Chapter 2
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Notes/Disclaimer: "The Left Hand of Darkness" belongs to Ursula K. LeGuin. And an excellent piece of work it is. I am making no money from this work.
The title is supposed to be a kind of subtle reference to the fact that at the winter solstice, the daylight starts coming back, even though the story doesn't really take place around the winter solstice. ; Not that anyone would possibly come up with that on their own without me having to explain it. Ah well. Hooray for esoteric-ness.
Kharidish Glossary:
amha - parent in the flesh (mother) (although I will occasionally use "father" in place of this term)
kemmer - the stage in the Gethenian sexual cycle, when the beings become sexually active and develop a gender for a set period of time, generally a few days
kemmering - lover
secher - stage 1 of kemmer, hormonal release
thorharmen - stage 2 of kemmer, establishing a sexuality
Handara - a religious community
Handaratta - inhabitants of the Handara
I know I fudged the ages a bit in this. Technically, Korcha and Sorve should be ten years apart in age at the VERY least, according to the novel's timeline. But I'm choosing to ignore that and mess with the ages a bit. I'm assuming that Korcha is around 17 or so. Call it poetic license. :P
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Korcha shoots me several sidelong, curious glances as we walk down the hall to his room. He is a slight boy, young and handsome, but very soft and fragile-looking. He takes greatly after his amha, Ashe.
Finally his curiosity gets the better of him and he asks, "Are you really my brother?"
I smile and nod, saying nothing.
He breaks into a very wide grin. "I didn't even know I had a brother. Besides Rendek, I mean. This is kind of exciting."
"I didn't know I had a brother either," I say, "until Ashe came to my flesh-father's funeral. I know very little about my amha; he left me in the care of my grandfather when I was very young. I was hoping Ashe could tell me about him."
Korcha's grin fades, and he turns away from me to get a mattress and some heavy blankets out of a hall closet. "I'm not sure Amha will talk to you. The issue is... painful for him."
"It is painful for me as well; Therem was my amha," I remind him. "Perhaps it would help him to share the pain?"
"Perhaps." Korcha turns back to me, a wistful expression on his face. I feel a soft concern for his father from him, it radiates away like energy, a feeling of compassion and melancholy. Then suddenly he breaks into a smile again and the sadness is gone, though the energy still lingers. "Come on," he says, and inclines his head towards a door to his left.
As he has his hands full, I open the door for him and we enter a small, cozy little room. He lays down the mattress and blankets next to his bed and arranges them. While he works, I look around the room. It is plainly furnished, with little more than a desk, chair, and bed, but little trinkets and scraps of his life adorn much of the walls and surfaces of the room. On one corner of his desk is a little wooden figurine, carved by the looks of it by someone from the Handara. A piece of paper is fastened to the wall above the desk. Upon closer inspection I realize with a start that it is a letter written by my amha, to Korcha. I skim through it, but it is simple and polite, not like the thoughtful, deep letters that I received from him.
Korcha, finished with his work, looks up to find me reading. "That was a letter from Therem," he says. "I was very excited to get it; we didn't often get letters from him. That one was my favorite, so I put it up. I still have the others though, if you'd like to read them. As I said, there aren't many. Fewer than ten. It shouldn't take you too long."
I think of my desk at home, of the drawers containing a select few of the dozens upon dozens of letters written to me by my amha, letters so much deeper and full of emotion than this simple one tacked to the wall. "Perhaps," I answer softly. Already I have learned something new about my amha.
Korcha crawls into his bed and snuggles childishly under the covers. He is shivering slightly, though it is not that cold. For all that it is still snowing outside, it is spring now, and the Thaw should be here soon. "Goodnight, Sorve," he says.
"Praise the darkness and creation unfinished," I reply. And we sleep.
I wake in the middle of the night to sounds. Moaning and whimpering noises issue from Korcha's bed, as though he is caught in a nightmare. "Please," I hear him mumble. "Please, please, oh please."
I sit up in the darkness and wait for my eyes to adjust, then kneel at the side of the bed. Korcha is tossing and turning fitfully, his blankets twisted about him in complete disarray. I reach forward tentatively, placing my hand on his wrist. "Korcha?" I call.
His eyes snap open, and too late I recognize the jolting, fiery sensation from our contact; he is in kemmer.
But how? Didn't his amha say that he had not yet entered kemmer?
But he is of about the age... Oh no. This... this must be his first...
I draw my hand back, but he reaches out after it quickly and grabs my wrist. Again I feel the fire of the contact, swimming deliciously into my veins. Belatedly I realize that the energy I felt from him earlier must not have been purely emotion but his secher. Perhaps it is slightly weaker for being his first, and that is why I did not recognize it.
He closes his eyes, hand still locked about my wrist. "Feels good," he murmurs.
I look at him carefully. "You realize you are in kemmer?" I ask.
He nods, eyes still closed.
"Is this your first?"
Again, he nods. Damn. I am not sure my host would appreciate it if I had sex with his virgin son, especially on my first night at his hearth after we've barely been introduced. Not that most families place too much emphasis on the first kemmer or the corresponding kemmering, but it is a bit of an... event. It marks the transition from child to man. And I'm sure Ashe would prefer to be certain that the first lover of his son would be someone who will be gentle and forgiving with him.
Well, it seems that I shall simply have to do my best. From the look in his eyes, open once more, there will be no delaying this. And I cannot deny my own body's need either.
With a sigh I stand and break the hold of his hand about my wrist. He whimpers slightly and looks lost, but then smiles happily as I untangle the blankets from around his body and slip under them next to him. I lie behind him, our bodies pressed flush against each other, and the fire burns intensely between us. It will take a few hours of this contact before we are in full kemmer, so I stroke his cheek and murmur soft encouragements of sleep into his ear.
Before he drifts off he gropes sleepily for my hand, like a child seeking comfort, and entwines our fingers.
We make love the next morning soon after we wake, passionately but quietly so as not to disturb the still-sleeping household. I awoke as a full male, and he as a female. He makes a beautiful woman; all his softness is put to good use, delicate features accentuating sudden curves and a soft, supple body. He feels good in my arms, pressed against my body, housing myself inside him. He is young, new to this, innocent, so I try to be careful with him. But I can tell that the experience is overwhelming for him, almost too much for him to bear. First kemmer is often like that.
When we finally finish it is still early and the rest of the household still asleep. I pull the blankets around us in preparation for further sleep. I have little doubt that I will be in this bed for much of the next few days; I have no desire to force young Korcha to switch kemmerings in the middle of his first kemmer. But for now we can rest up a bit; there will be plenty of time for more of this.
Korcha leans his body against me and cups my face in his hands, planting soft kisses at either corner of my mouth. "Thank you Sorve," he says, "Brother."
And once more we drift off.
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