Urbis

Inside the Hole In The Wall Tavern it was dark, warm and noisy. Crispin sat with Bernard, Lyall, Charlie, Marlon, and about ten other men and women from Bernard’s Underground group. Most of them were unknown to him, but he had been introduced to one of them, a woman named Mina. She was quite short and stocky, with auburn hair cropped into a crew cut, and eyes that glittered with a deep passionate fire whenever she became engaged in an argument, which was the case now. She was engaged in a lively dispute with Charlie, and was more than holding her own. Had he been back in Vale, Crispin would have described her as shrewish, but here, evidently, other values applied, for her opinions were clearly held in respect by both her male and her female colleagues.

Crispin sipped beer and drank in the atmosphere. About a hundred and fifty people crowded into a cellar with bare brick walls. On the stage a man in a pink suit was making people laugh, and Lyall leaned across and explained to Crispin that he was joking about recent events in the Presidium.

He was feeling more at ease, enjoying the warmth and comradeship that was in the air, even though he could not understand much of what was going on.

The man in the pink suit finished his act and left the stage to cheers and applause.

Bernard came back from the bar and placed another beer in front of Crispin. “The next act is our Josie. She’s really something special. She’s been getting rave reviews at venues in four sectors.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the M.C. announced, “back on her home territory after far too long an absence, will you please give your usual warm welcome to Josie Keefe!”

A woman stepped onto the stage. She was slightly built, of medium height with mousey brown hair framing a finely shaped oval face with high cheekbones. She was dressed in a loose top of coarse reddish-brown cloth, with a neck scarf of the same colour, tight fitting white trousers and white casual shoes. Not all that different from her audience.

Crispin sat entranced as she sang her songs. Her voice was a little gravelly. She did a mixture of raunchy, up-tempo numbers, a couple of political songs where she had the crowd singing the chorus, and some sweet, sentimental ballads. As she sang, she scanned the audience, and seemed to come back frequently to the corner where Bernard and his crew were sitting. Crispin had the impression that she was singling him out for special attention, though he could not tell why.

Josie waved her gratitude to the audience as they showed their appreciation of another song. “You’re too kind,” she beamed. “I’d like to finish up by singing you my latest song. It’s called `Come And Be Free’, and it goes like this:

Baby, don’t leave, don’t do this to me,

I need you here, don’t you see, don’t you see?

I understand that you’ve got to be free:

Come and be free with me.

The city out there is hard and cold,

Sometimes I wonder what it does to your soul,

And a man on his own is a half not a whole:

Come and be whole with me.

Crispin did not know what to make of her. She did not look out of the ordinary, her voice was not particularly musical, and the words of some of her songs were, to even an untrained ear such as his, extraordinarily banal. Yet the crowd loved her. What was there about her? The way her eyes grew misty while she was singing the last song, as if she were truly pleading with a lover? It had to be something.

As if reading his thoughts, Bernard leaned across. “What did you think of her?”

Crispin tried, as diplomatically as he knew how, to put into words his impression of Josie.

Bernard smiled knowingly. “You are very perceptive. It’s true that, objectively speaking, Josie is no great shakes. She’s one of us, and by putting her on a pedestal we kind of elevate ourselves up there along with her. And it makes us feel better about ourselves. Like booze.” And he drank deeply from his beer glass.

Before he could pursue the conversation any further, Josie herself appeared through a side door and approached. Bernard got up, and she sat down next to Crispin. She was flushed and hot and gratefully took a swig of his beer.

“Hello,” she said. “You must be Crispin. I’ve heard about you.” She fixed him with shining blue-grey eyes, and he found himself watching her sensual lips, an uncontrollable flutter rising in his stomach. “Bernard has asked me to be your mentor. Teach you a few things about the city.”