With a Tangled Skein

  “Uh, yes,” Niobe agreed faintly.

  “Cedric worships the ground you tread, and I am not certain I mean that figuratively. If you had sent him to business school, he would have become in due course a tycoon. What a loss that would have been for science and magic! You turned him instead to the wetlands—” He shook his head, then impulsively reached out to take her hand, lift it to his lips, and kiss it. “My most abiding gratitude, Mrs. Kaftan. If there is ever any favor you require of me, do not hesitate to ask.”

  She found herself back outside in the sun, dazed. No wonder Cedric was doing well; the Prof was an amazing catalyst. Probably he treated everyone like that, turning each student on. Still, he had had no need to call Cedric brilliant unless it was true. She had known Cedric was smart; apparently she had underestimated him. The college environment had evidently brought out the best in him.

  Cedric finished his class and rejoined her. He was still a tousle-headed youngster under his banded cap, but now she fancied she could see the smartness in him, radiating out from his head. She remembered the magic of his music. Yes, there was definitely more to him than youth! But again, in her private presence, he became shy and awkward. “I—it’s great to see you, Niobe,” he said.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Well, I will need to check your wardrobe,” she said. “I’m sure your clothing is wearing out and will need attention.” Which was not at all what she wanted to say and, indeed, fell comfortably into the major category of Things Never to Be Said, because she was being motherly. But she couldn’t even conceive of, let alone formulate, what she might have intended to say. The Profs remarks had colored her perspective, and she had not yet completed her readjustment. She liked to keep things orderly, like threads in a tapestry, and hated it when a thread broke. But mending a thread was a special process, requiring time and consideration.

  “Uh, sure,” he agreed somewhat lamely. “You always take good care of me.”

  Damn it! she thought furiously. She had definitely done it again, putting him in the junior role. How could he ever become a true husband this way?

  So she wended her way home, bearing a burden of tangled feelings greater than before. She might be an expert weaver of ornamental tapestries, but she was plainly inadequate in marriage. She had expected to marry a more experienced man and just wasn’t competent to educate a younger one in the necessary way. If only there were a college course in—

  She halted that thought in place. No, she certainly didn’t want Cedric taking that kind of course! Not with those colleens! Marriage was a private thing.

  The winter passed somewhat bleakly, and when the ice melted from the surface of the swamp, she proceeded again to the college. This time the students were out in force, enjoying the first genuinely nice day in some time. Some of the more voluptuous girls were in very brief outfits for sunning, and the youths were in shorts. Niobe, conscious of the flattery of the Prof last time, and not wishing to be taken for a college girl, had garbed herself this time in very conservative fashion. She wore an old-fashioned long skirt her mother had outgrown, and a figure-de-emphasizing jacket. Her hair was severely bound back in a bun, she wore no makeup, and She had button-down boots. She felt quite dowdy.

  She checked Cedric’s room, but he was not there, and she wasn’t sure what class he might be in at the moment. So she sat on a bench near the dormitory and waited for his return, taking advantage of the time to do some knitting. She was good at that too; in fact she was adept at any type of yarn manipulation. It really was pleasant enough here, and of course she had arrived early; he wouldn’t be expecting her for perhaps another hour.

  Several college youths came walking along the path. They had evidently been drinking; in fact one still carried a bottle of red wine, half-finished. Niobe’s nose wrinkled; she detested wine of every type, ever since the disaster during the courtship. She was surprised and not pleased that its use was permitted on the campus. Was Cedric being subjected to bad influences?

  One of the youths paused as they passed her bench. “Say, who’s the old lady?” he demanded half-facetiously, staring at Niobe. She knew she looked older than the college girls, as was her intent, but he was exaggerating. He was the one with the bottle, showing signals of intoxication; as he paused, he lifted the bottle and took another swig. A driblet of pale red fluid ran down the side of his chin; then he lowered the bottle and burped.

  “Somebody’s mother,” another youth joked. Oh, that stung, for a private reason she would never let them know. “Hey, whose mother are you?” the first demanded.

  “No one’s,” Niobe replied primly. “I am Cedric’s wife.”

  “His wife!” the youth exclaimed. “He never let on he was robbing the retirement home! He always claimed his woman was beautiful!” And all four of them laughed coarsely.

  Niobe tried to ignore their gibes, hoping they would go away, but the wine gave them persistent insolence. They closed about her, their wine-soaked breaths fouling the air. “Please go away,” she said at last.

  “But we just got here!” the bottle-holder said. “And it’s our dorm! Come on, old lady, you gonna show us a good time?” He reached for her jacket and grabbed the lapel, yanking the front open so that a button popped off. “I’ll bet you got some good stuff hidden away in there!”

  Niobe jerked away and slapped his hand.

  “Hey!” he exclaimed as the others laughed. Then his mouth turned mean. “Hit me, will you? Well, how do you like this?” And he poured the red wine on her head.

  Niobe gave a cry of surprise and dismay and jumped up, trying to get away from the stream. But he caught her arm. “Beautiful woman, hell!” he said breathily. “You’re just a damned slut!”

  She kicked him in the shin and spun away, knowing it was not possible to reason with drunkenness. But one of the other youths caught her about the shoulders from behind and heaved her off the ground. A third grabbed her legs. “Come on, let’s see what she’s made of!” he cried. “Pull her skirt off!”

  Niobe struggled valiantly, drawing up her legs and then shoving, but the youths were too strong for her. They held her at shoulders and feet, and the bottle-wielder dropped the spent container and groped for her skirt, hauling it down over her legs so that her undergarments were exposed. “Say, she’s not so old!” he said, pausing to squeeze her left thigh.

  Niobe screamed, but it did no good. The youth jerked her skirt down to her ankles, and the one holding her feet let go of one so that the wadded skirt could pass around it. She tried to kick him, but he caught her ankle again and pushed it away, forcing her legs to spread. “Look at those legs!” he exclaimed.

  “Get her down on the ground,” the bottle-youth directed. “Hold her still, and we’ll take turns.” He licked his lips and loosened his belt.

  “Turns at what?” a new voice demanded.

  Niobe recognized it. “Cedric!” she cried.

  Indeed it was he, standing tall and dynamic as he flung away his jacket. “That is my wife,” he said, and it was as if a cloud crossed his face, turning his normally sunny expression pale and grim.

  No pretense was possible, at this stage. “Get him!” the bottle-youth cried.

  They dropped Niobe and turned as one to face Cedric. They closed on him from four sides, not so drunk as to give him any fair chance singly.

  “No!” she cried, knowing that Cedric could not possibly prevail against four. She tried to get up, but her feet got tangled in her skirt and she had to pause to get it on again. As she did, she watched with dread while the four attacked her husband.

  Two took hold of Cedric’s arms while a third drew back his fist and struck Cedric in the stomach. Niobe winced— but Cedric just grinned. “God, he’s like a damn rock!” the youth exclaimed, amazed.

  “Now you have had the first blow,” Cedric said. “I’ll have the last.”

  Suddenly Cedric brought his arms together in front of him, hauling the two in from the sides as if they were puppets. They
stumbled along, colliding with each other. Then he flung his arms out again, and they fell away on either side. Cedric was free.

  He stepped forward, his two fists swinging like sledgehammers. One connected to the gut of the youth who had struck him, and his stomach was more like mush than rock. He folded forward, the wind gushing out of him— just as Cedric’s other fist slammed into the side of his head. The youth’s hair flew wide and he staggered and fell, semiconscious.

  Cedric whirled and struck the bottle-youth on the chest. The air whooshed out of him, too, and he sank to his knees. But the remaining two had regained their feet and were charging in again.

  Cedric ducked down, caught one of them by arm and leg, lifted him on his shoulders, and hurled him into the other.

  As suddenly as it had begun, the fight was over. Cedric stood, his chest heaving, the muscles of his upper arms bulging; the four youths were spread in various ignominious attitudes about the lawn. Niobe was virtually spellbound, looking at him. Suddenly he seemed twice the size he had been before.

  Then he stepped across to help her up. “You all right, Niobe? I heard your scream and I got out of that class—”

  “Cedric—you never told me you could fight like that!”

  He shrugged. “You told me I’d be through with that.”

  Now she remembered. He had liked to fight. She had presumed it to be mere mischief. She looked around at the four. Some mischief! “Perhaps I spoke prematurely. Just what kind of fighting did you do?”

  “Well, I was bare-knucks champ of my district, junior division. But you were right; I had to put aside childish things when I got married.”

  “Childish things!” she echoed, shaking her head. In her spot memory she saw him again, shrugging off a solid blow to the stomach; saw the two youths almost jerked off their feet as he drew his arms together, then flung like rag dolls to the ground. Now she felt the amazing power of those arms, as he held her steady. She should have gotten the hint when he had shown her how to split wood, for his strength had been there then. “And I called you a bonnie boy!”

  Now a crowd was gathering, and the Prof she had talked to before appeared. “What happened here?”

  The bottle-youth struggled to his feet. “He set upon us!” he cried, pointing at Cedric. “For no reason!”

  Niobe’s mouth dropped open at the audacity of this lie. But she realized that there had been no witnesses to the initial part of this incident—just her and the four youths. The word of four against the word of one.

  “Shall we see?” the Prof inquired, as if unconcerned. He spied the bottle and picked it up, frowning. “Good— a drop remains. We shall invoke the water magic.”

  He brought out a little dish containing a film of mold, set it carefully on the ground, and upended the bottle over it. A driblet of wine descended into the dish.

  There was a pause. Then a reddish glow developed at the dish. It expanded rapidly, and there were roils of vapor in it, as the wine was vaporized in the magic pattern stimulated by the potent mold. An enchantment of water, certainly; Niobe was fascinated. She had known of such magic, but had never before actually observed it.

  “Move back, give room,” the Prof warned. “We do not want to interfere with the re-creation.”

  They all moved back, even the youths, who seemed to be completely intimidated by the Profs presence. The vapor diffused into the entire area, and stabilized, lending a reddish cast to the air. Then it swirled and coalesced into a ghostly image: a woman seated on the bench. “This is a ten-minute spell,” the Prof explained. “It should be enough.”

  “But I don’t think the wine was here yet,” Cedric said. “It had to have come with them.”

  “That is why the picture is fuzzy,” the Prof agreed. “You did not suppose my magic was vague, did you, lad? The wine was distant, but the magic is here; it is recreating a still scene until further definition is possible.”

  Several minutes passed. No one moved. All were absorbed by the promise of the water magic.

  Then, abruptly, the image brightened. The woman became Niobe, in color, though tinged with the red of the wine’s eye. The four youths barged into the scene, ghostly yet clear. The early stages of the molestation were reenacted. Niobe felt Cedric wince as the wine was poured over her figure’s head; he had the same bad associations that she did.

  “So this is your ‘no reason,’“ the Prof murmured, glancing at the youths.

  At the height of the struggle, Cedric entered the picture. Now, seeing him more objectively, Niobe was even more impressed with his demeanor. He had indeed been growing; he seemed inches taller than he had been the day of his marriage, and was now a young giant of a man. He was so handsome in his righteous anger that a nimbus seemed to surround him. Or was that the wine-haze?

  Niobe saw now that Cedric had actually invited them to grab his arms, and had deliberately accepted the first blow. She saw the youth who had struck him pull back, shaking his right hand as if it had been hurt. Then Cedric started to fight, and in moments it was over. Bare-knucks champ? Surely so!

  The scene ended and the vapor dissipated into invisibility. But the evidence was in. “Clean out your rooms,” the Prof directed the youths. “You will be discharged from this institution with prejudice; your illicit wine has condemned you.” They scrambled up and sheepishly departed.

  The Prof turned to Cedric. “You were intelligent to provide them the initiation of the combat; now there will be no question of abuse of your power. You were aware that folk of your prowess are enjoined from abusing it?”

  Cedric nodded soberly. “I knew I had cause, but if I killed anyone—”

  “You had cause, and you did not kill anyone,” the Prof agreed. “I commend you on your discretion. Now take your wife to the guest house; she is in need of cleaning and comfort.”

  Indeed, now that the threat was over, Niobe was suffering a reaction. She had almost been raped—and Cedric had been set upon by four men! Never before in her life had she been exposed to violence like this. She put her face in her hands, and discovered it wet with tears, reddened by wine. She tried to wipe them away, but they just got worse, and soon she was openly sobbing.

  Cedric picked her up and carried her to the guest house. She felt his arms like flexible steel, and his chest and stomach like iron; he was seventeen now, coming into the flush of his physical potential. Growing...

  She had locked in the image of a boy, and never observed the emerging man.

  He set her carefully down on the bed of the guest house. “I will fetch the nurse,” he said, concerned. “You are hurt.”

  But she clung to him. “Cedric, I need you!” she cried.

  “I love you!”

  He paused. “You’re upset, Niobe, with reason. A bath and some rest—”

  She drew him down, desperately. “I’ve been such a fool, and I reek of wine! Forgive me, Cedric!”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” he said gently. But he allowed himself to be brought down to her until he was lying beside her on the bed. “You have always been perfect, Niobe,” he added, murmuring into her ear.

  She rolled onto him, hugging him close. Her tear-wet lips found his and she kissed him with a passion that astonished her. Her breast was suffused with reaction and emotion; she could not get enough of him. He responded, as he had to, to the fire other desire, kissing her in return.

  Suddenly she laughed. Startled, he lifted his head to look at her questioningly.

  She sat up, reached for his shirt, and unbuttoned it. “There!” she said, smiling. “I have had the first blow.”

  Slowly he smiled. “But this is no fight.”

  “Isn’t it? We have been trying to do this for most of a year, and have always been defeated by our own reticence. Cedric, you have fought for me, most valiantly and effectively, and now you have won me. Take your spoils!”

  “Spoils!” he muttered wryly. “You are the woman I love.”

  “And you are the man I love!” she replied glad
ly. “I want to be yours—completely.”

  He kissed her. Then he undressed her. Her blouse was sticky with drying wine, and her hair was matted with it, but she knew better than to pause for even a minute to clean up. Now was the time to strike!

  Now Cedric looked at her body. She smiled and reached up to him. She knew that her reaction was no more important than his and that their physical interaction was only a portion of their emotional one. For the first time she truly desired him, and for the first time he believed he deserved her.

  Still, he was inexperienced, as was she. She helped him as much as she could without seeming aggressive and, when he hesitated, she held him and kissed him passionately; when he sought to come into her and found the way obscure and paused in confusion, she thrust herself at him and abated the obscurity herself. It hurt—but with the pain came an unutterable pleasure and a closeness she had never before known. “Cedric... Cedric...” she whispered, and gently bit his bare shoulder.

  Yet simultaneously she found herself in the bog, by the water oak, seeing it from three sides. From one side she viewed it with the freshness of youth and innocence, as if seeing it for the very first time. From another side she viewed it with the cynical eye of experience, understanding its nature and appreciating it for what it was. From the third side she viewed it with the significance of age. She had an endless memory of it in all its seasons, spun out into an eternal thread and wound about her distaff, the small staff on which her yarn was wound for spinning. She was aware of its entire history. Yet the three views were one, faceted, neither merged nor separated; all three views comprised the impression of the whole, like colors or contrasts. She understood that tree!

  Somehow, too, there was a fourth view, but shrouded, and she knew that it was one she never wanted to see, for it was completely horrible. Yet it, too, was part of the whole, the painful aspect of a generally positive reality.

  Then the moment of ultimate rapture passed, fading into a more general but pleasant awareness. She remained locked in Cedric’s embrace as the great tide ebbed. Impulsively, she kissed him again. “Now I am possessed,” she whispered. The word had a triple or quadruple layer of meaning, relating to property, sexual expression, and diabolical awareness. Her vision of the water oak seemed to have fragmented her consciousness, so that what had seemed simple now seemed marvelously complex.