32

The fountain became Teresa’s regular place to meet with Arthur, but it was just a starting point. From there, she and the interesting old man would walk along the streets, through the parks, into the shops. Arthur talked and talked, and Teresa listened to his musings. She had never met such a complex and unpredictable person, who had thought through deep questions that few other people bothered to consider.

He led her down mysterious alleys packed with out-of-the-way boutiques that sold exotic herbs or hypnotic trinkets from ancient cultures. In front of a ramshackle storefront under a sign written in Chinese characters, Arthur rummaged in a basket propped askew on a doorstep. From inside, they could smell the spicy scent of drying knots of genetically engineered ginseng.

“I’m delighted you’re interested in my oddball ideas, Teresa.” Arthur withdrew a carved lump of fossil ivory and looked sidelong at her. Teresa watched him with intent eyes, more captivated by the old man than by the exotic paraphernalia. “No one’s really listened for a long time. Everyone either ignores me or scorns me. I can’t tell you how often people have said I was crazy.”

“Oh, you just look at things in a different way, see the world in a different light.” Teresa looked at the carved ivory in his hand. “Do you like that? I’ll buy it for you.”

He set it back in the basket. “You don’t have to buy me anything.”

“Then how about lunch? You look like you haven’t had a decent meal.”

“Okay, but don’t make it expensive.”

“I can’t afford anything expensive, Arthur.” She took him by the scrawny arm and led him to an automated cafeteria. Inside, customers shuffled down the line, looking at picture menus and touch-selecting items. Aroma diffusers provided whiffs of what the food smelled like.

Teresa used image software to arrange the food on her plate and distribute the condiments to suit her tastes. Arthur contented himself with vegetable stir fry and a double portion of brown rice. When the plates appeared at the end of the tray line, the food didn’t look much like the glorified pictures, but Teresa was hungry, and Arthur seemed in heaven as he went to work on his meal.

As they ate, Teresa said, “Just listening to you, Arthur, makes things clearer for me. I really appreciate your taking the time to explain human physiology. But . . . your own body, I can tell it’s not too healthy. Are you okay?”

“Nothing serious.” Arthur studied his plate instead of her eyes. He toyed with his chopsticks. After weeks of talking to him, she had noticed his frequent cough, his shaking hands.

“Would you like to experience being young again? Spend some time feeling healthy?” Teresa brushed her fingertips along the back of her other hand. “This body isn’t perfect, but it’s very nice. I would . . . I’d be honored if you would hopscotch with me.”

Arthur almost choked on a mouthful of diced vegetables.

Nervously, Teresa tried to fathom his shocked expression. “Oh, what did I do wrong? I just want to thank you in some way. If . . . if it makes you uncomfortable to be female, I could come back in a male body. Would that make you feel more at home?”

He squeezed her hand in his own callused grip. “Teresa, you’ve got to work with what you’ve got, not just jump to the next body whenever a problem comes along. Changing to a different body doesn’t change you into a different person.”

“But . . . don’t you like to hopscotch? Did you have a bad experience once?” She felt giddy, her cheeks hot and flushed. She needed to give him something.

“Never done it. Never had the desire to.”

He went back to his lunch as Teresa stared at him in astonishment, remembering Daragon’s inability. “You’ve never hopscotched?”

“Not once.” With the lines of weariness and patience apparent around his eyes, he took her hand, tracing the lines of blood vessels, feeling the pattern of muscles beneath the skin. “Listen. Each individual is a marvel of construction. Every portion of this body, every cell, every nerve fiber, is part of an incredibly intricate pattern imprinted on each strand of DNA. It makes even COM look like a child’s toy.”

Teresa frowned, trying to understand.

Arthur continued. “And I believe the soul is an intimate part of the body, part of the overall pattern, designed as a perfect match for the complex machine. How could I just swap my soul into someone else’s shape, a physique that was never tailor-made to hold it?”

Though she felt rejected, Teresa still experienced the swelling debt inside, could think only of how she had managed to please Rhys during the good times. “Oh, Arthur, I’ve got to thank you in some way. If you don’t want to swap . . . then why don’t you let me make love to you? Let me share my body in a different way?” An automated cart rolled by and, unnoticed, snatched their dirty plates.

The old man looked at her in astonishment, then he chuckled to himself and smiled wistfully at her. “Teresa, I am flattered—and sorely tempted. But the fact that you’re listening to me already means more than anything else you could ever do.”

Disappointed, she forced herself to smile at him so he wouldn’t see her hurt feelings. Then she got an idea, and her smile became real. “Arthur, come with me. I want to show you something. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

 

Garth’s small apartment was much too crowded to serve as both living quarters and a functional studio, so he had relegated his sleeping area to a small corner and used the rest of the space for his art.

When Teresa brought Arthur to his door, Garth welcomed them with delight and made room. “Teresa! Please come inside—” He almost tripped over a stack of boxes filled with a clutter of supplies. “Or maybe we should go out somewhere? Who is your friend?” His open expression showed no judgment or disappointment at the old man’s shabby appearance.

She hugged the broad-shouldered artist. “This is Arthur, someone I like to talk with. I wanted to bring him here so he could look at your sketches and paintings.”

Garth shook Arthur’s hand. “Especially your portrait spectrum, I’ll bet.”

Teresa flushed, which made her look even more waifish. “I think he’d find it interesting. He’s only known me in this body.”

The artist did his best to show them around. “Forgive the mess, but I’m starting to pack. Thanks to Mr. Ob, I have enough credits to move into a larger place, where I can have a room to sleep and a room to work. I’m also looking to hire an assistant to help me keep track of all the details.”

Teresa chuckled. “No excuses, Garth. It’s always looked this cluttered.”

Curious, Arthur poked through the piles of sketches, the paintings leaned against the walls. “I like that you use your eyes to see things around you, and pay attention to what other people never notice.”

“Ah, but lately I’m trying to see with more than just my eyes. I’m starting to experience all the facets of humanity.” With a sparkling expression, Garth described his List, so enthusiastic with the possibilities that he didn’t even see the disturbed look on Arthur’s face.

Teresa took the old man by the arm and led him through the obstacle course on the floor to a sequence of faces Garth had hung on the wall. She felt a lump in her throat to see that he had given her portrait spectrum prominence in the precious space he had available.

Arthur looked at the faces, an arrangement of people that seemed to have nothing in common with each other, male and female, beautiful and plain, beginning with the long-lost home-body Teresa had worn in the Falling Leaves, through many of the permutations Rhys had forced her to wear among the Sharetakers, finally to her large-eyed and waifish look.

Arthur studied them, looked into the eyes, the expressions. “They’re all you, aren’t they, Teresa?”

“Yes, they’re all me . . . but still me. Garth found a way to capture that.” The artist smiled at her.

Arthur stared for a long time. “What I see is a lost soul.”

“Maybe,” Teresa said, then in a much smaller voice, “but I’m not sure that has anything to do with which body I was in.”

Arthur didn’t seem convinced.