For many minutes, they lay drained in their silent personal spaces, as the eddies ebbed, exchanging fleeting spying glances.
Anne thought back in time. As a prize, Netu had not come easy. Of course, her robust ambition got stretched to its limit before she won the trophy of love, and on a platter, which amazed even her boldest rival in the multitude of scheming female species.
Each time this memory haunted her and its dart struck at a dreamed future in which Netu straddled their wheel of fate, playing his dignified role as her heart’s controller, she managed not to cry. Rather, she would escape into the spirit of self-praise. Besides, few in her league of rivals bore such a scar in their memories. She alone so felt the violent thrust of the secret game which went on among the interested parties. A rivalry that almost claimed her life. Yet, she not only survived it, but also emerged victorious, by sheer inspiration and rugged perseverance. Now, she had every reason to be full of self-praise; at least, this day, Netu was hers.
The war would never be over inasmuch as Netu waited to ascend the throne and bear the spiritual mantle as the Manu long forecasted. In his arms then for the first time, Anne felt overwhelmed by the act of providence: Anne, the underdog, now victor, and in the arms of one of the most adorable men in Newland. Cheerfully, but at times with a tint of gloom, they had crossed both turbulent and calm seas together. There, the armor of their deep mutual affection and the fragrance of their warmth protected them. Yet, the moment she feared most came. Plotting the intricacies of the battles had been easy, but winning and keeping the prize seemed the real war.
An icy breath stole into Anne’s lungs, overwhelming her with fear. Would Netu leave her? Would he betray her trust in him? Damn all the pressures he had been complaining about of late. Why would the vile forces not hands-off the treasure of her life? Damn all of them. Damn their indignity for striving to ruin her plans. She had won some fierce battles before and lost them in euphoria. No matter the stakes, she would keep this victory to herself.
Netu too drifted into the realm of thought. He ballooned himself into outer space and remained in the haze of timelessness; an aft state of mind he often liked. This condition gave him access to time's microfilms. A clear way to assuage his mind's torment. His suspicions about Anne necessitated this. By the same degree of mind over-exertion, his rationality suffered as well and rubbed off his otherwise justifiable vindictiveness. Provoked by a similar fright instinct a week before, he had done a swift maneuver with Anne, which she acknowledged as an ingenious gimmick at self-protection, a necessary shield in time of trouble. Slide by slide the intrigue of the past week rewound by the projector of his mind.
Anne had come as usual all the way down to OldHill, from Remwil District of Newland's southern boundary with the Sagol Sea. A place regarded as the oven of integrated cultures, degrading squalor, and vast opulence. She intended to cherish some bliss with Netu. They had been alone in the three-bedroom apartment as they were now and all had gone well with their emotions, until the recurrent bout of fear found foothold in Netu's senses.
If I must give in to her facade of innocence, I must commit her to an oath she cannot revoke, Netu thought. Let her mix her Hemlock with her own hands in case she becomes too clever and perfidious, he reasoned further. Predation seems the ball game in the theatre of life, and survival the only choice. Either I hunt, or I’m hunted. But if my fears are justified, if all I’ve been told by the Guardians of the Universe in the Blackhole's Disc Centre are equally correct, my peculiar nature would not let me hunt Anne, but I would make her ensnare herself.
The faint blur of the slides of Netu’s mind disappeared with amazing sharpness as he remembered in vivid terms how he had out-foxed Anne, while holding her close on the living room settee. The disk player fed their hungry need for each other with a scintillating tune, but as Anne’s prey, Netu knew it to be a game he must play well. First, he needed to avoid the race of a scared hare he suspected himself to be, and then to chase with the fury of a hound at the same time.
"Anne, I've been thinking about you and me," he teased.
"Is it?" Anne demanded calmly. She raised her groomed thick eyelashes with sudden interest. "Tell me dear, what's on your mind?" She tucked her right leg under her left thigh on the couch and stared at him, brushing her loose hair backward from obscuring her vision.
"I've been thinking about what you are to me," he said, with a grin.
"Easy to guess," Anne said with pride. "I'm a good friend, your lover!” She touched the ridge of his semi-broad nose, narrowed the slit of her eyes, adding, "And I dare say, your wife!"
Netu laughed dryly. "Not precisely. My would-be wife," he corrected, playfully biting the tip of her retreating forefinger.
Anne squirmed from the tickle of Netu’s incisors on her finger and gave him a feeble punch on the chest. "Whatever it is, I’m no meat to chew!"
"You're not, of course, but you're like a mother to me. I've been thinking about this all day." Her flustered look increased his amusement. "You're not only a mother,” he continued. “It encompasses the other qualities you mentioned as well: sister, friend, brother, and lover!"
Anne regained her composure. "Pretty romantic way of telling me how you feel, not so?" she drawled.
"Well, yeah, but have you ever seen me as your sister, friend, brother, and lover? What about as your child?"
Anne looked on thoughtfully. "Not often," she confessed, and then in bold defense, added, "I've always seen you as everything to me."
"Everything?” echoed Netu, his forefinger emphasizing the word. "It’s still vague, you know what I mean? We are talking in the light of mother and child relationship now. That bond is more enduring than others. Everything as you know it has the tendency of crumbling under a number of wiles."
"So?" Anne goaded.
"Would you take me as your child?"
Anne hesitated. "Uh-hu!" she muttered.
Her brief hesitation and indifferent reply did not fool Netu.
"All right,” he said, “as a loving mother, what would you wish your child?"
Anne's brow kneaded. What he fiddled with in his mind she almost could touch in his gaze, yet its texture she could not discern. "Any mother worth her salt would give her child utmost care.”
"Wisely said," Netu cheered. "I thought you'd falter around the bend.”
"Falter is not the right choice of word. I'm a mother already. Need I tell you about my son, Andy, again? I think I can answer your question from my own experience as a mother."
Damn the circumstance, she did not want her sour romance with an ex-boyfriend recalled while in Netu's embrace but the tricky question he had asked made her mention it. It worried her – not necessarily because of Netu’s knowledge of her son and ex-lover, but the fact she loathed remembering giving birth to a son for another man instead of Netu whom she truly loved.
Netu bridged the thin gap between them and kissed her fervently. She gasped and shrugged free in her eagerness to end a move she believed preceded a deeper intrigue.
"We haven't finished the business at hand," she said without pretense. "I'll rather we get done with it first."
"Which is?"
"The thing on your mind, let's lay it bare."
"All right then," he said, pouting. He needed a moment’s pause to put his words right. "With the way you carry on, I can tell you know I'm glad with your wish for me as your child. Now as your child, don’t forget I'm whining and whimpering in your tender hands. Would you then oblige me the benefit of the sound of your voice in wishing me the things you wish your child?"
Anne tensed up and looked away. She knew it! Damn the fox in Netu. She knew by God he had been beating about the bush to confuse her when she least expected. She admitted she had been stupid to have been so trapped.
"I wish you the thing I wish for my son," Anne said in a defiant tone. Her gaze lowered on the floor as she
brooded.
"But you didn't say what you wish your son?" Netu cajoled, trying to win her over. "I’m your son, remember?"
"I've done what you requested. What else do you demand?"
Netu's eyes screwed half-shut with glaring impatience. To calm himself, he scratched his brow, pronged his tongue, and toyed with his thin line of moustache.
“Alright, you've done my bidding, but don't you see it's partially done? You have not said the words I want to hear. What is it you wish me as your child in your arms? That's what I want to hear you say."
"I wish you everything," Anne said in a voice bereft of the conjuring power of the supernatural.
"Like what?"
Anne did not reply. She sat as a stone-hewed nymph, hoisted in the bulwark of a popular promenade, dead to the enchanted gestures of the throng passing by. Manifold were the implications of what Netu demanded. There were things she could not do with him once she took the oath. It meant too much fun to throw away, another great prize to pay to keep him.
"You're shy, I see," Netu said, inspired by a new idea. "I know the way out. Don't you fret or move now. I'll be back with the answer right away."
Netu rose. He knew he had the trump card and she appeared to be at his mercy. Anne watched him whistle merrily as he wheezed into his bedroom. She bowed her head in contemplation. Must she always give? Would it hurt him if she held back? He asked for something within her powers to give, so why procrastinate or refuse him? Netu's whistling as he returned stopped her train of thought.
Netu dropped a clean piece of paper and a ball point pen next to her on the settee and knelt down on the rug - not in reverence to Anne but an expression of the importance of the issue at hand.
"What the lips can't say the heart can translate to the hand to write,” Netu implored. “Here, on this paper, let me see what your heart is saying for me."
Anne laughed, gave Netu a bewitching stare, and then smiled, reaching for the pen and paper. Netu sensed the tinkle of victory in his veins now pulsing with a surge of blood.
Anne scribbled some words on the paper.
Netu craned his head and observed the expressionless mask on her face as she paused intermittently for coherence of thought.
"Have it now, Netu," she said, thrusting the paper into his hand. She eyed his elation dim as he read.
I wish you all I wish my son.
"That's one step forward," he said, not daring to show his excitement. "Step two: don't you wish me care, love, protection, wealth, and all that goes with being your child?"
“I do,” Anne said.
"Then put it down on the paper."
Beneath the first line of words, Anne scribbled . . . Protection, care, love and wealth. Then she quizzed him with a knotted brow.
Netu was on cue. "What next, right? Who is making this wish and to whom?"
"From Anne to Netu," she said, no longer tensed up. She had begun to enjoy the joke along with him.
"Excellent! Indicate both names at the appropriate places, and don't forget to add a date."
Anne complied, giving Netu a congratulatory glance. At the top of the lines, she wrote in bold letters NETU DEO and underneath, ANNE OFINO, dated 7th of January 1996.
Though satisfied with Anne's compliance, Netu reckoned one thing remained undone. "Well done!" he said with a smile. "We are almost through. Read to my hearing what you've scribbled down."
Anne read her wish with a lilting voice and deep feeling, which Netu acknowledged in his heart as a great commitment. Acting on the moment’s impulse Netu retrieved the wish from her and wrote his own.
I, Netu Deo by the Grace of the Divine unction, hereby declare on this day, 7th of January 1996, that whatever is meant for Anne Ofino should be given to her without further delay. I call on the Ascended Masters, the Guardians of the Universe, and all the positive forces on the planet to sanction this request with the urgency it demands.
Netu then signed the paper and handed it back to Anne. "I've endorsed mine, you endorse yours," he said.
Anne signed and dated it. "Hope you are not going to use this against me?"
"Why, no. Just watch what I'll do with it right away."
Netu hummed a tune she did not quite comprehend as he hurried away to the kitchen. He returned with a matchbox. “I intend to burn someone’s pretty face with it." He laughed and rocked from side to side.
Anne chuckled. "I dare you.” She swung to her feet, barricaded Netu’s path in a daring, cockeyed poise, and raised a spindly finger to his chest. "Netu, you don't have the hardened nature of a brute here where your heart beats. What's the damn idea you have regarding the match box?"
"Impatience isn't a virtue I’d advise anyone to cultivate or even tolerate," he chided. "Watch me and keep your cool. Can I have the wish one more time?"
Anne ignored his chiding, picked the piece of paper from the settee and handed it over.
"Come with me," he beckoned as he led the way to the kitchen, rolling the piece of paper into a spindle. Anne followed, her heart palpitating with fear.
In the kitchen, Netu threw the paper onto the floor tiles. He struck a matchstick and lit a corner of the spindled paper. The flame caught the edge, crawling in the initial rage up the spindle. It then flared with a faint crack as Netu picked it up and held the untouched end, then its anger spread with bright flames towards his hand. Netu felt the searing of the flame at his fingertips and let go.
Anne brightened at his little prank with the flaming paper. Only then did her heart stop its palpitation. He had not blackmailed her with it; yet, she saw an inexplicable ritual in his antics.
In silence they watched the struggle of the butt of the burning spindle, now consumed, and malformed from its initial whiteness to a mass of black ash on the glittering floor.
Netu sniffed the carbon wafting in the air. Instead of being displeased by the choking smell of carbon, it spurred him. Netu smacked his lips hard and shrugged confidently.
“The gods have heard. It’s all over,” he said inspired by his newly acquired power.
Anne looked on still stunned by the oddity of his game. If she had any explanation to his intentions, his self-unveiling in his inference with the gods must be it. This seemed a ritual done with the intention of her not detecting its asperity of purpose. But how would the gods, the Guardians of the Universe and all the beings or spirits summoned come to bear the weight he had passed on to them? How would the Guardians come to the knowledge of what they had done in secret, when it exemplified a child's attempt to shoot down a star with a catapult? She admitted Netu remained one damn mystery she never understood. It hurts me like the blow of a scythe that I don't know this mystery pretty well placed on my tender palms. She shook her head to steady her mind.
"It's an invocation far beyond your ways," Netu said, as if Anne’s mind had relayed her worries to his head. "Clear the ash from the floor and I'll elucidate on this later."
Anne took the ash to the kitchen trash basket while Netu loitered around the kitchen entrance. Once she was through, he held Anne by the arm and led her to the bedroom. He went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, grabbed a packet of pineapple juice and two glasses and handed Anne hers.
"This is to us!" he cheered, tinkling his glass against hers. "This is to us!" Anne replied.
After a number of slow sips, Netu said, "What we’ve just done looks meaningless to the uninitiated. But you know I wouldn't indulge in something stupid and senseless unless I consider it potent and necessary."
He soothed his vocal chords with another sip, wiped his lips with his tongue, belched, and continued. "It's a funny, little game I play often. This is the third time actually, and it works, my baby! It works in a mysterious way. There is a supernatural allusion to it."
Netu noticed Anne’s amusement.
"The other times I tried it,” he went on, “t
he situations were not the same as this. No woman was involved – just I and the creation, the cosmos, the Masters, past and present; and the God of my being. With it, I invoke the whole creation to witness. Sometimes I alter the procedure depending on the need and urgency." He paused to empty his glass.
Anne's respect for Netu towered beyond her measure. He taught her in a number of ways, she reasoned. The feeling that she would learn everything about Netu and yet not know him enough to flaunt it worried Anne. She held up her glass, pretended to sip the juice, and spied him over its rim. A warm feeling rippled within her.
I think I'm truly beginning to love him. His smile always disarms me. By God, his even, sparkling teeth shine like little stars in the night sky. His seductive eyes, with their bushy lashes and bushy brows. His broad lips and small-ridged nose. His crew-cut hair and handsome face, o!
"I've said enough," Netu's voice banished Anne's thoughts. "A man must always endeavor to wield a scepter of mystery which defies a woman's understanding. That way, he keeps her in constant check." Netu’s raucous laughter rent the air.
"Anywhere a man goes, he never forgets to display his chauvinist genes, even if he's a spiritual icon,” Anne rebuffed him. “First, a man is a man, hence, a chauvinist. Then he's so many other things. Maybe, a spiritual icon," she mocked.
"War of words. Empty war of words."
Anne lowered her glass to the floor, kicked off her slip-on, and slapped him on the shoulder. "Race you to bed," she said, feeling triumphant.
"Let’s see who wins this war," Netu joked. "It's your guts against mine."
He went stoically after her. She strove to parry his grasp but he was swifter on the bed. As they crumbled into a bundle, they rained kisses on each other.
Anne took a long drawn breath and steadied her composure when Netu released his hold. "The wish I wrote down for you is the same my ex-boyfriend, Mike, trouble me about,” she revealed. “He said he'll do anything for me if only I’ll oblige him."
"And, did you?" he snapped, unable to hide his envy.
"If I did I wouldn't have repeated it with you, would I?"
Titan Race Page 9