Cat felt at the same time very foolish and strangely lighthearted. So he had never seen her in her red dress, he did not know how golden her hair glowed in the carnival lights, he had never seen the carnation softly bobbing at her temple, he could not see how beautiful she was at all. Yet he had been sorry to offend her. Yet he had greeted her the first time he felt her walk by.
Your eyes-how did it happen?
In the accident.
The fiery tragedy that had killed his wife. Afterward, he had sold his home, quit his job, and started traveling with the carnival. Built a life for himself the way he liked it. Letting people win. Giving them happiness.
Or-touching their minds, and learning all the truth about them, then telling them lies.
There was a pause. Then Cat asked gently, May I see your eyes now?
He hesitated only a moment, then reached up and removed the dark glasses. His eyes were not ugly. Really, she had known they could not be ugly. They were gray, misty, and seemed to stare far away, like the eyes of a seer. And his face, without its dark barrier in the way-how could she ever have thought his face was commonplace? It was exquisite, with arched aspiring cheekbones, brows that dreamed.
You are very beautiful.
You-they tell me you are also, Cat. I know-the feel of your mind-it is beautiful to me. It is proud, like a golden thing, a sunset thing.
You knew everything. Right from the start.
A silence. Then he admitted aloud, "Yes. I know."
I do not understand this strange barbaric language. I understand only what I feel in your mind. Which is now a great sadness. You know I want you. But you are still in love with your wife.
I think-I am now only in love with my memories of my wife.
You are afraid, then. You think I would punish you, as I did the others.
No, I am not afraid. Danger is part of the beauty of you. Everything that is beautiful is full of risk.
But when I came to summon you, you did not want me.
I do not know… I am stubborn. Mostly I did not like the way you planned to take me.
You did not want me.
I want you now.
She had won. But perhaps he was letting her win?
The boy, who had finished scrubbing the dishes, smiled in the same winsome way as his father and went outside to wander the carnival grounds, to admire the motorcycle daredevil's new Harley, and watch the roughies play poker, and talk with the Bearded Lady, the Breasted Man, the Wild Woman of Borneo, the Amazing Alligator Girl.
Cat touched Ollie's fine-sculpted face. He leaned toward her, and let her touch guide him, and kissed her.
His body, she found within the next hour, was as beautiful as his face, and as ardent and clumsy as if he were a boy again. It truly had been years since he had given himself to a woman, a verity that made the gift all the more precious to her. She hugged him, she cradled his head in her arms and kissed him, she adored his awkwardness, she felt her heart burst open like a red, red flower into love of him.
Afterward, she was afraid. She was afraid. Love harrowed her with fear. She had sworn never to give her heart to a man again.
He said softly, "The carnival moves on tomorrow."
Yes.
"There is this about a carnival, it takes in all kinds of people. Criminals, whores, freaks, geeks, holy rollers, crap shooters, it doesn't matter, we're all carnies. We all belong. You, too."
Yes. She heard the wistfulness in herself. I like that.
"But there is also this, that we're like wild geese, we carnies. We move with the seasons, everything is always changing. We get used to leaving places behind, people behind, losing bits of ourselves. My problem is I look back too much. I've got to learn not to do that."
She no longer cared that he was letting her win. It was his gift to her, this offering of a choice. He knew what she was. He knew that a cat must walk by herself.
And perhaps he hoped to keep her coming back.
But she did not leave him yet. She put on her dress, but lay down again on his bed. A dying blossom fell from her hair. Her fingers interlaced with his. She thought to him quietly, Guess my name and age?
Why, Cat?
You said you would guess for me someday.
Okay. Because you want me to. He took a deep breath. Or perhaps he sighed. Your name is Freyja. Or that is one of them, anyway. You were the great goddess of fruitfulness, you had many names in different places.
Yes.
Your age? A lot older than I can comprehend. About four millennia?
Yes. Though for most of the time I have slept.
Catnaps. She felt his gentle smile in his tone of mind and knew he would never betray her.
Yes.
She lay silent awhile before she asked him, Now tell me. What are you?
Cat. He was both rueful and amused. I must give you a prize, a little china doll. That is the one question that baffles me.
Of course. Otherwise she would have been able to find the answer in his mind. You do not know?
Milady-I feel that there is a dream I have forgotten. I keep trying to find the words for the song, but they are gone. I truly do not know.
She lay with his head on her shoulder. Stroked his cheek and temple and the side of his neck. At her mercy and in her arms, he succumbed to her touch, he fell asleep, as she wished him to. When that had happened, very softly she withdrew herself and made the change.
Her dress lay on the bed now. She, a golden cat, stood by her lover's pillow.
There is magic in the soft, twitching, fluffy end of the tail of a cat. Countryfolk know this and will sometimes cut off a cat's tail to use in their spells. This act is an abomination. The world that no longer remembers the holy ways of the golden goddess is full of danger for a cat.
Freyja curved the end of her tail so that it resembled the heavy head of a stalk of ripe wheat, her emblem. Softly she brushed it across the lidded eyes of the sleeping man.
Odin, my sweet faithless lover, when you awaken you will be able to see again. Give me no place in your song, do not remember me. And hang yourself no longer from the tree of sorrow, beautiful one. Be happy.
Not far away, the carousel calliope started to sound. The cat bounded to the floor, landing softly on padded paws.
There is still time to stay. Will I regret leaving him?
But perhaps there was no such thing as life without regrets. And a strange new world awaited her wanderings. She pushed her way through the loose screening of the kitchen window, thumped quietly to the ground, and trotted off.
The man would live long and bear her blessing. And it was an odd thing, now at last she felt satisfied.
She slipped away, a golden shadow quick as thought, into the silver dusk. But as she went, she felt the song of the carnival flitting on the air behind her, a fey and raucous magpie melody. We don't care what the world thinks, the minds of freaks and barkers and vendors sang. We are old, we have been gypsying around this world for a long time. Come see a splinter of the true cross! Come see the pickled brains of the frost giant Ymir. Come see Napoleon's little finger. Come see a pressed flower from the Garden of Eden, from the Tree of Life.
