He didn't look as if he were laughing. He stopped talking and struggled for a moment. "We were the happiest people in the world... for a time," he said. "We began living together, and days passed in perfect harmony. But then I saw her watering my herbs. A simple act. An act of caring. But she was giving them too much water. And I thought, 'Hey! I just told her not to do that the other day. How many times...?' At the same time, I tried to gently correct her aloud. But before the gentle words could leave my mouth, she caught the ungentle emotions. The next thing I knew, she glared at me. And in my head, I felt her sudden hurt and anger and her certainty that I thought her stupid."
Kino stared down into her teacup, uncomfortable.
"Oh," Hermes murmured.
"Exactly. She felt the emotion behind the thought, before I could filter it, interpret it. I got her answer instantly, and thought, 'What? What's going on? Why's she getting so angry about nothing?' And she replied, 'Nothing? Nothing? lt may be nothing to you, but it's a pretty big something to me!' Or feelings to that effect."
A faint, self-mocking smile flitted across their new friend's face. "After that, it was all a war of thought. She had an inferiority complex, believing she wasn't as smart or well-educated as I was. We had been together for several years without me ever knowing that. But she thought I knew it, and nothing I could say could change her mind. As for my feelings, I tried to hide them from her. Control them."
He paused to run a fingertip around the rim of his cup. "When she left me, her final thought was, 'How could I ever live with an unfeeling, stuffed-up man like you?' I was stunned, standing there, watching her walk away... it's ironic, really. Precisely because we could see directly into each other's hearts, we could no longer stand to be together."
"That's... tragic," said Kino, and felt a bit stupid, herself, at the inadequacy of the words.
"Not so tragic as what was happening elsewhere. Across town, someone was killed in an accident; the feelings of the dying man were transmitted to the people who ran to help him. It drove them all mad. Two politicians who'd been working together for years each realized the other was planning to betray him. Each tried to kill the other. Both failed, but the damage was done. That ended in madness, too. Fights broke out spontaneously and without warning. And there were people arrested for attempted rape or public obscenity when all they had done was walk past a woman with their thoughts unguarded."
"That's... that's..." began Kino, but couldn't find the words for what it was.
"This sort of thing happened all over. Within a week, the city was in a state of panic."
"And then?" asked Kino.
"Then we realized that knowing each other's thoughts was not a blessing but a curse. Not evolution, but chaos." He cleared his throat. "Well, perhaps I'm too harsh. Maybe finally grasping that fact was evolution of a sort. Recognizing the lie: 'If we only knew each other' s pain, we'd stop hurting each other.' "
"You couldn't control your thoughts?"
"I tried, but all it got me was a lecture on what a cold, unfeeling creature I was." He shook his head. "No. Feeling someone else's pain or anger – even their joy – is confusing... and exhausting. If you can't heal their pain, and you start to resent it or it depresses you, then... well, your feelings echo in the other person's mind and make them feel even worse. It becomes a vicious cycle."
"You and your lover separated," said Kino.
Kyoshi nodded. "We had to. We found that if there were a few dozen meters between us, we could no longer hear each other's thoughts, just as you couldn't hear my voice if I went outside."
"That explains the isolation," murmured Hermes.
"Indeed. Everyone within these city walls is honestly, genuinely, no exaggeration about it, desperately afraid of other people. Because of this, the machines have become even more advanced so that we can survive without each other. Each in our own little space, doing the things that make us..." he hesitated, then said, "happy," as if the word tasted bitter.
Kino had to look away.
Kyoshi glanced at her, then shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "There have been no children born here for nearly ten years. But there is a generation growing up now who have not been treated with the medicine. Someday they will join the machines in the running of the city and perhaps they will be able to work together to undo what we have done. But I fear that will not happen until years after I die, so there's no use in my worrying about it... or hoping for it. I can only pray they will learn from our mistake."
Kyoshi stood and pressed a switch on the machine behind him. Music filled the room; an electric fiddle played a gentle melody.
Kino listened for a while, then said, "That's a beautiful song."
Hearing this, Kyoshi returned a wry smile. "I love this song. It was very popular ten years ago. Every time I listen to it, I feel... more than I want to. At the time, I wondered if other people felt as strongly about the song as I did. I listened to it with my lover before... She said it was a good song, but did she really think so? After the medicine, I was afraid to play it and find out what she really felt. What did you feel when you heard it, Kino?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but he shook his head.
"I don't want to know." He closed his eyes and did not open them until the song ended.
"Well, Kino," said Kyoshi, standing on the spotless driveway in front of his garage. "Perhaps I don't need to say this to a weapons expert like you, but be careful on the road."
Kino had put on her hat and goggles, and Hermes' engine was idling noisily.
"Not at all. I'll be careful."
"You too, Hermes."
"Thanks!" the motorcycle said.
"I'm glad we were able to talk." He smiled and scratched his head. "Simple words-they mean so much more here than... out there." He gestured with his head toward the western wall. "I only wish I could have met you on your first day here. Oh well." His shoulders slumped, as did his smile.
"Thank you for the tea. It was very good," said Kino awkwardly. She mounted Hermes, leaned forward, and kicked away the stand.
Hermes was ready to drive away when their new friend lifted his head. "Wait! Please! There's one more thing I must say!"
Kino stopped Hermes' engine. The silence was startling.
Kyoshi took a step toward Kino and Hermes. He thrust his hands into his pockets, and scuffed at the driveway with the toe of his shoe. He took a deep breath. "Uh, if... I mean... if you wouldn't mind... you could live here for a while. It' s very peaceful, and if you don't mind never meeting anyone, it's a very nice place to live. Of course, you could meet other people, I guess, if you wanted to. You could do whatever you like, really. You too, Hermes. You could still travel, but come back here every now and then. Kino, if you want, there is room in my house."
He reminded Kino of a deflated balloon. For a moment, she simply stared at him, then said lightly, "I'm sorry, Kyoshi, but l... I hardly know you. And I really want to keep traveling."
Kyoshi stared at her with the most peculiar expression on his face. "You hardly know me," he murmured. "How extraordinary. But if you stayed..."
"I really can't. We really don't know each other."
Kyoshi's eyes widened in sudden comprehension and his face went beet red. "Oh! I didn't mean... I didn't mean for you to live with me as my... er... well, I didn't mean that. I hardly know you, either." He laughed, then held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Kino."
Kino grinned at him and shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Kyoshi. And good luck to you." She started Hermes' engine, then faced forward and got the bike moving.
She looked back once, as they pulled away. Kyoshi was still there, watching them grow smaller. They waved in unison, then she faced the western horizon and drove.
Once they'd put Kyoshi and his lonely city behind them, Kino and Hermes ran on through grassy fields in silence. The sun was already low in the sky. Soon it would be in Kino's eyes.
"Kino, what was all that staring and stammering you and Kyoshi were doing at the end?" asked Hermes suddenly.
"What?"
"Was it love?"
"What? Why would you think that?"
"I wondered if you were going to marry him. I mean, I thought that might be what he was suggesting. I'm telling you, I was on the edge of my stand."
Kino laughed. "Nothing like that."
"Okay, then," said Hermes, and was silent for a while.
Then he muttered, "Still think he might've fallen a little in love with you."
"You would think so," Kino told him. After a long silence, she said, "I think the last thing he said to me was 'Don't die.' "
"I didn't hear him say that."
"Not out loud."