Fantastic Metropolis

‘It won’t work,’ she said. ‘You can’t get away from him that easily. You can’t just pretend you’ve got a wife–’

‘Why should it be a pretence? We loved each other once—why can’t we go back to that?’

‘Because we’ve changed.’

‘I haven’t,’ he said furiously. ‘I haven’t changed! It’s started, yes, but he doesn’t know—we haven’t done anything—it’s not too late—if I stay away from him—I don’t have to be his woman–’

‘And I don’t have to be yours.’

Olin stared at her. ‘But you can’t—you can’t change back. You can’t ever be a man again. Becoming a woman—that change is forever. I changed you.’

She smiled. ‘What makes you think I want to be a man again? There are other kinds of change. There’s such a thing as growing.’

‘Have you met someone else? Who is he? Do you want to marry someone else?’

‘No.’

But there was something… Olin felt sick. ‘Not her—that woman who was here? Is she your lover? Do women do that?’

He saw her tense, and it occurred to him that she wanted to hit him. But she was very controlled as she said, ‘We’re friends. We’ll probably make love some day. But not in the way you mean. It’s not that kind of thing. There aren’t any men and women among us.’

‘I wouldn’t try to stop you,’ Olin said. ‘If that was what you wanted, if you wanted her as well… You could do as you liked. Let me move back in here.’

‘No.’

‘Why won’t you help me? Do you hate me that much, for what I did to you?’

She sighed. ‘Olin… I don’t hate you at all. If I can help you, I will. But I’m not going to live a lie for you.’

‘Why should it be a lie? We were happy together once, weren’t we?’

‘We were, but that’s over. Olin, you know it is. You spend an evening with me, and by the end of it you can’t wait to get away. The Dove you’ve got in your mind isn’t me. You’d know that if you weren’t so afraid right now. Why are you so afraid? It’s natural; it happens to people all the time. Why can’t you just accept what’s happening to you?’

‘I’m too old,’ he said, anguished.

She almost laughed. ‘The fact that it’s happening means you’re not too old. All right, maybe too old for babies, but that can be a blessing. Since you’ve done your bit for the species already, with Timon and Tristan, you don’t even have to feel guilty. Let yourself enjoy it. There is pleasure in it, you know. Pain, too, but you might find that the pleasure makes up for it. I remember the pleasure, Olin. You don’t have to feel guilty about what you did to me. Oh, I know you feel guilty. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so afraid of it happening to you. Don’t be. It isn’t so terrible to be a woman.’

 

Of course it was terrible to be a woman. Olin had feared it all his life. Everyone feared becoming a woman. Parents feared it for their sons. And friends, in their intimacy, battled grimly not to lose. To lose was to become a woman. Olin had been through that in his youth, and he had won. He thought he could relax, then, he thought he was safe. He had not realized, until it was too late, that the battle to retain manhood never ended. He had not truly understood that one victory was not the end. He had not realized until now that he might yet lose.

After leaving Dove, Olin rode around the city on buses, unable to think what to do next, unable even to decide upon a restaurant. But eventually he became restless and decided that, like Seth, he would be able to think better if he could walk. He left the bus at a stop near the old city, so that was where he went to walk.

Darkness had fallen, and the broken pavement was treacherous underfoot. Here and there among the looming vastness of ancient buildings tiny lights glowed and flickered: candles lit by lovers in the abandoned rooms which were their trysting places. They were all around him—he heard the indistinct murmur of their voices and, occasionally, a cry of pain.

He broke out in a sweat. Once these surroundings would have induced nostalgic memories of his time with Dove. Now they brought only fear. Why had he come here? Why had he chosen these streets, of all there were in the city to walk? He had to get away.

Olin turned around and there, in the darkness, unmistakable, was Seth.

‘I knew you’d come here,’ said Seth. ‘I knew I only had to wait.’

‘It was a mistake,’ said Olin. ‘I’m leaving.’

‘You’ll come with me first.’

‘No.’

As he tried to go past, Seth caught him by the arm. It was the first time he had ever touched Olin, and now Olin knew that it really was too late. They could fight: although Seth was taller, Olin was heavier and better coordinated and under other circumstances he could have taken Seth. But as he stood very still, feeling Seth’s fingers like a chain around his arm, feeling the unwanted, unmistakable trickle of wetness between his legs as his wound began to bleed, Olin knew that Seth had already won this fight. He shuddered, as his fear was transformed into desire.

‘Where will we go?’ he asked.

‘I know a room. Come on.’ Now Seth, seeming kind, released his bruising hold and laid his arm gently across Olin’s shoulders. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said, leading Olin away. ‘I’ll be very gentle; it won’t hurt so much.’

It was only the first of his lies.

---

“The Wound” by Lisa Tuttle first appeared in Other Edens (Unwin, 1987), edited by Christopher Evans and Robert Holdstock.