The Cockroaches of Stay More by Donald Harington Read Free Book Online Page B

Sam jealous. Jealous ? he said to himself, in wonder. I am jealous of Man ? Well, why not?
    “…if he could just give up and go away,” She was saying. “Vernon has offered to evict him if I only tell him to. Vernon really hates what he’s doing to that house, letting it go to ruin and shooting it full of holes. No, no, Gran, I’m not worried he’ll shoot me. I never go near the house. He only shoots late at night, when he’s blotto, I guess, and maybe his demons are pursuing him. Yes, maybe he’s shooting at his demons….”
    Sam smiled. He would like to tell his kindred the Holy Housers that She had called them “demons.” The Woman suddenly reached back with Her hand, and Sam thought She was going to swat him, but She only wanted to scratch the back of Her neck. Her fingers were lovely. If there was one way in which the Human creature was really superior to the roosterroach in design, Sam reflected, it was in the fingers. Roosterroaches had nothing like them; a roosterroach’s touchers were clumsy stubs by comparison. One of Sharon’s fingers was enwrapped with a dazzling metallic band more yellow than Her hair; the light glittering off it, reflected from the kerosene lamp, nearly blinded Sam.
    “…don’t you think? It must have been at least the hundredth one, I don’t even count them. What? Oh, of course I keep them, I’ve got a shoebox full of them. I wouldn’t think of throwing them away, they’re so beautifully written, such elegant language. I can hardly resist the urge to answer one of them, to write him back, at least to tell him that he’ll never get his work done as long as he spends all his time writing letters to me….”
    The Woman turned Her head to one side, not enough for Her to see Sam even with peripheral vision, but enough for him to see the iris of Her eye. Her eyes were blue, a lighter blue than any of the shades of the evening air, a blue like the eggs of robins whose nest had fallen in a March storm into the yard of Parthenon, where Sam had come upon it. Roosterroaches do not have the color vision to detect most hues of blue. Their color vision is most perceptive in ultraviolet, which Man cannot even see (one reason Sam was convinced that Man was not the omniscient ruler of the visible world). But Sam could clearly perceive that Sharon’s iris was the azure tint of the robin’s egg. The eyes of all roosterroaches are iridescent shades of green. Sam adored Sharon’s eyes.
    “…at least he’s supposed to be doing a long critical essay on Daniel Lyam Montross, which is why he says he has to stay here. No, he hasn’t written any more poetry himself for years. At least he doesn’t write any of it to me , or if he does he doesn’t show it to me. He said he’s having trouble getting started on the Montross thing, but at least he’s started it….”
    In those metamorphic dreams he sometimes had, when he became Her lover, Sam preferred not to bring Her down to his level and give Her pheromones, but instead raised himself to Manhood, keeping his affy-dizzy however and tempting Her with it, crawling into Her bed and—no, “crawling” was the wrong word. He was not all that clear what he would do with Man’s body if he had one.
    He was so transfixed by Her beauty and his daydream of making love to her that he had not noticed the voice had stopped entirely, the voice had said “Good night, Gran, sleep tight,” and the Woman had returned the talking-instrument to the table beside Her cheer-of-ease. Now She was standing up. Now She was turning….
    Sam’s gitalongs went into action and he sprang for the crevice between the cushions of the cheer-of-ease. But he was just a fraction of a second too late. She saw him. He heard Her gasp.
    In all the time the Ingledews had enjoyed the privilege of dwelling in Parthenon, they had never allowed themselves to be glimpsed by Her. Sam had violated this tradition, and he felt just rotten and awful. His father would wester him.

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