“Oh, beauty!” the child said. “What is it?”

“It hangs from the ceiling; is there a nail? The coat hook will do, till I can get a nail from Supplies. Do you know who made it, Sadik?”

“No— You did.”

“She did. The mother. She did.” He turned to Takver. “It’s my favorite, the one that was over the desk. I gave the others to Bedap. I wasn’t going to leave them there for old what’s-her-name, Mother Envy down the corridor.”

“Oh—Bunub! I hadn’t thought of her in years!” Takver laughed shakily. She looked at the mobile as if she was afraid of it.

Sadik stood watching it as it turned silently seeking its balance. “I wish,” she said at last, carefully, “that I could share it one night over the bed I sleep in in the dormitory.”

“I’ll make one for you, dear soul. For every night.”

“Can you really make them, Takver?”

“Well, I used to. I think I could make you one.” The tears were now plain in Takver’s eyes. Shevek put his arms around her. They were both still on edge, overstrained. Sadik looked at them holding each other for a moment with a calm, observing eye, then returned to watching the Occupation of Uninhabited Space.

When they were alone, evenings, Sadik was often the subject of their talk. Takver was somewhat overabsorbed in the child, for want of other intimacies, and her strong common sense was obscured by maternal ambitions and anxieties. This was not natural to her; neither competitiveness nor protectiveness was a strong motive in Anarresti life. She was glad to talk her worries out and get rid of them, which Shevek’s presence enabled her to do. The first nights, she did most of the talking, and he listened as he might have listened to music or to running water, without trying to reply. He had not talked very much, for four years now; he was out of the habit of conversation. She released him from that silence, as she had always done. Later, it was he who talked the most, though always dependent on her response.

“Do you remember Tirin?” he asked one night. It was cold; winter had arrived, and the room, the farthest from the domicile furnace, never got very warm, even with the register wide open. They had taken the bedding from both platforms and were well cocooned together on the platform nearer the register. Shevek was wearing a very old, much-washed shirt to keep his chest warm, as he liked to sit up in bed. Takver, wearing nothing, was under the blankets from the ears down. “What became of the orange blanket?” she said.

“What a propertarian! I left it.”

“To Mother Envy? How sad. I’m not a propertarian. I’m just sentimental. It was the first blanket we slept under.”

“No, it wasn’t. We must have used a blanket up in the Ne Theras.”

“If we did, I don’t remember it.” Takver laughed. “Who did you ask about?”