here.”
George took a sip, anyway, much to the intelligence officer’s alarm. It was fresh water.
Taking another sip, George turned to the subdued and frightened Besseh. At one time George had wanted the Karee to be cowed. Now he found it painful. Besseh had crawled into himself and was looking at some neutral spot on the floor, what the Sisters at Sacred Heart School used to call “custody of the eyes”; only the nun’s institutional shyness came from duty. Besseh’s came from fear. The magician knew what the humans were capable of. The mind was powerful, but sometimes the body was stronger.
“. . . can never tell what these people can do with drugs and the like,” the intelligence officer was saying. “Anyway, to extract information by kidnaping is a crime in anyone’s book.”
“I wasn’t kidnaped. You know that.”
The officer closed his mouth with a nearly audible snap.
“I came here of my own accord.” He smiled weakly. “Besseh Yo is merely a blameless tool.”
“Guard!” the intelligence officer ordered. “Get this stinking Karee out of here!”
George watched in silence as an embassy officer shoved the magician out of the room. “You can’t arrest Besseh,” he said when the Karee was gone.
The aide sat down on the cot next to George. “Look. Let’s be reasonable, okay? The magician does its little magic number on you. You don’t know what you’d say. Shit, George. This was stupid.”
“That Karee has to disappear. Hence you were kidnaped. That’s what we’ll tell the League. No questions about that. They don’t like the Karee, either,” the intelligence man said.
George was only half listening. Suddenly his gaze lost its focus. Oh, my God. I can’t remember how I met her.”
“Huh?” asked the aide.
“I can’t remember.” He stood. Vertigo hit him and he nearly toppled. His aide grabbed his arm. “Get Besseh in here!” George shouted. He was terrified and it came out in his voice. “Get Besseh in here quick!”
The intelligence officer left and came back with the little Karee. Besseh crooked his neck to look at George.
A violent tide of tears rose in the ambassador’s eyes. He blinked, scattering light. “I can’t remember. Oh, Jesus God. I can’t remember.”
Besseh put out a calming hand that stopped some inches above George’s arm. “Yes, yuma,” it told him softly and with some hint ofcompassion. “I eat the memories. I tell you this.”
“Get out!” George screamed at the two other humans. Both men hesitated a moment before they left the room.
The little Karee stood before him, less mysterious in the light from the open door. “You simpering, ugly dwarf,” George said. “You made me forget her. Goddamn you. I know you hate us, but how could you do that?”
“Sit. You will be tired.”
He sat on the cot. Besseh sat on the stool next to him. In a moment George gave in to exhaustion and laid down. The ceiling of Besseh’s room was black with soot.
“The memories are good, George,” Besseh told him. It smacked its lips. “Tasty memories. I understand yuma now. Only sometimes is your words pus. But Lauren is different. More like a Karee, I think. Hah. You love her for make you laugh, and hate us for laughing. Stupid, the yumas, like I say.”
George flicked a glance tothe side. Besseh was smiling, more sure of itself. Irony suited the magician better than servitude. “I can remember the last few months with her. I can remember that. But I can’t remember how we met, or the first house we lived in.”
“We don’t finish because the stupid yuma come and think you dead.”
“How much, Besseh? How much besides Lauren to you remember?”
With a groan the Karee rose and walked to a barrel of drinking water. Besseh dipped in a cup. “You don’t tell me you be ambassador, ta?”
“I tried. You wouldn’t listen.”
Besseh stuck out its lower lip. “Well, the body is stupid, but sometimes the mind, it stupid, too. When I eat memory, I
George took a sip, anyway, much to the intelligence officer’s alarm. It was fresh water.
Taking another sip, George turned to the subdued and frightened Besseh. At one time George had wanted the Karee to be cowed. Now he found it painful. Besseh had crawled into himself and was looking at some neutral spot on the floor, what the Sisters at Sacred Heart School used to call “custody of the eyes”; only the nun’s institutional shyness came from duty. Besseh’s came from fear. The magician knew what the humans were capable of. The mind was powerful, but sometimes the body was stronger.
“. . . can never tell what these people can do with drugs and the like,” the intelligence officer was saying. “Anyway, to extract information by kidnaping is a crime in anyone’s book.”
“I wasn’t kidnaped. You know that.”
The officer closed his mouth with a nearly audible snap.
“I came here of my own accord.” He smiled weakly. “Besseh Yo is merely a blameless tool.”
“Guard!” the intelligence officer ordered. “Get this stinking Karee out of here!”
George watched in silence as an embassy officer shoved the magician out of the room. “You can’t arrest Besseh,” he said when the Karee was gone.
The aide sat down on the cot next to George. “Look. Let’s be reasonable, okay? The magician does its little magic number on you. You don’t know what you’d say. Shit, George. This was stupid.”
“That Karee has to disappear. Hence you were kidnaped. That’s what we’ll tell the League. No questions about that. They don’t like the Karee, either,” the intelligence man said.
George was only half listening. Suddenly his gaze lost its focus. Oh, my God. I can’t remember how I met her.”
“Huh?” asked the aide.
“I can’t remember.” He stood. Vertigo hit him and he nearly toppled. His aide grabbed his arm. “Get Besseh in here!” George shouted. He was terrified and it came out in his voice. “Get Besseh in here quick!”
The intelligence officer left and came back with the little Karee. Besseh crooked his neck to look at George.
A violent tide of tears rose in the ambassador’s eyes. He blinked, scattering light. “I can’t remember. Oh, Jesus God. I can’t remember.”
Besseh put out a calming hand that stopped some inches above George’s arm. “Yes, yuma,” it told him softly and with some hint ofcompassion. “I eat the memories. I tell you this.”
“Get out!” George screamed at the two other humans. Both men hesitated a moment before they left the room.
The little Karee stood before him, less mysterious in the light from the open door. “You simpering, ugly dwarf,” George said. “You made me forget her. Goddamn you. I know you hate us, but how could you do that?”
“Sit. You will be tired.”
He sat on the cot. Besseh sat on the stool next to him. In a moment George gave in to exhaustion and laid down. The ceiling of Besseh’s room was black with soot.
“The memories are good, George,” Besseh told him. It smacked its lips. “Tasty memories. I understand yuma now. Only sometimes is your words pus. But Lauren is different. More like a Karee, I think. Hah. You love her for make you laugh, and hate us for laughing. Stupid, the yumas, like I say.”
George flicked a glance tothe side. Besseh was smiling, more sure of itself. Irony suited the magician better than servitude. “I can remember the last few months with her. I can remember that. But I can’t remember how we met, or the first house we lived in.”
“We don’t finish because the stupid yuma come and think you dead.”
“How much, Besseh? How much besides Lauren to you remember?”
With a groan the Karee rose and walked to a barrel of drinking water. Besseh dipped in a cup. “You don’t tell me you be ambassador, ta?”
“I tried. You wouldn’t listen.”
Besseh stuck out its lower lip. “Well, the body is stupid, but sometimes the mind, it stupid, too. When I eat memory, I
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