by Sandra Hill
The tell-of-own rang suddenly, and he picked it up off the low table. He did not understand this device at all, but he had learned how to use it in the short time he had been here. How else would he have learned how to order endless pizzas for his family from Dome-nose? And for himself, too, he acknowledged. He had grown partial to the pepperoni-and-sausage thin-crust delicacy.
"Greetings!" he said into the palm-sized black device.
"Magnus?"
He smiled at Angela's voice. Even when she was chastising him for some misdeed, like coming out of the bathing room in naught but his jaw-keys, or eating all of the cold cream from the freezer, he loved the sound of her voice.
"Yea, 'tis me."
"I have good news," she said cheerily.
You are going to join me in the bed furs… rather, bedsheets?
Nay, that would not be good news. Because of my vow, I could do nothing.
But I would really like to do something.
Nay, I would not… because then, sure as sunshine, there would be another babe… or babes.
Oh, but what pleasure there would be in the making!
I am pitiful. Really pitiful. The woman does not even like me.
But I could convince her to like me.
"Magnus, are you there? What is that loud noise I hear? Is it music?"
"Yea, I am here. And what you hear is Britain Spear."
"Huh?" she said. Then: "Never mind. What I wanted to tell you is that I'll be home soon. We settled the deal a few minutes ago. Guess where we're going this afternoon?"
To bed? Ha, ha, ha. Just jesting. "Vinland?" he offered hopefully.
"No, silly! We are going to—"
No one in the world had ever dared called him silly afore. So it took a stunned moment for Magnus to realize that Angela was still talking.
"—the beach. I'll stop for some swim suits on the way home."
"Wonderful," he said, but what he thought was that new word he had learned, Whatever. He could hardly credit her enthusiasm for going to a beach. He had a stone-stubbled beach bordering the fjord right in front of his farmstead in the Norselands, and people did not come to visit it. In truth, it was mainly used to beach longships.
"And the best news of all is that we're going to the Blue Dragon tomorrow after my closing."
"Hamr will be glad to hear that. Dragons, at last." Closing? Her closing? He decided not to ask what part of her body she was closing. He feared he would mislike the answer.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"You don't sound very excited."
If you only knew! Excitement is my second name when I am around you. Magnus the Excited! That is what they should call me. Especially when I see those sheer hose hanging in the bathing chamber every time I go to piss. "Dearling, I am very excited, if it means we will finally be able to leave this confinement." And I am very excited about some other things, too. Forbidden things. Think bulls, m'lady. Excited bulls.
The minute he clicked off the tell-of-own with Angela, it rang again. It was Dare-All No-Land.
"Darrell Nolan here. Is that you, Magnus?"
"Yea, 'tis. Greetings."
"I have great news here, my boy."
More grating news. I can hardly contain myself.
"I've just about tied things up with that dick, Dirk."
He has tied the man up? Now, this is interesting.
"Give me a few more days and we should be able to arrange your audition."
"What precisely is an odd-itch-on?"
"Ha, ha, ha! You are such a kidder, Magnus. Really, you are going to be perfect for this role. I just know it. You won't even need a dialect teacher."
"Let me make one thing clear, Dare-All. You are not tying me up."
"What?" Dare-All squawked. "Oh, you and your language act! I keep forgetting. Well, anyhow, don't do anything I wouldn't. Ha, ha, ha! Bye-bye!"
Magnus frowned at the tell-of-own for a long moment before clicking it off. He really did not like Dare-All, nor did he trust him.
"What was that all about?" Torolf asked, jarring him back to the present. "Was it Angela?"
He nodded. "It appears we are going to the beach."
"Why?" Torolf wanted to know.
Magnus shrugged. "To look at the ocean, I suppose."
"This is a strange land," Torolf commented.
Magnus agreed.
Good vibrations (not!)…
Angela was totally confused by this strange group who had entered her life… taken it over, really. And they were strange, no doubt about that.
For example, why were they so surprised by people lying about a sandy beach, getting a suntan, or swimming in the surf, just for the fun of it? Why had the older ones never heard of surfboarding? Or volleyball? And why were they so shocked by the scanty attire females wore when swimming?
She and Magnus were lying on a blanket on the beach in Santa Monica… he on one side in his new boxer-style bathing trunks, and she on the other side in her most conservative one-piece bathing suit, a flame-red maillot cut high on the hip. Actually it was her only bathing suit… one she'd bought for her honeymoon with the Creep aeons ago. In between them was Lida, fast asleep on her tummy, with her adorable diaper-clad rump up in the air. Lida had been like an Energizer bunny, running along the edge of the water and squealing with delight every time a wave came in and wet her toes. Angela was surprised at the time and care Magnus took with the toddler, sitting in the sand to teach her how to dig and make sand castles, after Angela had first shown him how.
"Father," Torolf said, running up to their blanket, sand and water droplets showering them. He dropped his rented surfboard to the ground near their feet. "This is Crystal. We are going up on the boardwalk to buy a Coke. Can I have some paper… uh, money?"
Crystal smiled at all of them. "Afterward, we're going jogging. It's, like, so cool to jog on the beach here. And the waves are awesome. And Tor is so buff. He's gonna give us some pointers."
"Well, Tor, just do not get too buff," Magnus drawled.
Torolf shot him a look that pretty well translated to, "Faaaa-ther!"
Torolf was a good-looking young man, who closely resembled his father, except that his hair, which was tied back now with a leather lace, was true blond, whereas Magnus's was light brown with hints of blond. Torolf was almost the same massive height as his father, too. And they both had wide-shouldered, narrow-waisted, cover-model bodies. You could see why Torolf was having no trouble drawing young women to him here at the beach. Even more women ogled Magnus when he passed by.
Magnus took one startled look at the teenage girl with Torolf—a typical blond California girl wearing a thong bikini. Magnus's gaze went wide at her outfit, and Angela just knew he would be rolling his eyes if the girl were not watching. Reaching into his leather pouch, which lay beside the still sleeping baby, he was about to hand Torolf a hundred-dollar bill. Angela halted him with a hand over his and took out a ten-dollar bill instead. Magnus nodded his thanks to her. He still hadn't mastered the currency values.
Once they were gone, Magnus asked, "Do you ever wear one of those thongs?"
Not where anyone can view my backside. "Not on the beach."
"Other places?"
Hardly ever… unless it's in a dark room, and my backside is hidden. "Sure," she said. "There is thong underwear, too, you know."
"Is it not uncomfortable?"
"No. In fact, a good pair, properly fitted, can be more comfortable than traditional underwear." Angela, you are such a fraud. Victoria's Secret material you are not, and never will be.
"I can hardly fathom that."
She smiled. "Would you like me to buy you a male thong?"
He looked horrified at the suggestion. "Absolutely not."
She couldn't see him in such attire, either. He was male enough without such a blatantly teasing garment. It would appear obscene on him.
"I would like to see you in yours, though. I would really like that." She could tell
by the smoldering glint in his eyes that he meant his words. But that was a road she did not want to travel with this man… especially this man who claimed she was his destiny, of all things. Best to change the subject. "Where is the mother of all these kids?"
"There is no one mother. There have been four wives, six concubines, numerous passing fancies, and at least one barley-faced maid, which I can only attribute to a fit of mead-head madness on my part. All of my women, one by one, have had the temerity to die on me, desert me, or, to my shame, divorce me, as my most recent wife, Inga, did publicly at an Althing. Claimed she was tired of playing slave to all my babes, she did. Norsemen from here to Birka are still laughing about that happenstance."
She could tell this long spiel of Magnus's was a pat answer he gave to a question he'd no doubt been asked many times.
"You're embarrassed," she teased.
He shrugged. "I do not have much woman luck… leastways in keeping women. Attracting them and pleasing them has never been a problem, though."
Not much trouble pleasing women, huh? Now that posed some interesting questions that she was not going to ask.
Apparently disapproval was evident in her expression, because he asked, "You disapprove of my children?"
"Just the number of them."
"I take good care of all my children. They want for nothing," he informed her defensively.
"How about a mother? Children need a mother."
"There is that lack, but I try to make up for it." Whatever anger he had felt at her condemnation quickly melted as he admitted, "It is an excessive number of children. I cannot help that my seed is so virile, but—"
Oh, my God! Did he really say that?
"—that is why I took my vow of celibacy. There will be no more babes born of my loins, if I can help it."
Oh, my God! Did he really say that? "You… you are celibate?" she finally sputtered out.
"I am trying."
My mind is boggling here. A man this hot, and he's celibate. Well, at least he's not gay. "All those sizzling looks you keep giving me, and you are celibate?" Those words were blurted out before she had a chance to curb her tongue.
"I said that I took a vow, m'lady. I did not say that my man part fell off." He gave her a haughty stare, then turned the tables on her. "How about you? Why is there no husband?"
"There was, but we got divorced seven years ago."
"Did you divorce him?" He was probably envisioning his own ignominious public divorce.
She nodded. "The Creep was cheating on me… a lot. Couldn't keep his pants on for the life of him."
"The creep?"
"Creep, jerk, whatever word you want to use to describe a most detestable fellow."
"Aaah," he said. "We call such a man a nithing in my country. A man of no honor."
"Sounds good to me."
"I mislike divorce very much, but I must admit to being pleased that you are unencumbered. It makes things so much easier for us."
"Us? Us?" Angela was spared an explanation of that outrageous statement by the shrill blast of the lifeguard's whistle. Before she could locate the source of the problem, Magnus was already on his feet and running toward the water. He dove under a large wave, then began swimming steadily after he emerged on the other side. Two lifeguards with yellow bullet-shaped buoys slung over their shoulders were following in his wake. In the distance—the far distance—she could see Hamr and Njal, sitting big as you please on their boogie boards. They didn't appear to be in distress, but there were rules on this beach that limited how far out swimmers could go. The boys had exceeded that distance, by a lot.
Soon they all returned safe and sound to shore, where the two lifeguards were now talking and gesticulating wildly to Magnus and his sons. Magnus was nodding his agreement with whatever they were saying, while Hamr and Njal hung their heads. Torolf and the rest of the children walked up to join the group. Angela stayed on the blanket with Lida.
Finally Magnus returned to the blanket, towing Hamr and Njal behind him. "Sit," he ordered, "and do not move."
She saw equal parts anger and concern on his handsome face. It must be hard being a parent, she thought, balancing discipline with love.
He turned to her then and said, "I think we have had enough beach playing for one day. Shall we go back to your keep?"
She nodded.
"Mayhap we could stop at that Scotsman's place on the way… to break our fast."
"Scotsman's?"
"McDonald's. I saw a picture of his food on the tell-a-vision. Methinks we could all do with a few Big Macs and Frankish fries."
"I found a piece of driftwood. Can I bring it back with me to carve?" Storvald was holding a hunk of wood the size of a small telephone pole.
"If Stor is bringing wood, then I'm bringing my crabs," Jogeir said. He was holding a plastic bucket loaded with sand crabs.
"I want some dome-nose," Kolbein said softly.
"Njal pissed in the ocean," Dagny informed everyone, as if anyone needed to know that.
"I saw your teeny, tiny tits when a wave pulled your bathing suit down. So, hah!" Njal countered, sticking out his tongue for good measure.
"Njal, you are still in trouble, you know. I would not push too far," Magnus told his son.
"Kirsten has a suitor. He kept splashing her, and she kept giggling. Just like this. Tee, hee, hee, hee. His name is George, and, whooee, does he have pimples!" Hamr piped up.
Kirsten smacked her brother on the shoulder and started to sob with embarrassment.
Truly, the little imp had a death wish, if his father's growl was any indication.
All his brothers and Dagny glared at Hamr, and the rascal asked with exaggerated innocence, "What? What did I do? I was only telling the truth."
"Hamr," was all his father said, but it was in a level, angry tone.
Just then Lida woke up. Rolling over to her back, she sat up agilely, wiped her eyes with her two tiny fists, smiled toothlessly at them all, and said, "Goo!"
As far as Angela was concerned, that about said it all.
Chapter Six
On the road again…
They had been driving in the van for about five hours, with two stops along the way to eat and use the resting rooms, before Angela finally turned the van at the sign, Blue Dragon. They were in the Sonoma valley—wine country, Angela had explained to him a while back.
For the first four hours of their journey, Magnus had thought he was going to lose his mind… or his temper.
"Faðir, are we there yet?"
"Faðir, I have to stop and make water."
"Faðir, I am hot."
"Faðir, I am cold."
"Faðir, are we there yet?"
"Faðir, Dagny won't stop looking at me."
"Faðir, what smells?"
"Faðir, are we there yet?"
On and on and on his children had persisted… question after question… complaint after complaint… even when Angela had turned some music on the raid-he-oh by the Blessed Mother—or was it the Madonna? He could understand their restlessness, because it was stifling inside the confines of the van.
But now, fortunately, the children were either napping or engaged in a contest he had thought up for them… a special prize to the child whose tongue could touch his or her chin. In the blissful quiet, he was able to enjoy the view unfolding at this moment before him. In truth, nothing—not even his loud, demanding children—would have been able to penetrate the strange ripple of recognition he felt on entering the lands of Angela's family. For a certainty, he had never been here before, and yet he felt as if he were coming home.
He opened the windows of the van and breathed deeply. "Aaah!" he said with a long sigh.
She turned to give him a quick glance, then immediately focused her attention back on the road. She likes me. She likes to look at me, but she does not want to show her attraction, he thought with his usual immodesty. Or could she be repelled by me, and I am misreading the signs? Magnus misliked his lac
k of confidence. What was a Viking without his swagger?
Tall oak trees, unlike any he'd ever seen before, were spaced evenly on either side of the long roadway leading to her family keep. At regular intervals along a low stone wall, huge pottery bowls spilled over with bright red flowers. Everywhere there was the scent of fields and tilled earth that he recognized so well. He inhaled deeply and exhaled with a sigh of pleasure.
There was also the scent of the woman next to him. The perfume she sprayed lightly on herself each morn was appealing, but just as appealing was her own woman musk. Magnus had a nose for these things when it came to the fairer sex, and it wasn't because he had a big nose. His nose was just fine, or so he had been told. 'Twas his love of the female sex that gave him this talent. And 'twas his love of the female sex that had given him thirteen children, he reminded himself ruefully.
Angela gave him a curious sideways glance as she steered the van through the picturesque corridor. "What are you doing?"
"Breathing," he answered. "I think it is the first time I have really breathed since I entered this land of yours. Do you not love the smell?"
"What smell? Fresh air?"
"Earth. The wonderful, pungent smell of earth and trees and growing things. That is what I have missed since entering this new land."
"You like to smell… dirt?" Instead of acting surprised, she almost seemed frightened.
He nodded. "Is that so odd?"
"Actually, no. My grandfather used to say the same thing. He even tasted dirt sometimes to see if it was missing some nutrient." She paused before adding, "I got a sort of eerie feeling, hearing someone repeat his words."
"He must have been a wise man, your grandsire."
Tears sprang immediately to her eyes. "He was. Oh, not so much in book learning, but in simple truths. I swear, Gramps had a hokey proverb for everything. We teased him by calling him the Italian redneck philosopher."
"I wish I could have met him."
She pondered what he'd said, then changed the subject. "I didn't realize that you were so unhappy back in LA"