A Place so Foreign | Page 6

shots,
it was like swimming in molasses for me.
"Calculus! Well, well, well --" this was one of Pa's catch-all phrases, like "How about
that?" or "What do you know?" "Well, well, well. I can't believe how much they stuff
into kids' heads here."
"Yes, sir. There's an awful lot left to learn, yet." We did a subject every two weeks. So far,
I'd done French, Molecular and Cellular Biology, Physics and Astrophysics, Esperanto,
Cantonese and Mandarin, and an alien language whose name translated as "Standard." I'd
been exempted from History, of course, along with the other kids there from the past --
the Chinese girl from the Ming Dynasty, the Roman boy, and the Injun kid from South
America.
Pa laughed around his cigar and crossed his legs. His shoes were so big, they looked like
canoes. "There surely is, son. There surely is. And how are you doing with your
classmates? Any tussles your teacher will want to talk to me about?"
"No, sir! We're friendly as all get-out, even the girls." The kids in 75 didn't even notice
what they were doing in school. They just sat down at their workstations and waited to
have their brains filled with whatever was going on, and left at three, and never
complained about something being too hard or too dull.
"That's good to hear, son. You've always been a good boy. Tell you what: you bring
home a good report this Christmas, and I'll take you to see Saturn's rings on vacation."
Mama shot him a look then, but he pretended he didn't see it. He stubbed out his cigar,
hitched up his suspenders, and put on his tailcoat and tophat and ambassadorial sash and
picked up his leather case.
"Good night, son. Good night, Ulla. I'll see you on Wednesday," he said, and stepped into
the teleporter.
That was the last time I ever saw him.
#
"He died from bad snails?" Oly Sweynsdatter said to me, yet again.

I balled up a fist and stuck it under his nose. "For the last time, yes. Ask me again, and I'll
feed you this."
I'd been back for a month, and in all that time, Oly had skittered around me like a shy
pony, always nearby but afraid to talk to me. Finally, I'd grabbed him and shook him and
told him not to be such a ninny, tell me what was on his mind. He wanted to know how
my Pa had died, over in France. I told him the reason that Mama and Mr Johnstone and
the man from the embassy had worked out together. Now, I regretted it. I couldn't get him
to shut up.
"Sorry, all right, sorry!" he said, taking a step backwards. We were in the orchard behind
the schoolyard, chucking rotten apples at the tree-trunks to watch them splatter. "Want to
hear something?"
"Sure," I said.
"Tommy Benson's sweet on Marta Helprin. It's disgusting. They hold hands -- in church!
None of the fellows will talk to him."
I didn't see what the big deal was. Back in 75, we had had a two-week session on sexual
reproduction, like all the other subjects. Most of the kids there were already in couples,
sneaking off to low-gee bounceataria and renting private cubes with untraceable
cash-tokens. I'd even tussled with one girl, Katebe M'Buto, another exchange student,
from United Africa Trading Sphere. I'd picked her up at her apt, and her father had even
shaken my hand -- they grow up fast in UATS. Of course, I'd never let on to my folks. Pa
would've broken an axle. "That's pretty disgusting, all right," I said, unconvincingly.
"You want to go down to the river? I told Amos and Luke that I'd meet them after lunch."
I didn't much feel like it, but I didn't know what else to do. We walked down to the
swimming hole, where some boys were already naked, swimming and horsing around. I
found myself looking away, conscious of their nudity in a way that I'd never been before
-- all the boys in town swam there, all summer long.
I turned my back to the group and stripped down, then ran into the water as quick as I
could.
I paddled around a little, half-heartedly, and then I found myself being pulled under! My
sinuses filled with water and I yelled a stream of bubbles, and closed my mouth on a
swallow of water. Strong hands pulled at my ankles. I kicked out as hard as I could, and
connected with someone's head. The hands loosened and I shot up like a cork, sputtering
and coughing. I ran for the shore, and saw one of the Allen brothers surfacing, rubbing at
his head and laughing. The four Allen boys lived