Firefly. Part 32

"I seem to have dropped something," he remarked, stooping to pick up his shorts and trousers. Then, as they continued their nonessential dialogue, he dressed, and stepped out of the enclosure, seemingly unchanged from the way he had entered it.

She cleaned herself and donned her own clothing. She was amazed at the aplomb with which they had carried it off, holding a dull conversation for the camera while interacting in a far more intimate manner below. What an exciting realm this was!

Then Standish brought her to his kitchen, where he cooked her a wonderful meal, for his artistic hands could mold a banquet as readily as clay. They ate and talked, and she loved him too, as she had the others, and it was the culmination of the whole of her dream.

He took her home. "I don't know how to thank you," she said. "You have made me feel so-so much like what I never was. Even if it is just for the prize, you were wonderful to me."

"It started for the prize," he said. "Now you are the prize. I did not know before why I never married; now I know I was waiting for you."

She smiled at him, but again her tears were coursing down her cheeks. "Thank you for the most wonderful date," she said.

"Whatever pleasure you have had in it, I have shared," he said. "This matter is not ended."

How much she wished that were true!

The three dates were broadcast, and the audience thrilled to these rather decorous episodes as if something much more interesting were happening. Folk wondered what the two had done, in their silence of visitation in Baird's suite, and they discovered something mysteriously suggestive about the way Chloe sat on Nahshon's lap in the park, and in the way Standish approached her when she was nude behind the screen. Everything was innocent, of course, yet spectators found themselves excited. What strange quality was there in these dates?

The response was tremendous, and Acme Korn Pops became a major contender in the supermarkets as people sent in their stars. Then came the day of decision: the presentation of the three tokens, and the speaking of Chloe's secret, for a million dollars. The meters showed a tremendous viewership for that live program.

Baird was first. His group was there, and it struck up the music. Then he sang the song he had made: "Chloe." It was a love song so true that it excited pa.s.sionate emotion in every person hearing it. All knew that it would top the charts for a long time; indeed, it was to become one of the all-time favorites of the current generation. For it was not just a love song, it was a proposal, and such was its power that in the ensuing weeks it triggered more engagements than had been known in any similar period before. It was truly the ultimate work of musical love. No one needed to inquire; all knew that it was Baird's proposal to Chloe, and girlish tears flowed even as the young women echoed the melody, for they knew that Baird was off the market.

Then Nahshon read his poem, "Chloe," and it was a work of such feeling and sensitivity that all who heard it in the studio audience and the television audience and the endlessly expanding rebroadcast audience were transported. It became an instant cla.s.sic, and Nahshon won the n.o.bel prize for literature on the strength of it, by acclamation; there were no other contenders. He, too, loved Chloe, and meant to marry her. This did not seem incongruous, in this situation; half the men in the audience, including many who had never seen her in the broadcasts, wanted to marry her too.

Finally Standish unveiled his sculpture, "Chloe." There was a gasp of awe as all beheld what was to become known as Venus II: the definitive representation of contemporary woman, and the statue of the age. It evoked joy and tears at once, and folk could not gaze steadily at it because their pa.s.sions overwhelmed them. Copies of it were soon to grace parks all over the world, and each would gather its separate daily audience, as people simply stood and gazed as long as they were able before the tears of intensifying emotion clouded their vision. He, too, loved Chloe; no one could doubt.

Now came the moment for which all had been waiting: who had fathomed Chloe's secret, to win the prize? What was that secret?

All three men shook their heads. After a moment Nahshon stepped forward, as tacit spokesman. "I believe I speak for us all," he said. "We do not know what secret you intended, but we have found the secret meaningful to us. Chloe is the woman each of us can truly love in every way, from the divine to the erotic, and we want to marry her and be with her forever. Nothing else matters. Do with your prize what you wish. Only let Chloe come forward now and choose between us."

The others nodded; it was the way they felt. Indeed, the three men had come to a deep mutual respect, each appreciating both the art and the taste in women of the others. There was no rivalry between them, only a shared longing.

There was a pause. The program moderator was handed an envelope. He had not been advised of the secret; now he would read it out. Then Chloe herself would appear, to confirm it and to make her choice of men.

But he didn't read it. He stood there, frowning.

The studio audience became impatient. A chant started and gained volume. "Chloe! Chloe! Chloe! Chloe!"

Finally the moderator shook his head and took the mike. The chant stilled.

"I want to say that I did not know this," the moderator said. "It comes as much of a surprise to me as it will to you. Frankly, I think someone has shown abysmal judgment, but it is my job to read this to you, and I shall do so."

What was going on? The audience was absolutely quiet.

"Chloe's secret was that she had a terminal ailment," he read. "A tumor on the brain stem, inoperable, and extremely painful. Only a nerve block enabled her to function normally. At the time of the dates she had only ten days left to function as a human being; thereafter she would be confined to the hospital, in intensive care, and would die within weeks. Instead of that, she elected to expend her last physical resources having the time of her life, and then to undertake euthanasia, making her death quick and clean."

The members of the studio audience maintained horrified silence.

After a moment he returned to the paper. "She left her regrets for the three fine men she dated. She loved each, and each made her happier than she had ever been in her life. She felt terrible guilt for the secret she could not tell them. Had she known that they were going to take the dates seriously, she would not have gone through with it. She had thought they would only pretend, and she would have been happy with that. Instead they gave her far more than she expected or deserved, and she leaves her most abject apology to them for the horror she inadvertently brought them into."

He looked up. "Chloe died yesterday."

There was a kind of low moan from the studio audience. The three men stared at each other, the shock of utter loss making masks of their faces.

"Her secret was death," Baird said, stunned.

"We fell in love with death," Standish agreed.

"We are all depressives, as truly creative people tend to be," Nahshon said. "We recognized that essential quality in her, and it transcended all else. She was the essence of what we all most deeply fear yet crave."

Then they left the stage, and the program was over. No one was interested in the money anymore. Sales of Acme Korn Pops plummeted, for now they reminded buyers of death.

The three great men did not die, but neither did they do any more significant creation. Their tokens for Chloe represented the pinnacles of their careers, and the terminations of them. They had no further interest in worldly things. They remained fast and melancholy friends for the rest of their lives, and faded into obscurity.

* 37 - GEODE THOUGHT ABOUT the story of Chloe as he lay beside Jade in the dark. It was a story of love and s.e.x and death. All her stories seemed to be of that nature. none, who had lost her false husband and sought death. The Little Mermaid, who had never had a fair chance at her beloved. Teensa and the Bad n.o.ble-that one hadn't had the main characters die, but it had flirted with it. Eve, who hadn't died unnaturally, but who had revolutionized human s.e.xuality and was long dead. Nymph, whose childhood lover had died. Now Chloe, the epitome of those themes.

Jade was obsessed with s.e.x and death, and she defined love in those terms. Those who loved most truly died. It didn't matter what she called herself, her obsession remained. That might be why she was convinced she would die.

But she was the only woman who had ever taken more than a brief interest in him. He did love her, and he believed she loved him. He thought he could be potent with her. He felt the stirrings in his groin. But if he was, and consummated their relationship, what would remain between her and death?

He wasn't sure, and for that reason he wasn't eager to try s.e.x again.

Success might be worse than failure-if it meant she would no longer be with him.

"What are you thinking, Geode?" she asked.

Was he going to lie to her? No, he couldn't do that. "I think you think that any man with whom you share love is doomed to die, or if he isn't, you are. If I share love with you, you may die."

"Yes," she breathed, and he felt a hot tear drop on him.

"I don't want you to die. I'd rather not have s.e.x, if that keeps you with me."

"That's sweet, Geode."

He caught her arm, and brought her down with him. She came down gladly; she liked it when he was able to a.s.sert himself with her, however innocently. Embraced, they slept.

In the morning, not waiting for routine matters, they set out on the rounds. It was more fun to see the dawn, Jade pointed out, and he was satisfied to do it. So by seven o'clock they started out. Geode ran, with Jade on the bicycle.

It was overcast, after the rains. Hundreds of nighthawks were flying low over the trees, going east, evidently questing through a layer of flying bugs. Then, above them, a ragged V formation of about twenty gooselike birds flew north.

"Oh, what are those?" she asked.

"Cattle egrets. Usually I see them moving one at a time, going to their day's a.s.signments."

"a.s.signments?"

"They land near horses or cows, and eat the flies that cl.u.s.ter around them. They are good friends to cattle. They came here from Europe a generation or two ago, so some bird books don't list them, but no one wants them to go home."

"How nice," she said, swerving as a rabbit dashed across the road in front of her. It didn't hop, it ran somewhat in the fashion of a horse galloping: the two front feet, then the two hind feet together.

They moved off the paved road to the trail, going north. "Do you think the firefly is out?" she asked.

"The monster? Tonight."

"Yes, it's its time. But it must travel before it feeds. I wonder if it carries its smell along with it."

"Some, maybe. But it must save it for when it gets close to its prey."

"I think I smelled a whiff."

He paused, and she stopped the bicycle and stood beside him. "Here?" he asked, concerned.

"I'm not sure. Maybe I just wanted to."

"Wanted to? But the firefly kills people!"

"But what a way to go!"

He shook his head, horrified by the notion. "Cyrano will get it. We'll check in on him soon."

She laid down the bike. "I am afraid of what will happen. Geode, can you do it now?"

"Do what?"

For answer, she clutched him to her and kissed him ardently. Her body pressed tightly against him. "No one knows what will happen," she said. "Tomorrow may be too late."

She wanted s.e.x, now. "I-don't want you to die," he protested.

"I think I will die if you don't."

That disturbed him. She would die if he didn't die-or if he didn't succeed in having s.e.x with her? He didn't care to get that clarified.

"Jade, I want to. But you know I have to do it myself."

"Yes, and I shouldn't push, I know it! But I am like Chloe, I don't have a lot of time. Please, Geode, love me now!"

Geode had always known that he was not like other men; it was the major reason for his isolation. Now he knew that Jade was not like other women. Her change of names had not abated her preoccupation with death, it had accelerated it. What was he to do?

"Tell me a story," he said. "When it ends-"

"Yes, you're right!" she agreed eagerly.

"But not about death."

"Oh." She seemed out of sorts, but did not object.

They resumed their travel, and she spoke as she rode. "There was an old maid who lived in a house on a large, bedraggled lot. When she was younger, she kept it up, but now she just let it slide.

"One day some neighbor's children wandered through. They spied an old shed at the back of the old maid's house, and went in. They did not realize that the main house was occupied; they were too young to know how long the old maid had lived there. Finding themselves in this fairly comfortable and private mini-house, they proceeded to 'play house.'

"But as it happened, that shed had once been used for a dog, long since dead, and because the old maid had worried about the welfare of the dog, she had installed a one-way mirror that enabled her to see into the shed from a darkened back room of the main house. In that manner she had been able to check on her pet without disturbing him. Both the mirror and the room had long been unused, but when the old maid heard the children in the shed, she went quietly to check. She cleaned the cobwebs off the mirror, and found that it still worked as well as ever; she could see clearly into the shed, without its occupants seeing into her darkened room. In fact, she had an excellent view.

"What she saw surprised her. The two children were male and female, about ten and nine years old, and, it seemed, of different families. Naturally curious about each other and the opposite s.e.x, they had decided to investigate. Thus the routine 'this is the stove, this is the chair, this is the food' (a pile of sand) had progressed to 'this is the bedroom, it is time to go to bed.' The boy had been getting bored with imagined furniture, but his interest was oddly restored when it came to the bedroom activity.

"The old maid watched as the little girl removed her clothes and lay down on the ancient straw mattress that was the play bed. The little boy took off his clothes and lay down beside her. 'No, you have to lie on top,' the girl said. So he lay on top of her, but it wasn't very comfortable for either of them. They compared notes, discussing what each had seen at one time or another, and concluded that he was supposed to put his thing into her, but first it had to be hard.

"He didn't know how to get it hard, but she had an idea. She stroked it with her hands, then licked it with her tongue. That worked; soon it was standing up. Then she spread her legs wide and he tried to put it in. It didn't work very well, and finally they gave it up as a bad job. They put their clothing back on and left the shed.

"The old maid sat in the dark room for some time, pondering. Then she fetched a small tube of lubricant intended for rectal thermometers and took it out to the shed. She left it on the straw bed. If the children returned on another day, she would be watching. For she realized that her dull life could become somewhat more interesting if she simply waited and watched and kept her mouth shut.

"And so it came to pa.s.s that on other days the children were more successful in their efforts to play house, and the old maid shared their secret without their knowing. Each had made the life of the other more interesting."

Geode, listening, realized that there was another theme which came into many of the stories: youth. Young girls having s.e.x, or even children having s.e.x with each other. Now that he had learned about Nymph, he understood why. But the notion of child s.e.x didn't turn him on. Also, all her stories were from the viewpoint of the girl. "Do you have a story about a man?"

"A man?" She considered that, as if it were an odd notion.

"And not about children."

Again she seemed a bit disgruntled, but didn't object. "I suppose I can try, but I don't know how it will turn out."

He jogged on, satisfied to find out.

"There was a man whose neighbor's house was sold. When the new family arrived, it turned out to be a woman and her two daughters, one about sixteen, the other about twelve. The woman was unloading things from their rented truck, and fussing, so the man went over to inquire whether he could offer any a.s.sistance. 'Yes,' she said. 'If you would be so kind as to carry my daughter to her room, that would be a big help.'

"He was taken aback. 'Carry your daughter? Can't she walk?'

" 'Not well. She has an illness of the nerves, and cannot walk well, especially when tired from a long trip like this. When she has had suitable rest, she will be able to move around her room without falling, and of course outside she can use crutches.'

"Now he understood. 'Of course I will carry her,' he agreed.

" 'Thank you. She is sitting on the front seat.'

"He walked around the truck to the cab, and there was the older daughter. She had fine brown-black hair and blue eyes and delicate features; she was a fair-looking girl in her adolescence. 'May I carry you to your room?' he inquired.

"She put her hands down on the seat and shifted her body somewhat so that she was able to turn her legs toward him. She wore some kind of a hospital robe, which fell open to reveal her rather shapely legs to the thighs. She reached out and put her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward into him.

" 'I don't know if this is the best way to-' he said. He had supposed he would get an arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees and carry her that way, but instead she was coming down on him vertically. He had no choice but to put his arms around her quickly, so that she would not fall to the ground. As she slid off the seat he caught her under the bottom, but he could not quite get around her to link his hands. She continued to slide down, and he had to grab her any way he could. This turned out to be on the b.u.t.tocks, one hand on each; he couldn't let go for fear of dropping her. The mounds he grasped were surprisingly full and soft; the girl had seemed not to be full-bosomed, but she was filling out below. To make it worse, her gown was falling open in the manner typical of its kind, and her back was bare. His fingers, groping for a better hold, closed on bare flesh.

"She circled her arms around his neck and clung tightly to him, her head beside his head, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing against his chest. He had been mistaken about her upper development; she was braless, so that her bosom was not standing out, but it was definitely there. She was the softest thing he had handled in a long time! He found himself reacting, for though his mind knew that he was merely carrying her to her room, his body only knew that a very fine and shapely body was plastered to his own.

"He turned, leaning back to get her full weight on him, keeping his balance, and stumbled forward toward the house. But with each step he took, her body slid down a touch, and he couldn't prevent it. 'Maybe if you grip me with your knees, you won't slide down so much,' he gasped. 'Can you do that?'

"Her knees tightened against his sides; she was doing it. But still she slid, and he realized with distress that her slowly descending body was now carrying with it his trousers. He wore no belt, preferring elastic around the waist, and this elastic gave way readily to the pressure. He was in the process of being depanted!