But what of the house burning? The reports were that the hill-folk herdsmen had been in complete control of their livestock—until suddenly the stampede had occurred. It had happened because they had abruptly incited it, then pretended to be overwhelmed by it. It had evidently been a plot to generate a distraction so that they could then pillage the city. Of course they knew that the guards would soon make their appearance, so the effort was fast and limited; they had charged almost directly for the front gate, knowing that if it closed them in, all would be lost, especially their heads. It had been their fortune that there had been few guards in the vicinity at the time; the guard captain had given most of them leave to sample grog, expecting no trouble. And Huuo's house had been right along that exit line. They had pillaged it, without a doubt, and torched it, perhaps as a secondary distraction. But had it been chance that that particular house had been attacked, and so few others? The hill folk had been seen carrying away items from the house, shrouding them with drab cloth so as not to attract any more attention than they could afford. But there were wealthier houses in that vicinity. Had the raiders been unlucky in choosing a medium house instead of a rich one? Perhaps.
So Crystal kept following the news, trying to gain the exact identities of the hill folk, which was no easy task because they were neither Philistines nor Canaanites. And she continued to serve Huuo with utter loyalty. If she were ever able to complete the picture of his disaster, she would give him the information so that he could have the city guards make a punitive raid and execute the guilty hill folk. Vengeance wasn't as good as prevention, but it was better than nothing.
In the morning Huuo woke to find Scylla sitting beside him, fanning his somewhat fevered face. She was wearing a light smock whose filmy texture clung to her body, and her tresses hung loose around her shoulders. She was in dishabille, but was incidentally lovely.
“You need not take such trouble for my comfort,” he said, embarrassed. He had not realized that she would be with him in the house, and attending him like this; that was not the business of an unrelated Philistine woman.
“It is no trouble,” she murmured. “You are in need, and are a good man.”
At any other time, that might have seemed like an invitation. But of course it was innocent. “Thank you,” he said, and sat up. His head was logy, as if he had overimbibed, but he hadn't. He remembered the horror of the prior evening, but at the moment it was somewhat distant, as if there were a stone wall between him and it.
He got up and dressed. He didn't remember undressing during the night, but must have done so, for he was in night clothing. He used the lavatory, and emerged to find that Scylla had set breakfast for him.
“But you are no servant!” he protested. “Crystal will serve me, in due course.”
“She is out shopping,” Scylla said. “I told her to buy your favorites. You will need new clothing, too; you lost your wardrobe in the fire. She will see that you are provided for.”
“But I gave her no money.”
“I gave her some. Have no concern.”
“Then I must repay you.” He reached for his bag of gold pieces, which he had found undisturbed beside his bed.
“Please, no,” she said. “I am not entirely destitute. It pleases me to help you in your hour of need, as you helped me in mine. See, I am doing better now.” She held up her left hand. “I was able to prepare the food and to dress myself competently.”
He gazed at her. “Except for your hair,” he said. “I will braid it for you, if you wish.”
“There is no need, unless the sight of it undone distresses you.”
“By no means. My wife wore hers loose—” He was caught by a sudden choke, and could not continue.
Scylla turned away, sparing him the embarrassment of being seen in bad emotion. But in a moment he recovered. “Please, I should not eat alone. Join me, since you have done so much, so graciously.”
“As you wish,” she murmured, and fetched food for herself. She sat opposite him, and smiled as she ate. In any other circumstance, this would have been a pleasant interlude. He appreciated the manner she had relieved him of the burden of caring for himself during his distraction of grief; she was going well beyond the normal parameters of acquaintanceship, and perhaps even of friendship. If news of her presence alone with him in the house spread, her reputation would suffer, undeservedly. He would have to find a house of his own today, and spare her that.
Crystal appeared later in the day, bringing his favorite foods and new clothing made to his measure. He was now ready to go out about his business, but the thought of formally declaring his wife and children dead disturbed him, and he delayed. Scylla catered constantly to him, brushing off his attempted demurrals, repeating that she was happy to help a friend, and he argued the matter perhaps less than he should have. He still lacked ambition to get anything of substance done, and she made it easy for him to postpone it. He did at least manage to prevail on her to the extent of braiding her hair for her, and she thanked him warmly for the fine job. He felt guilty for closing his eyes and pretending that it was Annai's hair he caressed.
Somehow several days passed. He wasn't sure how it happened, but the calendar marks proved it. His grief remained intense, but was becoming less unbearable. Scylla diverted him with games of words and dice; she was surprisingly apt with the latter as they played for imaginary points. Once her robe fell open as she leaned forward during a throw, revealing her unbound breasts beneath; he could not help glancing. When she realized, she closed her robe more carefully, apologizing. “I still am imperfect, dressing myself with the other hand.”
Crystal, too, was attentive, trying to see to his comfort in every possible way a servant could. It was almost as if she wanted to be alone with him, surely for no untoward purpose, but was unable because of the constant presence of Scylla. Had he been more alert, he might have arranged a private dialogue; she was after all his servant, and the one he trusted most. But his distraction of grief prevented that.
Yet he knew he could not dally forever. He had to get out and find his own house, and see to the funeral arrangements. He wasn't sure he wanted to live, but he did want to send the spirits of his dear family on their way in proper order. So he would have to do what he dreaded: sift through the ashes of his former residence and find their bones, so that these could be buried with proper honor.
The problem was that this would also confirm absolutely that they were dead. He had been dreaming that they lived, deluding himself. Now he would have to end the delusion.
So he marshaled what mettle he had, and prepared for the inevitable. “Crystal, it is time for me to get the bones,” he said. “I must do right by those I have loved.”
“Of course, master,” she said, seeming almost eager. “I will help you.”
“But you shouldn't go out yet,” Scylla protested. “You are weak from your ordeal.”
He wavered, knowing that her reasoning was specious, but distinctly uneager to actually find those bones. “Still, it must be done, and only I can do it.”
“Maybe Crystal can facilitate the task,” Scylla suggested. “While only you can handle the bones, your loyal servant might locate them for you by poking with a rod. Then your chore will be simplified. You will not have to sift your fingers through all the ashes and dirt.”
“I could not ask—”
But Crystal surprised him by agreeing. “I will go and poke the ashes, master, and mark the places. I would not have you soil your hands needlessly. I can do that now, and return this afternoon, and show you exactly where.”
Again he knew he was being too weak, but his reluctance guided him. A few more hours of illusion. “If you would, dearest friend,” he said, relieved.
Crystal departed. Scylla did her best to cheer him. “You have not played your flutes since you returned,” she said brightly. “Perhaps you should practice.”
Normally he had played while Annai danced. That was another font of pain.
She
saw his reaction, and was immediately contrite. “I should not have suggested it. Is there anything I can do to ease your condition?”
He looked at her, becoming aware of their situation. He was seated on a couch, and she was kneeling before him, leaning forward. Her inefficiently tied robe was falling open again, so that he saw the rondure of both her breasts. Her loose hair curved down around her face before spreading across her shoulders. Her eyes were great and concerned.
Suddenly he wanted her. But immediately his rational self condemned the illicit urge. This was not his wife; this was another woman, whose concern for him allowed her to become careless. He had no business eying her body. “No, I think not,” he said. “You have been more than kind to me. It is time I stopped imposing on you and found my own residence.”
“I understand your sentiment,” she said. “But in truth, you have been no burden to me. Your wife was a most fortunate woman. I think I would have found it exceedingly dull and lonely in this house, were it not for you. Instead it has been a pleasure.” Then she paused as if struck by a new thought. “I wonder whether this house might be suitable for you? You know I am here to arrange its sale. It never occurred to me that you were a potential buyer.”
Huuo considered that, surprised. “It is true. This is a good house, and I do need one. It never occurred to me that you were catering to me in order to sell your house.”
She laughed, and her breasts shook, attracting his gaze again. “I should have used that as a pretext. But I simply wanted to help you when it was easy for me to do so, and the more I have been with you, the better I like you. Do you realize that with any other man I would have been afraid to sleep without a guard?”
“Oh, I would never—”
“And yet my respect for you is such that if you asked me, I would agree,” she continued. Then she flushed, prettily. “I just heard myself speaking. I should not have said that. I apologize.”
“I understand. You are a Philistine lady. You would never—”
“Oh, I would do it. I merely should not have spoken it.”
Because appearance was at times more important than reality. “Then I will forget it.” But if she had inadvertently spoken her true thought, he was speaking a false one, for he desired her again, more strongly, and knew he would not forget her words. His guilt for the thought might rage, but at this moment he wished he were free to clasp her evocative body.
“Perhaps you should look at other houses,” she said. “Or possibly visit the temple.”
The temple—where worship was accomplished by making sex to a lovely priestess. He wasn't ready for that either. “I'm not sure I need to do the one, and I don't wish to do the other,” he said. “I realize I am a drag on you. Go out about your business; I will wait until Crystal returns with news of the bones. I thank you for allowing me to stay here, and I will consider whether to buy this house.”
“As you wish,” she said. “I do have shopping to do.”
“And I must repay you for what you have already spent on my behalf,” he said, reaching for his purse.
“No, no,” she demurred. “I think I do not care to take any money from you. There could be an implication. I am enjoying your company so much, and you have been such a help in teaching me the way of the left hand.” She glanced down at herself. “Even if I do still dress sloppily,” she said, drawing her gown together.
He smiled. “I had hoped you wouldn't notice.”
She laughed again. “Do you mean that while I was trying to console you, you were looking at my body? I will take my robe off, if that will cheer you.” She opened it wide, baring her breasts. They were unbound marvels of symmetry, neither too slight nor too heavy.
“No, I would not ask that of you,” he said. “I had thought to leave you innocent, unaware of my glance.”
“A charming notion. You surely know that I am not innocent in any sense. But I thank you for the thought.” She closed her robe. “Do you know, I regretted missing the festival because of its special conventions. Not only does it honor our gods and rehearse our glorious history, it provides us opportunity and freedom to indulge in our delights without shame. Had I encountered you there—”
“There was already a girl. I turned her down. I just wanted to get home to—” He choked off again.
Scylla shook her head. “I keep trying to make you feel better, and I keep making you feel worse,” she complained, her lip trembling.
He reached forward to half embrace her. “No, no, no fault of yours! These memories come upon me by surprise. I understand your regret at missing the festival.”
She leaned against his knees, setting her head down on his legs. He felt the softness of her bosom as she breathed. “You are kind, Huuo.” Then she got up. “I must go shop. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“I think not. But I thank you.”
She went to her room, donned a street robe, and left the house. He lay back on the couch, resting, though it was not physical fatigue he felt. He realized that he needed to find diversions, because otherwise he simply dwelt on what could not be mended.
He did sleep, again, because again he dreamed. It was of little Minah running, her midnight hair flinging out behind her. Perhaps it was her spirit, sending him this vision. If any spirit knew how to communicate, it would be hers.
Then Scylla was back with her supplies. “I hurried; there is a storm coming,” she said. “I found fresh fruits at the market, and rare pastry. Try this.” She held a piece of sweet bread out.
He reached for it without rising from the couch, but she dodged his hand and speared his mouth with it. He had to take it between his teeth or get it rubbed across his face. It was very tasty.
She proffered another, before he had finished chewing the first. This time he caught her wrist. She brought up her right hand, spied the bandage, and put it down again. But in the process she lost her balance, and fell into him. “Oh!” she cried as they both were pressed into the couch and against each other. She was on top, her torso on his, her left thigh caught between his thighs. Her hair was strewn half across his face.
“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “I shouldn't have grabbed you. I forgot that you are awkward while left-handed.”
“Never better,” she replied, lifting her head. “I didn't drop the pastry.” Her eyes flicked to her hand, which still clutched it. She made as if to feed it to him, but was prevented because his right hand still held her wrist.
There was something about the position or the situation. Her face was almost touching his. He lifted his head and kissed her mouth.
She kissed back. Then, as they broke, she stifled further dialogue by bringing her hand down to feed him more pastry. That was just as well, because his sudden guilt was threatening to overwhelm him.
There was a sound at the door. Scylla scrambled off him and wrenched herself into order as she went to see who it was. Huuo straightened back into a proper sitting position. It was becoming plain to him that not only did he desire the woman; she desired him. She was not and could never be Annai, but she was here, and his grief was muted while he was with her. Maybe the fall had not been completely accidental, on either side. Maybe he should simply divert himself with her and be done with it. He had to orient on his future existence and set aside what was lost in the past.
Yet neither could he let it go, yet. His emotions were unstable, veering wildly from one extreme to another. In one instant he wanted to die so he could rejoin his wife; in the next he was gazing at the body of another woman with desire. It was better to wait, lest he do what he regretted in the following instant.
Scylla came back, with Crystal. “The storm—” Crystal said. “I couldn't finish.”
“And you will have to hurry home now, or you will still be caught by it,” Scylla said. Indeed, the house was darkening, as if night were arriving early.
“Yes.” But Crystal lingered as if wanting to say something more. Then she changed her mind and walked to the door—just
as the storm struck.
The wind buffeted the house, seeming eager to carry the roof away. Rain beat against the wall. Thunder crackled sharply overhead.
“You can't go out in that,” Huuo said. “The spirits are really stirring.”
She had to agree. “I will go as soon as it passes.”
Scylla did not seem entirely pleased, but she handled the situation gracefully. “You are surely hungry, after your labor. Have some food.”
“Oh, no, I must not. I will wait by the door.”
Huuo saw that Crystal feared she was intruding on something. But he preferred to have her company, partly because of that. “No, eat and be with us. You would not have been caught here by the storm, had you not been doing me a favor.”
Reluctantly she yielded, and took the seat he indicated. With Annai she had never been so diffident, but of course this was not Annai's house.
Scylla brought out bread and berry jam, and they ate. It wasn't much, but this was an impromptu situation.
The storm did not pass. Scylla lit a lamp to brighten the room, but things remained awkward. Huuo had the impression that each woman would have preferred to be alone with him. Scylla, perhaps, wanted to pursue the interplay they had fallen into before the Canaanite's arrival. Crystal—he didn't know what was on her mind. But she wouldn't tell him in Scylla's presence.
“This is awkward,” he said. “Maybe we can do something together, to pass the time while we wait out the storm.”
Both women looked at him questioningly.
“Could we tell stories?” he asked, floundering.
“I am no storyteller,” Scylla said. “Are you?”
“I play music for historians, but I don't narrate myself,” Huuo admitted. Then he remembered something. “Crystal—once I heard you telling a rare tale to the children. What was it?”