Spring Fire

by Vin Packer

  Opening the door to the room, Mitch said, "We better not talk in the hall."

  Robin looked around her and shook her head and said it didn't really matter where she talked. She said she had to go back to her room and get her homework done because at least that much wasn't messed up, and there was that much.

  * * *

  After dinner that evening, the Tri Eps filed into the small room off the living room. This was the Chapter Room, where the active members of Epsilon Epsilon Epsilon held their meetings. The pledges were instructed to stay upstairs in their rooms when such meetings occurred, and Mitch was propped up on her bed, staring unseeingly at her French assignment.

  It had been impossible to concentrate these first few weeks of school. There was always a debris of thoughts to clear up in her mind, and when one mass was swept away, the windfall hit again and each new amount seemed staggering. Determined, Mitch began reading the lesson aloud, trying to impress the catchy rules of pronunciation on her brain, but she could not. Her thoughts returned invariably to the afternoon and the way Leda had been and the change that was always instant and arresting within Leda. Mitch got to her feet and drifted to the window, and sat in the chair looking out into the street Monday night was chapter-meeting night in Greek Town, and there was a reverent hush in the neighborhood. Decisions and rules and amendments to rules were being developed throughout the area, and it was like a grand corporation manufacturing a variety of brands, all tested, all ready to compete with one another. As she saw the darkness with the spots of light in it and the stillness, Mitch wondered what it was like to be an independent She wondered if Charlie were working in the drugstore, and if Lucifer were downing in the chapter meeting across the street, and then she wondered achingly what Bud Roberts was thinking and if he had told his "brothers" and if he laughed and told them and if they laughed too. She picked up a copy of the school magazine and turned the pages, reading the jokes without smiling and looking at the pictures of the students there. The breeze coming in on her was cool, but there was a tiredness in her like that of a series of humid days that were dose and without air. . .

  "Is that the way you study?" Leda said, nudging Mitch. She was smiling and her hand on Mitch's shoulder was the same hand that had been there on Sunday and not cold or frigid now.

  "I fell asleep."

  "I guess you did! Well, that damn meeting is over for another week. Robin's case has been referred to Grand Council. They're meeting in Marsha's room now."

  Mitch sat forward. "You think it'll be O.K.?"

  "I don't know, honey. It's hard to tell. I just don't know."

  Leda rolled her hair in tight ringlets and fished her soap from her glass. "Let's go to bed right away," she said. "I'm going to wash up and then let's go to bed."

  "What about the Grand Council?"

  "Don't wait for them to decide anything. It may take all night. Get your bath, and we'll turn in. O.K.?"

  The bath water was too hot, but after the sting it felt good on Mitch's leg. In the other tub, Marybell Van Casey was singing "On, Wisconsin" and splashing the water vigorously. Mitch eased herself down to a sitting position, listened to the other girls in the room, washing out their socks, brushing their teeth, and talking about Robin. She recognized Kitten's voice, and the voices of several of the pledges, but there was no way of learning more about the incidents that occurred during the meeting. The feelings were mixed, and influenced by what each girl thought she should feel. The pledges thought that they should side with those who recommended stern reprimand, and only a few dared to express sympathy. None rebelled against the occurrence. No one defied those who accused Robin. Only Mitch, inside, and she did not speak out She pushed the soapy cloth back and forth on her arms and legs and neck and remained silent. There was enough to be wary of, and there were no answers to her own questions.

  Later, Leda turned the lights out and for a moment there was no sound in the room, but an air of expectancy, a period of waiting for one to speak. Then, in a rush of covers, springing over to Mitch's bed, Leda clung to the girl. She said, "Mitch, Mitch, oh, God!" and then they came together.

  When they talked, later, Mitch asked her about the afternoon and Leda cried, saying her words between half sobs welling from the slim body that was pressed tight against Mitch's.

  "I don't know what came over me," she said. "That couple came along and I don't know what happened to me. I felt as though—Mitch, don't ask me."

  "How did you feel?"

  "I felt—guilty."

  Mitch said, "Oh."

  "Do you, Mitch? About us?"

  "No . . . not yet. I felt— I know how you feel because I think I felt that way after Bud Roberts and—"

  "No!" Leda said sharply. "Not that way! Not that kind of guilt! God, no!"

  Leda wanted to laugh and scream and be hysterical until her whole body was spent and she could fall exhausted down into a bed of grass and let the wet blades cool her. How was it possible to make a child understand what an adult could not comprehend either? It was better that she did not realize, that the kinks and bumps and twists that resolved themselves into the overt actions were shielded and hidden from Mitch. One could bear guilt. For both, one could carry it and it would be better.

  "Go to sleep, darling," Leda said. "I love you, Mitch. This is between us. It's ours, Mitch. Keep it ours and never tell it"

  Mitch said, "I will. I don't talk about things. I mean, I think I know what you mean."

  They could hear the chattering just when sleep was coming, and the rush of the feet in the hall. Leda sat up straight and said, "What in hell is going on?"

  She poked the light button and unlocked the door. "Hey," she yelled, "what the hell is the rumpus? Did the Russians attack?"

  One of the girls stopped long enough to say that Robin Maurer was depledged. That tomorrow she would have to move out of the house.

  Chapter Six

  The Tri Epsilon porch was crowded when Mitch and Charlie came up the walk and stood against the columns. In the swings and chairs there were half a dozen couples locked in embraces at various angles, and many others clung to their dates standing. It was Saturday evening, five minutes shy of closing hour, and the scene was usual.

  "I had a good time with you tonight," Charlie said, and in that setting his voice sounded loud and intrusive. Mitch glanced at the minute hand flying slowly in circles under the glass in her wrist watch. They had been to a late movie and for sodas in the Cortille after. Soon she would be with Leda. Three minutes.

  The porch light flickered on and off to give the signal, and a voice called out, "Twelve-thirty." Charlie shuffled his feet uneasily. "Well," he said, coughing, lingering, "this is it, I guess… May I kiss you good night?"

  Mitch was uncomfortable when he leaned forward and let his lips touch hers lightly. Then he backed away, waving faintly, a curved grin on his round young face, until he collided with a couple behind him saying good night at the edge of the steps. Mitch turned, and once inside the screen door, ran up the stairs to see if Leda was there. The room was dark, and when Mitch pushed the light button, there was only the disarray of clothing on the bed, the shoes kicked about on the floor, and the papers scattered on the desk, reminding her that her economics assignment was barely begun. She pulled the blinds and slipped out of her clothes, into her terry-cloth robe and the worn slippers. The bathroom was crowded with Tri Epsilons, and as she ran her bath water and waited, she saw them pass in the halls, tired and bedraggled from their evening, many of them rushing to the windows to wave to their dates as they left. Leda was not among them, and as Mitch eased herself into the hot water, she prayed that Leda was only late, and not in trouble somewhere with Jake.

  Jane Bell called her a few minutes after she was in the bathtub.

  "Phone," she said. "Some guy."

  Dripping and curious, Mitch hovered in a wide towel as she took the call in the booth outside the bathroom. "I said, this is Jake. You know."

  "Yes, but—Has something—"


  "Listen," he yelled out at her, "don't blurt anything out where the whole bunch can hear. Leda's O.K. We're just a little tied up and she'll be late. Now listen, can you hear me?"

  Mitch's knees grew unexplainably weak. "Yes," she said.

  "In one hour exactly—that's at one-forty-five—I'll let Leda off at the side entrance. She'll come in through the cellar door. Got that? You get down there and unlock the door for her. Now, have you got it?"

  "I guess so, but—"

  "Don't get panicky. It happens all the time. Look, just be a sweet kid and get that door unlocked for her. Don't unlock it ahead of time, though, because someone might get wise. They'll be in bed by the time we get in. And something else—you there?"

  "Yes."

  "Leda says not to tell anyone she's still out. If anyone comes looking for her, lock the door and say she's sick, or pretend you're asleep, or something like that O.K.? And when you meet her at the cellar door, bring her robe and slippers."

  "Is it all right? I mean—"

  "Look, kid, Leda wouldn't ask you to do it if it wasn't. Now be a sweetheart. Promise?"

  "I promise," Mitch said, and the click came in her ear after Jake said, "Fine, baby, don't forget. One-forty-five."

  She did not bother to finish her bath. Pulling the plug, she gathered her things together and came face to face with Kitten as she was about to leave. "Hey," Kitten said, "how are you? Why don't you come down for hot cocoa in the kitchen?"

  "O.K.," Mitch said. "As soon as I get into my pajamas."

  After Mitch was dressed, she wrapped Leda's thin robe about her slippers and tied them in a ball. On the shelf near the stairway to the cellar, she hid them behind the large can of turpentine.

  When she reached the kitchen, there was a huge pot of steaming cocoa on the stove. Marsha was stirring it, the sleeves of her green wool robe pushed up to her elbows, her hair rolled up on red and white rag curlers. At the table, Kitten and Casey and Bebe Duncan talked busily about their evening.

  "Hi," Kitten said. "I suppose you couldn't drag Leda down."

  Mitch laughed and shook her head. She sat on the high wooden stool and looked at her watch. It was ten minutes after one. Marsha poured the cocoa into the cups and pulled a chair over near the table. They kept on talking. Casey asked Mitch to try out for the swimming team next week, and the chatter about sports grew and lasted. One-twenty.

  "Who was your date tonight?" Kitten asked suddenly, turning toward Mitch.

  "Oh, Charlie. He's in some of my classes."

  "Independent?"

  The cocoa was cold and flat. "Yes. I—It was my first date with him. He's very nice to me."

  "I didn't mean anything," Kitten said. "It's O.K. to date them once in a while. You know, just so it's not a habit."

  Mitch swallowed. She had expected more trouble from Kitten, but the subject changed again and Charlie was virtually forgotten by everyone. The minute hand seemed to whirl. There was no way to go down the cellar steps without being seen, and the talk was endless. When Marsha moved toward the stove to reheat the remaining cocoa, Mitch felt a warm rising in her chest and her hopes of getting Leda in safely caved in.

  "I'm not the least bit sleepy," she heard Bebe say, "not the least bit"

  * * *

  Jake came back from the phone booth with a smile. He signaled to Leda to finish her beer. "Now, that's the kind of roommate to have," he said. "Lets you take her car and opens the door for you when you come home. I gotta’ train mine better."

  He paid the check and took her arm. She stumbled on the cobblestone walk that led away from the Fat Lady, a cafe just on the outskirts of Cranston. It was a popular place for late dates because few of the regular college crowd went there. Those who did were usually there for the same reason—to avoid being seen and to make a few phone calls before starting off someplace else.

  The air was brisk, and the ground was still soft from the rain that had fallen earlier in the day. Dizzily, Leda thought of Mitch, and burned to be with her, but in the pocket of her coat her fingers touched the letter. Jan was coming in five days. She laid her head back on the seat in Mitch's car, and when the motor started and the tires skidded loose, she recalled last night's dream.

  She had been asleep somewhere in a rambling bed with Mitch beside her. They were naked, and covering them there was a brilliant red comforter, and snow was falling around them. Sleepily, and with that surging ache inside of her, she had turned to Mitch's back and cupped her hands around on Mitch's breasts and kissed the smooth white skin of her shoulders, and Mitch had turned instantly. She had said, "Leda!" in that startled, shocked voice, and the features of her face fell away and became Jan's features. And again, "Leda, what on earth are you doing?" The dream had ended there.

  "Hell!" Leda swore, and Jake grinned, his eyes on the road. "You got yourself a little load on, miss. Too bad, too—could have been a good night for it"

  "Every night's a good night for it where you're concerned."

  "That's why you love me," Jake laughed, "my insatiable queen!"

  "What time is it?" Leda said.

  He turned the corner sharply and she fell over against him.

  "We're on time," he said. "It's only one-twenty now. We'll make it right on the dot."

  * * *

  The kitchen lights were bright at a quarter to two, and inside, Mitch sat on the stool, her eyes moving from the empty cocoa cup to the cellar stairs just outside the kitchen door on the left Marsha was rattling on about clothes and only Kitten had left the gathering to go up to bed. Leda was waiting, but there was no way to reach her. Because of Jake. When she thought of him, Mitch glowered at the floor, imagining in a fleeting series of mental pictures what they had done that evening, Jake and Leda. The pictures were sordid and painful, and almost compulsively Mitch forced them to come, and each one was worse. Leda did not love him, and yet she persisted in being with him, always, as if he were a medicine or a drug. He drove Mitch's car, and called up and asked Mitch to let Leda in, and the whole affair was tiresome and nerve-racking. Mitch vowed she would tell Leda not to see Jake any more. When she got in, and if she got in, Mitch would tell her that she didn't like it. She loved Leda and Leda loved her. There was no need for this fear and worry and frustration. Suddenly, Mitch realized that Marsha was standing there, speaking to her.

  "I said, are you coming to bed? It's two o'clock."

  Mitch jumped to her feet and hurried to rinse her cup and saucer at the sink. Then, after the light was switched off in the kitchen, she followed Bebe and Marsha up the stairs to the second floor. She would have to wait to run back and open the door for Leda if she was still there! If everything would only work out! Marsha waved good night, and Bebe wandered off down the hall, humming "St. Louis Blues" aimlessly.

  The house was strangely quiet and still. Mitch waited ten minutes in the doorway of the bathroom, and then, softly, the tips of her slippers barely touching the stairs as she moved, she found her way to the cellar stairway, and reaching up behind the large square tin can, she found the rolled ball of clothing that she had left there. Her other hand grabbed the long silver flashlight, and she flinched at the strong creaking of the stairs as she made her way down and ran toward the door in the back room of the cellar. She unbolted it, and Leda, leaning up against it on the outside, nearly fell in. Jake was behind her. She held the door open an inch and whispered something to him before she closed it. Then she turned toward Mitch, and reaching for her waist, she came into her arms, and her kiss smelled heavily of stale liquor and tobacco.

  "Get into your robe," Mitch said. "I'm petrified. You don't know how my stomach felt when it was time and everyone was still in the kitchen."

  "I could see them," Leda said, "but I knew you'd come, honey. When you could."

  She began to pull her sweater over her head and unhook her skirt "I'll have to undress here and leave my clothes under the pillows until tomorrow. Then if anyone sees us going back upstairs, we can say we came down for Cok
es. Couldn't sleep. I even have two nickels. Look, you go get two Cokes out of the machine. God, my clothes are stuck to me!"

  Mitch walked across the room and slid the nickels into the slot. "If I'd thought of the machine, I could have got here on time. I never thought of it."

  She felt the cold ice feeling of the bottles as they hit the small case at the bottom of the machine. "Shall I open them?"

  Leda said, "Yes," and then, "Look, Mitch"

  Mitch turned the flashlight to look at her, and she saw her standing there, bare except for the spike-heeled shoes on her feet. "What are you going to do about it?" Leda laughed. "You aren't going to just stand there?"

  Slowly, Mitch came toward her and set the Cokes on the table. She put out the flashlight, and her hands found Leda's body. Then for the first time, she was the aggressor. The strength that was sleeping in her awakened. A powerful compulsion welled up inside of Mitch as she felt the pliant curves of Leda's body. Then they lay together, breathless and filled with a new peace. When she spoke at last, Leda said, "Mitch? Oh, God, I love you."

  A feeling of power, and the knowledge of Leda's quivering submission, filled Mitch as she let her eyes stare up at the blackness in the cellar. When she had gone to Leda, she had not known what she would do, and it happened without thought or care for what followed, but it was easy and natural. She was the conqueror, and it was a sensation abundant in glory and desire.

  "Want to stay here for a while?" Leda asked. "It's too late now for anyone to care whether we're in our rooms or not. I like it here. . . . Did you have a good time?"

  Mitch said, "Pretty good. We went to a movie. Nothing special." She rubbed Leda's back and patted her hair. "How about you?" she said. "How come you were late?"

  "Oh, Jake was in one of his usual carnal moods but I was too high and we argued."

  "Then why do you do it, Leda? With Jake, I mean."

  "What?"

  "Why do you do it with Jake?"