Truly, Madly Viking

by Sandra Hill

  Soon—though not soon enough for Jorund's satisfaction—they emerged from the demented ride. He staggered on weak legs over to a bench, where he plopped down and put his face between his outspread knees. Sue-zee sat down beside him and exclaimed happily, "Wow! That was so cool. Can we do it again?"

  He raised his head slightly and slanted her a look that he hoped conveyed his feelings on the subject. He was afraid that, if he spoke aloud, foul words would spew from his mouth.

  "Can we go on the Ferris wheel now?" Beth asked her mother, who sat down on his other side and stared at him with concern.

  "What's a fair-ass wheel? Is it a fright machine, like the rolling coaster?"

  "No," Mag-he said with a short laugh. "Even I am not afraid of the Ferris wheel."

  So they walked over to another area, where the girls quickly jumped into another metal box. He and Mag-he followed in the next box. If Jorund hadn't been so disoriented by the effects of the rolling coaster, he would have paid more attention to his surroundings. It was only as the fair-ass wheel began to move, backward and upward, that he let his gaze roam skyward and saw just how high this fair-ass wheel was. Enormous. Then he glanced down at the fence that enclosed the fair-ass wheel arena where a sign clearly proclaimed, World's Largest Ferris Wheel.

  That was all Jorund needed to learn. "You people are barmy," he declared, unbuckling his seat belt. He began to climb out of his metal box, which was already high up in the air.

  "Joe! You can't do that," Mag-he cried out. "Come back here."

  "Way to go!" Sue-zee, the bloodthirsty little type-tea, was cheering.

  "Be careful," Beth shouted down to where he was dangling from the slow-rising box. Despite her concern, it was obvious she was enjoying his wild antics, too.

  "Joe, you have to stay on the Ferris wheel till it stops," Mag-he informed him with chagrin.

  "Not bloody likely," he said, equally chagrined, swinging an arm out to grasp at a metal supporting pole, which he used to shinny down to the ground.

  "You crazy son of a bitch!" the machine operator was screaming, practically frothing at the mouth. He had a front tooth missing and a bulge in his cheek.

  "You are fortunate I do not have my sword with me," Jorund retorted as he landed on his feet with a thud.

  "Well, sword this, buddy," the fellow hollered recklessly, meanwhile sticking a middle finger in the air.

  Normally Jorund would have ignored the scrawny know-nothing, but he had learned from his friend Steve just what this gesture meant. He could not let the insult pass.

  "Nay, I prefer to do this." Jorund said, shooting him a sharp punch in the mouth, thus loosening another tooth.

  Needless to say, they were soon evicted from the amusement park. But Jorund did not care... he had had enough amusement for one day.

  That night Joe was in the den, buffing his sword with a soft cloth and a jar of her silver cream. He claimed that fresh blood as in battlefield blood was the finest polish for "a warrior's best friend," but Maggie didn't know if he was kidding or not. She certainly wasn't about to open a vein to find out.

  "Are the girls abed?" he asked, without glancing up from his task. She had been standing in the doorway and hadn't realized he'd been aware of her presence. She stepped into the room now and wished he'd put the sword aside. The fact that he felt the need to keep the weapon in tip-top shape bespoke a time when he would be leaving them.

  "Yes, but they're still so overexcited by their day with you that I doubt they'll be asleep anytime soon."

  She saw the muscles in his jaw go rigid. "Thank you for being so kind to them. I know they were a pain in the neck, clinging to you, and... well, I appreciate your... uh, tolerance."

  "They were just being youthlings, no different from... from other children their age."

  She knew that he had been about to say they were no different from his own daughters. Why wouldn't he talk about his girls? Greta and Girta, he'd told her reluctantly, but he almost never mentioned them by name. The psychologist in Maggie recognized that Joe would never heal until he faced his loss head-on. It was a necessary part of the grieving process. And how about his wife? It was even stranger that he shut her out of his mind. He must have loved her very much.

  "Do you know what your daughters said to me when I went up to look at their wishing star tonight?"

  "What?" Maggie braced herself for the worst.

  " 'I wish you were my daddy.' That is what they said, Mag-he."

  Yep. The worst. "I told them not to say stuff like that to you, but I guess... well, I guess they can't help themselves. Don't get bent out of shape over it. Hey, next week they'll be hoping that whale trainer at Orcaland is their father, or some hotshot movie star, or..." Her words trailed off at the disbelieving look Joe leveled at her. They both knew this was not a passing fancy on her girls' part. "So what did you say to them?"

  "I told them that, by necessity, I could stay in this land only for a short time."

  "And?" she prodded.

  He released a long-breath. "And then Beth asked if I would be their daddy just while I am in this land... at least till after the yule season."

  "Oh, Joe! And what did you say to that?"

  "Naught... I said naught. I was saved by Sue- zee asking me if I could chop down a Christmas tree for them. I said that I could indeed chop down a tree, though why they would want me to do so is beyond my understanding."

  Maggie laughed then and sat down next to Joe on the couch. Briefly she explained the tradition of Christmas trees. "You're lucky they didn't ask you for firewood and snow, as well."

  "You bring dead evergreen trees into your homes to celebrate Christ's birth?"

  His eyes were wide with amazement.

  "Yes, and we adorn them with bright lights and glittery balls and homemade decorations."

  "Now see, that is the strange thing about your land, Mag-he. You deem a man demented because he rides atop a whale naked, but you see naught wrong with people voluntarily putting their lives at risk on rolling coasters and fair-ass wheels, or worshiping dead trees. I ask you, who is truly insane?"

  She smiled and put a hand on his arm, about to squeeze it in playful remonstrance when she felt the heat emanating from him. It was only then that she noticed the flush on his face as well. Was it a sunburn? She put a hand to his forehead and gasped. He was burning up. This was no mere sunburn.

  "Joe, why didn't you tell me you're not feeling well?"

  "Dost have a hearing problem, m'lady? I told you after eating all those sweets at the amusement park that my stomach was rebelling. Riding that metal monster just churned it up more. Of course I am unwell."

  She left and came back with a thermometer. "Lift your tongue and let this rest in your mouth for a

  minute or so. I need to check your temperature."

  "Temperature?"

  "Body heat."

  "Oh, I can assure you that I am hot. For you."

  He waggled his eyebrows at her with a halfhearted attempt at humor.

  "Not that kind of heat. Open your mouth."

  "No."

  "If you don't want to do it that way, I'll take you to a hospital, where they can take your temperature in another orifice. It's what they do with babies—and stubborn adults."

  "You would not dare."

  "Try me."

  Reluctantly he opened his mouth for the thermometer, but the whole time he held it under his tongue, he glowered at her.

  She soon discovered that he had a fever—one hundred and four. Forcing him to take two Tylenol, she helped him into the sofa bed and declined his request that she join him. The silly man wouldn't have been able to do anything in his condition anyway. Well, maybe he would, but she doubted he'd be up to his par.

  Ridiculous thoughts.

  She slept restlessly that night. When she awakened the next morning, she realized that she had reason for concern. Joe was almost delirious with a raging fever... now a whopping one hundred and five. She rushed him to the emergency cl
inic at a nearby medical center.

  And there she discovered something even more alarming about Joe... something that would change her world forever.

  The Bayside Medical Center released Joe the same day with a stash of antibiotics and extra strength painkillers.

  Maggie suspected that the only thing keeping them from admitting him to the hospital was his lack of medical insurance. Despite her being part of the medical establishment, she had to agree with the majority of people in this country: the health-care industry and its concern with the bottom line was deplorable.

  She had a hard time keeping the girls away from him in the den, which had been transformed into a sickroom. Finally Maggie sent them to a Saturday movie matinee with a girlfriend and her mother. By the time they returned at dinnertime and went upstairs to listen to tapes, Joe was sleeping restlessly. He was still extremely sick, though his temperature had gone down.

  Then the telephone rang. "Joe Rand, please," a male voice on the other end of the line said.

  "He's not available right now. Who's calling?"

  "This is Dr. Zalvanchic from Bayside Medical Center."

  "Joe is asleep right now. In fact, he's been sleeping since we left your office this morning. Is that OK? I mean, I assumed that sleep was the best thing for him. He still seems to have a fever, but his temperature has gone down a bit."

  She had stopped at a pharmacy that morning and bought one of those high-priced thermometers that were placed in the ear, thus allowing her to check his temperature even while he slept.

  "That's good. That's good. It means the antibiotic is working," the doctor said, but there was a note of worry in his voice.

  "What are you keeping from me?" she demanded.

  "Ms. McBride, what's your relationship to this man?"

  She bristled. "Friend."

  "Does he have any family nearby? Wife? Parents? Siblings?"

  "No," she answered hesitantly. Why would he ask such questions? Was it a privacy issue? Or something more?

  "Where's he from?"

  Oh, God! How should she answer that? "Norway, I think."

  "Hmmm."

  "What's the problem, Doctor?"

  "Well, you see, we've got a puzzle on our hands here. The lab work came back, and the blood tests show a rare strain of virus that I haven't seen ever, and I've been in practice for forty-odd years."

  "It's not the flu?"

  "It's most definitely not the flu."

  An alarming thought occurred to her, something she should have considered immediately with two daughters in the house. "Is it contagious?"

  "Not at this stage. Nothing to worry about .... there."

  "Is it a serious wires?" Her throat closed over as she choked out, "Terminal?"

  The doctor laughed softly. "No, nothing like that. It's just that this particular virus hasn't been around for hundreds of years... maybe even a thousand years."

  "Huh? Hey, even I know that there were no blood tests back then."

  "I realize that, but there were specific symptoms mentioned in some of the AngloSaxon medical journals for a disease called Seafarers' Lament. Mr. Rand's unusual symptoms fit that disease to a tee. And they don't fit any modern virus we have on record."

  "Unusual symptoms? Like what?"

  "Swelling in the armpit and groin areas. Distinctive blotches on the skin... pink patches with white dots. Tremors in the thighs. Excruciating headaches at the base of the skull. Shrinkage of the tongue. Dilation of the pupils with a purplish shading to the cornea. A red tint in the urine sample. In those days, the malady was most often fatal, but today... well, modern treatments should work. You say that he already appears to be improving? Well, it's pure luck that we hit on the right drug for his virus so quickly."

  "Yes, but now I'm really worried."

  "I think we should admit him to the hospital, if only for observation. I have colleagues at Johns Hopkins University who would love to study this chap."

  Suddenly, in the midst of the information the physician was relaying, one thought came through loud and clear: Joe really was from the tenth century. No, she amended, Jorund really was who he had told her he was, though she'd have a hard time thinking of him as anything but Joe. The man was a time traveler from a thousand years ago.

  How was that possible?

  And, of more immediate importance, how could she subject him to the public scrutiny that would surely ensue if she allowed them to admit him to a hospital?

  He would be like a freak on display.

  But how could she not admit him if his life was in danger?

  "Doctor, would it be possible for me to treat him here at home? I have some medical training, and as I told you, he already seems to be improving. Besides, he has no insurance and no money to pay for an expensive hospital stay."

  "Well, I suppose. As long as you follow my instructions carefully, and call me, or my service, the minute you notice any changes for the worse, I suppose it would be all fight. To tell you the truth, we're understaffed here with the holiday weekend. Yes, I think your suggestion would be satisfactory... for now. I want to see him first thing Monday morning, though."

  Maggie agreed, but what she thought was, No way! She would not go back to that hospital unless there were a medical emergency. After getting detailed directions from the doctor, Maggie went down the hall to the den once again. For a long time she sat on the edge of the bed, bathing Joe's face and chest and bare arms with cool cloths. The whole time, Maggie's mind reeled with the enormity of what she'd just discovered.

  Joe really was a Viking.

  Two weeks later...

  "Can we stop at McDonald's." Joe asked from the passenger seat as her car zoomed by the popular fast-food restaurant.

  Maggie had come home from work today to find Joe dressed and ready for a ride to Orcaland, which was closed for the season. He had wanted to stand by the fence and try to commune with some invisible whale off in the distance. Apparently the whale was out of range, or ignoring him.

  Maggie had trouble accepting the fact that the man had telepathic talks with a whale. But then, she'd had trouble accepting him as a time traveler, too. That was an issue she hadn't yet discussed with him. She told herself she was avoiding the conversation till Joe was well, but deep inside, she was afraid that, if she spoke the words aloud, she would have to accept that they were really true. "Did you hear me? Stop at McDonald's."

  "No!" she exclaimed much too loudly. The man was driving her batty with his constant requests... and questions—oh, yes, especially the questions. He was like a toddler who'd just learned to talk and couldn't stop jabbering.

  His monologues usually went like this: "Drive me to the bay. Buy me some beer. What's a condom? Oh. Well, buy me some of those... several dozen, at least. No? Then sell my arm ring so I can have money of my own; I'll buy the damn condoms myself. Where's the TV Guide? Why can't I watch you shave your legs? What's wrong with practicing my swordplay in the living room... with Rita? Now, if I were practicing the trick my uncle, King Olaf, taught me, where I play with three swords at once, with one of them always being in the air... then you might have cause for concern. What's a thong? No, I did not lock Rita in the bathing room... really. Sit down and watch TV with me. It does not make you braindead. Is oral sex what I think it is? How do they get toilet paper on the roll? I'm randier than a goat. When are you going to make love with me?"

  The last had become a continuing refrain, ever since he'd started to feel better. Most ridiculous of all his statements had been, "I would probably recuperate more quickly with a good swiving or two."

  "You're too sick," she had told him.

  "Then oral-sex me." The man was impossible. But that was then. Now his fixation was on food.

  "Why can't we stop at McDonald's? The girls would be happy to have such provender." During the past two weeks of Joe's recuperation, he had somehow discovered Big Macs and french fries, for which he'd developed a passion. Even Beth, who was not normally a meat eater, had become
addicted to the junk food, especially chicken nuggets.

  "We're going to have dinner at home. It's important that my girls and I sit down at the table together for a home-cooked meal... at least occasionally."

  He groaned. "We're not going to have that tough-you again, are we? It makes my stomach cramp. I do not want to hurt your feelings, dearling, but that stuff is worse than jail-low." Maggie could feel herself go dreamy-eyed every time he used the term dearling, and she suspected that he tossed it into conversations fairly often for just that purpose.

  "It's tofu, and it's good for you."

  "Bedplay is good for me, too, and I don't see you passing any of that about. I don't suppose"— he flashed her one of his devastating grins, the kind that he probably knew made her insides melt—"that you would come to my bed tonight and demonstrate thongs for me?" So, he had known what thongs were, after all. The lout! "Not a chance!"

  He made a low sound of disgust and sank down in his seat so his head was resting on the seat back and his knees were raised in the cramped space.

  "Besides, I need to talk with you, seriously," she said, further explaining her refusal to stop at the restaurant. "Since the girls will be late tonight— they have choir practice—I wanted some time alone with you."

  "Alone?" He straightened and his face brightened with hope.

  She shook her head at his persistence. "To talk."

  He slumped again. "Serious talk?"

  "Very serious."

  "I'm not going to give you my sword."

  "It's not that."

  "I won't marry you."

  She stiffened with insult, and the brute didn't even have the sense to know he'd offended her.

  "Who asked you?"

  "Females need forewarning about such things." Oooh! The man could make her go from happy to mad in two seconds flat. She clenched the steering wheel and refused to rise to his bait.

  Then he turned his head to the side, still resting on the headrest, and winked at her.