Ursula K. LeGuin - Day Before the Revolution

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URSULA LE GUIN

The Day Before the Revolution

"The Day Before the Revolution" won the Nebula Award for the best

science-fiction short story of 1974. Ursula's The Dispossessed won the Nebula

Award and the Hugo Award for the best novel of 1974. The Le Guin award-winning

spree began with her 1969 novel The Left Hand of Darkness, which won both the

Nebula and Hugo awards and to my mind did more to exploit the potential of the

science-fiction novel than anything published to that time; and it continued

with her Hugo novella of 1971, "The Word for World Is Forest," her Hugo short

story of 1973, "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas, and the 1973 National Book

Award in children's literature for her novel The Farthest Shore. Ursula comes

naturally to writing and science: her mother was an author, her father an

anthropologist; her husband is a Portland State College professor of French

history, and she herself, besides her family of three children, possesses an

advanced degree in French and Italian Renaissance literature. The story that

follows is cut from the same fictional tapestry as The Dispossessed.

The speaker's voice was loud as empty beer-trucks in a stone street, and the

people at the meeting were jammed up close, cobblestones, that great voice

booming over them. Taviri was somewhere on the other side of the hall. She had

to get to him. She wormed and pushed her way among the dark-clothed, close

packed people. She did not hear the words, nor see the faces: only the

booming, and the bodies pressed one behind the other. She could not see

Taviri, she was too short. A broad black vested belly and chest loomed up

blocking her way. She must get through to Taviri. Sweating, she jabbed

fiercely with her fist. It was like hitting stones, he did not move at all,

but the huge lungs let out right over her head a prodigious noise, a bellow.

She cowered. Then she understood that the bellow had not been at her. Others

were shouting. The speaker had said something, something fine about taxes or

shadows. Thrilled, she joined the shouting-"Yes! Yes! "-and shoving on, came

out easily into the open expanse of the Regimental Drill Field in Parheo.

Overhead the evening sky lay deep and colorless, and all around her nodded the

tall weeds with dry, white, close-floreted heads. She had never known what

they were called. The flowers nodded above her head, swaying in the wind that

always blew across the fields in the dusk. She ran among them, and they

whipped lithe aside and stood up again swaying, silent. Taviri stood among the

tall weeds in his good suit, the dark gray one that made him look like a

professor or a playact or, harshly elegant.

He did not look happy, but he was laughing, and saying some-:: thing to her.

The sound of his voice made her cry, and she reached out to catch hold of his

hand, but she did not stop, quite. She could not stop. "Oh, Taviri," she said,

"it's just on there!". The queer sweet smell of the white weeds was heavy as

she went` on. There were thorns, tangles underfoot, there were slopes.' pits.

She feared to fall . . . she stopped.

Sun, bright morning-glare, straight in the eyes, relentless.

She had forgotten to pull the blind last night. She turned her back. on the

sun, but the right side wasn't comfortable. No use. Day.

She sighed twice, sat up, got her legs over the edge of the bed,; and sat

hunched in her nightdress looking down at her feet.

The toes, compressed by a lifetime of cheap shoes, we almost square where they

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