"Thank you," responded Lord Vantedour. "We want to see Carita Dulce."

Leo Sessler felt sorry for the commander.

"Nooo," said the matronas. "He's sleeping."

"Can we see him sleep?"

"You were here before. Why do you want to disturb him?"

"We don't want to disturb him, I assure you. We'll be silent, we're just going to look at him."

The matronas were doubtful.

"Come," said one of them, "but on tiptoes."

Leo Sessler decided that no, he would never write his memoirs. He would never be able to describe himself walking tiptoe over a meadow on Salari II next to other tiptoeing men, behind three old, fat women who were really three costumed men, beneath two suns, one yellow and one orange, toward the entrance of a cave in a hillside.

"Quietly, quietly."

But the sand on the cave floor crunched beneath their soles, worrying the matronas.

There were two matronas at the entrance to the cavern. And further down at the end, beneath a very faint light, were two more. They were rocking an enormous egg, suspended at the ends by a device that allowed it to move and turn.

"What's that?" asked the commander.

"Shhh."

"That's the Great Uterus, the Mother," Theophilus whispered to him.

"Shhh."

Leo Sessler touched it. The egg was gray and fibrous, encircled by a horizontal groove that made it appear as though the two halves could be separated. And indeed, they could be.

The matronas were smiling. They motioned toward the man inside the egg: chin between his knees, arms around his legs, smiling in his dream world. The inside of the egg was soft, warm, and moist.

"Moritz!" said the commander, almost out loud.

The matronas raised their arms, terrified. Whimpering, Carita Dulce moved, but didn't awaken. One of the matronas pointed to the exit: it was an order. Leo Sessler changed his mind again: he would write his memoirs.

That night, they were guests of Theophilus: clavichords instead of rapids.

"It was worse a few months ago," said Lord Vantedour, "ancient Chinese music."

The table was made of crystal, with gold-inlaid ebony feet. The patterns in the ocher and goldmosaics covering the floor were never repeated. The Lady and the Unicorn watched them from the tapestries. The crew members felt uncomfortable; they laughed a lot, elbowing each other and joking among themselves. Arranged around each plate were four forks, four knives, and three cups. White-clad servants brought around the serving bowls, and the butler stood behind Theophilus's chair. Leo Sessler recalled the man-fetus curled up inside of the viscous, warm uterus-cradle, and wondered if the memory would let him eat. But when they brought out the ice sculptures on a wheeled cart and one of them began to burn with a blue flame, he discovered that he had eaten everything, hopefully using the correct cutlery, and that he would also eat the candied fruits and the ice cream when the sphinxes and the swans had melted. The commander was talking in a hushed voice to Theophilus. Leo Sessler realized Saverius had no idea which fork he should use for the fish (he did: it was the only one he was completely sure about), and he didn't care. Nor did Theophilus. The master astronomer announced that he would read to them the introduction to his monograph on the constellation Aphrodite's Bed. They had seen Peony from afar when she'd entered; Theophilus had greeted her but hadn't called her over to join them. Leo Sessler would have liked to have seen him up close and talked to him. Ocher speckled roses stood in the middle of the table.

"But we must concern ourselves with them, at least with Moritz."

"Why?" asked Theophilus.

"He's sick. That's not normal."

"Are you normal, Commander?"

"I function within the normal range."

"Look at it this way," said Lord Vantedour. "Psychiatric treatment-because naturally, we can get a psychiatrist for Moritz-would make him suffer for years, and for what? Relying on the violet, as we all do, Moritz-healthy, cured, released from the hospital-would start by asking for a mother, one that would continue changing or hypertrophying into a uterus-cradle. That's what he wants, just like Leval wants to oscillate between heroism and humiliation, Kesterren wants to drown himself in endless inebriation, Theophilus wants Cimarosa or Chinese music, ice cream inside ice statues, German philosophers and tapestries, and I want a twelfth-century castle. When one has the means of getting everything, one winds up giving in to personal demons. Which, I don't know if you've realized, Commander, is another way of describing happiness."

"Happiness! To be enclosed in your own prison, licking its walls? To go from acclaim to a dungeon where they whip you and put hot irons on your groin? To live passed out in perpetual drunkenness?"

"Yes, Commander, that too can be happiness. What's the difference between enclosing oneself in an artificial uterus and sitting on the edge of the river to fish for dorado? Apart from the fact that the dorado can be fried and eaten, and the sun gives one a healthy glow. I'm referring to the satisfaction, the pleasure factor. One means is just as legitimate as another: everything depends on the individual who is seeking happiness. Among bank employees and funeral directors, if you'll allow me to quote Les-Van-Oos, it's possible that the uterus is what's frightening and fishing for dorado is what's desirable. But on Salari II?"

There were no more sphinxes or swans now. Leo Sessler cut open a frosted orange and found it filled with cherries, which themselves were filled with orange pulp.

"The same, Commander, the same," answered the lord of Vantedour. "The uterus, the drunken episodes, the whip."

The master astronomer cleared his throat and stood up.

"You're going to hear something very interesting," said Theophilus.

The servants placed cut crystal coffee cups in front of each person. The water vapor began to condense and darken in the transparent bowls.

"Introduction to a monograph on the constellation Aphrodite's Bed," began the master astronomer.

That night, in Vantedour, it was the lord of the manor's turn to travel through galleries and down staircases to Dr. Leo Sessler's room. He carried Bonifacio of Solomea in his arms, and Tuk-o-Tut followed behind them.

"Good evening, Dr. Sessler. I've taken the liberty of paying you a visit."

Leo Sessler had him come in. "And of requesting that they bring us coffee and cognac."

"That sounds nice. Listen, I'm not going to have time to see the coffee fields or the vineyards."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What I mean is, we're leaving tomorrow."

"Yes."

They brought in the coffee. Tuk-o-Tut closed the door and sat out in the hall.

"Why don't you stay, Sessler?"

"Don't think I haven't considered it."

"That's how I would finally know if you're the man I've supposed you to be."

"To wish for an austere house," said Leo Sessler, "everything white inside and out: walls, roof, chimney, with a hearth and a camp bed, a dresser, a table and two chairs, and to sit down and write my memoirs. I'd probably go fishing for dorados once a week."

"What's stopping you? Does not being able to have a woman bother you?"

"Frankly, no. I've never slept with a man, nor have I had homosexual loves, not counting a borderline friendship with a schoolmate at age thirteen, but that's within normal range, as our commander would say. I'm not going to recoil in fear like young Reidt. I, too, believe it's impossible to maintain the same sexual mores on Salari II as on Earth. Have you ever wondered what mores are, Vantedour?"

"Of course, a set of rules that should be followed in order to do good and avoid doing bad. I don't think I've ever heard anything quite so idiotic. I only know of one good, Dr. Sessler, to not harm my brother. And only one bad: to think about myself too much. And I've done both. That's why I'm making you this offer, but if you want to leave, I won't insist."

"Yes, I've decided I want to go back."

"I'd like to know why."

"I'm not really sure. For obscure visceral reasons; because I didn't crash-land on Salari II in a destroyed ship; because I haven't had time to create an Earth around me here in accordance with my personal demons. Because I've always gone back, and this time, too, I want to go back."

"Whom do you live with on Earth?"

"No, that's not my reason for saying no. I live alone."

"Very well, Sessler, we'll bid you a courtly farewell. But I want to warn you of something. The entire crew of the Nini Paume Uno will forget what they've seen here."

"It was true then?"

"At that moment, no. Now, it is."

"How will you manage to do that?"

"Theophilus has found a way. Nobody will realize something has infiltrated their brain. Half an hour after closing the ship's hatch, everyone will be convinced they found nothing but a dangerous world devastated by radiation, which probably killed the crew of the Luz Dormida Tres. The commander is going to report that there is no possibility of colonization, and will recommend a hundred-year waiting period before the next exploration."

"What a shame. It's a nice planet. I'm thinking of writing my memoirs, did you know that, Vantedour? And I'll be sorry to have to describe Salari II as a dead, lethal world. I can't imagine that right now, but I suppose it'll happen on its own."

Lord Vantedour was smiling.

"I'm surprised you told me," added Leo Sessler.

"Are you? I'll tell you another thing. You can't obtain anything from the violet if you don't feel yourself to be that which you wish to obtain. Do you understand? That's why it is impossible to create a woman. When Theophilus first desired a cigarette he wanted so much to smoke that he identified not with the smoker, but with the cigarette. He was a cigarette: he felt himself the tobacco, the paper, the smoke; he touched the fibers. He was each fiber. The other night, when I spoke of the razor, I told you about the second experience-if we don't count the other cigarette-in which the same thing happened. I told you all that I'd felt not like the man who shaves, but like the razor. But it got lost in the midst of everything I said, which was what I was hoping for." "So it was that simple."

"Yes. Savan, the engineer, must really long for that woman. For a moment he felt himself wrapped around her wrist and wished for a bracelet. That's why you didn't get anything the night before last. But if you want to try now, we can go to the violet."

"You knew about that?"

"I saw you from the balcony. I was hoping you'd give it a try, of course. Now you can get what you want, anything."

"Thanks, but I think it'd be better not to try. And anyway, it would only last me one night, and by tomorrow I'll have forgotten it."

"True," Lord Vantedour said and stood up. "I'll be sorry not to read your memoirs, Dr. Sessler.

Good night."

Bonifacio of Solomea had stayed behind and Leo Sessler had to open the door to let him out.

Tuk-o-Tut was coming toward them, and Bonifacio of Solomea jumped into the black man's open arms.

On the gangway of the Nini Paume Uno, the crew turned and saluted. Leo Sessler didn't give a military salute; he waved instead. The population of Vantedour retreated when the hatch was shut and the ship began to shudder.

Strapped to his seat with his eyes closed, Leo Sessler traveled through Salari II in his mind. In twenty minutes, nineteen minutes fifty-eight seconds, nineteen minutes fifty-three seconds, he would forget it all.

Nobody spoke. Young Reidt's face was swollen, nineteen minutes.

The commander was telling someone to take charge. Leo Sessler was playing with the zipper on his strap; the commander was saying that he was going to sit down immediately and write a draft of his report on Salari II, three minutes, forty-two seconds.

"Are you going to make any special recommendations, Commander?"

"It's all pretty clear. If you want me to tell you frankly what I think, I believe Salari II is an emergency-listen to me carefully, an e-mer-gen-cy."

Leo Sessler was galloping through the meadows of Salari II, the wind whistling in his ears, two minutes, fifty-one seconds.

"Therefore, I'm going to recommend a rescue expedition."

"Whom are you planning to save, Commander?"

"Where is that humming coming from?" The commander removed the microphone from its stand.

"Verify source of new humming."

Then he put it back.

"To bring closure to the situation of the crew of the Luz Dormida Tres." (Two seconds. One. The humming stopped.) "They must've been killed by the radiation."

Leo Sessler thought quickly about Salari II, the last thought, and he remembered it green and blue beneath two suns. The Puma Desert, the colt, Vantedour. Theophilus, Vantedour, Bonifacio of Solomea, Kesterren, Peony, the punch to young Reidt's jaw, Vantedour, the victory throne. Carita Dulce enclosed in the uterus, the five moons, Lord Vantedour's offer for him to stay on Salari II, and warning him that he would forget everything-but he wasn't forgetting.

"It's a shame," the commander was saying, "a shame we couldn't even go out in search of remains as evidence to include in the report, but that radiation would've killed us, even with the suits. Young Reidt here doesn't make mistakes. Who was the physicist on the Luz Dormida Tres? "

"Jonas Leval, I think."

"Ah. Very well, Doctor, I'm off to draft that report. See you later."

"Goodbye, Commander."

I haven't forgotten, I'm not forgetting.

I'll be sorry not to read your memoirs, Dr. Sessler, Lord Vantedour had said.

"I'll be sorry not to read Dr. Sessler's memoirs," said Lord Vantedour.

"Do you think Sessler is trustworthy?" asked Theophilus.

"Yes. And if he weren't, imagine the scenario. Fourteen men talking about a radioactive world, andhim describing medieval castles and gigantic uteruses."

"Why did you condemn him to not forgetting, Vantedour?"

"You think it was a punishment?"

In the Nini Paume Uno, the commander was writing, Savan was drinking his coffee, and young Reidt was rubbing his cheek.