***
The zipper on the flap of Susan Engen’s tent inched open, the clasp stealthily sliding for a few inches, and then stopping. A glance was given in both directions and when no one was seen, the zipper ripped through the rest of its course and the flap was thrown fiercely to one side. The male figure leapt through the aperture and the zipper was again torn shut. The sound of the booming footsteps receding into the distance telegraphed their story as clearly as if it were shouted from the roof top.
After a decent interval, the tent flap opened again and Susan emerged, walking unhurriedly into the hut. She went to the table where Jake was seated.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning,” he replied back to her before asking, “How are you feeling today?”
“I feel fine,” she said naturally, but she couldn’t help becoming defensive anyway. “How are you feeling?”
“Jilted,” he said, pathetically.
“Oh, good grief,” she said, while falling into the chair. “Already?”
By saying “already,” she meant that her secret was already being churned through the rumor mill. Jake shrugged and turned his palms upward, indicating that it was nothing less than what should have been expected, as well as pointing out that he was not to blame, all condensed into a single gesture.
“Would you like me to prepare a scarlet letter for your parka?” he asked.
“This isn’t funny,” she said forcefully, her temper getting the better of her, even though she knew it was her own fault.
“Oh, but yes it is,” he said, a mischievous glint now lighting up his eyes.
“For you, maybe,” she said, “but I assure you it isn’t for me.”
The dichotomy that existed in her feelings was hard enough for her to explain to herself; it was hopeless to think about how others would perceive her. Here she had found someone who was representative of everything she opposed, yet who, as a man, she discovered to be warm, open, charming; and correctable where the politics of the environment were concerned. She sensed that she would be perceived as a hypocrite, and that was not a pleasing thought. She pondered upon that image for a moment.
“Not a word,” she said. “To anyone.”
“Darling,” Jake told her, “I think that particular cat is already very much out of that particular bag.”
“Maybe not. Maybe you’re the only one with a mind that leaps to such conclusions.”
He shrugged again, sighing.
“First, you make me a cuckold, and then you enlist me to help keep your secret. What kind of woman are you?” he asked, clearly enjoying the moment.
“The kind that will throttle you if she finds you spreading gossip - that’s what kind.” Conflicted or not, she was not about to lose her inexorable sense of purpose, even when she was on uncertain ground.
“Couldn’t you have dumped me for someone a little less conspicuously from the other side? You could end up tarred and feathered, as well as having to wear the mark,” Jake said, persisting in driving home the dual message of his somehow being an injured party and highlighting her treason to her own cause.
“He’s not on another side,” she said, disputing her own argument in order to defend her new found lover. “He doesn’t want this, either.”
“I see,” Jake said, judiciously. “What other revelations have you had during the night?”
“Nothing that needs to be explained to you,” she said, putting the proper exclamation point where it belonged in reestablishing the unequal nature of their relationship. She didn’t really feel that way; and she didn’t fool him for an instant, but by creating a diversion, she was able to retreat far enough to make a space where she could regroup her mental forces and prepare a new strategy for moving forward.
“Very well then, Doctor,” Jake said. “I await your orders.”