She had learned a lot from Verne. There was no getting around that. It had made her wary. She would never go to another man the way she had gone to Verne, naked and warm and blushing, ready to be taken. Taken so easily, as if it were nothing. It would never happen that way again. She was much too wary, now. No man would have her like that again.
But Carl wasn’t a man. He was a boy, a huge, excited boy. It was not the same thing at all. Carl had come to a ledge and was waiting for her, looking up anxiously at her, his big face full of alarm. She smiled down at him, down at his warm blue eyes, so innocent and concerned.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
It was not the same at all. She reached out, and Carl took hold of her hands. Barbara jumped down, gasping. She came to rest beside him, panting and flushed. They were getting to the bottom, down onto level ground again. Carl was still holding onto her hands, gripping her hands tightly with his own. She did not pull away.
“We’re almost there,” Carl said.
Barbara nodded. His hands felt good, wrapped all around her own. She stood quietly, head down a little, by the great blond boy. This was so different, so far removed from all the things that had come before. All the things that had happened to her. It was nice, the pressure of his hands, the cold wind moving through the trees and bushes around them. The silence. No one to bother them. They were completely alone.
Barbara closed her eyes. She felt her body relax. Her arms, her shoulders, her face muscles were beginning to loosen. Her whole frame seemed to be giving away. Like a heated candle it seemed to be melting down, dissolving, a sudden softness creeping through every part of her. What an odd feeling! Would her arms come off, her fingers drop off, now that there was no support, no form on which they could be fastened?
She felt shaky, unsteady on her feet. Inside her all her parts were oozing and thawing. Her organs, the organs of her body, must be bleeding. Blood must be running down them, dripping and dropping, forming puddles and pools, warm and thick. What an awful thought! But that was the way it felt. The melting of her insides continued. She thought of the old fairy story about the princess who had a heart of stone. A heart of rock, hard, heavy, lodged inside her like shot.
Her whole body was like this heart. And now it was dissolving back into blood and liquid, wavering and swimming into itself, murky and heated. Heated from underneath, like a caldron bubbling in some witch’s cave.
“Are you all right?” Carl said. “You look so strange.”
“I’m all right.”
She thought how the sun had set fire to her that morning, when she had awakened and found her room warm and bright, rays of sunlight streaming across her, across her bed. Heat was good. It drove off the cold and wet. Cold and wet— She felt suddenly terrified. In cold and wet she might rust or freeze. She needed the sun. Something had to be there, shining around her, warming her, driving off the dampness. Something from outside. The internal fire was not enough. It did not stay long enough to melt everything.
Barbara set her lips. Already, she could feel her organs settling back into their cold shapes. The warmth in her was exhausted, worn out. It was leaving again, as quickly as it had come. The cold was seeping back.
She shuddered. “It’s cold.”
“Yes. We better go.” Carl took his hands away.
“Wait.”
He stopped, questioningly.
“Wait. For me.” She stepped quickly down the beside him, walking close by him. “The god damn wind.” “Oh.”
Barbara rubbed her arms. “I’m freezing. When we get back we can fix coffee.”
“All right.”
“Carl, don’t go so fast. Wait for me.”
Carl slowed down, waiting for her to catch up with him. He was so big—he moved so quickly, crashing down the slope. She was afraid, of the cold wind, the rows of twisted, silent trees. There was no one around for miles. Only silent trees and wind and the fog coming down from the sky, blotting out the sun. Suppose Carl left her? Suppose they got separated? Suppose she were left behind?
“Damn it!” Barbara said. “I can’t walk as fast as you can.”
“Sorry.”
She was breathing quickly, her face flushed. Carl glanced at her, puzzled. She was walking with her head down, stepping carefully. Was she angry at him again? What had he done this time? Carl shook his head. It was hard to tell, with her. Maybe he had read too long.
“We’ll be down soon,” he murmured.
She nodded.
“I guess we stayed up here too long. I lose track of time when I’m reading. That’sra funny thing. The way time gets longer or shorter, depending on what you’re doing. Like at the dentist’s office. Every second seems like an hour.”
He glanced at her but she said nothing.
“That’s not just an illusion,” he murmured. “As I recall, Einstein mentions it in his theory. About how time is elastic.”
They walked in silence.
“Next time we won’t have to stay so long.” Carl gripped his package sadly against him. “I’m sorry I made you stay so long. I can see you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.”
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“By the way you look.”
“How do I look?”
“Your face is red and you’re not saying anything. That means you’re mad. Maybe I should throw the whole thing away. Maybe that would be best.” Carl lifted up the brown package. “I think I’ll throw it as far as I can. I used to be pretty good at discus throwing. In school I was second on our team.”
He stopped, legs wide apart, body bent to one side, the package swinging back and forth. He closed one eye, his body tense. He took careful aim.
“Watch. I’m going to throw it over that group of trees. I used to be able to heave things that far.”
“Are you sure you want to do it?”
Carl hesitated, wavering slightly. “Will you let me read some more of it to you?”
Barbara laughed. “Of course.”
Broad smiles broke out all over Carl’s face. “I guess I won’t do it, then.” He put the manuscript back under his arm. “I’ll keep it a while longer.”
“That’s good.”
“You’re not mad at me any more. Your face isn’t flushed with rage.”
“Really?”
“I guess you’ve decided to forgive me.” Carl was beginning to regain his enthusiasm. “I’m glad. I can’t see why people stay mad. Quick to anger, quick to forgive. The Irish are that way. That’s the only way to be. You should never allow emotion to cloud your rational mind for very long. It’s impossible to make decisions when you’re emotionally dominated. Emotion is like liquor or drugs. It distorts reality for you. You can’t see clearly.”
“Is that so?”
“Someday I’m going to make a study of things like that. The non-rational influences that overcome man.”
Suddenly Barbara stopped. “Look.”
“What? What is it?”
“It’s Verne.”
Somebody was coming across the plowed slope toward them, walking slowly across the brown soil. Verne gazed up at them through his glasses as he came nearer, his hands in his pockets, his pipe between his teeth.
“Greetings,” he said, stopping.
Carl’s joy faded. “Hello, Verne,” he murmured.
“What you been doing? You’re all over leaves and bits of grass.” Verne brushed Carl’s shoulder.
“We’ve been reading,” Carl said.
“Well, well.”