After another moment she went on: “You don’t seem to have identified your biological father. His name was William Thurshaw. It was a summer’s love affair, wild and beautiful and of course impossible. I resisted having an abortion, and the Guthries saved me and you as you know. That was because—no. Maybe someday I can tell you.
“Bill was a gifted boy. That was maybe the main thing that drew me to him. He was also gallant and caring, and he went on to become the same sort of man. We never heard from each other again, but Guthrie told me this much. Now that I can tell what to look for, yes, I see a lot of Bill in you. And I think in your spirit, too.”
Her tone hardened. “He could have gotten into Fireball like me and later you, no doubt, but chose differently. Two years ago, Guthrie told me he was dead. You must know how the Renewal is getting more frantic, more ruthless, as the country goes to pieces beneath it. Bill spoke too freely in defense of freedom. He was killed ‘resisting arrest,’ the police reported.”
“I am sorry,” was all Rydberg could find to say.
Beynac’s voice gentled. “For me, he wasn’t much more than a dream I’d had. I cried a little. My husband held me close and made the world good again. I am very happily married, Lars. But you can be proud of your father.”
She took Rydberg’s hand. They sat thus for a space.
“I am glad you are happy,” he said at last. “I must not threaten it. I will go. Today has been more than enough.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “Bloody hell, no! You stay!”
“But your husband, your children—”
She regained control. “Please. I can’t just let you orbit back into the swarm and think no more about it. Not that I’ll lay any claims on you, either. Can’t we get to know each other, though?”
“At your home? I would feel like an invader.”
“Don’t.” Her laugh wavered a bit. “Oh, Edmond will be taken aback at first, but not badly, and he’ll recover fast. He’s so absolutely a man, you see.^The children will just be interested, not deeply nor for long, I’m sure; about like a cat when a visitor arrives. That’s all.
“Lars, I love those children with my whole heart, but you are the only one of mine who’s completely human.” Westward the lake sheened blue, reaching like a sea off beyond the horizon. A few last shreds of dawn-mist smoked across its quietness. A waning Moon floated pale above several islands. Eastward the shore stood boldly and the sun filled intensely green highlands with shadows. Musoma town lifted white at the mouth of its bay. Three pelicans and a heron passed overhead. The air lay cool and hushed, with an odor of fish that would become strong later in the day.
A boat drifted some distance put. Two men sat at ease in it, facing one another. Lines trailed from the rods in their hands.
“A lovely morning,” Charles Jomo said conversationally.
“Yes,” Venator agreed. His body could savor it as well as any other human’s could. Nevertheless the hunter stirred within him. “But will we ever get a
bite?”
They were speaking Anglo. Jomo wanted to practice his. Venator had not admitted to his knowledge of any languages current hereabouts. Capabilities were best kept in reserve till needed, and surprise was a potent weapon.
“Oh, yes,” Jomo said. “The fish here behave differently from the fish in the shallows. Designed for sport. You shall have your excitement, I promise you. Meanwhile, patience. We have the whole day.” He was a gray-haired, deep-brown man with a comfortable paunch. Like his companion, he wore only a tunic. Sunburn was no hazard to either of them.
Venator repeated earlier politeness: “It’s very kind of you to take this much for an outsider.” If the fellow knew what kind of outsider! he thought sardonically.
Jomo chuckled. “The professional guide you would otherwise have engaged may have a different opinion.”
Venator reckoned he should pretend a bit of concern. “I’m sorry. That didn’t occur to me.”
“Not to worry. He’s not desperate for ucus. Who is?”