbed; on other hand she did not know Luna City, a warren so complex even nativeborn get lost–so I led and she had to keep me in sight. Prof trailed to make sure she didn’t lose me.
If I was picked up, Wyoh would find public phone, report to Mike, then return to hotel and wait for Prof. But I felt sure that any yellow jacket who arrested me would get a caress from number-seven arm.
No huhu. Up to level five and crosstown by Carver Causeway, up to level three and stop at Tube Station West to pick up arms and tool kit–but not p-suit; would not have been in character, I stored it there. One yellow uniform at station, showed no interest in me. South by well-lighted corridors until necessary to go outward to reach private easement lock thirteen to co-op pressure tunnel serving Davis Tunnels and a dozen other farms. I suppose Prof dropped off there but I never looked back.
I delayed locking through our door until Wyoh caught up, then soon was saying, “Mum, allow me to present Wyma Beth Johnson.”
Mum took her in arms, kissed cheek, said, “So glad you could come, Wyma dear! Our house is yours!”