36.

The First Length

Requiem City, 167

The new Dock swimming hall had given Nehir Dove a very good place not to swim.

From the gallery she could see both pools. She had a bench, a rail to rest her arms on and room beside her for the thick end of her tail. Below, somebody was coming down the shallow steps one foot at a time. In the larger pool a woman rolled onto her back and lay still while other swimmers passed. Water moved under her with a shine like folded cloth.

Nehir shifted along to make room for a man who had brought his knitting. His companion was already in the water. He counted something on his needles, looked up to locate her and went on counting.

“This is excellent,” Nehir said when Ista came upstairs.

Her younger sister had a loose wrap over her swimming clothes and was wet from the tips of her long, open-curving horns to her bare feet. A strand of black hair had wound itself around one horn. She pulled it, discovered that this tightened it and stopped with both hands beside her head.

“You'd like it down there.”

“I can see everything from here.”

“You can't feel it.”

“I'm having the dry version.”

Ista bent her head. “Get this out, then.”

Nehir eased the strand back the way it had come. Her own horns were short and curved close behind her head; she had never understood how Ista managed to acquire quite so many things on hers.

“Hold still. You're turning the wrong way.”

“I can't see which way you're going.”

“That's why you should hold still.”

The hair came loose. Ista shook her head before Nehir had withdrawn her hands and scattered droplets over the rail.

“There. The wet version,” Ista said.

She sat beside Nehir, close enough to leave a damp patch against her sleeve. Downstairs an attendant moved a swimmer's stick away from the edge while the swimmer took the handrail. There was no hurry about it. At the other end someone came out, sat down and seemed content to remain there with feet in the water.

“Have you finished?” Nehir asked.

“No. I'm going back.”

“You've only just come out.”

“I came to fetch you.”

Nehir looked down at her boots. She had chosen a comfortable pair for the opening, and they were comfortable. “I haven't anything to change into.”

“Then next time.”

Ista stayed a little longer. She pointed out the place where she had tried to turn without standing up and gone sideways instead. Nehir had seen it. She had thought it was something Ista meant to do.

“I nearly managed,” Ista said. “I want another go.”

She stood, already looking toward the stairs. Nehir reached for the damp hem threatening to catch under her sister's heel, freed it and let her go.

When Ista entered the larger pool again, she pushed away from the edge and travelled for a little while without moving her arms. Nehir watched the brief, effortless-looking distance. Then Ista began to swim. The resting woman still floated on her back. Nehir could see her mouth, clear of the surface, and one hand making a small adjustment beside her hip.

The bench was comfortable. The man beside her had found his mistake and was taking the knitting backwards, making an irritated noise at every few stitches. Nehir liked being up here. She would have liked, too, to know what that first push felt like, before a swimmer began the work of moving.

While Ista dressed, Nehir went to look at the notices by the entrance. School bookings occupied one part of the board. Beneath them were individual admission times and adult lessons.

“Are the lessons for people who can swim a little?” she asked the attendant.

“Those as well.”

“And people who can't?”

“Yes. Which time can you come?”

Nehir read the available times carefully. At the Dock stores she knew when a delivery would need her and when somebody else could finish counting it. She chose an afternoon she could leave in good time, paid for the lesson and put the booking slip into an inner pocket.

Ista came out with her damp hair loose over her shoulders.

“Were you waiting long?”

“No,” Nehir said. “Shall we walk?”

*   *   *

She arrived for the lesson early enough to watch somebody else finish.

That had seemed a useful idea on the way. She could see where things went, which entrance people used and what the instructor expected before he expected it of her. Now she stood in her swimming clothes at the edge of the teaching pool, watching a person younger than herself float with almost all of their face underwater.

She looked away and adjusted the fastening at her hip.

“Nehir Dove?”

The instructor was a human man standing beside the shallow steps. “Odal Renn. Come this way.”

He waited while she put one foot on the first wet step. The surface held under her sole. On the next, water came around her calf. Her tail moved against the back of her leg, and she uncurled it before taking another step.

“I've worked beside water for years,” she told him.

“At the Dock?”

“The stores. Mostly rope, canvas, fittings. You don't usually have to get in it.”

“No.”

He did not appear to be waiting for a better explanation. Nehir went down until both feet were on the pool floor. The water reached her middle and moved whenever somebody elsewhere did anything. A little wave touched her above the waistband. She caught the rail with her second hand.

Odal showed her where she could stand and where the steps were behind her. At the next section of rail a dwarf woman was practising with her legs stretched out behind her. She stopped to cough, rubbed her face and tried again.

“That's Lessa,” Odal said. “Lessa Hobbs. Nehir Dove.”

Lessa lifted one wet hand. Nehir nodded, unwilling to let go.

“Can you bend your knees a little?” Odal asked.

She could. It was an ordinary movement, less ordinary when the water rose to meet her ribs. She stood up again.

“And your chin?”

She lowered herself farther. Her chin went into the water. She brought it out at once, though there had been no reason to hurry.

“All right. Take a breath, then see if you can bring your face down.”

Nehir took the breath. She had seen people do this. The face went down; the person stayed where they were. She bent her knees, lowered her head and stopped above the surface.

The rail was hard under her fingers. She had not understood how large a pool could become when it was an inch from her nose.

She straightened.

“I know what you mean,” she said. “I think I need to do it rather more quickly. Before I start thinking about it. Usually if I know where I'm putting my feet I'm quite all right.”

“What stopped you?”

“Nothing. I just didn't.”

“At your mouth, or before?”

She looked down. “Before. I don't know when I'm supposed to breathe.”

“Keep your feet there. Just your mouth this time. Blow into the water, then come up.”

Nehir nodded. He waited.

She bent her knees again. Her mouth touched the surface and she shut it hard, rose and took another breath.

Odal was still waiting. Nehir bent her knees again. As her mouth neared the surface, water lapped back from the far side and touched her lips before she was quite ready. She blew at it.

The sound was thick and unexpectedly loud, close inside her head. Bubbles broke against her lower lip. She stood, blinking, with her nose and eyes still dry.

“That?”

“That. You can come up sooner. You don't have to use all your breath.”

She did it again. This time she stopped while she still had air to spare, stood and breathed in. The floor had not gone anywhere. Her grip on the rail loosened enough for her to feel the water moving between her fingers.

She wanted to hear the sound again.

A sharp splash came from Lessa's part of the pool, followed by a laugh. Nehir looked up. Lessa was wiping water from her eyes, laughing in breathless bursts with one hand over her mouth.

Nehir's hands tightened on the rail. She had paid to come here and blow bubbles while another grown woman watched.

She looked back at the rail. Odal was turning toward Lessa.

“Let your legs come down,” he said. “Then try it once more.”

So Lessa had been doing something as well. Nehir could not see what it had been. The laugh kept arriving in her head at the instant she bent toward the water.

She pressed her lips together and waited until Odal returned.

“You can keep going while I watch Lessa,” he said.

“Yes. I was just resting.”

“All right.”

She had made him believe she needed a rest from this. That was worse. She lowered her mouth and blew too hard; water jumped up toward her nose. She came out rigid, spluttering through her closed lips.

“Less air at once,” Odal said.

She stared at her hands beneath the water, dark plum between the pale ripples. At work she could lift a full coil of rope against her hip, judge its weight and settle it without scraping her knuckles. Here she seemed unable to judge the amount of air in her own chest.

Odal moved a little way aside. “Whenever you're ready.”

Nehir waited until Lessa was looking toward the other end of the pool. Then she bent her knees, touched her mouth to the water and let out a little air. The bubbles made their crowded sound. She stood before she had run out.

“Yes,” Odal said. “Keep that one.”

By the end of the lesson her thighs were tired from bending. Her hair was scarcely wet. She watched Lessa climb the steps, still rubbing at one eye, and pretended to be occupied with the fastening at her hip.

While drying her legs she remembered the bubbling sound, and the moment she had wanted to lower her mouth again. Next time she could start with something she had already done. At the booking desk she asked for another lesson. She said it briskly, before she could ask whether Lessa would be there.

On the afternoon of the second lesson, she finished the stores count in time. There was no delayed delivery. She put away the count, washed the dust from her hands and stood with her bag while the other worker shut the cupboard.

She could still reach the hall before the lesson began.

Outside, she took the street that went away from it. At the next corner she stopped and retied a bootlace. The other was quite secure. She undid it and tied it again. By then she would be late.

At home she hung up the bag without taking out her swimming clothes.

*   *   *

Ista's clean bedcover was too large for one person to fold neatly and almost too large for the room. Nehir held two corners while Ista backed toward the door with the others.

“Higher,” Ista said. “It's touching the floor.”

“Your end is touching the floor.”

They both raised their arms. The cover billowed, came down between them and caught on the chair.

“Move the chair,” Nehir said.

“I'm holding this.”

Nehir hooked a foot around the chair leg and drew it clear. They brought the corners together. Ista's half had a long diagonal wrinkle; Nehir shook her end once, and it disappeared.

“Come over again the day after tomorrow,” Ista said. “If you want.”

“Yes. I can do that.”

“We could go to the hall. I went again yesterday. Much quieter than the opening.”

“That might be difficult, actually. There's a canvas delivery, and if it comes with the smaller fittings we have to separate them before we can stack anything. It depends which wagon they use. I can't leave somebody else with all the counting.”

Ista looked at her over the folded edge.

“You just said yes.”

“I hadn't thought about the wagon.”

“Then what time could you come here in the evening?”

Nehir ran her thumbs along the edge to bring it level. She could have supplied a time, kept the delivery alive and spent the evening hearing about Ista's swim. Ista would have made room for her on this chair. It could be a good evening. She would still want to get into the water.

“I could come in the afternoon,” she said. “There isn't a delivery.”

Ista lowered the cover a little.

“I've had a lesson.”

“At the hall?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

Nehir told her. The first lesson sounded rather far away when she named the day. “I booked another. I didn't go.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was going to. When I could do it.”

Ista's face changed. She dropped her end of the cover onto the chair, and the fold slid out of Nehir's hands.

“I wasn't going to make you do a length before you could come with me.”

“I know.”

“Do you? You told me about a wagon that doesn't exist.”

“The wagon exists. It's coming tomorrow.”

Ista stared at her. Nehir looked down at the cover. Correcting the day had not helped.

“I didn't want you watching me,” she said. “Not yet.”

“I asked you to spend an afternoon with me.”

Nehir rubbed a thumb over a place where the edge stitching had pulled loose. Ista had never asked her to demonstrate anything. At the pool she had wanted another turn, and someone to tell about it.

“I got as far as putting my mouth in,” Nehir said. “Not even my nose. And somebody laughed.”

“At you?”

“I thought so.”

Ista picked up her end of the cover, but did not lift it yet. “Do you want to go back?”

Nehir could hear that small bubbling sound. She had liked making it. She was tired of passing the hall as though it contained someone to whom she owed money.

“Yes.”

“Would you rather I didn't come?”

“I want you to come.” The words arrived more quickly than her next explanation. She let them stay. “But could you go upstairs?”

“To the gallery?”

“Yes. And not tell me what to do. Or call things down.”

Ista considered her. “What was I going to call?”

“I don't know. Encouragement.”

“I'm forbidden encouragement?”

“From a height.”

The edge of Ista's mouth moved. Nehir lifted the cover so they could start again.

“I can take a book,” Ista said. “There's a good place at the end. I want a swim first, though.”

“All right.”

“Then let's go early.”

“I'll come for you.”

This time they matched the corners before folding. Ista tucked the cover into its space and pressed it down with both hands until the cupboard door would close.

The next afternoon Nehir stayed until the actual canvas was counted. A day later she called for Ista earlier in the afternoon and they went to the hall. Nehir paid for the new lesson while her sister read the admission times, then waited downstairs as Ista went to change.

*   *   *

168

By the following year Nehir could put her face in the water. She had learned that in more than one lesson, not on the afternoon she brought Ista. After another she could stretch out with support and bring her feet beneath her again.

There had been an afternoon when her arms seemed to use all the attention her legs required, and one when she arrived tired and spent most of the lesson near the steps. She kept booking. At the stores she sometimes caught herself breathing out slowly while counting, which did not improve the count but reminded her of where she was going afterward.

She no longer came early enough to watch the preceding learner. Today she took her time changing, wound her hair clear of her short horns and came down the steps without stopping at each one. The floor felt familiar. The first small wave against her stomach still made her draw in a breath.

Ista had finished her own swim. Nehir could see her in the gallery with her book closed on one knee, sorting damp hair away from the pages.

“Odal, will you watch the left foot?” Lessa called. “I can't tell where it's going.”

She held the rail, stretched out and kicked. The left foot rose too far and struck the surface; the splash reached her face. She made a startled sound and laughed, putting her feet down.

“There. Was that the left?”

“Yes,” Odal said.

“It has ideas of its own.”

She tried again. Nehir watched the foot come up, the spray and Lessa's face turning away from water she had put there herself. That was what the laugh had sounded like. She had been staring at her own hands the first time, willing Lessa to look anywhere else.

Lessa looked across now. “Are you going from that end?”

“I think so.”

“I'll stay over here.”

She moved along the rail to give Nehir room. Nehir thanked her and walked to the near end.

The teaching pool was short. She could stand everywhere along the way she meant to go, and the far edge was plainly visible. She had reached it before by walking. The difficulty was leaving her feet behind.

“I'd like to try the length,” she told Odal.

He waded into the space beside her. “All right.”

She faced the far end with one foot braced against the wall behind her. The water tugged at her tail; she had spent the first lessons trying to hold it close to her legs, then learned to let it trail without attending to it at every movement. She took a breath, stretched her arms forward and lowered her face to the water. Then she pushed away.

For a little way she travelled with her arms out. Then she drew them back, raised her mouth and took another breath. Her legs followed. The water slid along her sides with a feeling she had been trying, unsuccessfully, to explain to Ista on the walk home.

She breathed out. Drew in. Moved again.

Then she wanted to see how far away the end was. She raised her head before her hands were ready, her hips dropped, and the next breath caught in a hurry behind the previous one.

She brought her knees forward and put her feet down.

The floor was there. Water rocked against her chest. Odal stood a little to one side, close enough for her to reach him, though she did not need to. She had gone about halfway.

Nehir looked at the far edge, then back at the one she had left.

“I started looking,” she said.

“I saw.”

She wiped her mouth. The wipe was useless; her hand was as wet as the rest of her. She did it again, then went to the side and held the rail while her breathing settled.

Lessa was waiting to show Odal another kick. He went to her. Above, Ista had opened her book. Nehir was glad of it, and a little aggrieved that she seemed capable of reading. She looked away before she could turn that into something else her sister ought to have understood.

She rested with her forearms on the edge. Her thighs ached pleasantly until she thought about starting again, when the ache became a possible reason not to. She could get out. There would be another lesson. The water kept moving against her, rising and falling by a little as Lessa practised.

After a while Nehir let go of the edge and stood straight.

“Is there time for another?” she asked when Odal returned.

“Yes.”

“From the beginning.”

She walked back to the near end. That made the distance seem shorter, which was useful. She braced one foot against the wall again. She looked once at where she meant to arrive, took a breath and stretched her arms forward, lowering her face.

The push carried her out. She made the first movement before she began to sink. Her mouth came clear, and she took the breath that was available instead of trying to store more than she needed.

Face down. Air out. The bubbles sounded close and crowded, as they had when she held the rail with both hands.

She moved her arms. Her legs pushed the water away. There was a short glide in which she could feel her whole length travelling, and she wanted more of it.

Another breath. This one was untidy, water at the corner of her mouth. She blew it away when her face went down. Her hands were still moving. She did not have to put her feet down to wipe her lips.

Odal's legs appeared pale at the edge of her sight, moving along the floor beside her. She knew where he was. She let the water carry her into the next movement.

Her arms were beginning to tire. She took a smaller breath, finished blowing it out and reached forward again. The far wall came into view beneath the surface. Too soon to reach yet. She drew her hands back once more, breathed and pushed.

Her fingers touched the edge.

She put both palms on it before bringing her feet to the floor. Then she stood, holding the place she had reached, breathing with her mouth open.

“There,” Odal said.

Nehir laughed. She had meant to say something, but there was no breath available for the words.

Odal waited until she could look at him. “Rest now.”

“Yes.”

She turned toward the gallery. Ista was leaning on the rail with the book under one hand. When Nehir looked up, she lifted her other hand, just high enough to be seen. Nehir lifted one of hers from the pool edge and put it back. She wanted to stay in the water a little longer without going anywhere.

Later, dry except for the ends of her hair, she sat upstairs beside Ista. Her calves felt warm and loose. She could feel each finger separately when she laid her hands on her knees. Below them a new learner was coming down the steps, testing the surface with one foot.

“Did you see?” Nehir asked.

“Yes.”

“All the way?”

Ista put the book in her bag. “I was watching.”

Nehir rested back against the bench. She would have liked to go over every part of it, beginning with the first breath, but for a while she was too pleasantly tired to explain. Ista sat with her. From this height the teaching pool looked short again.

“Next week?” Nehir said.

“Which afternoon?” Ista asked. “We both have to be free.”

Nehir began to work it out.