Night Lamp (14 page)

Three days passed, during which Lyssel receded from the forefront of Jaro’s mind. Then, late in the afternoon, as he left the Lyceum, she came up beside him. “Jaro! You were about to walk past without so much as noticing me!”

Jaro had made several staunch resolutions, but now, somewhat to his surprise, he heard himself say, “If I had seen you, I surely would have noticed.” Resolutions were easier to make than to keep.

Today Lyssel wore a simple dark blue frock with a white collar. She asked, “Why do you look at me like that?”

“I’m trying to think.”

“Oh? thinking what?”

“Thinking that I should politely say, ‘Hello, Lyssel; goodbye, Lyssel.’ ”

Lyssel came a step closer. She pointed toward the sky. “Look! The sun is shining! I’m not a female devil with four fangs. I want us to be friends!”

“Certainly. Whatever you like.”

Lyssel looked quickly around the forecourt, then took Jaro’s arm. “Come, let’s go somewhere else. Everyone notices everything, and gossip travels on wings.”

Without enthusiasm Jaro allowed himself to be led away. “We’ll try the Old Den,” Lyssel told him. “It’s quiet this time of day and we can talk.”

At the Old Den they found a table on the back terrace, in the shade of three ancient olive trees, whose branches had been twisted and interlaced to form an arbor. A waitress served them jugs of fruit punch. Jaro sat passively, watching the flux of Lyssel’s expressions. Presently she became impatient and leaned forward. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for ever so long.”

“Now’s your chance! I’m here and I’m listening.”

Lyssel grimaced sadly. “I don’t think that you take me seriously.”

“Naturally not. What do you want to talk about?”

Lyssel pretended to pout. “You, mainly.”

Jaro laughed. “I can’t think why.”

“Well, for instance: I’ve heard that there’s a mystery about your early life, that the Faths are not your real parents.”

“That’s true enough. When I was six years old they rescued me from a gang of hoodlums and saved my life. This was on another world, during one of their expeditions. Afterwards they brought me back to Gallingale and adopted me. That is the story of my life.”

“But there must be more than that!”

“True. It’s all very complicated.”

“You don’t know your real father and mother?”

“No. Someday I hope to learn the facts.”

Lyssel found the account fascinating. “You might well have been born into a family of high prestige, or whatever they call ‘comporture’ among the outer worlds.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“And so that is why you want to become a spaceman?”

“Partly.”

“What if you went off into space but never found what you were searching for?”

Jaro shrugged. “I wouldn’t be the first.”

Lyssel sipped at the fruit punch. “So—you might leave Gallingale and never come back.”

Jaro looked off across the arbor as if trying to see the years to come. Finally he said, “I’ll always come back to Merriehew, if only to visit my parents.”

Lyssel chewed at her lip. “The Faths might prefer to live somewhere more convenient than raggle-taggle old Merriehew.”

Jaro shook his head. “They’d never be happy anywhere else. We’re agreed as to that.”

“Still, you never know. They might change their minds.”

“Not if I can help it. Last week some slick real estate type tried to sell them a box in the Catterline district. He was obviously a scoundrel and my father just laughed at him.”

Lyssel winced. “Your father should not be so judgmental. The agent was probably acting in good faith.”

“Anything is possible.”

Lyssel reached out and squeezed his hand. “That’s far more charitable. It’s a trait I want you to practice, so that you’ll be able to sympathize with me and help me with my own problems.”

Jaro disengaged his hand. “I’ll sympathize from a distance, where there’s no chance of becoming involved.”

Lyssel’s mouth dropped piteously. “But I thought that you wanted us to become friends!”

Jaro grinned. “I might have used the word, but I probably meant something else.”

Lyssel said cautiously: “There’s nothing wrong with the word ‘friends.’ ”

“Of course not. But ‘friends’ go to the same parties together, whereas we have to run down here to the Old Den just to talk.”

Lyssel seemed uncertain. “That’s no great matter! If you behave and help me with my plans we can still be friends—more or less,” she added lamely.

“Let me explain,” said Jaro. “You exert a strong force. This force swirls my creative juices back and forth until I want to seize you and squeeze you and carry you off to bed. Friendship comes later.”

Lyssel said decidedly, “Nothing of that sort is feasible. If I were to be seized, squeezed and dragged off to bed, I would fear for my reputation. Next, I would reprimand the culprit, even if it were you.”

“In that case—” Jaro made a fatalistic gesture “—there is little scope for a relationship.”

“You give up very easily,” said Lyssel crossly. “It is almost insulting! Especially when I was about to invite you to Multiflor! I mentioned it at the Panics, remember?”

“Not really.”

“It’s the Jinkers’ Lawn Party, and I want you to be on hand. There will be flowers everywhere and you’re certain to enjoy it.”

“Me? I’m not a Jinker, or anything else. I couldn’t get past the first dandelion. Further, if Hanafer saw me he’d raise a great outcry and call me schmeltzer.”

“No matter! You’ll be coming because I asked you specially, and it’s not all that formal. I’m on the committee and we want to make it the prettiest occasion of the season. There’ll be showers of flowers, and big iron jugs brimming with deep purple Gradencia; and then, of course, instead of an orchestra we’ll want you to be costumed as the resident satyr, and wander about playing pretty music on the suanola.”

Jaro asked in a hushed voice, “You want me to wear a costume?”

“Don’t fret, we have a proper costume in mind; it’s wonderfully droll, with a tall crooked hat, green pantaloons, and a funny sheep’s tail fastened at the back, where tails are usually attached.” Lyssel giggled. “A string connects the tail to your knee, so that when you cavort the tail whisks about; it’s truly comical!”

Jaro sat staring at Lyssel in bemusement. Lyssel happily continued. “As for me, I’ll be a Blue Impling, with blue lace slippers. The costume is mostly me, but everything is a bit daring at the Multiflor: that, in fact, is true Jinker style. Along with the Gradencia we’ll serve iced Titilanthus in authentic milk-glass urns; also a vat of a new recipe created just for the party; it’s called Flurrish Zabamba. They gave Yasher Farkinbeck a taste and it made him very frisky, so I’m told. You’ll enjoy yourself.”

Jaro reached across the table and took her hands. “Lyssel, we are about to hear the jangling discord of two lawn parties in collision.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I should say, two versions of the same party. Whichever you choose cancels the other.”

“Oh dear, must we have histrionics?” Lyssel tried to disengage her hands. “You look so grim! Please let me go!” Jaro released her. “I’ll tell you about the two parties. The first is a triumph. The weather is fine; the refreshments are memorable; the garden satyr has played well and amused everyone with his cavorting; Hanafer Glackenshaw is glad; Yasher Farkinbeck is frisky; Lyssel Bynnoc is radiant: her beauty has seduced every boy and antagonized every girl.”

“Wonderful!” cried Lyssel in rapture. “Let’s go no further, this is the Multiflor I want.”

“But wait! Listen to the second version! At this Multiflor you and I arrive together. I am your escort and we are wearing similar costumes. You are carrying my suanola, which I may or may not play, depending upon my mood—perhaps after a taste or two of Flurrish Zabamba. We are together during the party, and at the proper time we leave and go off into the evening. It has been a pleasant party.”

Jaro paused, but Lyssel could only stare at him slack-jawed.

Jaro said, “If we choose one party, the other disappears. For instance, if you chose the first party, at the end the satyr would take his pay and go off to his camp. It wouldn’t be Jaro, of course.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Certainly I’m serious.”

“But the second party is utter nonsense! I could not participate in such a fiasco!”

Jaro rose to his feet. “In that case, nothing more need be said. I’m going home.” He started for the door. A few seconds passed, then Lyssel came running after him. She seized his arm and pulled him to a halt. “I’ve never known anyone so irascible!”

“But you’re insulting! You hypnotize me and vamp me, just so you can dress me up as a funny satyr, to play the suanola free of charge. You don’t even like me.”

Lyssel stepped closer. “You catch me up on things I didn’t mean! I think it’s you who just pretends the interest.”

Jaro held out his arm. “Look! See how my hand shakes? I’m fighting my primitive impulses. They are real.”

Lyssel grinned up at him and seemed to wriggle, as if by reflex. “So long as you obey my commands, I don’t mind. In fact, I rather like it, since it makes me feel invincible.”

“It makes me feel nervous and tired. The game is over and I’m going home.” But Jaro hesitated. “I still wonder what you really want of me, and how far you’d go to get it.”

Lyssel put her hands up to his shoulders. “I made a mistake, I admit it!” She moved even closer, so that Jaro could feel the touch of her breasts. He knew he should back away and leave the Old Den but his feet were reluctant to move. He said: “Tell me the truth.”

Lyssel grimaced. “What truth? The main truth is that I want everything! But I don’t know how to get it, or any of it. I’m confused.” She fell silent, then spoke in a low voice, more to herself than to Jaro, “I don’t dare! All my comporture would be lost if we were discovered.” Jaro started to draw back. “I want no more intrigues, and I don’t want to disgrace you. So then—”

From across the room came heavy voices; turning, Jaro saw Hanafer Glackenshaw with two of his friends: the hulking Aimer Gulp, along with the lean and rapacious Lonas Fanchetto.

Lyssel dropped her arms and stepped away from Jaro. Hanafer cried out in brassy triumph: “They told me I’d find you here, along with old Mooper!”

“You are being extremely rude!” said Lyssel. “Please leave, and at once!”

“It’s not rude to explain hard facts! This is a damnable moop, and he must be taught his place.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Jaro is courteous and talented, and he is far more genteel than you are. Now hear me! I’ve invited him to Multiflor. He’ll be a probationary Jinker, so please don’t call him a schmeltzer.”

“Of course he’s a schmeltzer!” roared Hanafer. “He’s a nimp, isn’t he? How can he be even a probationary Jinker?”

“Because I’m on the committee, and I can nominate whomever I please!”

“But not a nimp! That’s sheer farce, and proves he’s schmeltzing!” He swung upon Jaro. “I’ll give you some advice. Keep away from the Multiflor. We don’t want bounders or gaks or schmeltzers at our parties. We strive and claw up the ledges and we don’t want to look up to see some disgusting nimp grinning down at us! So then—you heard me; what do you have to say?”

Lyssel cried out: “Hanafer, stop trying to bully Jaro! You’re only making a fool of yourself, and I certainly won’t think kindly of you if you go on like this!”

Hanafer’s face became distorted. “I’m not the fool; it’s you who stands here, letting this bounder nuzzle you! Don’t you realize that he’s a schmeltzer and really repulsive?”

Lyssel said, “Hanafer, behave yourself. You are definitely not at your best!”

Hanafer ignored her and turned to glare at Jaro. “Well, nimp? We’d better have an understanding. Are you planning to strut and schmeltz at the Multiflor, or will you behave like the nice little nimp you damned well better be?”

Jaro spoke with an effort. The situation was embarrassing. He did not wish to attend Multiflor; he was not anxious to fight Hanafer, who was large, heavy and mean, and from whom he could expect a drubbing. Hanafer had public opinion on his side; none of the strivers liked schmeltzers, and Jaro’s status as probationary Jinker was unconvincing. Still, Jaro found that he could not meekly submit to Hanafer and retain his self-respect. Against all logic and inclination and basic common sense he said, “I’ll go where I like, and you’ll have to put up with it.”

Hanafer took a slow step forward. “And you plan to show yourself at the Multiflor?”

“My plans are none of your affair.”

“Schmeltzing is everyone’s affair.”

Lyssel stepped forward. “He’s coming because I invited him to be my escort! So now, behave yourself.”

Hanafer stared at her in wonder. “I thought that I was to be your escort! You told me to be sure to wear my Scarlet Knave costume!”

“I changed my mind. I’m to be a Blue Impling and your costume would clash with mine.”

Hanafer signaled his two friends. “Grab this bounder and throw him out! If I started, I don’t know where I’d stop.”

Lonas and Aimer came forward: Lonas with massive shoulders hunched; Aimer with a bony arm extended, long thin fingers like insect claws, clutching at the air, apparently in order to fascinate Jaro and expedite his withdrawal.

The proprietor appeared. “Stop; that’s enough! I’ll have no rowdy tussles in here! One move and I’ll call the monitors!” He turned to Jaro. “As for you, young man, you had better leave now, while the going is good!”

Jaro shrugged and departed.

Lyssel swung upon Hanafer: “You are a boor! I am absolutely ashamed of you!”

“Not so!” Hanafer blustered. “You told me that I would be your escort at the Multiflor and that later we’d go out to the Seven Mile House for supper.”

“I never agreed to that, and if I did it was only conditional.”

“So now you want to go with the schmeltzer instead?”

Lyssel drew herself up. “When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Until then, please mind your own business.”

“Yes, of course. Just as you say.” Hanafer turned and marched from the Old Den, followed by his friends.