Starwater Strains

by Gene Wolfe

  “You’re a funny kid, Bill.”

  He smiled. “Only too often, sir. I fall over my own feet, I know.” When his father had gone, he murmured to himself, “I think it must mean, ‘Let me be numbered among the learned.’”

  He and the dog tramped over the plain, mile upon mile. There seemed to be no convenient way for him to wear the sword. He had tried thrusting its scabbard through his belt, but it slipped and tripped him, and proved to be much less convenient than carrying it, and the long blade it held, over his shoulder.

  “Dark,” Shep said.

  “Pretty dark, yes. Do you mean that night is coming?”

  “Yep.”

  “We ought to have a tent or something.” He searched his pockets. “I don’t even have anything we could use to start a fire, and there’s nothing out here to burn except grass.”

  Shep said nothing.

  “This is a little like a Jack London story. But I don’t like that story and have no intention of repeating it. Are you getting tired?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then we should keep walking, for a while at least. Why did she blow her kiss at me, Shep? Who was she, anyway?”

  Shep said nothing.

  “That’s right, you never saw her. I don’t mean Biltis, I mean the woman on the rock by the sea. She had an apple, a gold one. She wanted me to bite it, but you can’t bite gold.”

  “Nope?”

  “Nope. It’s a soft metal, but not soft enough to bite, except for very thin gold leaf. They used to coat costly pills with that.”

  “Spring.”

  “This weather? Perhaps you’re right, but it seems like fall to me. Very early spring, possibly.”

  “Water. I smell it. Smells strong.”

  He smiled. “Then it’s probably not good to drink.”

  “Good water.”

  “If you say so. I’m learned now, or think I may be, but being learned isn’t the same as being wise—I’m wise enough to know that, anyway. Wise enough to trust a dog’s judgment of what he smells.”

  The wolf-wind that had driven the clouds before it like terrified sheep had come down to earth. It ruffled his hair and raced beneath his shirt. He shivered, conscious for the first time of both thirst and cold.

  “Talking of water brings us back to the woman on the coast,” he told Shep to distract himself from his discomfort. “Let’s assume she’s someone famous, or anyway someone known. A woman as lovely as she is and as mysterious as she is could hardly stay unknown for long. If we list what we know about her, we may find a clue to her identity.”

  Shep glanced up at him. “If you say so, Chief.”

  “Prima.” He shivered again, and strove to walk a trifle faster. “She was on a rock in the sea. I’m tempted to say by the sea; but it was actually in the sea, although not very far out.”

  “Okay,” Shep said.

  “Secunda, she was nude. Both these seem to indicate that she had come up out of the sea. People on land wear clothing to keep off the sun and to keep warm.” (At that moment he dearly wished his own would keep him warmer.) “People in the sea have no need to keep off the sun and cannot be warmed by ordinary clothing.

  “Tertia, she was strikingly beautiful.

  “And quarta, she held the golden apple I have already mentioned. That covers it, I think.”

  Shep made a small noise that might, or might not, have been of assent.

  “You’re quite right. There is more. Quinta, she had extraordinary hair. It seemed black and blond together. Not black in places and blond in others, but both at once. Sexta—a suggestive ordinal, Shep—wishing to give a blessing or something of the kind, she kissed.”

  “Did she, Chief?”

  “Yes. Yes, indeed, she did. And if it was not her kiss that made me aware of the speech of animals, what did?”

  They walked on in silence for a time. At length he said, “Do we know of any famous female who would appear to fit our description of her? It seems to me we do. We can call her Venus, or Aphrodite, or even Ishtar. She was born of the sea. Paris awarded her the golden prize called the Apple of Discord. She is the goddess of love, and we cannot understand any animal until we love it. Furthermore—”

  “Over there!” Shep raced away.

  The spring, when they found it, was wide and deep, and its water was clearer than any diamond. Shep drank, and he drank too, and marveled, by the sun’s dying light, to see the cold, crystalline water welling from deep in the earth. It raced away as a noisy brook, narrow but by no stretch of the word feeble.

  “Neither am I,” he told Shep. “That water made me feel much stronger. I suppose I was becoming weak from thirst, and perhaps from hunger too.”

  He drank again, and the strength he knew was a strength he had never known before.

  From his notebook … “Dr. Grimes has returned this to me. She wants me to record my dreams as I did earlier, and to show it to her at our next session. I will comply.

  “Last night Shep steered me to a spring of strength. We drank from it. I felt much stronger and tested my strength by throwing stones, some so large I was astonished to find I could lift them. Shep ran as fast as my stones flew, which I think remarkable. (This morning he ran alongside our bus, following Sue and me to school. I believe he is out on the athletic field.)

  “When I grew bored we sat beside the spring, I laboring to puzzle out the inscriptions on the scabbard by the dying light. The days must be longer there, or perhaps it is only that we move faster. I read each group of symbols again and again, if it can be called reading. Slowly, terribly slowly, the meanings of a few words creep into my mind. There are some I could pronounce if I dared, though I have no notion (or little) of what they may mean. There are others that I understand, or believe I may understand somewhat, although I have little or no idea of their pronunciation. It is a slow process, and one that may never bear fruit.

  “And yet these spells are only a distraction, however hermetic they may be. What has happened to me? That is the question. Why do I find myself in that barren land each night? What land is it in which thaumaturgic springs rise from barren ground?”

  “I want you to stay for a minute or two after the bell, Billy. Will you do that?”

  His heart sank, but he nodded. “Yes, Ms. Fournier.”

  The bell rang even as he spoke. As the rest of the class trooped out, she smiled and motioned for him to join her at her desk.

  “That essay of yours on the Louvre—I would have been amazed to see it from an undergraduate at Yale or Princeton, and delighted to receive it from a grad student. To get it here … Well, there simply are no words. I’m overjoyed. Flabbergasted. Je suis noyé. Muet comme un poisson. Was it really a lodge in the dark ages? A place where they hunted wolves?”

  “Oui, Madame,” he said, “c’etait comme les jours du Roi Dagobert.” Seeing her expression he reverted to English, and remained there.

  “I shouldn’t let you sign up this late,” the coach told him. “I wouldn’t, if we weren’t short. What position do you play?”

  “Whatever position or positions you want me to play, sir.”

  The coach grunted. “Damn right. Where do you think you might be good?”

  “Nowhere, probably. But I’ll try.”

  “Okay, we’ll try you on the line. I want you to get down like this, see? One hand on the ground. That’s good. When I count three, come straight at me as hard as you can. Don’t use you hands but try to go through me. Try to knock me over. One—two—THREE!”

  It was as though the coach were not in truth a man at all, but a sort of inflated figure, a man-shaped balloon to be shouldered aside.

  Sue Sumner was sitting in the living room chatting with his mother when he came home. “I knew you’d be late because of football practice,” she said, “but I didn’t want to miss our walk. Is that all right?”

  He nodded, speechless.

  His mother said, “You’re going to have supper at Sue’s house, Billy. She phoned home, and then
I talked with Mrs. Sumner myself. She’ll be very glad to have you—she’s looking forward to getting to know you. Pot roast. Are you hungry?”

  He nodded again, suddenly aware that he was ravenous.

  “Your father’s so proud of you! What position will you play? I want to be able to tell him when he gets home.”

  “Linebacker.”

  “Well, try to catch a lot of passes.”

  Outside, they petted Shep. “Your mom has no idea what a linebacker does, Bill.”

  He grinned. “Yes, I know.”

  “Do you want me to tell her? You know, just girl-to-girl when I get a chance?”

  He looked down at Shep, who said quite distinctly, “Yep.”

  “Yes, I do. She may actually be interested now that I’m playing.”

  “Do you think they’ll really let you? Play? I know a lot of guys just scrimmage with the team for the first year,.”

  It was a good question, and he considered it for a block or more. “Yes,” he said. “I’m going to have a tough time of it because I’m so new. Young men who have been on the team for what they consider a long while are not going to like my playing, and they’ll like it even less if I start. But I believe I’ll play, and even that I’ll start.”

  “Don’t count on starting,” Sue said. “I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “Thank you. ‘What if the rose-streak of morning pale and depart in a passion of tears? Once to have hoped is no matter for scorning. Love once, even love’s disappointment endears. A minute’s success pays the failure of years,.’”

  “Why, Bill! That’s beautiful!”

  He nodded. “It should be—it’s Robert Browning. Can I tell you what I’ve been thinking?”

  “I wish you would.”

  “I was thinking that football might just be a letdown. For me, for my parents, and for you. But it wouldn’t matter, because you were here waiting for me when I got home from practice. What difference could football make after that? You were here, and it meant I had won. Practice and games are just bother. Busyness.”

  “Oh, Bill!” She took his hand.

  “So after that, I thought what if you hadn’t been here. And it hit me—it hit me very hard—that millions of other men will come home, and can’t even hope that you might be there, waiting, the way you were for me. That even if you hadn’t been there I would be privileged like nobody else on earth, because I could hope—really hope, not deluding myself—that you might be. That love’s disappointments are better than success in other things.”

  He cleared his throat. “I realize I haven’t expressed myself very well. But that’s how my mind was running, and naturally I thought of Browning then, as anybody would.”

  “Can I tell you what I’m thinking now?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’m thinking what a jerk I was. I rode that bus for three solid weeks before I realized what was on it with me. That my whole future was sitting across the aisle, or three seats in back. What a jerk!”

  He sighed, and could find no more words.

  “Look sharp,” Shep whined.

  They were approaching the house at which he had left the snapshots, when a breathtaking brunette threw open its door. She was carrying a blue and silver jacket, and she held it up for their inspection before running across the porch and down the steps to meet them. “Remember me?”

  He nodded. “Certainly.”

  Smiling, she held out her hand to Sue. “I’m Dinah—Dinah Biltis. I just want to give Bill this. It’s cold, and he’ll need it.” She turned to him, holding the jacket open. “Here, take off that backpack and put your arm in.”

  He did.

  “It’s too big for him,” Sue said, “and besides—”

  “Bill’s bigger than you know. Do you like it, Bill?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Very much.” It was loose, but not excessively so. He lifted his arms to admire the sleeves: blue leather with silver slashes.

  Without warning Dinah kissed him. At the next moment, she was fleeing back up the steps and into the house. He got out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth thoughtfully.

  “Wow!” Shep barked. “Wow, Chief!”

  Sue sighed. “I’m supposed to fly into a jealous rage, I think. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go?”

  He was snapping the jacket closed. “I have no idea.”

  “I think it is. Are you going to keep the jacket?”

  “For the time being anyway.”

  “Suppose I asked you to give it back?”

  He considered. “I’d want to know why. If you had a good reason, I’d do it.”

  “Suppose I didn’t have any reason at all?”

  Shouldering her backpack again, he began to walk. “I wouldn’t do it. You told me what you had been thinking, a minute ago. Can I tell you what I’m thinking now?”

  For an instant her eyes found his face, although she did not turn her head. She nodded without speaking.

  “I’ve already got a mother. She’s a good mother, and I love her. I need you, not another mother.”

  “If I say one more thing, will you get mad?”

  “Nope,” Shep told her.

  “That’s a letter jacket. You’re not supposed to wear one unless you’ve lettered.”

  “There’s no letter on it.”

  “Guys who’ve lettered are going to take it away just the same, Bill.”

  He grinned. “Then you’ll have won. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Do you remember Grandma’s friend Dinah?” Sue asked her mother over pot roast.

  “Oh my goodness! Yes indeed—Auntie Dinah. I haven’t thought about her in years and years.”

  Chick said, “Was she the one that collected shawls? You used to talk about her, Mom.” Chick was Sue’s brother.

  Sue’s mother nodded. “That’s right. I don’t believe you ever knew her, though.”

  “You will,” Sue told her brother. “She’s back.”

  Sue’s mother picked up the green beans. “Won’t you have some more, Bill?”

  He thanked her and took a second helping.

  Sue said, “You probably didn’t notice how old-fashioned her clothes were, Bill. That dark dress and those black stockings. Jet beads. They didn’t really shout it, but they were the kind of clothes people wore—I don’t know. A long time ago.”

  He chewed and swallowed, and sipped milk. No one spoke, and at last he said, “They were in one of the pictures. She will have new ones next time, I think.”

  “Can she do that?”

  He shrugged. “My jacket wasn’t in those pictures.”

  “Take it off!” Seth Thompkins demanded, and Doug Douglas grabbed him from behind.

  “Sure,” he said. “If you want it, I’ll let you have it.”

  Doug relaxed somewhat. He slipped out of the jacket, kicked Doug, and hit the back of Doug’s neck when Doug doubled up.

  Seth’s right knocked him off balance, and Seth’s left caught him under the cheekbone. He hit Seth in the pit of the stomach, knocking him sprawling.

  Martha Novick had stopped to watch.

  “People on television talk a lot when they fight.” He picked up his letter jacket and dusted it with his hand. “I don’t think it’s ever really like that. You’re too busy.”

  “I guess I ought to tell Mr. Hoff,” Martha said, “only I’m not going to.”

  He thanked her.

  “Did you hurt them bad, Bill?”

  “I don’t think so,” he told her. “They’ll get up when I’m gone.”

  Dr. Grimes closed the notebook and smiled at him. “This is interesting stuff, Bill. Did you really dream it?”

  He nodded.

  “Armor that looked like your school jacket?”

  “Somewhat like it,” he said. “Not exactly. Do you care?”

  Dr. Grimes nodded.

  “All right. My school jacket’s blue and silver. You must have seen them.”

  She nodded again.
>
  “This is a short black leather coat. It’s not blue or silver at all—the leather isn’t, I mean. But it has steel rings sewn on it, and steel plates across the chest. Some of the steel plates and rings have been blued. Heat blued, I suppose. Do you know how to blue steel?”

  “I couldn’t do it,” Dr. Grimes said, “but I’ve seen it. Sure, Bill.”

  “The rest have been polished bright. They’ll rust, I’m sure, unless I keep them shined and oiled. So will the blue ones. But I’m going to do the best I can to take care of them. I’ll put a little can of oil and a rag in my jacket pockets tonight before I go to bed.”

  She cocked her head. “Will that work?”

  “I don’t know. I believe it may.”

  “Uh-huh. You tell me, if it does. You been fightin’?”

  He smiled. “You get around, don’t you?”

  “You goin’ to law school when you get out of here?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “’Cause you answer a question with a question when you don’t want to talk. That’s a lawyer trick, and lawyers make real good money if they’re good. I don’t get around a-tall, Bill. I just sit here in my office, talkin’ and writin’ down and answerin’ the phone. But people come and tell me stuff. Got a li’l bruise on that sweet face, too. You really kick that one boy?”

  He nodded. “Are you goin’ to report me?”

  “Huh-uh. Maybe somebody will. I don’t know, Bill. But not me.”

  “I kicked him, and they would have kicked me if they’d gotten a chance. We weren’t boxing, we were fighting. How can you play fair, when you’re not playing?”

  “You’re on the football team now.”

  He nodded.

  “Goin’ to start against Pershing. That’s what I heard.”

  “The coach hasn’t said that to me. I can play halfback and linebacker—or at least he says I can—and I’ve been practicing those positions. I just hope I get in the game.”

  “Uh-huh.” She smiled. “I was married to a football player, one time. Deetroit Lions. I used to go to all the games back then, and I still watch a lot. On the TV, you know. You know what they tell me about you, Bill?”