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room-service waiters came in with dinner. Not for two. For four.
"Oh, my God," said Essie, striking her forehead with the back of her hand.
"Your poor friend with face like frog, Robin, you have invited for dinner! And
look at you! Bare feet! Sitting in underwear! Nekulturny indeed, Robin. Go and
dress at once!"
I stood up, because there was no use arguing, but I argued anyway. "If I'm in
my underwear, what about you?"
She gave me a scathing look. Actually, she wasn't in her underwear; she was
wearing one of those Chinese things slit up the side. It looked as much like a
dress as it did a nightgown, and she used it interchangeably for both.
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"In case of Nobel laureate," she said reprovingly, "what one wears is defining
what is proper. Also have showered and you have not, so do so, for you smell
of sexual activity-and, oh, my God," she added, cocking an ear to sounds at
the door, "I think are here already!"
I headed for the bathroom as she went for the door, and lingered long enough
to hear sounds of argument. The least expert of the room-service waiters was
listening, too, a frown on his face and his hand reaching unconsciously toward
the bulge under his armpit. I sighed, and left it to them, and headed for the
bathroom.
Actually, it wasn't a bathroom. All by itself it was a bath suite. The tub was
big enough for two persons. Maybe for three or four, but I hadn't been
thinking in any numbers higher than two-though it did make me wonder just what
those Arab tourists had liked doing in their baths~ There was concealed
lighting in the tub itself, statuary surrounding it that poured out hot water
or cold, a deep pile rug throughout. All the vulgar little things like toilets
were in decorous little cubicles of their own. It was fancy, but it was nice.
"Albert," I called, pulling a blouse over my head, and he answered:
"Yes, Robin?"
There was no video in the bath, just his voice. I said, "I kind of like this.
See if you can get me plans for putting one like this into the place at Tappan
Sea."
"Certainly, Robin," he said, "but meanwhile, may I remind you that your guests
are waiting?"
"You may, because you just did."
"And also, Robin, you are not to overexert yourself. The medication I gave you
will be of purely temporary value, unless-"
"Turn yourself off," I ordered, and entered the main reception salon to greet
my guests. A table had been set with crystal and china, candles were burning,
wine was in a cooler, and the waiters were standing politely at attention.
Even the one with the bulge under his arm. "Sorry I kept you waiting, Audee,"
.1 said, beaming at them, "but it's been a hard day."
"Have told them," said Essie, passing a plate to the young Oriental girl. "Was
necessary, as stupid policeman at door considered them likely terrorists,
too."
"I tried to explain," grumbled Walthers, "but he didn't speak any English.
Mrs. Broadhead had to sort him out. It's a good thing you speak Dutch."
She shrugged graciously. "Speak Deutsch, speak Dutch. Is same thing, provided
one speaks loud. Also," she said informatively, "is only a state of mind. Tell
me, Captain Walthers. You go to speak language, other person does not
understand. What do you think?"
"Well, I think I haven't said it right."
"Hal Exactly. But I, I think he has not understood it right. This is basic
rule for speaking foreign language."
I rubbed my belly. "Let's eat," I said, and led the way to the table. But I
had not failed to notice the look Essie gave me, so I exerted myself to be
sociable. "Well, we're a sad-looking lot," I said genially, making note of the
cast on Walthers's wrist, the bruise on Yee-xing's face, Essie's still puffy
nose. "Been punching each other out, have you?"
As it turned out, that was not tactful, since Walthers promptly informed me
that indeed they had, under the influence of the terrorists' TPT. So we talked
about the terrorists for a while. And then we talked about the sad condition
the human race had got itself into. It was not a cheerful conversation,
especially as Essie decided to get philosophical.
"What a rotten thing human being is," she offered, and then reversed herself.
"No. Am unjust. One human being can be quite fine, even as fine as we four
sitting here. Not perfect. But on a statistical basis out of let us say one
hundred chances to display kindness, altruism, decency-all these traits we
humpns esteem, you see-will in fact perform no fewer than twenty-five of them.
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But nations? Political groups? Terrorists?" She shook her head. "Out of one
hundred chances, zero," she said. "Or perhaps one, but then, you may be sure,
with some trick up sleeve. You see, wickedness is additive. Is perhaps one
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