“About what?” Joby pressed.
“Nothing. . . . It . . . nothing.” Suddenly, he knew that Joby wouldn’t . . . that he surely hadn’t . . . that he would think Benjamin a freak.
“Come on,” Joby insisted. “What were you going to say?”
Benjamin scrambled for some plausible substitution. “Do you ever think about the Roundtable?”
Joby looked back down at the damselflies, his clinical expression replaced by sullen embarrassment. “Course not,” he said. “I’m no kid anymore.”
Benjamin was surprised at Joby’s tone and at the depth of his own disappointment. Whole landscapes of memory stirred in Benjamin’s mind, awakening thoughts that had been dormant for years. “Do you still believe in that quest?” he asked. “You know . . . against the enemy?”
“What do you think?” Joby mumbled scornfully.
“I don’t know!” Benjamin said. “That’s why I’m askin’!”
“Whadaya want me to say? That I still sit around figuring out how to visit Camelot, and help King Arthur fight the devil?” Joby swiped angrily at his suddenly reddening eyes. “I don’t need you making fun of me too, Benjamin. There’s enough people doing that.”
“I’m not making fun of you!” Benjamin protested. “I . . . I just always wondered what happened to,” he threw his hands up, “all that. . . . I miss it.”
Joby sighed, seeming to fall in on himself. “I’m sorry, Ben. It’s just that . . . I wish I could still believe it. You have no idea how much.” He turned to stare off into the thickets that had been their boar-hunting forest in better times. “You remember that dream I used to have? . . . The one with all the candles?”
Benjamin nodded.
“I still have it,” Joby said. “All the time. . . . And I wake up feeling like somebody punched my soul right out of my stomach, and I have no idea where they put it.”
Benjamin reached out and punched his shoulder, deciding it was time to change the subject. “You takin’ Laura to the dance?” he asked.
“She asked me . . . but I can’t dance. I told her that, but she got so mad I don’t think she’d go anywhere with me now.” Joby looked tentatively at Benjamin. “You should ask her.”
“Me? Joby, you are such a dork! She doesn’t wanna go with me!”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cause she’s got a crush this big on Joby Peterson!” he laughed, stretching out his arms. “You must be blind, Joby! Just go with her, and stand around if you want to. Trust me. She’s not gonna care if you dance.”
“Why would she want to go stand around with the class spaz?” Joby frowned.
“Joby, if you don’t take Laura to the dance, I’m gonna tell every guy at school you wear purple underwear, and suck your thumb at night.”
“No you won’t.” Joby grimaced. “That’s disgusting, Benjamin.”
“Yes, I will, Joby.” He was careful not to smile. “I’m dead serious. Nothin’s gonna happen at that dance half as embarrassing as what I’ll do to you if you chicken out, so get your butt in gear and ask her. It’s time you got a clue, Peterson.”
“Who are you taking, Vierra?”
“I,” Benjamin said, hoping to cover his embarrassment with a casual tone, “am going with Duane and Jamie, and Johnny Mayhew.”
“Oh! So I have to ask a girl, but you’re going with the baseball team?”
“I’m just keeping myself free to dance with lots of girls!” Benjamin bragged, hoping Joby would buy it. “Believe me, though. If I had someone like Laura drooling over me, I’d take her!”
“Okay,” Joby moped, “I’ll ask her, but if she says no, you can’t get me for that.”
“She won’t.” Benjamin grinned. “Shall we shake on it, Sir Joby?”
The big night arrived. Joby’s mom had gotten him a new set of slacks and a button-down shirt for the occasion, and Joby had purchased a small cluster of freesia and iris at the supermarket florist, remembering how Laura had liked them so long ago in the hospital. He’d even spent half an hour in the bathroom before dinner, combing his hair. Feeling nervous and excited, he opened the refrigerator and looked in to make sure the flowers hadn’t wilted, then sat down with his parents to eat dinner.
The hiccups started halfway through his meal. They got so bad, so quickly, that he had to stop eating and lie down in the living room. But they only got worse, becoming surprisingly painful, until it was hard for him to breathe. His mother made him lean forward and swallow cups of water, eat spoonfuls of granulated sugar, and breathe into a paper bag, but nothing helped. Finally, half an hour before he and his dad were supposed to go pick up Laura, Joby went to his room, as much to escape his father’s disapproving scowls as his mother’s increasingly frantic ministrations. He had never heard of such hiccups. They were bearable as long as he remained lying down, but the minute he stood, they became huge gasping spasms that hurt his throat, and threatened to burst his lungs.
Ten minutes before they were supposed to leave, Joby’s father came into his room, trying to look amused.
“Hiccups, eh?” he said wryly, sitting down at Joby’s bedside. “I got a rash before my first date. I ever tell you that, son?”
Joby shook his head, fearing that speaking might make his hiccups worse.
His father patted his arm, and looked away. “It’s always scary to do things we’ve never done,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. Remember how scary it was learning to ride your bike? But you weren’t sorry you tried, were you?”
Since they’d never given his bike back to him, Joby didn’t think the example a very good one, but he shook his head anyway.
Seeming to realize his mistake as well, Joby’s dad grinned crookedly, and said, “You know, it’s probably long past time you got that bike back. I’ll talk with your mother about it while you’re at the dance.”
Unable to believe this sudden burst of luck, Joby started to sit up, only to be wracked by another loud and painful spasm, forcing him to lie back down again.
“I can’t go,” he groaned. “I can’t even stand up.”
A flash of irritation crossed his father’s face. Joby hoped that didn’t mean he’d changed his mind about the bike.
“You told Laura you’d take her to the dance, son. I’m sure she’s gone to lots of trouble to get ready, just like you have.” He gave Joby another reassuring smile. “Tell you what, sport. I’ll call Laura’s house and let them know we’re going to be a little late. You just relax for a while. Let those darn hiccups settle down, and then we’ll go. Okay?”
“Dad, I’m not doing this to get out of the dance,” Joby said, suddenly realizing that’s what his father was mad about. “I like Laura. It’s just—” He was cut short by another loud, hard hiccup, and realized he didn’t want to talk about this.
“It’s just what, son? Eighth grade seems a little late to still be doing the cooties thing, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not that,” Joby said. “I just don’t think I like her like . . . you know . . . as a girlfriend. I—” He gulped in another hiccup. “I just like her more with”—another hiccup—“with my mind, I guess.”
His father stood up, clearly more than irritated. “Son,” he said, “you’re not a little boy anymore, so let’s just lay it on the table. You like a girl with this,” he pointed at his chest, “or this,” he pointed at his crotch. “Not with this!” He pointed at his forehead. “Is that clear?”
Joby hiccupped.
At that moment, Joby’s mother came into the room, but his dad told her that they were having a “man-to-man chat” and that she wasn’t needed.
“What on earth are you so angry about, Frank?” she demanded. “Are you trying to make his hiccups worse?” She turned a worried gaze toward Joby. “Look at him! He’s scared to death!”
“Course he’s scared!” his father snapped. “He’s even scared of girls now, ’cause you’ve turned him into one!”
“Well, if you don’t like how I’m raising him, maybe you should
come home from that bar occasionally, and try your hand at it!” she snapped back.
To his horror, Joby hiccupped again.
His father turned toward him like a huge wave about to break, and said, very quietly, “Maybe your mother’s right, Joby. Maybe we should be doing more things together. Next weekend,” he paused, in angry contemplation, “we’ll go hunting.”
“What?” Joby’s mother shrieked. “That’s stupid! People get shot! Just last—”
“Listen to you!” his father shouted. “Is there anything he’s not supposed to be afraid of?”
“I forbid it!” she yelled.
“Dad,” Joby quavered, terrified to hear himself speaking, unable somehow to stop, “I . . . I don’t want to kill anything.”
His father went oddly rigid. For an instant, Joby was afraid his dad might hit him, but his father turned to his mother instead with a face full of pain that scared Joby even more. “Look what you’ve done to him!” his father rasped. Then he stepped past her, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Joby’s mother said.
“Out,” his father replied without turning.
“Out where?” she demanded.
“Just out.”
“To that bar?” his mother shrilled.
His father didn’t even pause.
“Come back here!” she snapped. “Don’t you dare walk out on me that way!”
Joby’s dad turned in the doorway, and Joby suddenly knew with dreadful certainty that this time he would not be coming back. “I am going,” his father said with terrible calm, “to tell Laura’s parents that my invalid son will be unable to escort her to the dance tonight. Then I am going to have a drink, yes.”
“Kallaystra!” Lucifer crowed as she materialized beside the obelisk in his office. “Congratulations! What a triumph, my dear!”
“It did turn out rather well, didn’t it,” she said, beaming. “I wish you could have seen his face when I—”
“But I did!” Lucifer enthused. “I watched the entire affair from here! It’s you, I fear, who missed out on the wonderful scene at their home.” He gestured toward the wall behind him and a flickering blue screen appeared. “Behold the marvelous harvest of all you’ve sown, my dear!”
They spent the next few minutes enjoying a surround-sound replay of the scene in Joby’s bedroom. In this screening, Trephila could be quite clearly seen orchestrating Joby’s hiccups, while Tique goaded Joby’s father into a rage, and Eurodia shepherded Miriam in precisely on cue.
“Hiccups,” Lucifer mused sardonically. “How like them.”
They watched almost fondly as Frank raged into the Filling Station, ranting and moaning about having betrayed his family and destroyed all their lives. Kallaystra, in her well-worn role as Cally the wonder-barmaid, calmed him down and made him tell her the whole sordid story, heedless of the barely concealed attention afforded him by numerous scandalized patrons.
“Wait a minute,” they watched “Cally” say incredulously at the end of his confession. “You accused your son of being queer? Frank! Are you out of your mind?”
Frank’s mortified silence was just too rich. “No!” he stammered. “I never said that! I—I just—”
“Well, it sure sounds like that’s what you meant!” Cally cut him off, shaking her head as if unable to fathom how such a smart man could be so horrendously foolish. “Frank, he’s—what? Thirteen? All boys his age are afraid of girls. You know that!”
“Oh my!” Kallaystra laughed, fairly glowing with pride. “It’s better than being there! Look at him! He’ll never be able to go home now.”
“Yes,” Lucifer breathed. The replay zoomed in and froze on Frank’s devastated expression. “Look at that!” Lucifer exclaimed, enraptured. He turned to her gleefully. “I can hardly express my appreciation. Just think, my dear! When we win, this small pleasure will be multiplied billions of times!”
“Will it?” she cooed seductively. “You must have such grand designs laid out in that relentless mind of yours.” When he failed to take the bait, she asked, “What should our next move be?”
“Now that the child’s father is securely out of the way, we must be sure to anchor the mother in place,” he replied. “First, let’s relieve her of those troubling nightmares. You might even arrange a few really nice dreams, just to hammer the point home.”
“But, Bright One,” Kallaystra objected, “she’s this far from real madness! A few more well-placed frights, and—”
“I understand your disappointment,” Lucifer soothed. “But we don’t want Joby taken away from her. No one can hurt a boy as badly as his own mother can, after all.”
“Oh.” Kallaystra pouted. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Besides, she’s been sneaking off to morning Mass recently. I’m thinking that with ‘damned if you don’t’ nailed down nicely, it’s time to work on ‘damned if you do.’ ”
“Ahhhh,” Kallaystra replied, with a begrudging smile.
“I believe Father Richter’s tireless prayers for importance are finally about to be answered.” He grinned, but his smile vanished as quickly as it had arrived. “We need to stop retarding his growth, however. I’ve never been very happy about that, actually. I instructed the triangle to make him physically inept. I said nothing about turning him into a dwarf.”
“I will speak to them, if you wish, Bright One,” Kallaystra said, always looking for opportunities to ingratiate, “but I don’t think it’s any of their doing. I asked them about it once, and they assured me his failure to bloom was just a happy accident.”
“An accident!” Lucifer said skeptically. “The boy still has baby teeth, for heaven’s sake! At fourteen? That seems a rather remarkable accident. If we’re not doing it, who is?”
“He’s a late bloomer.” She shrugged. “It does happen, and you know better than I how usefully such conditions can be leveraged. Why should it concern you so?”
“Because having yanked him one way, I can hardly yank him the other now if he’s not equipped to go there,” Lucifer said irritably. “More than that, it makes me nervous to see something so oddly amiss in his life that we didn’t instigate. Think about who we’re up against here, Kallaystra, and ask yourself what He might be trying to accomplish by stunting the boy’s maturity this way?”
“A point,” she conceded. “So what do you suggest?”
“If we’re not the one’s who’ve been preserving all that baby fat, then let’s make it leave,” Lucifer said crossly. “Must I spell everything out—even to you, Kallaystra? Have your esteemed colleague, Malcephalon, continue to nurture shame and guilt within him, but on the outside, I want him growing. Within a year, I want him to be as attractive to his lusty adolescent peers as he is unprepared to deal with what they’re after. And by all means, let’s get him back to church before he strays beyond your pet priest’s reach.”
9
( Sex )
Joby had ridden to St. Albee’s that morning and hiked up through a wooded ravine behind the priory to celebrate his sixteenth birthday in blessed solitude. He’d grown quite accustomed to his parents’ separation by now. Once the sound of muffled weeping had finally stopped leaking from his mother’s room at nights, Joby’s sense of guilt had faded some, and all their lives had settled into manageable, if somewhat lackluster, routines. Though often rather boring, his life was far from restful. An endless landslide of homework, after-school tutoring, student government, therapy appointments, and church youth group meetings left Joby always feeling as if swarms of urgent tasks were being shamefully neglected. With all of that finally on pause until September, there had been no birthday present Joby wanted more than to sit alone watching herds of cotton clouds graze lazily from horizon to horizon as the day passed in quiet, unrushed communion with nature.
His father had called before breakfast to say happy birthday, and confirm their celebration plans on Friday night. Joby’s birthday had fallen on a Monday this year, and his father was buried i
n work. He’d started a small architectural firm of his own, which made Joby happy because it made his father happy, though the venture had rendered his father poorer and less available than ever. They got along much better now, though Joby felt no more “manly” these days than he ever had.
For all Father Richter’s recurring warnings against the snare of vanity, Joby could not help wishing he looked, or even felt, more like all the other guys. By now, Ben was every inch the proverbial bronze god, but, while Joby had finally begun to grow again a few years back, he was headed for his junior year still looking fifteen at best. His mother kept assuring him that everyone would be jealous when he looked twenty-nine at forty, but that seemed cold comfort. To cap his woes, botched dental surgery to get rid of his persistent baby teeth had made it necessary to put braces on him just as everyone else was getting theirs off. Sometimes, it felt like he was growing backward.
A large, glossy raven flew over Joby’s head, audibly slicing the air with its powerful wings, then stalled, banking on the breeze, and returned to perch on a nearby branch, where it stared at Joby, then croaked and rattled some kind of greeting. Over the years, Joby had come to feel an almost urgent kinship with animals, envying their lives out here beyond the paved confines of his own world. Animals suffered no one’s expectations but their own. They did not belittle or shame. They did not make promises—or betray them. Doing his best to match the bird’s percussive sounds, Joby cawed and clacked an answer to the raven’s address. The bird cocked its head, stared at him with one dark marble eye, then took wing and glided away swiftly down the hillside, leaving Joby to wonder what rude or ridiculous things he’d said to the dignified bird.
A glance at his watch told him he had better leave if he were going to get back in time for the birthday dinner his mother was preparing. He stood reluctantly, brushed off his pants, and made his way down the grassy slope toward the ravine, then hiked through the cool oak woods to where he’d left his bike stashed behind the priory.
The Book of Joby Page 19
