Isle of Woman (Geodyssey)

by Piers Anthony

  He turned to the daughter. She in turn opened her mouth to protest similarly, but their eyes met again, and she was unable to speak. Wood, shaken, forced himself to act. “Ginger, you must accept this necklace, as a token of my great respect for your father, though it can only diminish the loveliness that is already yours.” Never had a formulaic utterance had such truth! He stepped toward her, lifted it, and put it over her head to rest on her shoulders. Her great eyes stared into his, like pools through which he saw all the stars of the eternal night sky. “I love you,” he whispered, unable to help himself.

  Then he hauled himself away, hoping he had not shamed himself too badly by an evident lapse of protocol. The eyes of both other women were on him, and he knew they knew, but they were silent. What had happened to him?

  The dinner proceeded, with Wood given the place of honor at the head of the table. The food was surely good, but he hardly noticed it. There was polite dialogue, but he could never after remember it. For him there was only one thing, and that was Ginger, whose eyes he dared not meet again.

  As they were finishing, there was a commotion outside. A servant went to investigate, and returned to report that a farmer had a grievance about his land revenue assessment.

  “Oh, he thinks I am the officer,” Wood said. “I lack the authority to help him.”

  “I will send him away,” the patwari said, rising.

  In a moment the sounds of arguing were heard. It seemed that the farmer did not choose to believe that there was no help here. He wanted the officer to come out. The patwari, of course, was adamant that the guest not be bothered.

  “Perhaps we should retire to the courtyard, to avoid the noise,” Grandmother Ember suggested. Mother Crystal nodded agreement. Daughter Ginger rose gracefully and led the way. Wood followed, realizing that the women would not precede him, except for the one showing him where.

  The courtyard was nicely laid out. There was a small pigeon loft in one corner, a miniature family Hindu temple in another, and a fountain in the center. Around the fountain was a jasmine garden with a pleasant stone walk through it.

  Ginger showed the way to a bench behind the fountain where they could sit. She sat decorously facing slightly away from him. He sat facing slightly toward her. Suddenly he realized that they were alone; the older women had not followed them into the courtyard.

  “I think perhaps I owe you an apology for presumption,” he murmured.

  “By no means,” she replied. “It is extremely forward of me to be with you like this.”

  “No, not at all! I relish your company. I mean I should not have spoken as I did.”

  Her eyes fixed on the fountain. “You were being humorous?”

  “Never more serious! There is something—the moment I saw you—all the rest of the world peeled away, and it was as if I had known and loved you through all eternity. But of course I realize that it was completely improper for me to—we are of different cultures—I deeply regret causing you embarrassment. I fear I offended your mother and your grandmother, who remain silent only so as not to shame a guest in their house. So I apologize for this lapse, and will depart as soon as—”

  As he spoke, she turned toward him, her eyes coming to meet his. Her face was very close. Then, abruptly, she kissed him, cutting off his speech.

  The globe of the world stopped its motion. The sun, moon and stars halted in their orbits. There was nothing in the universe but her lips and her faint ginger scent.

  At some point the kiss must have ended, because he discovered they were separate. Yet his world had changed. Now he knew that not only did he love her, she returned the sentiment.

  “I am the one who must apologize,” Ginger said. “In addition to the concerns you mention, there are more serious ones on my side. I wish I could have acquainted you with them before we met, so that you could have avoided this encounter.”

  “Many things of my life I have regretted in the past, and many more I may regret in the future, but I have no regret about meeting you. I never shall.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I am—in your vernacular, damaged goods.”

  “This cannot be! Surely you don't plan to trek to the purifying water of the River Ganges with the old women and drown yourself there, or be buried alive in the riverbank.”

  “I might as well, for I am worthless.”

  “To me you are priceless!”

  “I must explain. I was married at age three to a boy of good family. You would call it a betrothal, for we both remained at our homes, awaiting the proper time for consummation, but it was valid for us. When I was ten he was killed in an accident. I am therefore a widow, by our custom, and can not remarry, lest my entire family be shamed and rendered untouchable. I am therefore a burden to my family, and only my father's generosity and my own cowardice prevent me from going to the river. I had no right to approach you, but was unable to resist.”

  “That I much understand! I know the Hindu convention. But in this respect I am completely British: I do not subscribe to it, and indeed regard it as a barbarism. I find no fault in you on such account.”

  “Yet the fault exists.”

  “Not in England.”

  “This is not England.”

  “Ginger, I know this is impossible. But I think I will die if I do not see you again.”

  “I, too.” There was a tear at her eye.

  “There must be a way.”

  “I fear there is not.”

  There was the sound of the patwari's voice in the house. “Well, I finally got rid of him. Where is our guest?”

  As if drawn together by elastic bands, they quickly kissed, then stood and walked sedately around the fountain to rejoin the others.

  “You have a beautiful daughter,” Wood said. “Your garden was kind enough to show her to me.”

  There was a peep of mirth, probably from a servant. Then Wood realized what he had said. In his distraction he had garbled what should have been routine, and made it worse.

  The patwari looked disgruntled, evidently not knowing how the women had arranged to leave the two of them alone. He could not have afforded to show approval if he had known, for this was an extremely irregular business. So he ignored the matter, and the dialogue proceeded into inconsequentials.

  All too soon Wood found himself riding back to the campsite. Now at last he was alone, having resolutely declined company for the return trip; he knew the way.

  What had come over him? He had caught his first glimpse of a lovely girl his age, and plunged into love with her. How could this be explained? He had met girls before, many of them, some with excellent face and features, and had never reacted like this. This one was native, and tainted by the reckoning of her culture. Love made no sense at all. Yet it was undeniably true.

  All he knew was that he had to see her again.

  He reached the camp, dismounted, and turned the horse over to a servant. He entered the tent.

  John looked up. “My God, man—what happened to you?”

  Startled, Wood checked his suit. Everything seemed to be in order. “I'm not sure I understand.”

  “Not your clothing. Your face, your manner. You look as if you'd seen a real live ghost.”

  Oh. “Perhaps I did.”

  John squinted at him. “Your face is slack, your pupils dilated, and you're moving like a zombie. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were in love.”

  Wood sighed. “I am.”

  John gestured, and the servant in the tent departed. Then John told his story. He had thought to keep it to himself, but it was too much to hold, and he needed the input of a dispassionate perspective.

  John shook his head. “Naturally I don't believe in reincarnation or any of that rubbish, but this almost makes me wonder. Do you suppose you knew her in a prior life?”

  Wood had to consider this seriously. “I don't think so. There's a phenomenal familiarity, but not that specific. It's more as if she fulfills an archetype that I wasn't aware I was looking for.
And that I fulfill one for her. But this defies rationality. The world doesn't work that way.”

  “It seems rational to me. I've always harbored the notion that somewhere in the world the perfect woman awaits me. Of course I expect to settle for somewhat less, but it's a suitable dream. Your archetype notion is apt. So you found the perfect girl for you. Of course there may be a complication. The British Empire does frown upon that kind of mingling with the natives.”

  “And the natives frown upon that kind of mingling with the barbarous conquerors,” Wood agreed. “If I had the luxury of being rational, I'd reject the notion out of hand.”

  “Tomorrow I'm due at the next village. I admit it will be a struggle, but perhaps it is time I made my own translations. You could remain here a few more days.”

  “I appreciate the offer. But I can't just ride up and visit her, as may be the case in England. Her family can not properly allow her to see me.”

  “But if I understand it correctly, she is already unmarriageable by their conventions. Shouldn't they want to find a placement for her elsewhere?”

  “What they may want bears little relation to their situation. If their daughter violated the cultural restrictions, their entire family would be shamed, and the man would lose his position as patwari. Poverty and desperation would ensue. I would not want to be the cause of that, and neither would Ginger.”

  John shook his head. “You certainly don't pick your problems small! Well, officially I must know nothing of this, but as a friend I'll be glad to do what I can. Just let me know what that might be.”

  “Thanks. But I fear there is nothing.”

  But fate provided something. A week later a messenger came from that village: rabid predators were ranging the fields at night. The peasants were terrified, and dared not enter the fields. Immediate help was needed.

  “Rabid, my eye!” John muttered. “There's been no rabies here in a decade, according to the records. It's probably one panther who's gotten canny about raiding where people are vulnerable. A rabid animal doesn't confine its activities to night.”

  “I agree,” Wood said. “But once peasants get a notion, dynamite will hardly blast it loose. You will have to return to shoot the panther.”

  “With my schedule here? I can't afford the time.” Then John looked cannily at him. “But I think you can. Take a good rifle for the job. Go there in my stead, stay at that patwari's house, and do the job. I think I've got the hang of the routine, and I'm picking up more of the dialect; I should be able to muddle through for a few days on my own.”

  And maybe he could see Ginger again. It just might work. “I am on my way, as directed,” Wood said with a smile.

  John threw him a mock salute. “I know what a chore it is. I will put in a favorable report.”

  He probably would, too. Wood mounted and set off immediately.

  By nightfall he reached the village. The villagers and the patwari welcomed him. “I shall find a place to stay, and hunt for the panther in the morning,” he said.

  “But the creature ranges only at night,” the patwari protested. “And you'll have no beaters by day; the men are too frightened of the ghost panther.”

  “Ghost? I thought it was supposed to be rabid.”

  “Ghost to the field workers. Rabid to educated folk.”

  Wood reconsidered. “Then I shall go out now, hoping to intercept it. I shall however need a fresh horse.”

  “It will not come out until later, well after dark. Come, you must eat with us, and rest somewhat before the ordeal.”

  That made sense. “Thank you. But no gift; this is business.”

  The patwari smiled. “No gift. Business.”

  Wood joined them. They had already eaten, so he was given a private meal. Ginger was the one who served it. Wood knew this was not quite proper, but gathered that the women had spoken rather firmly to the man, who perhaps by no coincidence had business in the village at this time. The women, he realized, were on his side.

  Which was curious, for normally women supported the system as avidly as the men, despite their inferior place in it. Maybe they did have some hope that they could place an otherwise unplaceable daughter. Or maybe they had recognized her love and supported her in it, however foolishly.

  “Have your sentiments changed?” Ginger inquired in a whisper as she set curry before him.

  “Is anybody watching?” he asked in return.

  “No.”

  Their faces met for a kiss.

  That was all, but it was enough. Their eyes maintained the dialogue.

  As he ate, Ginger told him of the various incidents of the panther. There was a pattern to its marauding, so it was possible to make a good guess where it would strike this night. The reason they thought it rabid was that it was not afraid of people, and would chase them in the darkness. Wood agreed that was unusual, for panthers normally avoided man. But it might make it easier to catch.

  “Sahib, I fear for you,” Ginger said.

  “Call me Woody. This is the kind of thing that comes in the line of duty. I’m just glad I was able to see you again.”

  She smiled. “Grandmother Ember says there’s something about you that stretches back thousands of years. That the gods brought you here.”

  “I worship the Christian God, but I’ll accept any help your gods have to give. Do they offer any way for us to be together all the time?”

  “Grandmother says the gods will find a way, if they choose.”

  “I would give anything for that!”

  “I want only to be yours. But I must not shame my family.”

  “And I must not shame mine.”

  After he had eaten, not daring to stretch it out unduly, he went outside. A fresh horse was ready for him, a dark mare, and there was a good outdoor lantern. There was also a long spear, of the kind employed for pig-sticking. Good enough; he knew how to use one of those. He checked his rifle, and mounted. He also carried the ornate pistol the patwari had given him, subtly complimenting the man by showing its importance to him.

  He rode to the likely region. The horse was familiar with the territory, and had no trouble finding her way by night. The stars and moon were bright. Now if he could just encounter the panther and get this nasty business over with, perhaps he could see Ginger again before departing.

  The mare snorted, reacting to something. It could be the panther, for she was not a spooky horse. He lifted the lantern, trying to see something.

  A pair of glowing eyes lurked ahead.

  Wood brought out the rifle. He aimed between the eyes, but hesitated. Suppose it wasn’t the panther? He didn’t want to kill an innocent animal. So he shouted. “Scat!”

  The eyes disappeared. So much for that panther; that could have been a wolf, fleeing the sound of man. He could have killed a wolf without compunction, but the guilty tracks had plainly been panther, and there was no sense wasting his shot with a pointless killing.

  He rode on. Again the horse reacted, this time more strongly. There was the bleat of a frightened sheep. This was a more likely prospect.

  He lifted the rifle again and rode toward the sound. But he was afraid of hitting a sheep, and scaring away the panther, so he put it away for the moment and took up the spear instead. He did not expect to score with this in the dark, because he would have to be close to the creature, but it would keep him from firing foolishly. He would bring out the rifle again the moment he was sure of his prey.

  There was a growl to the side. That was the panther! He kept a firm grip on the reins so the horse would not spook, and oriented on the cat. So it attacked people? He doubted it; for one thing, a panther could run faster than a person, so should have caught what it went after. But now was the time to find out. “Here, pussycat!” he cried.

  The growl became a snarl. There was a pounding as the creature came toward him. Now he saw the dark hump of it bounding along. In his distraction he had not brought out the rifle again, and now there wasn’t time. What folly! He held the mar
e steady and aimed the spear, bracing for the shock of the hit.

  The panther leaped up, going for the man instead of the horse. His spear was not quite on center; the animal’s shoulder knocked it aside and the thing’s great claws raked into his thigh, ripping the cloth. The horse spooked despite the reins, and the cat fell down. Wood let go of the useless spear, brought the horse around, and realized that there was no time or range for the rifle. Instead he grabbed for the pistol.

  The panther leaped again. Wood fired. There was a screech and the cat fell back. This time it did not move.

  Now Wood’s thigh began to hurt. The claws had raked his flesh, how deeply he couldn’t judge. He needed to get to help before he suffered any complications. Suppose the panther was rabid? He guided his horse and went for the village.

  He stopped at the patwari’s house. “I believe I got it,” he said. “I may need help dismounting.”

  The servants brought lamps and saw the blood on his torn trousers. They lifted him down and half carried him into the house. A woman was there immediately, and it was Ginger. “Water!” she snapped. “A knife! I’ll cut this clear.”

  “Please leave my leg,” Wood said, attempting humor. “It’s just a bad scratch.”

  So it turned out to be: three parallel gouges, not too long. The bleeding had not been too bad. But the key question had not been answered: was the cat rabid, and had it infected him?

  The patwari and several servants went out to fetch in the body of the panther. Ginger took advantage of the distraction to kiss Wood. “This is the only medicine I have at the moment,” she said.

  “It will do.” His discomfort no longer bothered him.

  Wood woke in the morning, finding himself on a cot, wearing a nightdress. They must have had servants change him after he fell asleep. There was now a compress on his thigh, suggesting that a village doctor had arrived. Probably just as well.

  It turned out that he had done the job with the panther. There was a single bullet through its head. The carcass had been dragged to the center of the village to be put on display. The village doctor said that the cat was not rabid, only crazed by a festering injury on its back. Wood was a hero of the British sort, and his concern about possible infection was alleviated.