Mythology 101

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “Nope. Just checking the results.” She noticed things easily, Keith observed. Better be careful not to lead her unintentionally to the elf village, he thought, if we’re going to spend a lot of time together. He rather hoped they would. He understood very well how Marcy had felt that evening, trying to decide whether or not to tell him about the class. “What year are you?”

  “Freshman,” Diane grimaced. “Before you say it, I know. ‘There’s nothing lower than a freshman.’ Except pledges,” she finished with satisfaction.

  “Not joining the Greek tradition?” Keith teased.

  Diane waved sororities away. “No time,” she stated. “I’ve got to hustle if I want to stay at Midwestern.”

  “Is that why you’re selling handcrafts?”

  Diane shrugged. “It’s a job. I suppose you’re from Illinois?” Keith nodded. “Well, I’m from Michigan. It costs a lot more for me to go here than for you. I have to pay out-of-state tuition. And I really wanted to come here. They have the best Health Sciences school in the country. I’m going to be a dietitian. I’m on a grant from a local merit scholar’s association, and the National Merit Scholarship Program, but it is really tough to pull it all together without outside income. Even with it, it’s tough. I may have to go home to a Michigan school, where I can afford the tuition, and maybe live at home.” She made another face. “But I don’t want to. I like it here. It’s the first real privacy I’ve ever had. I have three sisters.”

  “I have two. I hope your folks have got more than one bathroom,” Keith said sympathetically.

  “Well, no. We fight about it a lot. I pleaded with my father to build on another one. You know what he said? ‘It’s too expensive. Next fall you go to college. Why bother?’ I really don’t want to have to go home.”

  “I’d hate to see you leave, now that I’ve found you. Maybe we can get in some of the same courses. What are you taking?”

  “Oh, English, European history, biology, Mythology 248—”

  “No kidding!” Keith exclaimed. “Me, too.”

  “Terrific,” Diane said eagerly. “Want to study together?”

  “You took the words out of my mouth, gorgeous.” He regarded Diane with growing affection. The thought of having her vanish next year was too much for him. He put two and two together and came up with an interesting sum. In seconds, his imagination formulated a shiningly brilliant idea to keep her at Midwestern. The obvious solution. “If you’re having trouble making it financially, what about other grants?”

  “I’ve tried. There’s no such thing as a grant for Nutritional Sciences.”

  “You’re a mythology student.” Keith took a deep breath. “Why not apply for the Alfheim scholarship?”

  “Alfheim, like the Norse myth?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “No,” said Keith, though it had been that which inspired the name. She was quick. “Frederick Alfheim is a renowned scholar of mythology. It’s a national grant. If you get a recommendation from the Myth professor and apply, you could get it.”

  “That would be great,” Diane said, her blue eyes brimming with hope. “How much do they offer?”

  “Oh,” said Keith airily, “full tuition. You still have to pay for your books and room and board, but it helps.”

  “It sure would! Where can I find an application?”

  “I’ll bring you one when I see you tomorrow.”

  Diane tilted her head and peered at him through her eyelashes. “Who said we were getting together tomorrow?” she asked, tossing her hair back. The gesture reminded him of Candlepat. He clamped down instantly against any thoughts of the elves as if he believed she was a mind reader.

  “I did, just now. Any objections?”

  “None at all. Uh-oh,” she caught sight of his watch and grabbed his wrist to get a better look. “My God, ten-thirty! I’ve got to get out of here. I’ll turn into a pumpkin if I don’t.” Noticing the worried look on Keith’s face she sputtered, “I’m just kidding!”

  “I hope so,” Keith said, recovering. “‘There are more things on Heaven and Earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio.’”

  “You’re weird, Keith, but I could get to like you.” Diane chuckled. She pushed back from the table and let Keith help her on with her coat. Blowing him a kiss, she whisked out into the darkness. He glowed after she left for a long while. Then he started to worry how he would approach the Little Folk about what he had just done.

  O O O

  “This is vun of your more disastrous feats of inspiration, Meester Doyle,” the Elf Master said when Keith went to see him the next day. Holl was already in possession of the whole story, but even he had to admit that Keith’s imagination might have taken him too far. “Creating a mock scholarship, tch! The resources of this infant company vill not be able to bear many of your ideas, if they are like this. Have you so easily forgotten your concern over the taxes?”

  Keith hastened to explain. “Of course I haven’t, but we don’t have to give her the money right away. It can wait until the fall when tuition is due. I’ll buckle down. I’m sure we can bring in enough extra by then. She’s a good student. She deserves a break, and I couldn’t think of anything else except inventing a phony scholarship.” The Master didn’t look convinced of the idea’s value. “She works for one of the stores selling our stuff. You wouldn’t be wasting money. It’d be just like paying another employee. And,” he played a card he hoped would be a trump, “you told me that I could reasonably expect thirty to forty per cent of the profits from Hollow Tree, and I only took ten. Out-of-state tuition doesn’t come anywhere near the other twenty to thirty percent.”

  “I can add, Meester Doyle.”

  “He could be right. He is working hard enough, Master,” Holl put in. “Widdy, are you sure? Did you have to promise this girl? You’ve only just met her.”

  “You haf only just met her?” the Master echoed, aghast.

  “No, wait,” Keith insisted. “She’s special.”

  “You are infatuated.”

  “It’s not like that. I thought about it. I just, uh, talked before I thought.” Keith appealed to the Master, who stonily shook his head.

  “I cannot consider it. You must take back your promise.”

  Keith sighed. “I didn’t promise her anything. I just said she could apply to you for a grant. And she really does need the money.” The Elf Master looked him up and down, and Keith fidgeted, ashamed of being so greedy. “I’m sorry. It was an impulse. It was just that I didn’t want to lose her after just one semester.”

  “Your feelings are that strong?” the Master leaned back in his chair to study Keith’s face.

  “I didn’t know, Keith Doyle,” Holl added, softening.

  Keith waved their sympathy away. “You’ll need all the capital you can get to move out of here. Forget it. I know I shouldn’t ask.”

  “Since vhen haf you not asked vhen you vanted something? Very well,” the Master waved a hand to forestall interruption. “You haf done a foolish thing, but you mean vell. Certainly if ve can be imposed upon by your generosity, ve need not suffer alone. She may haf her scholarship, if I meet her and I like her.”

  “You will,” Keith promised. “You will.”

  ***

  Chapter 29

  Jubilant, Keith set out the next morning with his head full of plans for legitimizing the Alfheim Scholarship. The Elf Master would surely like Diane, and then she wouldn’t have to leave the University next year. It was a perfect solution. He whistled a tune to the birds perched in the thorn bushes. What a perfect day. If it hadn’t been for his problems with the IRS, Carl, and the Historical Society, the world would have seemed perfect to Keith.

  He crossed the campus, cutting behind the cafeteria annex of Power Hall, and headed for the entrance. Absently, Keith ducked a fast Frisbee game that was going on in the sunshine right under the windows of the Food Service office. His mind was deeply concerned with how to sell enough Hollow Tree mercha
ndise to make up for the hole in the bank account that Diane’s tuition would leave. They needed another good idea for new product. Keith knew there was a goodly balance of cash building up, but a bad month could kill their advantage. Catra still complained that they weren’t making money fast enough. For a culture that never used money, they sure took to the concept in a hurry.

  “Keith Doyle?” asked a man’s voice from behind him. “Keith Doyle of Hollow Tree Industries?”

  “Yeah?” Keith answered, turning around.

  He caught a brief glimpse of huge meaty arms just before his back was slammed painfully into a shadowed corner of the dorm wall.

  Keith looked wildly at the two burly thugs holding him and at the mustachioed man in the neatly tailored spring suit behind them. Standing away at a respectful distance was a middle-aged policeman in uniform. “Who are you? What do you want?” Neither of his guards spoke. The tailored suit gave him a fierce white-toothed smile that made Keith very uneasy.

  “I’m Victor Lewandowski. I’m the president of the Local #541. I’ve seen your goods. Nice stuff. But there’s something missing from your stock. No union label.”

  “Union?” Keith asked. “I don’t have to put union labels on merchandise to sell it.”

  “If it’s made in this state it does. This is a closed-shop state. That means your employees have to belong to a union. I want a list of your workers so we can make sure they’re getting fair representation.”

  “No! I mean, I don’t have any employees. I make some of it and I sell stuff on consignment for friends.” Keith squirmed uncomfortably in the grip of the two men and watched hopefully over their shoulders for anyone he knew. Maybe he could telegraph S.O.S. with his eyebrows or something. The cop, who was standing with his thumbs hooked into his belt, looked sympathetic but stayed neutral.

  “I don’t believe you. You got stuff in maybe twenty stores. You restock quickly. Nobody’s got that many friends.” He nodded to his henchmen, who dragged Keith a few inches away from the brickwork then dashed him back against it. Keith wheezed, the air knocked painfully out of him. Lewandowski waved the policeman over, who unbuttoned the upper right hand breast pocket on his uniform shirt and drew from it a paper which he unfolded and handed to Keith.

  The man on Keith’s left let go of his arm enough for him to bend it toward the policeman and take the paper.

  “This is a court notice signed by Judge Arendson, ordering you to release to me a list of the names and addresses of all persons working for you, doing business under the name Hollow Tree Industries,” Lewandowski said. “If you refuse you will be considered in contempt of court. You understand?”

  Keith nodded weakly.

  “Good.” The union boss raised an eyebrow and the two men let go of Keith. “I’ll expect to hear from you. My people will be keeping an eye on you. Just remember that. You look worried.” Lewandowski smiled his shark’s grin again. “You shouldn’t be. Just cooperate with us, and we’ll cooperate with you.”

  They left him clutching the paper in the shadows.

  O O O

  Keith spent a good part of the day in the college computer center studying the Illinois Business Statutes on unions and coaxing the school’s mainframe computer through its graphics program. He wondered if he should tell anyone about the union men. The Little Folk were already worried about the proposed demolition and the mysterious magazine articles being published. The thought of anyone else snooping around would likely be too much for them.

  “I’ve gotta tell Holl anyway,” Keith resolved, typing furiously. “And the Master. They’ll have some ideas on how to deal with it.”

  After a few hours’ work, he was able to produce some realistic looking forms on a laser printer that bore a reasonable resemblance to the handful of scholarship applications he had picked up that morning at the Guidance Center. “ALFHEIM SCHOLARSHIP,” the letterhead announced proudly. Keith blew the computer a kiss and tucked two copies of each page into his briefcase.

  Diane met him that afternoon in a classroom on the 10th level of the library and filled them out. She was excited about meeting the mysterious Mr. Alfheim. “It’s such a great scholarship. I wonder why I never heard of it before.”

  “You’re not a mythology major,” Keith pointed out. While she was writing he read over her shoulder. “Londen, Diane G. What’s the G for?”

  “Grace,” she explained, “and boy, were my parents wrong.”

  “No,” Keith assured her. “They were right. You’re beautiful. And graceful.”

  “But look at me,” she said with a nervous giggle. “I’m so nervous I’m trembling. Look at my hand.” She held it up for Keith’s inspection.

  “You’ll be fine,” Keith assured her, sidling around the table and sitting down across from her. He kissed the hand, unsuccessfully avoiding the point of her pen. “Mr. Alfheim will like you, I’m positive. You have the recommendation?”

  She giggled, and leaned over to wipe his face with a Kleenex. “You have a blue spot on your cheek. Yes, I’ve got it right here. Mr. Frazier didn’t know what I was talking about, but he gave it to me. You’re sure you have your facts right? Mr. Alfheim is coming here? Today?”

  Keith nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “But why is he here? I haven’t even applied yet.”

  “Oh, he’s here to interview me,” Keith said, watching out the door for the Master. “I’m an applicant too. You’ll have to hurry. I don’t know when he’ll get here.”

  Diane slapped her pen down. “You’re applying? Then I won’t. I’m sure you need the money as badly as I do.”

  “No!” Keith whirled back to her. “If you don’t get it you won’t be back next fall. It’s okay; I’m really in better shape.” For several seconds they just stood there.

  Diane blushed and reached out to touch his hand. “I didn’t know it meant that much to you.”

  “Um … I guess it does.” He squeezed her fingers and leaned across the table to kiss her. She didn’t protest, but she did lean forward, eyes closing, until their lips touched, joined. Keith felt skyrockets going off in his head.

  After a little while, Diane giggled. “Your mustache tickles.” She opened her eyes, fingers tracing his upper lip. “That’s funny. You don’t have one. Must have been your hair.…”

  “Ahem!” said a voice from behind him. Surprised, Keith jumped to his feet. Diane did the same. The Elf Master stood in the doorway, looking as uncomfortable as Keith had ever seen him. The little teacher was wearing a grey pin-striped suit, white shirt, tie, shiny black shoes, and a fedora. His lips were pressed together. Keith stared, his own lips quivering with amusement.

  “Mr. Alfheim, I presume?” he said with the utmost control, when he recovered his voice. If I laugh, he thought, he’ll kill me.

  O O O

  “Zo, Mees Londen, tell me about yourself.” The Master was making himself comfortable. With his air of confidence, it didn’t matter that his feet couldn’t quite touch the ground from the seat of the old padded armchair. Diane didn’t notice. Her eyes were fixed on his.

  “Well, I’m from Michigan. I’m the eldest of four children, all girls. My father works for Ford. I’m majoring in the Health Sciences. I have a GPA of 3.47 on a four point scale.” At that point, her confidence broke down, and she appealed to the Master. “I don’t know what else you want to know.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Well … I was fascinated by the customs that evolve in primitive cultures which bring out their hopes of life after death, and how little a person changes even though he no longer has a corporeal body.”

  “Yes, although it is said …” The Master began, but Diane never slowed down enough to let him speak.

  “And in the Hawaiian myth of the tree with fragile branches, that only an old spirit can attain the journey’s end obviously shows that they didn’t believe any death brings wisdom to anyone but those who died of old age.”

  “I do not believe so. In The Masks of God by �
��”

  “Joseph Campbell. Yes, that’s where I read it. It’s really deep stuff. And I’ve read Bulfinch, and all the Avenel books, but my …” It was the little teacher’s turn to interrupt.

  “How interesting that you have gone into so much depth,” he said gently, “but I am asking about you.”

  Diane seemed flummoxed by his question, and Keith came to the rescue.

  “I think, Mr. Alfheim, that she is demonstrating her knowledge of the subject. For the mythology scholarship. Isn’t that what you want to hear?” Keith prompted him.

  “No.” The Elf Master coolly stared Keith down. “I vish to hear about her, personally. Mythology does not change over the centuries. It is only added to and interpreted. Your turn to speak will come next.” He turned back to Diane.

  “Well, I’ve filled out the forms. And here’s the recommendation from my mythology professor.” She handed them over to the Elf Master who gave them a cursory glance, and laid them aside.

  “What brings you to Midvestern?” he inquired.

  “It is the best school in the country for my major. I love to cook, and I was good in Chemistry. It seemed logical to combine the two in my career.”

  “Yes, that smacks of logic,” the Master nodded approvingly. “To combine vocation vith avocation. But how do you plan to extend your education through the study of mythology?”

  Diane noticed Keith watching her, and was suddenly conscience-stricken. “Look, here, Mr. Alfheim, I feel bad. I’ve been talking about myself, and Keith is really the applicant. I just found out about the scholarship yesterday. It’s him you should concentrate on.”

  “You are qvite right, Mees Londen. But soon. Meester Doyle, von’t you excuse us?”

  Keith didn’t want to go, but the Elf Master peered at him over the rims of his gold glasses, and he remembered that this was supposed to be the first time they had met. Clearing his throat, Keith stood up. “I’ll be in the next room if you want me.”

  Forty-five minutes later, the door opened.

  “Meester Doyle, come in here, please?” The Elf Master gestured him in. “No, don’t leave, Mees Londen. You may find this interesting and instructive.”