MA10 Sweet Myth-tery of Life

by Robert Asprin

  “First, let me ask you a few questions,” the troll said.

  “All right.”

  “Do you love her?”

  I paused to give the question an honest consideration.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Of course, I really don’t know all that much about love.”

  “Does she love you?”

  “Again, I don’t think so,” I said.

  I was actually enjoying this. Chumley was breaking things down to where even I could understand his logic.

  “Well, has she said she loves you?”

  That one I didn’t even have to think about.

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?” the troll pressed.

  “Positive,” I said. “The closest she’s come is to say she thinks we’d make a good pair. I think she meant it as a compliment.”

  “Good,” my friend said, settling back in his chair.

  “Excuse me?” I blinked. “For a moment there, I thought you said ...”

  “I said ‘Good’, and I meant it,” the troll repeated.

  “You lost me there,” I said. “I thought marriages were supposed to be ...”

  “... Based on love?” Chumley finished for me. “That’s what most young people think. That’s also why so many of their marriages fall apart.”

  Even though he had sort of warned me in advance, I found the troll’s position to be a bit unsettling.

  “Um, Chumley? Are we differentiating between ‘analytical’ and ‘cynical’?”

  “It’s not really as insensitive as it sounds, Skeeve,” the troll said with a laugh, apparently unoffended by my comment. “You see, when you’re young and full of hormones, and come in close contact for the first time with someone of the opposite sex who isn’t related to you, you experience feelings and urges that you’ve never encountered before. Now since, despite their bragging to the contrary, most people are raised to think of themselves as good and decent folks, they automatically attach the socially correct label to these feelings. Love. Of course, there’s also a socially correct response when two people feel that way about each other ... specifically, marriage.”

  “But isn’t that ...” I began, but the troll held up a restraining hand.

  “Hear me out,” he said. “Now, continuing with our little saga, eventually passions cool, and the infatuation has run its course. It might take years, but eventually they find that ‘just being together’ isn’t enough. It’s time to get on with life. Unfortunately, right about then they discover that they have little if anything in common. All too often they find that their goals in life are different, or, at the very least, their plans on how to achieve them don’t coincide. Then they find, instead of the ideal partner to stand back to back with while taking on the world, they’ve actually opened a second front. That is, they have to spend as much or more time dealing with each other as they do the rest of the world.”

  Despite myself, I found I was being drawn in, almost mesmerized, by his oration.

  “What happens then?” I said.

  “If they are at all rational... notice I said ‘rational,’ not ‘intelligent’ ... they go their separate ways. All too often, however, they cling to the concept of ‘love’ and try to ‘make it work.’ When that happens, the result is an armed camp living an uneasy truce ... and nobody’s happy ... or actually achieving their full potential.”

  I thought about the bickering I had recently witnessed between Kalvin and Daphnie, and about what Guido had told me about domestic disturbances and how they can explode into violence. In spite of myself, I shuddered involuntarily.

  “That sounds grim,” I said.

  “Oh, it is,” the troll nodded. “Trying to ‘make it work’ is the most frustrating, depressing pastime ever invented. The real problem is that they’ve each ended up with the wrong person, but rather than admit that, they try to gloss things over with cosmetics.”

  “Cosmetics?”

  “Surface changes. Things that really don’t matter.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “All right,” the troll said. “I’ll give you an example. The wife says she needs some new clothes, so her husband gives her some money to go out shopping. That’s a rather simple and straight forward exchange, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Well ... yes.”

  “Only on the surface,” Chumley explained. “Now look at it a little deeper ... at what’s really going on. The husband has been getting caught up in his work ... that’s a normal reaction for a man when he gets married and starts feeling ‘responsible,’ by the way ... and his wife is feeling unhappy and ignored. Her solution is that she needs some new clothes to make her more attractive so her husband will pay more attention to her. A surface solution to her unhappiness. Now, when she says she needs new clothes, the husband is annoyed because she seems to have a closet full of clothes that she never wears, but rather than argue with her, he gives her some money for shopping ... again, a surface solution. You’ll notice that he simply gives her the money. He doesn’t take her shopping and help her find some new outfits.”

  The troll leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

  “From there, it goes downhill. She gets some new clothes and wears them, but the husband either doesn’t notice or doesn’t comment ... possibly because he still resents having to pay for what he thinks is a needless purchase. Therefore, buying new clothes ... her surface solution ... doesn’t work because she still feels ignored and unhappy ... and a little angry and frustrated that her husband doesn’t seem to appreciate her no matter how hard she tries. Her husband, in the meantime, senses that she’s still unhappy so that giving her money ... his surface solution ... didn’t work. He feels even more bitter and resentful because now it seems that his wife is going to be upset and unhappy even if he ‘gives her everything she’s asked for’. You see, by trying to deal with the problem with surface, cosmetic gestures without acknowledging to themselves the real issues, they’ve actually made things worse instead of better.”

  He smiled triumphantly as I considered his thesis.

  “So you’re saying that marriages don’t work,” I said carefully. “That the concept itself if flawed.”

  “Not at all,” the troll corrected, shaking his head. “I was saying that getting married under the mistaken impression that love conquers all is courting disaster. A proper match between two people who enter into a marriage with their eyes open and free of romantic delusions can result in a much happier life together than they could ever have alone.”

  “All right,” I said. “If love and romance are bad bases for deciding to marry someone because it’s too easy to fool yourself, what would you see as a valid reason to get married?”

  “There are lots of them,” Chumley shrugged. “Remember when Hemlock first arrived here? Her marriage to Roderick was a treaty and a merger between two kingdoms. It’s common among royalty, but you’ll find similar matches in the business world as well. In that case, both sides knew what they wanted and could expect, so it worked out fine.”

  “Sorry, but that seems a bit cold to me,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Really?” the troll cocked his head. “Maybe I’m phrasing this wrong. What you don’t want is a situation where there is a hidden agenda on either or both sides. Everything should be up front and on the table ... like with the Hemlock/Roderick marriage.”

  “What’s a hidden agenda?”

  “Hmmm ... That one’s a little hard to explain. Tell me, if you married Queen Hemlock, what would you expect?”

  That one caught me totally unprepared.

  “I don’t know ... nothing, really,” I managed, at last. “I guess I figure that it would pretty much be a marriage in name only, with her going her way and me going mine.”

  “Good,” the troll said emphatically.

  “Good?” I echoed. “
Com’on, Chumley.”

  “Good in that you aren’t expecting anything. You aren’t going into it with the notion of reforming her, or that she’d give up her throne to hover around you adoringly, or anyone of a myriad of other false hopes or assumptions that most grooms have on the way to the altar.”

  “I suppose that’s good,” I said.

  “Good? It’s vital,” the troll insisted. “Too many people marry the person they think their partner will become. They have some sort of idea that a marriage ceremony is somehow magical. That it will eliminate all the dubious traits and habits their partner had when they were single. That’s about as unrealistic as if you had expected Aahz to stop being a money-grubber or to shed his temper just because you signed on as an apprentice. Anyway, when their partner keeps right on being the person he or she has been all along, they feel hurt and betrayed. Since they believe that there should have been a change, the only conclusion they can reach is that their love wasn’t enough to trigger it ... or, more likely, that there’s something wrong with their partner. That’s when marriages start getting bloody. At least with Queen Hemlock’s proposal, nobody’s kidding anybody about what’s going to happen.

  I mulled over his words for a few moments.

  “So you’re saying that you think I should marry Queen Hemlock,” I said.

  “Here now. Hold on,” the troll said, leaning back and holding up his hands. “I said no such thing. That’s the kind of decision that only you can make. I was just commenting on what I see as the more common pitfalls of marriage, is all. If you do decide to marry the Queen, there are certain aspects that would weigh in favor of it working ... but you’re the one who has to decide what you want out of a marriage and whether or not this is it.”

  Terrific. I had been hoping that Chumley’s analytic approach would simplify things for me. Instead, he had simply added a wagon load of other factors to be considered. I needed that like Deva needed more merchants.

  “Well, I appreciate the input, Chumley,” I said, rising from my seat. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “Think nothing of it, old boy. Glad to help.”

  “And you’re all set with the assignment? Guido told you how to hook up with Pookie?”

  “Right-o.”

  I started to go, but paused for one more question.

  “By the way, Chumley. Have you ever been married yourself?”

  “Me?” the troll seemed genuinely surprised. “Gracious no. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” I said, and headed out the door.

  AT THIS POINT, I had to admit that I was more confused than ever. It seemed that everyone I talked to had a different view of marriage, which wasn’t making my decision any easier. One thing everyone seemed to agree on, though: A bad marriage could be a living Hell.

  Of course, defining what a good marriage was and how to avoid a bad one seemed to defy simple explanation ... or, at least, one simple enough that I could grasp.

  The problem was, as limited as my experience with the opposite sex was, my knowledge of marriages, good or bad, was even sketchier. I could barely remember my own family; I had left home so long ago. The only married couple I had met on my adventures was the Woof Writers, and realizing they were werewolves I somehow didn’t think that they were a valid role model for me. Then again, Massha and Badaxe were talking about getting married. Maybe they could provide some insight for me.

  I was considering this possibility as I wandered across the palace courtyard, when a voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “Hey, Partner!”

  I had to look around for a moment before I spotted Aahz waving at me from one of the palace’s upper windows.

  “Where were you this morning? We missed you at the session with Grimble.”

  “I had to talk to Chumley,” I called back. “Guido got hurt, and I had to ask Chumley to stand in for him.”

  “Whatever,” my partner waved. “Go see Grimble. It’s important!”

  That sounded vaguely ominous, but Aahz seemed chipper enough.

  “What’s up?”

  “Day of the eagle,” he yelled, and disappeared from sight.

  Terrific!

  As I redirected my steps toward Grimble’s office, I couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed. I mean, with all the other problems plaguing me, I really didn’t need the added distraction of talking to Grimble about some bird sanctuary.

  “Hi, Grimble. Aahz said you wanted to see me?”

  The Chancellor glanced up to where I was leaning against the doorway.

  “Ah. Lord Skeeve,” he nodded. “Yes. Come in. This shouldn’t take long.”

  I eased into the room and plopped down in the offered chair.

  “What’s the problem? Aahz said something about eagles?”

  “Eagles? I wonder what he was referring to. No, there’s no problem,” Grimble said. “If anything, quite the contrary. In fact, the new tax collection process is working well enough that we’re now in a positive cash flow situation. What’s more, I think that except for dotting a few I’s and crossing a few T’s we’ve got the new budget pretty well nailed down.”

  He leaned back and favored me with one of his rare smiles.

  “Speaking of ‘tease,’ that’s quite a little assistant you have there. I’ll admit I’m very impressed with all her qualifications. Take my advice and don’t let her go ... as if I had to tell you that.”

  This was, of course, accompanied by a smirk and a wink.

  While I had grown to expect this sort of comment from Grimble whenever the subject of Bunny came up, I found I was no fonder of it than when they had first met. At least now, he was refraining from such behavior in her presence ... which was a victory of sorts, I suppose. Still, I was annoyed and decided to take another shot at it.

  “I’m surprised to hear you talk that way, Grimble,” I said. “Are you really so hung up on hormones that you can’t just acknowledge her worth as a colleague without adding sexual innuendos?”

  “Well ... I …” the Chancellor began, but I cut him of£

  “... Especially realizing that the Queen ... you know, your employer? … is also female. I wonder if she’s aware of your slanted views regarding her gender, or, if she isn’t, how she’d react if she found out. Do you think she’d just fire you, or would she want to see if you were bluffing, first? From what I can tell, she’s as interested in playing around as you claim to be.”

  Grimble actually blanched, which realizing how pale his complexion was to start with, was quite a sight.

  “You wouldn’t tell her, would you, Lord Skeeve?” he stammered. “I meant no disrespect to Bunny. Really. She has one of the best financial minds it’s been my privilege to work with ... male or female. I was just trying to make a little joke. You know, man to man? It’s one of the rituals of male bonding.”

  “Not with all males,” I pointed out. “Relax, though. You should know me well enough by now to realize it’s not my style to go running to the Queen with reports or complaints. Just don’t push it so hard in the future. Okay?”

  “Thank you, Lord Skeeve. I ... Thanks. I’ll make a point of it.”

  “Now then,” I said, starting to rise, “I assume that we’re done here? That the report on the collections and budget was what you wanted to see me about?”

  “No, that was just a casual update,” Grimble corrected, back on familiar ground now. “The real reason I had to see you was this.”

  He reached somewhere on the floor behind him and produced a large bag which jingled as he plopped it onto his desk.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, eying the bag. “What is it?”

  “It’s your wages,” he smiled. “I know that normally you let your assistants handle these matters, but realizing the amount involved due to your promotion, I thought you might like to deal with it personally.”


  I stared at the bag uncomfortably. It was a very big bag.

  Even though I had been persuaded by Aahz and Bunny to accept a sizable wage for my services, looking at a number on a piece of paper was a lot different that actually seeing the equivalent in hard cash.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t seem like so much after I had paid the others their share ...

  “Your assistants have already picked up their wages,” Grimble was saying, “so this is the last payment to complete this round of payroll. If you’ll just sign here?”

  He pushed a slip of paper across the desk at me, but I ignored it and kept staring at the money bag.

  It was a very large bag. Especially considering how little I was actually doing.

  “Is something wrong, Lord Skeeve?”

  For a moment, I actually considered telling him what was bothering me, which is a sign of how upset I was. Grimble is not someone you confide in.

  “No. Nothing,” I said instead.

  “Would you like to count it?” he pressed, apparently still unconvinced.

  “Why? Didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did,” the Chancellor bristled, his professional pride stung. I forced a smile.

  “Good enough for me. Checking your work would be a waste of both our time, don’t you agree?”

  I quickly scribbled my name on the receipt, gathered up the bag, and left, carefully ignoring the puzzled look Grimble was leveling at me.

  “YOU GONNA NEED us for anything, Boss? You want we should hang around out here?”

  “Whatever, Guido,” I waved absently as I shut the door. “I’m going to be here for a while, though, if you want to get something to eat. I’ve got a lot to think over.”

  “Oh, we already ate. So we’ll just ...”

  The door closed and cut off the rest of whatever it was he was saying.

  Guido and Nunzio had materialized at my side somewhere during my walk back from Grimble’s. I wasn’t sure exactly when, as I had been lost in thought and they hadn’t said anything until we reached my room. If I had realized they were there, I probably would have had one of them carry the bag of gold for me. It was heavy. Very heavy.