Time Enough For Love

VARIATIONS ON A THEME-IV

Love

Lazarus lounged in his hammock and scratched his chest.

"Hamadryad," he said, "that's not an easy question. At seventeen I was certain I was in love. But it was merely excess hormones and self-delusion. It was most of a thousand years later before I experienced the real thing-and didn't recognize the condition for years, as I had quit using that word."

Ira Weatheral's "pretty daughter" looked puzzled, while Lazarus thought again that Ira had been wrong: Hamadryad was not pretty; she was so startling beautiful that she would have fetched top premium prices at auction on Fatima, with hard-eyed Iskandrian factors outbidding each other in the belief that she was a sound speculation. If the Protector of the Faith had not preempted her for himself- Hamadryad did not seem to know that her appearance was exceptional. But Ishtar did. The first ten days that Ira's daughter had been part of Lazarus' "family" (so he thought of them-a good enough term as Ira, Hamadryad, Ishtar, and Galahad were all his descendants and now privileged to call him "Grandfather" as long as they did not overdo it)-those first days Ishtar had shown a childish tendency to try to place herself between Hamadryad and Lazarus, and also between Hamadryad and Galahad, even when this required being two places at once.

Lazarus had watched this barnyard dance with amusement and had wondered if Ishtar knew that she was doing it. Probably not, he decided. His rejuvenation supervisor was all duty and no sense of humor and would have been shocked had she known that she had reverted to adolescence.

But it did not last. It was impossible not to like Hamadryad because she remained quietly friendly no matter what. Lazarus wondered if it was a behavior pattern consciously developed to protect herself against her less-endowed sisters-or was it simply her nature? He had not tried to find out. But Ishtar now tended to sit by Hamadryad, or even to make room between herself and Galahad for Hamadryad, and let her help in serving meals and such-assistant "housewife" de facto.

"If I must wait a thousand years to understand that word," Hamadryad replied, "then I probably never will. Minerva says that it cannot be defined in Galacta and even when I speak Classic English, I find that I think in Galacta, which means that I do not really grasp English. Since the word 'love' occurs so frequently in ancient English literature, I thought my failure to understand that word might be the block that keeps me from thinking in English."

"Well, let's shift to Galacta and take a swing at it. In the first place, very little thinking was ever done in English; it is not a language suited to logical thought. Instead, it's an emotive lingo beautifully adapted to concealing fallacies. A rationalizing language, not a rational one. But most people who spoke English had no more idea of the meaning of the word 'love' than you have, even though they used it all the time."

Lazarus added, "Minerva! We're going to take another hack at the word 'love.' Want to join in? If so, shift to your personal mode."

"Thank you, Lazarus. Hello, Ira-Ishtar-Hamadryad-Galahad," the disembodied contralto voice answered. "I am and have been in personal mode, and usually am, now that you have given me permission to use my judgment. You're looking well, Lazarus-younger every day."

"I feel younger. But, dear, when you go to personal mode, you should tell us."

"I'm sorry, Grandfather!"

"Don't sound so humble. Just say, 'Howdy, I'm here,' that's all. If you could manage to tell me, or Ira, just once, to go to hell, it 'ud be good for you. Clean your circuits."

"But I have no wish to say that to either of you."

"That's what's wrong. If you hang around Dora, you'll learn to. Have you spoken to her today?"

"I'm speaking with Dora now, Lazarus. We're playing fairy chess in five dimensions, and she's teaching me songs you taught her. She teaches me a song, then I sing a tenor lead while she harmonizes in soprano. We're doing this in real time because we're outing through the speakers in your control room and listening to ourselves. Right now we're singing the story of One-Ball Riley. Would you care to hear us?"

Lazarus flinched. "No, no, not that one."

"We've practiced several others. 'Rangy Lil' and 'The Ballad of Yukon Jake' and 'Barnacle Bill'-I sing the story on that one while Dora does soprano and bass. Or perhaps 'Four Whores Came Down from Canada'-that one is fun."

"No, Minerva. I'm sorry, Ira; my computer is corrupting your computer." Lazarus sighed. "I didn't plan it that way; I just wanted Minerva to baby-sit for me. Since I've got the only retarded ship in this sector."

"Lazarus," Minerva said reproachfully, "I don't think it is correct to say that Dora is retarded. She's quite intelligent, I think. I do not understand why you say that she is corrupting me."

Ira had been lying on the grass, sunbathing with a kerchief over his eyes. He rolled to one elbow. "Nor I, Lazarus. That last one I'd like to hear. I recall where Canada is-was. North of the country you were born in."

Lazarus counted silently, then said, "Ira, I know I have prejudices ridiculous to a civilized modern man such as yourself. I can't help it; I'm canalized by early childhood, imprinted like a baby duckling. If you want to hear bawdy songs from a barbaric era, please listen to them in your apartments-not up here. Minerva, Dora doesn't understand those songs; to her they are nursery rhymes."

"Nor do I understand them, sir, other than theoretically. But they are jolly, and I have enjoyed being taught to sing."

"Well- All right. Has Dora been behaving herself otherwise?"

"She's been a good girl, Grandfather Lazarus, and I think she is contented with my company. She pouted a little at not having her bedtime story last night. But I told her that you were very tired and already asleep; and told her a story myself."

"But- Ishtar! Did I miss a day?"

"Yes, sir."

"Surgery? I didn't notice any new healed places."

The Master Chief Technician hesitated. "Grandfather, I will discuss procedures only if you insist. It does a client no good to be reminded of such things. I hope that you will not insist. I do hope so, sir."

"Um. All right, all right. But next time you chop out a day-or a week, or whatever-warn me. So that I can leave a bedtime story on file with Minerva. No, that won't do; you don't want me to know. Okay, I'll keep stories on file with Minerva and you warn her, instead."

"I will, Grandfather. It does help when the client cooperates, especially by paying as little attention to what we do as possible." Ishtar smiled briefly. "The client we dread is another rejuvenator. Worries and tries to run things."

"Small wonder. I know, dear, I have that horrid habit of trying to run things myself. The only way I can keep from it is by staying out of the control room. So when I get too nosy, tell me to shut up. But how are we doing? How much longer do I have to go?"

Ishtar answered hesitantly, "Perhaps this is a time when I should tell you to...'shut up.'"

"That's it! But firmer, dear. 'Get out of my control room, you custard-headed dolt, and stay out! Make him realize that, if he doesn't jump, you'll toss him into the brig. Now try it again."

Ishtar grinned widely. "Grandfather, you're an old fraud."

"So I've long suspected. I was hoping it didn't show. All right, the subject is 'love.' Minerva, the Hamadarling says you told her that it can't be defined in Galacta. Got anything to add to that?"

"Tentatively yes, Lazarus. May I reserve my answer until the others speak?"

"Suit yourself. Galahad, you talk less and listen more than anybody else in the family. Want to try it?"

"Well, sir, I hadn't realized that there was any mystery about 'love' until I heard Hamadryad ask about it. But I'm still learning English. By the naturalistic method the way a child learns his milk language. No grammar, no syntax, no dictionary-just listen and talk and read it. Acquire new words by context. By that method I acquired a feeling that 'love' means the shared ecstasy that can be attained through sex. Is that right?"

"Son, I hate to say this-because, if you've been reading a lot of English, I see how you reached that opinion-but you are one hundred percent wrong."

Ishtar looked startled. Galahad simply looked thoughtful. "Then I must go back and read some more."

"Don't bother, Galahad. Most of those writers you've been reading misuse the word just that way. Shucks, I misused it for years myself; it's a prime example of the slipperiness of the English tongue. But, whatever 'love' is, it's not sex. I'm not running down sex. If there is a purpose in life mere important than two people cooperating in making a baby, all the philosophers in history haven't been able to find it. And between babies, the practice runs keep up our zest in life and make tolerable the fact that raising a baby is one hell of a lot of work. But that's not love. Love is something that still goes on when you are not sexually excited. It being so stipulated, who wants to try it? Ira, how about you? You know English better than the others, you speak it almost as well as I do."

"I speak it better than you do, Gramp; I speak it grammatically, which you do not."

"Don't praggle me, boy; I'll quang you proper. Shakespeare and I never let grammar interfere with expressing ourselves. Why, he said to me once-"

"Oh, stop it! He died three centuries before you were born."

"He did, huh? They opened his grave once and found it empty. The fact is, he was a half brother of Queen Elizabeth and dyed his hair to make the truth less obvious. The other fact is that they were closing in on him, so he switched. I've died that way several times. Ira, his will left his 'second-best bed' to his wife. Look up who got his best bed and you'll begin to figure out what really happened. Do you want to try to define 'love'?"

"No. You would change the rules again. All you have done so far is to divide the field of experience called 'love' into the same categories Minerva divided it into when you asked her this same question weeks ago-namely, 'Eros' and 'Agape.' But you avoided using those technical words for the subfields, and by this sophistry you attempted to exclude the general term from one subfield and thereby claimed that the term to be defined was limited to the other subfield-which set it up for you to define 'love' as identically equal to 'Agape.' But again without using that word. It won't work, Lazarus. To use your own metaphor, I saw you palm that card."

Lazarus shook his head admiringly. "There are no flies on you, boy; I did a good job when I thought you up. Someday when we have time to waste, let's have a go at solipsism."

"Come off, it, Lazarus. You can't bulldoze me the way you did Galahad. The subcategories are still 'Eros' and 'Agape.' 'Agape' is rare; 'Eros' is so common that it is almost inevitable that Galahad acquired the feeling that 'Eros' is the total meaning of the word 'love.' Now you have unfairly confused him since he assumes-incorrectly-that you are a reliable authority with respect to the English language."

Lazarus chuckled "Ira, m'boy, when I was a kid, they sold that stuff by the wagonload to grow alfalfa. Those technical words were thought up by armchair experts of the same sort as theologians. Which gives them the same standing as sex manuals written by celibate priests. Son; I avoided those fancy categories because they are useless, incorrect, and misleading. There can be sex without love, and love without sex, and situations so intermixed that nobody can sort out which is which. But love can be defined, an exact definition that does not resort to the word 'sex,' or to question begging by exclusion through the use of such words as 'Eros' and 'Agape.'"

"So define it," said Ira. "I promise not to laugh."

"Not yet. The trouble with defining in words anything as basic as love is that the definition can't be understood by anyone who has not experienced it. It's like the ancient dilemma of explaining a rainbow to a person blind from birth. Yes, Ishtar, I know that you can fit such a person with cloned eyes today-but that dilemma was inescapable in my youth. In those days one could teach such an unfortunate all the physical theory of the electromagnetic spectrum, tell him precisely what frequencies the 'human eye can pick up, define colors to him in terms of those frequencies, explain exactly how the mechanisms of refraction and reflection produce a rainbow image and what its shape is and how the frequencies are distributed until he knew all about rainbows in the scientific sense...but you still couldn't make him feel the breathless wonder that the sight of a rainbow inspires in a man. Minerva is better off than that man, because she can see. Minerva dear, do you ever look at rainbows?"

"Whenever possible, Lazarus. Whenever one of my sensor extensionals can see one. Fascinating!"

"That's it. Minerva can see a rainbow, a blind man can't. Electromagnetic theory is irrelevant to the experience."

"Lazarus," Minerva added, "it may be that I can see a rainbow better than a flesh-and-blood can. My visual range is three octaves, fifteen hundred to twelve thousand angstroms."

Lazarus whistled. "Whereas I chop off just short of one octave. Tell me girl, do you see chords in those colors?"

"Oh, certainly!"

"Hmm! Don't try to explain to me those other colors; I'll have to go on being half blind."

Lazarus added, "Puts me in mind of a blind man I knew on Mars, Ira, when I was managing that, uh, recreation center. He-"

"Gramp," the Chairman Pro Tem interrupted m a tired voice, "don't treat us as children. Surely, you're the oldest man alive...but the youngest person here-that offspring of mine sitting there, making cow-eyes at you-is as old as Gramp Johnson was when you last saw him; Hamadryad will be eighty her next birthday. Ham, my darling, how many paramours have you had?"

"Goodness, Ira-who counts?"

"Ever taken money for it?"

"None of your business, Father. Or were you about to offer me some?"

"Don't be flip, dear; I'm still your father. Lazarus, do you think you can shock Hamadryad by plain talk? Prostitution isn't big business here; there are too many amateurs as willing as she is. Nevertheless, the few bordellos we have in New Rome are members of the Chamber of Commerce. But you should try one of our better holiday houses-say, the Elysium. After you are fully rejuvenated."

"Good idea," agreed Galahad. "To celebrate. As soon as Ishtar gives you your final physical check. As my guest, Grandfather; I'd be honored. The Elysium has everything, from massage and hypnotic conditioning to the best gourmet food and best shows. Or name it and they'll supply it."

"Wait a moment," protested Hamadryad. "Don't be a selfish arsfardel, Galahad. We'll make it a foursome celebration-Ishtar?"

"Certainly, dear. Fun."

"Or a sixsome, with a companion for Ira. Father?"

"I could be tempted, dear, for Lazarus' birthday party-although you know I usually avoid public places. How many rejuvenations, Lazarus? That's how we count this sort of birthday party."

"Don't be nosy, Bub. As your daughter says: 'Who counts?' Wouldn't mind a birthday cake, such as I used to have as a child. But just one candle in the middle is enough."

"A phallic symbol," agreed Galahad. "An ancient fertility sign-appropriate for a rejuvenation. And its flame is an equally ancient symbol of life. It should be a working candle, not a fake. If we can find one."

lshtar looked happy. "Of course! There must be a candlemaker somewhere: If not, I'll learn how and make it myself. I'll design it, too-semirealistic but somewhat stylized. Although I could make it true portraiture, Grandfather; I'm a fair amateur sculptor, I learned it when I studied cosmetic surgery."

"Wait a. minute!" Lazarus protested. "All I want is a plain wax candle-then blow it out and make a wish. Thank you, Ishtar, but don't bother. And thanks, Galahad, but I'll pick up the tab-although it may be a family party right, here, where Ira won't feel like, a duck in a shooting gallery. Look, kids, I've seen every possible type of joy house and pleasure dome. Happiness is in the heart, not in that stuff."

"Lazarus, can't you see that the kids want to treat you to a fancy party? They like you-though Prime Cause alone knows why."

"Well-"

"But there might be no tab. I think I recall something from that list appended to your will. Minerva-who owns the Elysium?"

"It is a daughter corporation of Service Enterprises of New Rome, Limited, which in turn is owned by Sheffield-Libby Associates. In short, Lazarus owns it."

"Be damned! Who invested my money in that? Andy Libby, bless his sweet shy soul, would be spinning in his grave-if I hadn't placed him spinning in orbit around the last planet we discovered together, where he was killed."

"Lazarus, that's not in your memoirs."

"Ira, I keep telling you, lots of things not in my memoirs. Poor little guy got to thinking one of his deep thoughts and didn't stay alert. I put him in orbit because I promised him, when he was dying, to take him back to his native Ozarks. Tried to, about a hundred years later, but couldn't find him. Beacon dead, I suppose. All right, kids, we'll have a party at my happy house and you can sample anything the place has to offer. Where were we? Ira, you were about to define 'love.'"

"No, you were about to tell us about a blind man on Mars, when you were managing that whorehouse."

"Ira, you're as crude as Gramp Johnson was. This guy 'Noisy'-don't recall his right name, if he had one-Noisy was one of those people like yourself who just will work, regardless. A blind man could get by in those days quite well by begging, and nobody thought the less of him, since there was no way then to restore a man's sight.

"But 'Noisy wasn't content to live off other people; he worked at what he could do. Played a squeeze box and sang. That was an instrument operated by bellows which forced air over reeds as you touched keys on it-quite pretty music. They were popular until electronics pushed most mechanical music makers off the market.

"Noisy showed up one night, skinned out of his pressure suit at the lock dressing room, and was playing and singing before I knew he was inside.

"My policy was 'Trade, Treat, or Travel'-except that the house might buy a beer for an old customer who temporarily wasn't holding. But Noisy was not, a customer; he was a bum-looked and smelled like a bum, and I was about to give him the bum's rush. Then I saw this rag around his eyes and skidded to a stop.

"Nobody throws out a blind man. Nobody makes any trouble for him. I kept an eye on him but left him alone. He didn't even sit down. Just played this broken-down stomach-Steinway and sang, neither very well, and I laid off the pianette not to interrupt him. One of the girls started passing the hat for him.

"When he reached my table, I invited him to sit and bought him a beer-and regretted it; he was pretty whiff. He thanked me and told me about himself. Lies, mostly."

"Like yours, Gramp?"

"Thanks, Ira. Said he had been chief engineer in one of the big Harriman liners, until his accident. Maybe he had been a spaceman; I never caught him out in the lingo. Not that I tried. If a blind man wanted to claim he was the rightful heir to the Holy Roman Empire, I would go along with the gag-anybody would. Perhaps he was some sort of space-going mechanic, shipfitter or something. More likely he was a transported miner who had been careless using powder.

"When I checked the place at closing time, I found him sleeping in the kitchen. Couldn't have that, we ran a sanitary mess. So I led him to a vacant room and put him to bed, intending to give him breakfast and ease him gently on his way-I wasn't running a flophouse.

"A lot I had to say about it. I saw him at breakfast all right. But I hardly recognized him. A couple of the girls had given him a bath, trimmed his hair, and shaved him, and had dressed him in clean clothes-mine-and had thrown away the dirty rag he had worn over his ruined eyes and had replaced it with a clean white bandage.

"Kinfolk, I do not fight the weather. The girls were free to keep pets; I knew what fetched the customers, and it wasn't my pianette playing. If that pet stood on two legs and ate more than I did, I still did not argue. Hormone Hall was Noisy's home as long as the girls wanted to keep him.

"But it took me a while to realize that Noisy was not just a parasite enjoying free room and board, and probably our stock-in-trade as well, while siphoning off cash from our customers-no, he was pulling his weight in the boat. My books at the end of the first month he was with us showed the gross profit up and the net way up."

"How do you account for that, Lazarus? Inasmuch as he was competing for your customers' cash."

"Ira, must I do all your thinking for you? No, Minerva does most of it. But it is possible that you have never thought about the economics of that sort of joint. There are three sources of gross, the bar, the kitchen, and the girls themselves. No drugs-drugs spoil the three main sources. If a customer was on drugs and showed it, or even broke out a stick of kish, I eased him out quickly and sent him down the line to the Chinaman's.

"The kitchen was to supply meals to the girls-who were assessed room and board on a break-even or lose-a-little basis. But it also served food all night to anyone who ordered it, and showed a net since we had its overhead covered anyhow to board the girls. The bar also showed a net after I fired one barkeep with three hands. The girls kept their gross, all the traffic would bear, but they paid the house a flat fee for each kewpie, or a triple fee if she kept a customer all night. She could cheat a little, and I would shut-eye-but if she cheated too much or too often, or a john complained that he was rolled, I had a talk with her. Never any real trouble; they were ladies, and besides, I had means to check on them quietly, as well as eyes in the back of my head.

"The beefs about rolling were the stickiest, but I remember only one that was the girl's fault rather than the john's-I simply terminated her contract, let her go. In the usual beef the slob was not rolled; he simply had a change of heart after he had counted too much money into her greedy little hands and she had delivered what he had ordered-then he tried to roll her to get it back. But I could smell that sort of slob and would be listening via a mike-then would bust in as trouble started. That sort of jerk I would toss so hard he bounced twice."

"Grandfather, weren't some of them pretty big for that?"

"Not really, Galahad. Size doesn't figure much in a fight- although I was always armed against real trouble. But if I have to take a man, I have no compunctions slowing me down about how I take him. If you kick a man in the crotch with no warning, it will quiet him down long enough to throw him out.

"Don't flinch, Hamadear; your father guaranteed that you could not be shocked. But I was talking about Noisy and how he made us money while making some himself.

"In this sort of frontier joint the usual customer comes in, buys a drink while he looks over the girls, picks one by buying her a drink-goes to her room, then leaves. Elapsed time, thirty minutes; net to the house, minimum.

"Pre-Noisy, that is. After Noisy arrived, it went more like this: Buy a drink as before. Maybe buy the girl a second drink rather than interrupt a blind man's song. Take the girl to her room. When he comes back, Noisy is singing 'Frankie and Johnnie' or 'When the Pusher Met My Cousin,' and smiles and throws a verse at him-and the customer sits down and listens to all of it-and asks Noisy if he knows 'Dark Eyes.' Sure, Noisy knows it, but instead of admitting it, he asks the john to give him the words and hum it and he'll see what he can do with it.

"If the customer has valuta, he's still there hours later, having had supper and bought supper for one of the girls and tipped Noisy rather lavishly and is ready for an encore with the girl or another girl. If he's got the money, he stays all night, splitting his cash between the girls and Noisy and the bar and kitchen. If he spends himself broke and has been a good customer-well behaved as well as free with his money-I stake him to bed and breakfast on credit, and urge him to come back. If he's alive next payday, he's sure to be back. If not, all the house is out is the wholesale cost of one breakfast-nothing compared with what he's spent. Cheap goodwill advertising.

"A month of that, and both the house and the girls have made much more money, and the girls haven't worked much harder as they have spent part of their time drinking pay-me drinks-colored water; half the price to the house, half to the girl-while they help a john listen to Noisy's nostalgic songs. Shucks, a girl doesn't want to work like a treadmill even if she usually enjoys her work as many of them did. But they never got tired of sitting and listening to Noisy's songs.

"I quit playing the pianette, except, maybe, while Noisy ate. Technically I was a better musician-but he had that undefinable quality that sells a song; he could make 'em cry or laugh. And he had a thousand of 'em. One he called 'The Born Loser.' Not much of a tune, just:

"Tah tah poom poom!

Tah tah poom poom!

Tah t'tah tah tah poom poom-

"-about a bloke who can never quite make it. Uh:

"There's a beer joint

By the pool hall

For to pass some pleasant hours.

"There's a hook shop

Above the pool hall

Where my sister makes her living.

"She's a good sport;

I can spring her

For a fin or even a sawbuck

When not holding, Or the horses

Have been running rather slowly-

"Like that, folks. But more of it."

"Lazarus," said Ira, "you have been humming or singing that song every, day you've been up here. All of it. A dozen verses or more."

"Really, Ira? I do hum and sing; I know that. But I don't hear it myself.' It's like the purring of a cat; it just means that I'm functioning okay, board all green, operating at normal cruising. It means that I feel secure, relaxed, and happy- and, come to think of it, I do.

"But 'The Born Loser' doesn't have a mere dozen verses, it has hundreds. What I sang was only a snatch of what Noisy used to sing. He was always fiddling with a song, changing it, adding to it. I don't think this one started out as his; I seem to remember a song about a character whose overcoat was usually in hock clear back when I was very young and raising my first family, on Earth.

"But that song belonged to Noisy when he got through filing off serial numbers and changing the body lines. I heard it again, oh, must have been twenty, twenty-five years later, in a cabaret in Luna City. From Noisy. But he had changed it. Fixed up the scansion, given it a proper rhyme scheme, dolled up the tune. But the tune was still recognizable-in a minor key, wistful rather than sad, and the words were still about this third-rate grifter whose topcoat was always in hock and who sponged off his sister.

"And he had changed, too. A shiny new instrument, a tailored spaceman's uniform, gray hair at the temples-and star billing. I paid a waiter to tell him that 'Happy' Daze was in the audience-not my name then, but the only name Noisy had for me-and after his first group he came over and let me buy him a drink while we swapped lies and talked about our happy days at dear old Hormone Hall.

"I didn't mention to him that he had left us rather abruptly and that the girls had gone into a decline over it, worrying that he might be dead in a ditch-didn't mention it because he did not. But I had had to investigate his disappearance because my staff was so demoralized by it that the place felt like a morgue-no way for a parlor house to be. I was able to establish that he had gone aboard the 'Gyrfalcon' when she was about to lift for Luna City and had not left her-so I told the girls that Noisy had had a sudden opportunity to go home again but had left a message with the port captain for each of them-then added more lies to personalize the goodbye he hadn't made. It perked them up and lifted the gloom. They still missed him, but they all understood that grabbing a ride home was not something he could postpone-and since he had 'remembered' to send a message to each of them, they felt appreciated.

"But it turned out that he did remember them, mentioned each by name. Minerva dear, here is a difference between a blinded flesh-and-blood and one who has never been able to see. Noisy could see a rainbow any time he cared to, by memory. He never stopped 'seeing,' but what he 'saw' was always beauty. I had realized that, some, back when we were on Mars together, for-don't laugh-he thought I was as pretty as you are, Galahad. Told me that he could tell what I looked like from my voice, and described me to me. I had the grace to say that he flattered me but let it lie when he answered that I was too modest-even though I'm not handsome now and wasn't then and modesty has never been one of my vices.

"But Noisy thought all the girls were beautiful, too-and in one case this may have been true and certainly several of them were pretty.

"But he asked me what had become of Olga and added, 'Golly, what a little beauty she was!'

"Kinfolk, Olga wasn't even homely, she was ugly. Face like a mud pie, figure like a gunnysack-only on an outpost like Mars could she get by. What she did have was, a warm and gentle voice and a sweet personality-which was enough, as a customer might pick her through Hobson's choice on a busy night, but once he had done so, he picked her some later time on purpose. Mean to say, dears; beauty will lure a man into bed, but it won't bring him back a second time, unless he's awfully young or very stupid."

"What does bring him back a second time, Grandfather?" asked Hamadryad. "Technique? Muscular control?"

"Have you had any complaints, dear?"

"Well...no."

"Then you know the answer and are truing with me. Neither of those. It's the ability to make a man happy, principally by being happy about it yourself-a spiritual quality rather than a physical one. Olga had it in gobs.

"I told Noisy that Olga had married shortly after he left, happily so, and had three children last I had heard...which was an utter lie, as she had been killed accidentally and the girls bawled about it and I didn't feel good myself and we had shut the place down for four days. But I couldn't tell Noisy that; Olga had been one of the first to mother him, had helped bathe him and had stolen some of my clothes for him while I slept.

"But they all mothered him and never fought over him. I have not deviated from our subject in this rambling account of Noisy; we're still defining 'love.' Anybody want to take whack at it now?"

Galahad said, "Noisy loved every one of them. That's what you've been saying."

"No, Son, he didn't love any of them. Fond of them, yes- but he left them without looking back."

"Then you are saying that they loved him."

"Correct. Once you figure out the difference between what he felt toward them and what they felt toward him, we're almost home."

"Mother love," said Ira, and added gruffly, "Lazarus, are you trying to tell us that 'mother love' is the only love there is? Man, you're out of your mind!"

"Probably. But not that far out. I said they mothered him; I did not say a word about 'mother love.' "

"Uh...he bedded all of them?"

"Wouldn't be surprised, Ira. I never tried to find out. Irrelevant in any case."

Hamadryad said to her father, "Ira, 'mother love' can't be what we're trying to define; it is often only a sense of duty. Two of my brats I was tempted to drown, as you may have guessed seeing what little demons they were."

"Daughter, all your offspring were charming children."

"Oh, fuff. One has to give a baby mothering no matter what, or it will grow up to be a still worse monster. What did you think of my son Gordon as a baby?"

"A delightful child."

"Really? I'll tell him that-if I ever have a male child I name 'Gordon.' Sorry, old darling, I shouldn't have trapped you. Lazarus, Ira is a perfect grandfather, one who never forgets a birthday. But I've suspected that Minerva kept track of such things for him and now I know it. Right, Minerva?"

Minerva did not answer. Lazarus said, "She's not working for you, Hamadryad."

Ira said sharply, "Of course Minerva keeps track of such things for me! Minerva, how many grandchildren do I have?"

"One hundred and twenty-seven, Ira, counting the boy child to be born next week."

"How many great-grandchildren? And who is having the boy?"

"Four hundred and three, sir. Your son Gordon's current wife Marian."

"Keep me posted on it. That was the baby Gordon I was thinking of, Miss Smarty; Gordon's son Gordon...uh, by Evelyn Hedrick, I think. Lazarus, I deceived you. The truth is that I am migrating because my descendants are crowding me off this globe."

"Father, are you really going to? Not just talking?"

"Still top Secret until after the decennial Trustees Meeting, dear. But I am. Want to come along? Galahad and Ishtar have decided to go; they'll set up a rejuve shop for the colony. You'll have five to ten years in which to learn something useful."

"Grandfather, are you going?"

"Unlikely to the nth degree, my dear. I've seen a colony."

"You may change your mind." Hamadryad stood up, faced Lazarus. "I propose to you, in the presence of three witnesses-four; Minerva is the best possible witness-a contract for cohabitation and progeny, term to be selected by you." Ishtar looked startled, then wiped all expression from her face; the others said nothing.

Lazarus answered, "Granddaughter, if I weren't so old and tired, I would spank you."

"Lazarus, I am your granddaughter only by courtesy; you are less than eight percent of my total ancestry. Less than that in terms of dominant genes, with a vanishingly small probability of, unfavorable reinforcement; the bad recessives have been weeded. I'll send my genetic pattern over for your inspection."

"That's not the point, dear."

"Lazarus, I'm certain you've married your descendants in the past; is there some reason to discriminate against me? If you'll tell me, perhaps I can correct it. I must add that this submittal is not contingent on your migrating." Hamadryad added, "Or it could be for progeny only, although I would be proud and happy to be permitted to live with you."

"Why, Hamadryad?"

She hesitated. "I am at loss to answer, sir. I had thought that I could say, 'I love you'-but apparently I do not know what that word means. So I have no word in either language to describe my need...and went ahead without one."

Lazarus said gently, "I love you, dear-"

Hamadryad's face lit up.

He continued: "-and for that very reason I must refuse you." Lazarus looked around him. "I love all of you. Ishtar, Galahad...even that ugly, surly father of yours, dear, sitting there and looking worried. Now smile, dear, for I'm certain that there are endless young bucks anxious to marry you. You smile, too, Ishtar-but not you, Ira; it would crack your face. Ishtar, who is relieving you and Galahad? No, I don't care who is scheduled. May I be alone the rest of today?"

She hesitated. "Grandfather, may I keep the observation station manned?"

"You will anyhow. But will you limit them to dials and gauges or whatever it is you use? No eye or ear on me? Minerva will tell you if I misbehave-I'm certain of that."

"There will be neither eye nor ear on you, sir." Ishtar stood up. "Come along, Galahad. Hamadryad?"

"Just a moment, Ish. Lazarus-have I offended you?"

"What? Not at all, my dear."

"I thought you were angry with me over...what I proposed."

"Oh, nonsense. Hamadarling, that sort of proposal never offends anyone; it is the highest compliment one human can pay another. But it did confuse me. Now smile and kiss me good-night, then come see me tomorrow if you wish. All you kids kiss me good-night; there's nobody sore at anybody. Ira, you might stick around a bit if you will."

Like docile children they did so, then went into Lazarus' penthouse and took transport down. Lazarus said, "A drink, Ira?"

"Only if you are having one."

"We'll skip it then. Ira, did you put her up to it?'

"Eh?"

"You know what I mean. Hamadryad. First Ishtar, now Hamadryad. You've manipulated this whole deal from the moment you snatched me out of that flophouse, where I was dying decently and quietly. Have you again been trying to tie me down to whatever scheme you have in the back of your mind by waving pretty tails under my nose? It won't work, man."

The Chairman Pro Tem answered quietly, "I could deny that-and for the hundredth time have you call me a liar. I suggest that you ask Minerva."

"I wonder if that would be any assurance. Minerva!"

"Yes, Lazarus?"

"Did he rig this? With either of the girls?"

"Not to my knowledge, Lazarus."

"Is that an evasion, dear?"

"Lazarus, I cannot lie to you."

"Well...I think you could if Ira wanted you to, but there is no point in my inquiring into it. Give us privacy for a few moments, dear-recording mode only."

"Yes, Lazarus."

Lazarus went on, "Ira, I wish you had answered Yes. Because the only other explantation is one I d not like. I ain't pretty and my manners are not such as to endear me to women-so what do we have left? The fact that I am the oldest man alive. Women sell themselves for odd reasons and not always for money. Ira, I do not choose to stand at stud for pretty young things who would not waste a moment on me save for the prestige of having a child by, quote, The Senior, end of quote." He glared. "Right?"

"Lazarus, you are being unjust to both women. As well as unusually obtuse."

"How?"

"I've watched them. I think they both love you-and don't give me any double-talk about what that verb means; I am not Galahad."

"But- Oh, crap!"

"I won't argue on that basis; 'crap' is a subject in which you are the Galaxy's top authority. Women do not always sell themselves and they do fall in love...often for the oddest reasons-if 'reason' is a word that can apply. Granted that you are ugly, selfish, self-centered, surly-"

"I'm aware of it!"

"-to me. Nevertheless women don't seem to care much how a man looks...and you are surprisingly gentle with women. I've noticed. You say those little whores on Mars all loved that blind man."

"Some of them weren't little. Big Anna was taller than I am and weighed more."

"Don't try to change the subject. Why did they love him? Don't bother to answer; why a woman loves a man-or a man loves a woman-can be rationalized only in survival terms, and the answer has no flavor, unsatisfying. But- Lazarus, when you've completed rejuvenation and you and I have finished our Scheherazade bet, however we finish it-are you going away again?"

Lazarus brooded before answering: "I suppose so. Ira, this cottage and garden and stream-that you've lent me are very nice; the times I've gone down to the city I've hurried back, glad to be home. But it's just a resting place; I won't stay here. When the wild goose cries, I go." Lazarus looked sad. "But I don't know where and I don't want to repeat the things I've done. Perhaps Minerva will find that new thing for me, when it's time to move on."

Ira stood up. "Lazarus, if you, weren't so stinking suspicious and mean, you would give both women the benefit of the doubt and leave them each with child to remember you by. It wouldn't cost you much effort."

"Out of the question! I do not abandon children. Or pregnant women."

"Excuses. I will adopt, in the womb, any child you sire before you leave us. Shall I have Minerva place that in permanent and bind it?"

"I can support my own kids! Always have."

"Minerva. Transfer it and bind it."

"Completed, Ira."

"Thank you, best Little Nag. Same time tomorrow, Lazarus?"

"I suppose so. Yes. Call Hamadryad, will you, and ask her to come, too?-tell her I asked you to. I don't want the kid's feelings hurt."

"Sure, Gramp."