The Gate to Women's Country by Sheri S. Tepper Page A

“You bear a son. When he’s still a baby, you think of losing him when he’s five. You grieve. You get over it. Then the day comes that your son is five and goes to his warrior father. You grieve. You heal. Then, every time he comes home for carnival, it’s like ripping the wound open again. Each time you heal. And then, when he’s fifteen, maybe he chooses to stay in the garrison, and you grieve again. You lie awake at night with your eyes burning and your pillow wet. You choke on tears and they burn. You worry about his going into battle, being wounded, dying. Every battle means… every battle means someone dies. Maybe your son, or your friend’s son. Some women can’t go on doing it over and over. Some women try to forget; they never speak of their sons again after the boys turn fifteen. Other women go on watching them, waving to them from the wall, sending them gifts.” Her voice broke and she turned away.
    â€œDon’t you think Habby and Byram will come back?” Morgot’s distress was unexpected and frightening, and Stavia asked for reassurance, even though she already knew the answer.
    â€œI don’t know, Stavvy. I hope so. But we just don’t know.” Morgot’s eyes were wet as she sought a way to change the subject. “Why don’t you go tell Myra to come peel these potatoes?”
    â€œI’d just as soon not. She’s been pretty awful ever since that day,” Stavia said in a glow of self-righteousness.
    â€œI think that’s mostly just drama.”
    â€œWell, whatever it
is.”
She sneaked a look at her mother who looked more herself now.
    â€œGo get her anyhow.”
    Stavia went, taking her time about it, giving Morgot time to get herself together. Myra came to the kitchen and peeled potatoes with a look of remote distaste. Stavia and Morgot talked about nothing much, their conversation swirling around Myra’s silence like water around a half-submerged rock. Stavia thought their familiar babble might eat Myra away in a thousand years. Myra was blaming them for what Barten had done to Tally, blaming both Morgot and Stavia for being there when she found out about it. Not blaming Barten, though, which Stavia found aggravating.
    â€œDid you get down to the medical center today?” Morgot asked the silent girl.
    â€œNo.” A curt monosyllable.
    â€œWill you please go tomorrow?”
    â€œI haven’t decided.”
    â€œMyra, we’ve talked this over and over. If you don’t want to be in detention during carnival, you’ve got to get down to the med center for a checkup and get yourself stamped.”
    â€œYou’re not stamped!”
    â€œNo, because I have no intention of putting on skirts and taking part in carnival. Not this year. But you probably do.”
    â€œI haven’t decided.”
    â€œYou can’t leave it until the day of carnival, Myra. You have to make the decision well in advance. That’s just the way it’s done.”
    â€œAnd what if I don’t?”
    â€œYou know very well what if you don’t. If you don’t, you can stay in the house during carnival as you chose to do last year and the year before. That was fine then. You weren’t interested in anyone particularly, and I’m not about to suggest that you should have played catch-as-catch-can in the taverns at age fifteen or sixteen. However, you’re seventeen now, and you are interested in someone. I don’t want you being angry at me because you won’t obey the ordinances and then you want to have an assignation with Barten and can’t!”
    â€œI’ll stay in the house. The rules are stupid, anyhow.”
    Stavia, who agreed that some of the ordinances were stupid but who never would have said so, was aghast at Myra’s comment.
    â€œFine. If that’s your decision. If you go onto the street, you’ll be picked up and taken to detention, and