“Oh, there you are,” he recovered, and slid the book under his arm. “Now are you ready for hiking, Miss Brier?”
“Yes,” she said, and put out her foot again so he could see she was wearing hiking boots.
“Ah. Good.”
He held the door open for her as they went outside. Then he saw Donna coming, and his tone changed. “Rose, wait here.”
He strode up to Donna, who looked as though she wanted to avoid him. But he held out the literature book to her. “Is this yours?”
She glanced swiftly down. “Where was it?”
“On the coffee table in there,” he indicated the lounge behind him.
“Probably. Why? Is it a crime to leave books lying around?” She put out her hand for it.
He tossed it into her hands, but his face was cold. “I’m seeing the dean about you tomorrow.”
She grew angry. “Why? What have I done?”
“Nothing, yet. And I want to make sure it stays that way.” You understand me?” He pulled out the piece of paper and showed it to her.
She seemed to turn gray. He replaced the paper in his pocket, and strode away from her towards Rose, who had retreated to a far corner of the portico. “Let’s go,” he said to her briefly, and she seemed eager to leave.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” He wasn’t going to tell her.
“Fish, you really scared her.”
“I hope I did,” he said evenly. “I meant to.”
She followed him silently up the hill. He was angry, and needed to work out his anger in silence. Rose seemed to understand, and kept quiet.
It was a good quarter hour before Fish’s mood lightened enough for him to start a conversation. During that time, Rose kept pace with him, and seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.
They walked together, and talked of light things, but Fish, who still wasn’t sure how to communicate his unpleasant news, found that he couldn’t find any way to begin.
They paused by the rise of a hill, looking down over the cliffs to the valley below.
He started by bringing up a subject that had been bothering him for a while. “Rose, you didn’t mention our conversation in the car to anyone, did you?”
She looked over at him, her eyes glinting with a touch of green. “Fish, I wouldn’t.”
He felt a touch of relief. “Good. Please don’t.”
“Consider it in my memory locked,” she said.
“And only I shall keep the key of it,” he finished the quotation. “Good. That’s what I was hoping you would say.”
“Did you want to talk to me about that?” she queried.
“In a way,” he said, looking at the twisted trunk of a tree clinging precariously to the side of the rocky slope. “I got a call from my lawyer’s office last night at the dance,” he said. “They told me that Mr. Freet is dead. From a heart attack.”
There was a silence between them. After a moment, he felt something brush against his hand, and realized she was trying to hold his hand. It wasn’t quite the right gesture for the moment, but he let her take it. Inside, he was remote from any real feelings.
“You know, I’m glad he wasn’t on death row, despite everything he did,” Rose said softly.
He hadn’t considered this before, but now he could recognize the difference. “You’re saying it would have been completely different to have heard that he died from being executed?”
“Yes.”
“You’re right. It would have been. I guess I’m glad that he died in God’s time, not man’s.”
“I wonder where he is now?”
Fish didn’t want to comment. “Who knows? I suppose you and I should still pray for his soul.”
“I have been. Fish, how do you feel?”
He scratched his nose, using the gesture to take his hand out of hers. “Safer,” he said, and couldn’t help smiling at his word.
“Were you still afraid of him?”
“No. Not really. Not in that way. It wasn’t as though I was afraid he would escape from prison and hunt me down. He knew he wouldn’t need to, first of all.”
He turned away from the cliff and walked on the trail. Rose fell into step beside him.
“What do you mean?”
“Because.” He had told her once before, and he wasn’t going to tell her again. Now he was recovering some feeling in his psyche, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. He changed the topic slightly. “He always said I was just like him.”
“Because you look alike?”
“Do we?” he paused and looked at her. “Do you really think that?”
She was silent for a moment, her eyes looking over his face. “No,” she said. “Your eyes are different. You have a different kind of soul than he did.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. I think, if we could see ourselves as we really are, in true reality, you would be able to see the difference between you and him more sharply.”
“Thank you,” he said at last, and turned away to continue down the rocky slope.
They drew to a stop at the rise of a hill, paused by another breathtaking view. His emotions were churning inside him again, but this time, the better feelings were winning out, buoyed up unexpectedly by Rose’s words. Suddenly, he thought that this might be the moment for him to tell her…what? That he had a recent change of heart toward her? There was a silence between them that seemed to be his cue, but again, he couldn’t think of how to begin. Or even of what to say. What did he want to say? Why couldn’t he be direct with her about what was going on in his heart? What was his problem? A word emerged from the turmoil, jeering. Impotent.
Irritably, he shut himself off from the turbulence, cutting short all feelings in the process, leaving him cold and wooden. He wasn’t angry with Rose, but he was sensible enough to realize that if there was ever a time to tell Rose how he was feeling, this was not it.
She glanced over at him, and smiled a bit sadly, and his self-dislike momentarily died down. It wouldn’t be fair to her, he told himself. If I can’t follow through, I shouldn’t say or do anything.
“It’s good to get some exercise, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes, it’s invigorating.”
The moment had died silently between them.
“Should I walk you back?” he asked.
“We can go down this way to get back, I think,” she said. “It goes into a valley and comes up by the back of the cafeteria.”
“All right, let’s go,” he said lightly.
The forest headed down into a thickly wooded valley that seemed to have been formed by a stream. But at the bottom was only sticky mud covered by leaves, no water.
“Careful of snakes,” he said, taking her hand to help her over a log.
“Were you ever bitten by a snake?” she asked.
“No.”
“I almost was, once. When I was about seven. I was walking in the woods, like this, and all of a sudden, I saw this thin brown snake, all coiled up, looking at me. I wasn’t scared at all, and just looked at it. I think I was even going to try and pick it up. And then the next thing I knew, my dad had grabbed me by the shoulders and swung me up into his arms and jumped back. He told me it was actually a very poisonous snake. I wish I could remember what it was called, but I’d recognize it if I saw it again.”
“What did it look like?”
“It was long and thin and brown, like a rope.”
“I don’t know much about snakes myself. Comes from living in the city.” He leapt over some branches lying across the path. “So how are your studies going?”
“Very good. I have to do this research paper for bioethics. I hope to get a lot of that done on this upcoming three-day weekend. Fish, do you ever get odd feelings?”
He had to laugh at her abrupt change of subject. “Do you?”
“Recently, I’ve been getting them a lot. I wonder if it’s just aftermath from that Donna episode.”
An episode which was still ongoing, he
thought, thinking of the paper in his pocket. But he didn’t tell her that. He had to talk to the dean. “Describe your feelings, Ms. Brier,” he directed in his best Freudian accent.
“Oh, it’s just an occasional feeling as though I’m in some kind of danger. Like I felt just now, sensing there’s a serpent in the grass nearby.”
Now he felt a tremor in his own spine. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, we were just talking about snakes.”
“Well, Rose, I’m not saying I want you to be paranoid, but I advise you to give some weight to these feelings and exercise a bit more caution than usual. At least for my sake. Okay?”
“Fish—can I ask you something?” she had put her head to one side, and he recognized the familiar look in her eyes.
“No,” he said simply. “You can’t.”
He didn’t want to say anything, and he didn’t want her to go out on a limb and risk getting hurt by asking him.
Picking up his stride, he called over his shoulder. “By the way, when do you have to get back for the play?”
“Too soon!” she leapt forward, suddenly jolted. “I’d better hurry! I forgot it’s a matinee.”
“Do you need to go back to your room for anything?”
“No. We can go right up to the theatre. Can you stay for the show?”
“I’m planning on it.” He wanted to track down the dean, too.
Hers
It was the most unusual mood in which to begin a tragic play. Here she was, about to embark on the horrible end of her character’s life, and she was pulsing with happiness.
She recognized clearly that Kateri’s proof had not transpired: Fish had not said anything, and had not let her ask him. Or “Ben,” as he had introduced himself to Alex. Did Fish prefer being called Ben? She should ask him sometime.
But something is going on, she thought to herself as she got into her costume and tried sporadically to “get into character.” Blanche sensed it. At least Cordelia was happy for the first part of the first scene.
Just think of all the things that could still go wrong, she urged her jubilant psyche. Act as though it will go wrong, and you’ll find the feelings to play Cordelia properly.
Well, that should be easy enough. The world was still a turbulent and uncertain place. And there were serpents.
But serpents still make the world a place for adventures, Rose reminded herself.
Fish didn’t come up during intermission, or afterwards. She kept wondering to herself where he was. As usual, after the performance, several well-wishers from the audience came up. Paul Fester came up, beaming at her. “Hey Rose, my kid sister, Annie, came to see your play and loved it!” He had a short girl under his arm, who had the same kid’s smile and sparkling eyes.
“I’m so glad you liked it!” said Rose, amazed at the family resemblance.
“Actually I thought it was pretty sad,” the girl said, nodding her head. “But I liked your character!”
“Thanks—I did too,” Rose said, hoping she didn’t sound too silly.
Then she saw him—the thin figure with the light brown hair and the purposeful stride coming up to her. Her heart bounced inside her, and she forgot momentarily what she had been saying. She glanced back at Paul and his sister. (What was her name?) “Are you here long?” she tried asking.
“I’m going home today. Paul’s staying here for the break, so I came down to visit since our family won’t see him.”
“Great. I hope you had a good time,” Rose searched for words. “Maybe I’ll see you in the cafeteria at dinner?”
“Yeah, we’ll see you around,” Paul said. Did she detect the barest hint of disappointment in his eyes? She felt awful.
There were still more people to greet, but at least Fish was there, leaning against the wall, waiting, his eyes fixed on some point above the ground.
When everyone had dispersed, he came up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her apart. Conscious of his hand, she said, “What’s up?”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back here. I was talking with Dr. Dawson during the play. He introduced me to the dean, who was also at the play, and we had a conversation about Donna. Look, Rose, I just want you to be careful around her, still, okay?”
“Sure,” she said, perplexed. He was back in bodyguard mode. As usual, she felt a pit in her stomach. “Why are you so worried?”
“Maybe it has something to do with your talk about serpents. I’m just acting on my concern, even if I don’t know for sure what it is.”
“Well, I guess I’ll go up and change,” she said. The play was over. The last performance. For a tragedy, it seemed to be having a fairly happy ending.
“I’ve got to get back to the university, but I’ll walk you home first,” he said. He seemed preoccupied.
“All right,” she said with a sigh, and walked upstairs to change into her ordinary clothes.
HIS
Fish drove home that night, feeling relieved by his conversation with the dean. Once Fish had shown him Donna’s note and told him of their encounter, he agreed with Fish that the situation could turn into something serious. “I’ll have her in my office tomorrow,” he had assured Fish.
Hopefully to expel her immediately, Fish thought fiercely. He understood the need to give people the benefit of the doubt, but in some cases, it just wasn’t prudent.
As for his relationship with Rose—well, it was clear he still didn’t have his act together. He had the uneasy feeling he had raised Rose’s hopes—if she still had hopes for him. Once again, he told himself, the fundamental doubt. Right now it would be far easier to wrap himself back up in his academic career.
12
...But though princes pressed for her hand, she chose none of them. Then the next day she felt in a wandering mood...
HIS
After an insanely hectic week, on Friday evening Fish received a call from the dean, who told him the meeting with Donna had seemed productive. She had admitted to writing the note and seemed to understand the gravity of the situation in light of her previous actions. Her father had come up to get her for the three-day weekend, so the dean had a chance to speak with him, too. The father told him that Donna had been put back on medication for depression, and that he and his wife would be watching her closely.
Fish expressed his strong disappointment that more disciplinary action hadn’t been taken, but thanked the dean for his trouble. Still wary, Fish drummed his fingers on his desktop. He decided to call Rose, just to see how she was.
Rose answered the phone on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me.”
“Hi Fish,” she said, her voice picking up. “Nice to hear another human voice!”
“Why, is everyone gone?”
“It’s practically deserted here,” she admitted. “All my friends have gone home. It’s almost scary walking around here.”
He didn’t particularly like that scenario. “Have you been nervous?”
“Well, not really,” she said. “It’s been a quiet day. I got a chance to spend some time in the chapel and the library. But mostly I’ve just been cleaning lavatories. For custodial. That’s my job.”
“Sounds refreshing.”
“It is, in a way. I’m all for manual labor, to a certain extent. It’s a good change from mental work. So—what are you up to this weekend?”
“Working on a paper, of course,” he said with a sigh. “The biggest one of the semester.”
“I’ve got one too. What is yours on?”
“John Keats. I had to choose a long poem of his and compare it with the work of the other Romantics. Not one of my favorite poets, but he did write an occasional really good verse.”
“I love the ‘Eve of St. Agnes,’” Rose said.
“Do you?” he asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “That’s the one I picked. It’s one of my favorites, too. Very sad, though. One hopes for a happier ending than that—if you follow the interpretation that the
lovers die in the storm at the end.”
“Or a happier ending than Keats himself had—dying of consumption before he could marry the love of his life,” Rose said with a sigh. “Why is it that unrequited love always seems more serious and more real than...well, than ‘requited’ love?”
“I’m not sure,” Fish said. “Probably because of this fallen world we live in. Too many stories in real life end with tragedy—or at least with lonely struggles in the dark and silent crucifixions. So tragedy sounds like reality to us. Comedy always seems a bit artificial.”
“It’s not artificial, Fish, it’s supernatural,” Rose said. “At least, that’s what Professor Dawson says. It points to heaven.”
“Interesting,” Fish said, “particularly that a theology professor would have something to say about literature.”
“That’s what I like about this place—all the different subjects are kind of mixed up with each other,” Rose said. “It’s neat.”
“Glad to hear it,” Fish said, rubbing his neck. “So what are you doing?”
“My big medical ethics paper I’ve got to do interviews for. I’m scheduled to go see a doctor tomorrow, and then I have to figure out someone else I can interview. So that will occupy me most of the day.”
“Would you want to do something tomorrow night?” He almost couldn’t help himself.
“I would really like that.”
“Good. Give me a call tomorrow afternoon and we’ll talk. Call me if you get bored, or for any reason whatsoever, okay?”
“Okay.”
Hers
Hanging up, Rose felt buoyant. A sort-of date with Fish, for the first time. Still no Katerian proof, but this was hopeful, wasn’t it? At least he wanted to be friends with her. But in the meantime, she had something less pleasant to do. There were only a few students staying here over break, which meant she was very limited in her ability to get a car to go out for the interview tomorrow. She had been invited out to a facility for comatose patients and felt she really shouldn’t pass up the opportunity.
Bracing herself, she dialed a number she knew far too well.