“What have you heard from Carlos?” he asked.
“Well, you know he got the patterner job. Vess is with him, kind of a troubleshooter–escort. Vess said Carlos is on his way, enjoying himself, learning a lot, becoming quite the diplomat. You told me once you hankered for a job at State. I’m coming to believe Carlos may get one. He always loved the sound of his own voice. You better write your book before he gets back, or you’ll have competition.”
She hung up. Sasquatch stuck his nose in her lap and whined. He smelled something lovely emanating from the kitchen, as did she, so they went to see what was cooking. Her husband was at the stove, juggling several pans at once.
“Hi,” glancing at her briefly. “Don’t interrupt. I’m sautéing fin-zannels, and they mustn’t burn.”
“I don’t think I’ve tasted fin-zannels.”
“The Inkleozese brought in a case. I had to promise to give them a beef roast in return for these.”
“Beef?”
“Any red meat. I don’t think they care what. They say they’ll label it as Earth meat and trade it to the Wulivery for flamsit eggs.”
“The Wulivery got a taste for Earth flesh, hmm.”
“Allegedly. They’re still not speaking to the Inkleozese. They claim the assessors used unethical means to get them off Earth.”
The sauté pan received a final, quite professional flip that emptied the whatsits onto a plate that was thrust into the warm oven.
“Bert showed up,” Benita said.
“Ah.”
“He’s in a glusi center in Albuquerque.”
“Good, good,” distractedly as hands busily grated an onion, which was added to the plate in the oven before Benita was seized in an enormous hug. Certain pressure points were touched, tiny electric shocks went down particular muscles, all of it infinitely warm and loving. The room spun agreeably. It wasn’t sex, but it was very, very nice.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly.
“We’re having a guest for dinner, and it’s our six-month anniversary.” A small box materialized before her nose. “Six months since you agreed to meet the Confederation guidelines for liaison officers and ally yourself with an otherworldly person.”
She opened it. A pair of earrings. Not gold, something else, very light and lacy, set with gorgeous green stones. What a dear spouse, no matter what shape!
“Oh, they’re lovely,” she cried. “You’re so wonderful to me!”
“As I should be,” ai said. “Dearest, dearest Benita.”
Eos Spotlight
THE FRESCO
by
Sheri S. Tepper
The art world of Santa Fe was recently hurled into conflict. One set of people called other sets of people hypocritical and disrespectful of religion. Other sets brandished the freedom of speech banner in response. The cause? A Hispanic woman artist from California, whose work was included in a recent exhibit at the Museum of International Folk Art, displayed a representation of the Lady of Guadalupe wreathed in roses. I say wreathed, because that’s what the picture looks like, a by-no-means sexy woman surrounded by roses with bands of the flowers amply covering breasts and thighs, but with nude legs and a midriff showing.
Someone who saw this artwork howled that it showed the Lady of Guadalupe in a bikini. Others, most of whom had not seen the art work, picked up the cry. Hundreds of petitioners showed up at the hearing to voice their opinion on the disrespect and lack of sensitivity displayed both by the artist and by those whose job it is to schedule and mount exhibitions. The fact that the artist herself was of the same heritage and possibily the same sensitivity as the complainers cut no ice. Meetings were scheduled. Hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars of public moneys were spent in an effort to be “sensitive” to the issue. In the end, the body responsible for the show allowed it to continue throughout its scheduled time, but the cries of protest still go on….
The Lady of Guadalupe is a dark-skinned Virgin identified with Mary, the mother of Jesus. Her legend began in Mexico, and she is worshipped by many Mexicans as their own particular goddess. She is pictured as a dark-skinned woman, robed and draped, usually with roses, and always backed by a many-tongued aureole of flame from head to foot. As such she appears among the carved santos and bultos (religious carvings and paintings) for which Santa Fe is well known, but also, and without criticism, as plastic models on the dashboards of cars, on woven “throws,” on T-shirts, and in many other cheap, mass-produced and, to my mind, totally irreverent and totally disrespectful forms.
One of the leading firebrands in this issue is a priest who was removed from Santa Fe a year or so ago for stirring up another such conflict. The old Sanctuary of Guadalupe, an adobe church of some historic significance, had been for some time falling into ruin. Adobe structures are of the earth and to earth return unless rigorously, one might say religiously, maintained. The congregation has long since moved to new quarters nearby; the old sanctuary has been unsanctified; and the incipient ruin lay quiescent, awaiting the notice of do-gooders of any faith who might stop decay in its tracks.
As a number did. People interested in the architecture of historic Santa Fe, both Catholic and non-Catholic, gave contributions. Some money was given by local government, and some was obtained from the federal government, to restore the old building as a community center where meetings might be held and art might, on occasion, be displayed. In time, with much effort and expenditure, this goal was achieved, the old sanctuary was turned over to a non-sectarian group for management, and also, in time, art was displayed there of which the young priest at the adjacent church disapproved. He invaded the exhibit with a goodly number of followers. Signs were waved, chants were chanted, fists were no doubt brandished, all demanding that the offending art be removed and the sanctuary be returned to its sacred purpose.
No one opted for the simplest solution, which would have been to advise the group that the sanctuary could be returned if the group paid back all the money and time spent on its resurrection. Being expected to pay money for something often resolves the question of its real value. This, however, would have been practical, and Santa Fe is not known for its practicality. Instead, the newspaper featured each day the latest outrage, the newest demand, the most recent attempt to mollify or negotiate. Eventually the matter was resolved when the archbishop moved the priest to a remote parish in less sensitive surroundings. That is, until the Lady in the Bikini episode.
All of the people involved in these skirmishes are sincere. They really believe that an unfamiliar image—which by being unfamiliar must be insensitive or disrespectful—has a mystic power beyond the print on the page or the paint on the canvas to besmirch the holy reality. In similar fashion, some of the local Native American pueblo peoples are deeply offended by the creation and sale of kachina figures, believing this dissemination of the image has the power to devalue the actual divinity.
It is the ability of the sacred image to control the thought, the actions, and the self-esteem of those invested in it that forms the framework of The Fresco. In the book, the painter is an ET, and a long dead one at that, but the observers include those among us who may find the image a matter of life and death.
Praise for
SHERI S. TEPPER
“One of SF’s most distinctive voices.”
Locus
“Tepper holds up a funhouse glass to customs and mores many of us take for granted.”
Denver Post
“Her novels are the old-fashioned kind, despite their futuristic settings; the kind that wrap you in their embrace, that take over your life, that make the world disappear.”
Village Voice Literary Supplement
and
THE FRESCO
“Another consummately skillful, wise, sometimes hilarious, inconoclastic performance.”
Kirkus Reviews
“Nicely constructed…First-contact stories are a commonplace in SF…Imagine and describe the contactee and the
E.T.s, then let the story unfold. That’s the springboard. Sheri Tepper uses it to good effect, taking off from the platform for a series of swoops and spins and dogfighting maneuvers worthy of a fighter ace.”
San Diego Union-Tribune
“Enchantingly sly…This novel succeeds brilliantly…It shines as brightly as the stars that may one day provide what Tepper’s women really want—true peace.”
Publishers Weekly (*Starred Review*)
Eos Books by
Sheri S. Tepper
FAMILY TREE
SIX MOON DANCE
SINGER FROM THE SEA
THE FRESCO
Coming in hardcover
THE VISITOR
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE FRESCO. Copyright © 2000 by Sheri S. Tepper. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition August 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-197635-3
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Sheri S. Tepper, The Fresco
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