by Regina Doman
HIS
There were twenty-one days until his errand. He entered the appointment with the stylus of his electronic planner and counted the days again, not touching the small gray screen. Was there any way he could get out of it?
Scared, Denniston? Oh, I can see you’re scared now. Scared and you don’t know where to run.
“Damnation,” Fish said to the Palm Pilot, then closed the black leather flap of the case and slid it back into his briefcase. He should be studying. No point in taking all these extra classes if he wasn’t studying for them.
Getting himself a cup of tea with sugar, he sat down at his desk and turned the pages of his anthology to “The Eve of St. Agnes,” the long poem by John Keats. He read through it to himself.
St. Agnes’s Eve. Ah! Bitter cold it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
Here was something to distract him. A romantic view of the Middle Ages, wonderfully executed, with lush imagery and vibrant language. Seeing as he had first read it while sitting in a prison cell in juvenile detention, the verse had seemed particularly powerful to him, a colorful contrast to the dreariness, banality, and senseless violence that had surrounded him then. Escapism? Or something more real than reality?
But according to the commentaries he had picked up from the library, the whole poem was actually the erotic fantasy of a severely repressed man, telling the story of a lying male predator who tricks his victim by twisting and exploiting her religious beliefs. It was depressing.
Fish had to admit that there was something a bit untoward about the situation: the hero creeping into his love’s bedroom on St. Agnes Eve to present himself as the husband she is hoping to dream of, according to a pious custom. But the professors writing about the poem were so crass he was disgusted.
You’d think no one really believes in love any longer, he reflected to himself, thumbing the angry pages of one recently-published commentary. Everyone seems as cynical as those teenaged criminals I used to know in JD.
Maybe I’ll just stick to doing an analysis of the medieval imagery since the meaning of the poem is so controversial, he decided. He had always taken pleasure in literature. And being able to concentrate on it now was a welcome change from the larger issues in his life. He couldn’t escape the effects of prison cells and captivity, even here.
Hers
A week later, the phone awoke Rose.
“Hi, Rose. Am I calling too early?”
“Blanche!” Rose exclaimed, sitting up in bed. “How are you?”
“Oh, pretty deliriously happy. How are you?”
“Just tired,” Rose stifled a yawn. “I was at play practice until late last night. Then I met up with Alex, Leroy, and Paul and we watched a movie until three.”
“What did you watch?”
“Some superhero movie that they all watched when they were kids. It was a Japanese film. There was a dinosaur and a giant pigeon smashing Tokyo.”
“Sounds mentally invigorating.”
“It was. These guys are so weird, but I like them.”
“How are your classes?” Blanche asked in her older sister voice.
“Great. Super. It’s so nice to study things that are actually interesting. I’ve been working hard on my bioethics paper. Paul is in that class with me. He actually drove me out to the barn to find some of dad’s notes for my topic, but we haven’t found any yet.”
“Now that’s the second time you’ve mentioned Paul on this phone call.”
“He’s really, really cool, Blanche,” Rose sighed. “I’ve never met anyone like him. You’d think someone smart like him would be more jaded or unhappy, but he’s just like a little kid. Except he’s tall. We have a lot of fun together. He asked me to go to the fifties dance with him.”
“Do you like him?”
“I guess I sort of do. Well, you can’t not like a person like Paul. It’s almost impossible. You might think he’s shallow, but I know enough about goodness to know that he’s not.”
“How’s Kateri doing?”
“Barely being a student. She’s so busy! I never see her.”
“She’s a Kovach,” Blanche sighed. “Activism is in her blood.”
“So—let me see—Blanche, I can’t remember why I called you,” Rose scratched her head.
“I called you,” her sister reminded her. “You must have been thinking about calling me.”
“I was. Fish might be coming up here in a week.”
“Oh, really? Why?”
Rose confessed, “I invited him. Since you guys can’t come up for the medieval festival on family weekend.”
“So you invited him as substitute family?”
“Well, yes, sort of. Maybe I shouldn’t have. But—I sort of need to see him and Paul at the same time. To decide. You know?”
“I think I know,” Blanche said with a sigh.
“Are you disappointed in me? I know you want me to get over him,” Rose said.
“I know your heart, Rose. You’re very loyal. It will take time.”
“So, anyhow, why did you call me?” Rose tried valiantly to change the subject.
“Just to ask you how you would like being an aunt.”
“An aunt???? Ahhh! Congratulations!” Rose whooped, rolling over in bed and leaping onto the floor. “When is the baby coming?”
Her sister laughed, a bit nervous. “My gosh, this is so strange, Rose, to be telling you this. We weren’t sure for a long time, but the baby’s coming in April. I think. Well, Mom thinks.”
“Is Mom totally excited?”
“Of course. She’s just beside herself. I told her I want to have the baby at home, if I can, and I want her to be there.”
“At home? Are you sure?”
“Bear and I are looking into it. Because of my medical history, I might not be able to. But we’ll see,” Blanche said. “Say a prayer for me, okay?”
“Okay. Blanche, I am so, so, so excited.”
“Same here. And Bear sends his love, as usual.”
HIS
Fish found himself thinking again about the “Eve of St. Agnes” as he drove to Meyerstown and Mercy College for the medieval festival. Funny how the Middle Ages continued to inspire people. Keats tried to recreate it in the early 1800’s. And here was a Catholic college doing the same thing today. Almost a fundamental human impulse in the modern age. Why was that?
As Fish walked down the sidewalk at Mercy College to the Student Commons where the medieval festival was being held, he noticed several passersby in costume—one dressed as a jester and strumming a guitar, several gowned ladies, and a nun in brown sackcloth with a full flowing veil. After he passed the last one, he found himself wondering if it was a costume or real religious garb. Mercy College was a Catholic school, after all.
When he reached the Commons, he found a throng of students, professors, and children all dressed in colorful medieval clothing. He felt a bit drab and out of place in his black pants and dark shirt. He wandered around aimlessly when suddenly he caught sight of Rose. She was carrying her violin and wearing a gypsy outfit, with a full red skirt, white shirt and multi-colored headscarf. As she ran over to him he noticed she had bare feet—in October!—and jingle bells on her ankles.
“Fish!” she exclaimed. “There you are! You missed our songs—I was playing violin with some other students who had a gypsy band and we just finished our last set. But I’m so glad you could make it.”
“It was a nice drive out,” Fish said, putting his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “Sorry I missed your violin playing. I always enjoy it. Nice costume.”
“Thanks. I hope you don’t feel out of place. Why don’t you come over and meet the gypsy band? We could loan you a cape.”
“Uh, no thanks.”
“Well, they seem to have scattered already—There’s Kateri! Hi roomie!” Rose waved excitedly. “Come over here!” To Fish she asked, “Do you remember Kateri from the wedding?”
“I don’t know,” Fish
was saying, as a girl in a long shining satin green gown and flower wreath bustled over to them, holding up her skirts to come faster. Her feet were also bare. (What was it with girls and bare feet?) She had long, thick black hair and thin braids wrapped in gaily colored thread, and Asian eyes with a round tan face.
He put out his hand. “Benedict Denniston.”
She shook it, giving him a hard handshake, but her keen black eyes were laughing. “Kateri Kovach,” she said. “But I’ve met you before, Fish. I was a bridesmaid at Blanche’s wedding.”
“Oh,” he was confused. “You were?” He didn’t remember anyone with long thread-wrapped braids at the wedding.
“I had my hair up,” she said, guessing his thoughts and shaking her mane. “People always say they don’t recognize me when I dress up. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”
Fish paused. “By any chance, you wouldn’t happen to be leading any protests around here?”
Her eyes sparked. “My reputation precedes me,” she said, folding her arms. “Yes, I do a bit of that. Sort of in the family tradition.”
He shook his head at her. “I’d be careful, if I were you.” He told her about meeting Dr. Prosser and the conversation at the French restaurant.
“Wow,” said Rose. “They did a background check on you, Kateri.” She seemed impressed.
Kateri shrugged. “I should have expected that. They did the same with my brothers and sister. It goes with the territory, being an outlaw.” She grinned at Fish mischievously. “My older brothers held sit-ins at abortion clinics and spent a couple of years in jail. I’ve barely done anything at that level. All I do is go downtown with a few signs and a few friends, and tell the truth. Not much to that.” She jostled him. “You should come down with us some time. Rose here would go but she always has play practice.”
“I did go once,” Rose said loyally.
“What exactly is going on down there?” Fish asked.
“They do abortions, even partial-birth and full-term abortions, when the baby could be born with no problem,” Kateri said, crossing her arms and looking serious for the first time. “They’ll encourage women to abort their babies if there’s a chance the baby might be handicapped. I’ve even heard reports that they euthanize homeless people who are taken to their emergency room. They seem to have no respect for human life—it’s merely a commodity.”
“Are you sure that’s true, about the euthanasia?” Fish asked dubiously.
Kateri nodded. “Sure as I can be. I’ve talked to former workers there, but none of them want to go on the record. This Prosser lady is the director. I’ve had a run-in or two with her before. A very cold fish, sorry for the pun.”
“I hope you’re not planning on bombing the hospital or anything,” Fish said. “They certainly seem to think you will.”
Kateri frowned. “They’re fantasizing because we make them scared. They have to give themselves something material to be afraid of. But what they’re afraid of is the truth. No, I’m never going to give them the satisfaction of returning their violence with violence. That’s not our way.” She looked at Fish seriously. “You can’t stop this kind of evil with guns and bombs. What we do is public, nonviolent protest to keep speaking the truth.” She tossed her hair back with her hands, and Fish noticed it took both her hands to do it. “Like I said, come down and see sometime.”
“Maybe,” he admitted.
She stretched. “I’m going to go do some folk dancing. Rose, you going to come?”
“In a minute,” Rose said, quickly glancing at Fish, who tried to make himself look like the sort of person who didn’t do folk dancing.
Kateri waved and strode off, her green dress glinting in the October sunlight. Some flowers were falling out of her wreath and the petals blew away as she walked, scattered to the wind.
“So that’s Kateri,” he said. “I guess I didn’t remember her from the wedding.”
“I don’t see how you could have. All the Kovachs were there. She’s number ten of eleven. They’re a really wild family. I dearly love them all. Her brother Adam was my hero for the longest time. I thought I was going to marry him when I grew up, but he’s already married, with about three kids.” She sighed. “The Kovachs are fascinating. Do you know who I think they really are?”
“Who?” Fish asked, half-smiling. He knew Rose was going to tell him.
“Outlaws, in the grand tradition of Robin Hood. For one thing, they have almost no money, but you’d never know it. And they hunt, and trap, and raise chickens, and make almost everything they need, or they grow it. And it’s true that her older brothers used to lead protests and get arrested when they were at Mercy College. Only back then it was abortion clinics—they’ve been shut down now. The Kovachs are all tremendous readers and thinkers, and really sharp about politics and issues and things like that. Kateri has more courage than any other girl I know. She’s been my best friend and Blanche’s for as long as I can remember. We used to live down the street from them when we had our farm in New Jersey. And that’s one big reason I decided to come to Mercy College, because this is where the Kovachs all went. But most of them didn’t finish school. They ran out of money, or they got married, or spent too much time in jail. Kateri will probably end up that way too. She just has too much energy and fire to stay at school.”
“Hmm,” Fish said. “I hope she’s careful.”
“Oh, she is. She’s a Kovach. No one can outwit a Kovach. They’re all foxes,” Rose said confidently. “Let me go and stash my violin and then I’ll show you around.”
They walked around the Commons together, looking at the different sights. Music of drums and pipes played in the background. Professors in medieval garb—some wearing their academic robes—sat around tables with students drinking ale and talking. Children with cardboard shields and wooden swords and capes dashed around shouting playfully. Some girls in gowns with wreaths on their heads danced in a big circle.
Fish noticed several guys in black doing sword work in the soccer field. Rose glanced at him and noticed where his attention was. “Oh, I have to introduce you to the Cor guys. They’re like the campus knights.”
“How about we get some food?” he said, a bit stiffly.
“Okay,” she glanced at him, surprised. He couldn’t really explain his reaction to himself, let alone to her.
They had some food, and watched the living chess match. As the game ended, the music struck up again and the players and audience began spontaneously dancing a kind of modified Virginia reel. Fish saw Kateri dancing with a boy in a monk’s costume.
Rose touched his arm and he glanced at her.
“Would you dance with me?” she asked timidly, looking up at him.
She was always asking for something from him. He looked at her. Her grey-green eyes were a bit wistful. Funny how her eyes changed colors, almost with her moods. When he had first seen her about an hour ago, he could have sworn her eyes were blue.
“For old time’s sake?” she asked.
“All right,” he said.
He took her hands and twirled her slowly to the music. She turned back to face him, and took his hands with a serious expression that made him smile. He led her into a promenade with the other dancers.
“How’s the play going?” he asked by way of making conversation.
“Fine,” she said, but her face was worried. Gray eyes.
“Do you like the part?” he queried.
“I do, and the director is great, but I’m not getting along so well with some of the other cast members,” she confessed, speaking quietly. He noticed she glanced around as she spoke. He supposed that perhaps some of them were nearby in the costumed crowd.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I have a hard time connecting with the guy who plays Lear. He’s not that great, not at this point. Plus, well, I think he likes me, and that’s distracting. He’s nice, but I don’t like him, if you know what I mean.” She looked up at him as he twirled her again and her red skir
t flared out around her.
“That must be difficult,” he said.
“It is. But the worst part is Goneril and Regan—the girls who play them, I mean. The one girl, Donna, just doesn’t like me. Oh, sometimes she’s very nice, and I try to be nice back, but it’s sort of a sugar-coated meanness. Same with Tara, her friend, who’s playing Regan. And, well, I just want to do the play. I’m not trying to antagonize them, but the director chose me to play Cordelia. It’s just difficult.”
“Sounds like it,” he was concerned. “You mean this is the same Donna who wanted the part of Cordelia?”
“Yes, that’s her. She’s Goneril. She does a wonderful job. I keep telling her that whenever I get a chance, but she just stares coldly at me.”
“Is she around here?” Fish asked, noticing that Rose kept glancing over her shoulder.
“As a matter of fact, she was—she and Tara—wait, they’re over there.” Rose indicated with a nod of her head a corner of the courtyard. Fish saw two girls dressed in medieval gowns that had a bit of a lower cut than most of the other girls. One was a tall striking blond. The other was shorter, heavy-set, and was smoking. The blond looked in their direction, and Fish didn’t care for her expression.
“Strange lady,” he said as he turned away from them.
“I think she’s had a rough life,” Rose confided. “So it’s not all her fault.” Her gaze brightened and her eyes were green again. “Look! There’s Dr. Dawson! He’s one of my favorite professors. Do you mind meeting him?”
“No, not at all,” he said, trying to be affable.
Dr. Dawson was a thin man with glasses and gray hair and a courtly grace. He shook Fish’s hand warmly and was most interested to hear he was doing his doctorate work at the university.
“That’s where I did my masters,” he said. “Do you know Dr. Anschlung?”