一无所有-第34部分

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rs　to　mathematicians；　which　looked　like　code；　and　which　nobody　could　assure　them　weren't　code。　Letters　to　physicists　were　passed　if　Sabul；　their　consultant；　approved　them。　He　would　not　approve　those　that　dealt　with　subjects　outside　his　own　brand　of　Sequency　physics。　〃Not　within　my　petence；〃　he　would　growl；　pushing　the　letter　aside。　Shevek　would　send　it　on　to　the　Port　managers　anyhow；　and　it　would　e　back　marked　〃Not　approved　for　export。〃

He　brought　this　matter　up　at　the　Physics　Federation；　which　Sabul　seldom　bothered　to　attend。　Nobody　there　attached　importance　to　the　issue　of　free　munication　with　the　ideological　enemy。　Some　of　them　lectured　Shevek　for　working　in　a　field　so　arcane　that　there　was；　by　his　own　admission；　nobody　else　on　his　own　world　petent　in　it。　〃But　it's　only　new；〃　he　said；　which　got　him　nowhere。〃

〃If　it's　new；　share　it　with　us；　not　with　the　propertarians！〃

〃I've　tried　to　offier　a　course　every　quarter　for　a　year　now。　You　always　say　there　isn't　enough　demand　for　it。　Are　you　afraid　of　it　because　it's　new？〃

That　won　him　no　friends。　He　left　them　in　anger。

He　went　on　writing　letters　to　Urras；　even　when　he　mailed　none　of　them　at　all。　The　fact　of　writing　for　someone　who　might　understand　—　who　might　have　understood　—　made　it　possible　for　him　to　write；　to　think。　Otherwise　it　was　not　possible。

The　decads　went　by；　and　the　quarters。　Two　or　three　times　a　year　the　reward　came：　a　letter　from　Atro　or　another　physicist　in　AIo　or　Thu；　a　long　letter；　closewritten；　closeargued；　all　theory　from　salutation　to　signature；　all　intense　abstruse　metamathematicalethicocosmological　temporal　physics；　written　in　a　language　he　could　not　speak　by　men　he　did　not　know；　fiercely　trying　to　bat　and　destroy　his　theories；　enemies　of　his　homeland；　rivals；　strangers；　brothers。

For　days　after　getting　a　letter　he　was　irascible　and　joyful；　worked　day　and　night；　foamed　out　ideas　like　a　fountain。　Then　slowly；　with　desperate　spurts　and　struggles；　he　came　back　to　earth；　to　dry　ground；　ran　dry。

He　was　finishing　his　third　year　at　the　Institute　when　Gvarab　died。　He　asked　to　speak　at　her　memorial　service；　which　was　held；　as　the　custom　was；　in　the　place　where　the　dead　person　had　worked：　in　this　case　one　of　the　lecture　rooms　in　the　Physics　laboratory　building。　He　was　the　only　speaker。　No　students　attended；　Gvarab　had　not　taught　for　two　years。　A　few　elderly　members　of　the　Institute　came；　and　Gvarab's　middleaged　son；　an　agricultural　chemist　from　Northeast；　was　there。　Shevek　stood　where　the　old　woman　had　used　to　stand　to　lecture。　He　told　these　people；　in　a　voice　hoarsened　by　his　now　customary　winter　chest　cold；　that　Gvarab　had　laid　the　foundations　of　the　science　of　time；　and　was　the　greatest　cosmologist　who　had　ever　worked　at　the　Institute。　〃We　in　physics　have　our　Odo　now；〃　he　said。　〃We　have　her；　and　we　did　not　honor　her。〃　Afterwards　an　old　woman　thanked　him；　with　tears　in　her　eyes。　〃We　always　took　tenthdays　together；　her　and　me；　janitoring　in　our　block；　we　used　to　have　such　good　times　talking；〃　she　said；　wincing　in　the　icy　wind　as　they　came　out　of　the　building。　The　agricultural　chemist　muttered　civilites　and　hurried　off　to　catch　a　ride　back　to　Northeast。　In　a　rage　of　grief；　impatience；　and　futility；　Shevek　struck　off　walking　at　random　through　the　city。

Three　years　here；　and　he　had　acplished　what？　A　book；　appropriated　by　Sabul；　five　or　six　unpublished　papers；　and　a　funeral　oration　for　a　wasted　life。

Nothing　he　did　was　understood。　To　put　it　more　honestly；　nothing　he　did　was　meaningful。　He　was　fulfilling　no　necessary　function；　personal　or　social。　In　fact　—　it　was　not　an　unmon　phenomenon　in　his　field　—　he　had　burnt　out　at　twenty。　He　would　achieve　nothing　further。　He　had　e　up　against　the　wall　for　good。

He　stopped　in　front　of　the　Music　Syndicate　auditorium　to　read　the　programs　for　the　decad。　There　was　no　concert　tonight。　He　turned　away　from　the　poster　and　came　face　to　face　with　Bedap。

Bedap；　always　defensive　and　rather　nearsighted；　gave　no　sign　of　recognition。　Shevek　caught　his　arm。

〃Shevek！　By　damn；　it's　you！〃　They　hugged　each　other；　kissed；　broke　apart；　hugged　again。　Shevek　was　overwhelmed　by　love。　Why？　He　had　not　even　much　liked　Bedap　that　last　year　at　the　Regional　Institute。　They　had　never　written；　these　three　years。　Their　friendship　was　a　boyhood　one；　past。　Yet　love　was　there：　flamed　up　as　from　shaken　coal。

They　walked；　talked；　neither　noticing　where　they　went。　They　waved　their　arms　and　interrupted　each　other。　The　wide　streets　of　Abbenay　were　quiet　in　the　winter　night。　At　each　crossing　the　dim　streetlight　made　a　pool　of　silver；　across　which　dry　snow　flurried　like　shoals　of　tiny　fish；　chasing　their　shadows。　The　wind　came　bitter　cold　behind　the　snow。　Numbed　lips　and　chattering　teeth　began　to　interfere　with　conversation。　They　caught　the　ten　o'clock　omnibus；　the　last；　to　the　Institute；　Bedap's　domicile　was　out　on　the　east　edge　of　the　city；　a　long　pull　in　the　cold。

He　looked　at　Room　46　with　ironic　wonder。　〃Shev；　you　live　like　a　rotten　Urrasti　profiteer。〃

〃e　on；　it's　not　that　bad。　Show　me　anything　excremental！〃　The　room　in　fact　contained　just　about　what　it　had　when　Shevek　first　entered　it。　Bedap　pointed：　〃That　blanket〃

〃That　was　here　when　I　came。　Somebody　handmade　it；　and　left　it　when　they　moved。　Is　a　blanket　excessive　on　a　night　like　this？〃

〃It's　definitely　an　excremental　color；〃　Bedap　said。　〃As　a　functions　analyst　I　must　point　out　that　there　is　no　need　for　orange。　Orange　serves　no　vital　function　in　the　social　anism　at　either　the　cellular　or　the　anic　level；　and　certainly　not　at　the　holanismic　or　most　centrally　ethical　level；　in　which　case　tolerance　is　a　less　good　choice　then　excretion。　Dye　it　dirty　green；　brother！　What's　all　this　stuff？〃

〃Notes。〃

〃In　code？〃　Bedap　asked；　looking　through　a　notebook　with　the　coolness　Shevek　remembered　was　characteristic　of　him。　He　had　even　less　sense　of　privacy　—　or　private　ownership—than　most　Anarresti。　Bedap　had　never　had　a　favorite　pencil　that　he　carried　around　with　him；　or　an　old　shirt　he　had　got　fond　of　and　hated　to　dump　in　the　recycle　bin；　and　if　given　a　present　he　tried　to　keep　it　out　of　regard　for　the　giver's　feelings；　but　always　lost　it。　He　was　conscious　of　this　trait　and　said　it　showed　he　was　less　primitive　than　most　people；　an　early　example　of　the　Promised　Man；　the　true　and　native　Odonian。　But　he　did　have　a　sense　of　privacy。　It　began　at　the　skull；　his　own　or　another's；　and　from　there　on　in　it　was　plete。　He　never　pried。　He　said　now；　〃Remember　those　fool　letters　we　used　to　write　in　code　when　you　were　on　the　afforestation　project？〃

〃That　isn't　code；　it's　lotic。〃

〃You've　learned　lotic？　Why　do　you　write　in　it？〃

〃Because　nobody　on　this　pla　can　understand　what　I'm　saying。　Or　wants　to。　The　only　one　who　did　died　three　days　ago。〃

〃Sabul's　dead？〃

〃No。　Gvarab。　Sabul　isn't　dead。　Fat　chance！〃

〃What's　the　trouble？〃

〃The　trouble　with　Sabul？　Half　envy；　the　other　half　inpetence。〃

〃I　thought　his　book　on　causality　was　supposed　to　be　firstrate。　You　said　so。〃

〃I　thought　so。　til！　I　read　the　sources。　They're　all　Urrasti　ideas。　Not　new　ones；　either。　He　hasn't　had　a　thought　of　his　own　for　twenty　years。　Or　a　bath。〃

〃How　are　your　thoughts？〃　asked　Bedap；　putting　a　hand　on　the　notebooks　and　looking　at　Shevek　under　his　brows。　Bedap　had　small；　rather　squinting　eyes；　a　strong　face；　a　thickset　body。　He　bit　his　fingernails；　and　in　years　of　doing　so　had　reduced　them　to　mere　strips　across　his　thick；　sensitive　fingertips。

〃No　good；〃　said　Shevek；　sitting　down　on　the　bed　platform。　〃I'm　in　the　wrong　field。〃

Bedap　grinned。　〃You？〃

〃I　think　at　the　end　of　this　quarter　I'll　ask　for　reposting。〃

〃To　what？〃

〃I　don't　care。　Teaching；　engineering。　I've　got　to　get　out　of　physics。〃

Bedap　sat　down　in　the　desk　chair；　bit　a　fingernail；　and　said；　〃That　sounds　odd。〃

〃I've　recognized　my　limitations；〃

〃I　didn't　know　you　had　any。　In　physics；　I　mean。　You　had　all　sorts　of　limitations　and　defects。　But　not　in　physics。　I'm　no　temporalist；　I　know。　But　you　don't　have　to　be　able　to　swim　to　know　a　fish；　you　don't　have　to　shine　to　recognize　a　star。。。　。〃

Shevek　looked　at　his　friend　and　said；　blurted　out；　what　he　had　never　been　able　to　say　clearly　to　himself：　〃I've　thought　of　suicide。　A　good　d