When Duran had concluded, the man called Jong addressed me. His manner
was serious, his tones kindly. Out of courtesy, I replied, though I knew
that he could understand me no better than I had understood him. He
smiled and shook his head; then he fell into a discussion with the
others. Finally he struck a metal gong that stood near him on the table;
then he arose and came around the table to where I stood. He examined my
clothing carefully, feeling its texture and apparently discussing the
materials and the weave with the others. Then he examined the skin of my
hands and face, felt of my hair, and made me open my mouth that he might
examine my teeth. I was reminded of the horse market and the slave
block. “Perhaps,” I thought, “the latter is more apropos.”
A man entered now whom I took to be a servant and, receiving
instructions from the man called Jong, departed again, while I continued
to be the object of minute investigation. My beard, which was now some
twenty-four hours old, elicited considerable comment. It is not a
beautiful beard at any age, being sparse and reddish, for which reason I
am careful to shave daily when I have the necessary utensils.
I cannot say that I enjoyed this intimate appraisal, but the manner in
which it was conducted was so entirely free from any suggestion of
intentional rudeness or discourtesy, and my position here was so
delicate that my better judgment prevented me from openly resenting the
familiarities of the man called Jong. It is well that I did not.
Presently a man entered through a doorway at my right. I assumed that he
had been summoned by the servant recently dispatched. As he came
forward, I saw that he was much like the others; a handsome man of about
thirty. There are those who declaim against monotony; but for me there
can never be any monotony of beauty, not even if the beautiful things
were all identical, which the Venusans I had so far seen were not. All
were beautiful, but each in his own way.
The man called Jong spoke to the newcomer rapidly for about five
minutes, evidently narrating all that they knew about me and giving
instructions. When he had finished, the other motioned me to follow him;
and a few moments later I found myself in another room on the same
level. It had three large windows and was furnished with several desks,
tables, and chairs. Most of the available wall space was taken up by
shelves on which reposed what I could only assume to be books—thousands
of them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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