Second Foundation (Page 50)

And then, attempting to look both ways simultaneously, she ran head-on into a soft abdomen. She felt the startled outbreath and grunt, and a hand come down on her arm. She writhed desperately but lacked breath to do more than mew a bit in the back of her throat.

Her captor held her firmly and waited. Slowly, he came into focus for her and she managed to look at him. He was rather plump and rather short. His hair was white and copious, being brushed back to give a pompadour effect that looked strangely incongruous above a round and ruddy face that shrieked its peasant origin.

"What’s the matter?" he said finally, with a frank and twinkling curiosity. "You look scared."

"Sorry," muttered Arcadia in a frenzy. "I’ve got to go. Pardon me."

But he disregarded that entirely, and said, "Watch out, little girl. You’ll drop your ticket." And he lifted it from her resistless white fingers and looked at it with every evidence of satisfaction.

"I thought so," he said, and then bawled in bull-like tones, "Mommuh!"

A woman was instantly at his side, somewhat more short, somewhat more round, somewhat more ruddy. She wound a finger about a stray gray lock to shove it beneath a well-outmoded hat.

"Pappa," she said, reprovingly, "why do you shout in a crowd like that? People look at you like you were crazy. Do you think you are on the farm?"

And she smiled sunnily at the unresponsive Arcadia, and added, "He has manners like a bear." Then, sharply, "Pappa, let go the little girl. What are you doing?"

But Pappa simply waved the ticket at her. "Look," he said, "she’s going to Trantor."

Mamma’s face was a sudden beam, "You’re from Trantor? Let go her arm, I say, Pappa." She turned the overstuffed valise she was carrying onto its side and forced Arcadia to sit down with a gentle but unrelenting pressure. "Sit down," she said, "and rest your little feet. It will be no ship yet for an hour and the benches are crowded with sleeping loafers. You are from Trantor?"

Arcadia drew a deep breath and gave in. Huskily, she said, "I was born there."

And Mamma clapped her hands gleefully, "One month we’ve been here and till now we met nobody from home. This is very nice. Your parents-" she looked about vaguely.

"I’m not with my parents," Arcadia said, carefully.

"All alone? A little girl like you?" Mamma was at once a blend of indignation and sympathy, "How does that come to be?"

"Mamma," Pappa plucked at her sleeve, "let me tell you. There’s something wrong. I think she’s frightened." His voice, though obviously intended for a whisper was quite plainly audible to Arcadia. "She was running – I was watching her – and not looking where she was going. Before I could step out of the way, she bumped into me. And you know what? I think she’s in trouble."

"So shut your mouth, Pappa. Into you, anybody could bump." But she joined Arcadia on the valise, which creaked wearily under the added weight and put an arm about the girl’s trembling shoulder. "You’re running away from somebody, sweetheart? Don’t be afraid to tell me. III help you."

Arcadia looked across at the kind gray eyes of the woman and felt her lips quivering. One part of her brain was telling her that here were people from Trantor, with whom she could go, who could help her remain on that planet until she could decide what next to do, where next to go. And another part of her brain, much the louder, was telling her in jumbled incoherence that she did not remember her mother, that she was weary to death of fighting the universe, that she wanted only to curl into a little hall with strong, gentle arms about her, that if her mother had lived, she might… she might-

And for the first time that night, she was crying; crying like a little baby, and glad of it; clutching tightly at the old-fashioned dress and dampening a corner of it thoroughly, while soft arms held her closely and a gentle hand stroked her curls.

Pappa stood helplessly looking at the pair, fumbling futilely for a handkerchief which, when produced, was snatched from his hand. Mamma glared an admonition of quietness at him. The crowds surged about the little group with the true indifference of disconnected crowds everywhere. They were effectively alone.

Finally, the weeping trickled to a halt, and Arcadia smiled weakly as she dabbed at red eyes with the borrowed handkerchief. "Golly," she whispered,

"Shh. Shh. Don’t talk," said Mamma, fussily, "just sit and rest for a while. Catch your breath. Then tell us what’s wrong, and you’ll see, we’ll fix it up, and everything will be all right."

Arcadia scrabbled what remained of her wits together. She could not tell them the truth. She could tell nobody the truth- And yet she was too worn to invent a useful lie.

She said, whisperingly, "I’m better, now."

"Good," said Mamma. "Now tell me why you’re in trouble. You did nothing wrong? Of course, whatever you did, well help you; but tell us the truth."

"For a friend from Trantor, anything," added Pappa, expansively, "eh, Mamma?"

"Shut your mouth, Pappa," was the response, without rancor.

Arcadia was groping in her purse. That, at least, was still hers, despite the rapid clothes-changing forced upon her in Lady Callia’s apartments. She found what she was looking for and handed it to Mamma.

"These are my papers," she said, diffidently. It was shiny, synthetic parchment which had been issued her by the Foundation’s ambassador on the day of her arrival and which had been countersigned by the appropriate Kalganian official. It was large, florid, and impressive. Mamma looked at it helplessly, and passed it to Pappa who absorbed its contents with an impressive pursing of the lips.