2
THE TOWNMAN
MYIILvar TERENS was in the act of removing a book-film from its place on the shelf when the door-signal sounded. The rather pudgy outlines of his face had been set in lines of thought, but now these vanished and changed into the more usual expression of bland caution. He brushed one hand over his thinning, ruddy hair and shouted, “One minute.”
He replaced the film and pressed the contact that allowed the covering section to spring back into place and become indistinguishable from the rest of the wall. To the simple millworkers and farm hands he dealt with, it was a matter of vague pride that one of their own number, by birth at any rate, should own films. It lightened, by tenuous reflection, the unrelieved dusk of their own minds. And yet it would not do to display the films openly.
The sight of them would have spoiled things. It would have frozen their none too articulate tongues. They might boast of their Townman’s books, but the actual presence of them before their eyes would have made Terens seem too much the Squire. There were, of course, the Squires as well. It was unlikely in the extreme that any of them would visit him socially at his house, but should one of them enter, a row of films in sight would be injudicious. He was a Townman and custom gave him certain privileges but it would never do to flaunt them.
He shouted again, “I’m coming!”
This time he stepped to the door, closing the upper seam of his tunic as he went. Even his clothing was somewhat Squirelike. Sometimes he almost forgot he had been born on Florina.
Valona March was on the doorstep. She bent her knees and ducked her head in respectful greeting.
Terens threw the door wide. “Come in, Valona. Sit down. Surely it’s past curfew. I hope the patrollers didn’t see you.”
“I don’t think so, Townman.”
“Well, let’s hope that’s so. You’ve got a bad record, you know.” “Yes, Townman. I am very grateful for what you have done for me in the past.”
“Never mind. Here, sit down. Would you like something to eat or drink?”
She seated herself, straight-backed, at the edge of a chair and shook her head. “No, thank you, Townman. I have eaten.”
It was good form among the villagers to offer refreshment. It was bad form to accept. Terens knew that. He didn’t press her.
He said, “Now what’s the trouble, Valona? Rik again?” Valona nodded, but seemed at a loss for further explanation. Terens said, “Is he in trouble at the mill?”
“No, Townman.”
“Headaches again?”
“No, Townman.”
Terens waited, his light eyes narrowing and growing sharp.
“Well, Valona, you don’t expect me to guess your trouble, do you? Come, speak out or I can’t help you. You do want help, I suppose.”
She said, “Yes, Townman,” then burst out, “How shall I tell you, Townman? It sounds almost crazy.”
Terens had an impulse to pat her shoulder, but he knew she would shrink from the touch. She sat, as usual, with her large hands buried as far as might be in her dress. He noticed that her blunt, strong fingers were intertwined and slowly twisting.
He said, “Whatever it is, I will listen.”
“Do you remember, Townman, when I came to tell you about the City doctor and what he said?”
“Yes, I do, Valona. And I remember I told you particularly that you were never to do anything like that again without consulting me. Do you remember that?”
She opened her eyes wide. She needed no spur to recollect his anger. “I would never do such a thing again, Townman. It’s just that I want to remind you that you said you would do everything to help me keep Rik.”
“And so I will. Well, then, have the patrollers been asking about him?”
“No. Oh, Townman, do you think they might?”
“I’m sure they won’t.” He was losing patience. “Now, come, Valona, tell me what is wrong.”
Her eyes clouded. “Townman, he says he will leave me. I want you to stop him.”
“Why does he want to leave you?”
“He says he is remembering things.”
Interest leaped into Terens’ face. He leaned forward and almost he reached out to gr…
