Meryl by this time had managed to stem the flow. ‘I am not pregnant!’ she cried in a half scream, ‘I’m not even married, I’ve been divorced for nearly a year!’
‘And you and your ex haven’t . . . ?’
‘No!’ Meryl almost shouted, ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t!’
Gail frowned and then her expression sharpened. Gently she took Meryl’s hands and turned her to face her. ‘Have you ever woken up from a night out and not been able to remember where you’d been or how you got home? Because some men. . . .’
Meryl tore herself free and clenched her hands desperately, tears starting to well. ‘No, it’s nothing like that! It’s just . . . I’ve been having these dreams . . . and—well lately I’ve started to see things, I mean even when I’m awake.’ She stopped as Gail put one elegant forefinger to her lips.
‘I think we had better keep this conversation between the two of us,’ she said gently. ‘Here—take your purse and head on home, I’ll fix it with your section, and I’ll tell the girls you weren’t feeling well and they are welcome to think what they like.’ Meryl tried to object but Gail raised a hand impatiently. ‘You’ve got that meeting with Darth Vader tomorrow at eleven, do you want me to cancel it?’ At the ridiculous nickname Meryl almost smiled but shook her head. ‘Fine,’ Gail said. ‘But you have to promise me one thing.’ She waited a beat, then said, ‘Promise you’ll see someone about this. A divorce isn’t a hangnail, it can really mess you up without you realising it. Believe me, I know.’ Gently she took Meryl by the shoulder and steered her toward the door.
That evening Meryl sat for a long time with HobNob on her lap purring contentedly. She wondered for a while about what Gail had said in parting. Was it possible the divorce had affected her more than she was aware? It just didn’t seem right, there was no possible connection between Paul and a giant female bird—somehow she was sure about its sex. No, it all came down to not sleeping properly, she was certain of it. The Internet had shown her numerous articles on the effects of sleep deprivation, and they included hallucinations and erratic behaviour as a common consequence.
With renewed determination she unpacked the sachet of powdered Valerian root she had been given and put some water on to heat. She was careful not to let it boil too long and to let it cool slightly before pouring it over the sachet. Something told her that this remedy was absolutely the right one. It was traditional, the girl at the health food store had said, and most of all it was natural, not some drug with unknown side effects. After letting it stew for a while she sat sipping it and breathing in the slightly earthy steam until the cup was empty. Then, already imagining she felt the onset of drowsiness, she got into her nightgown, set the alarm for seven and climbed under the covers.
It was the sound of distant drumming that awakened her, the sound coming from a cavern on the periphery of the colony where the mating battles were to take place. A group of the young males would be lined up on a ledge inside, beating their wings in unison to create the percussive sound that would echo redoubled, filling the soaring vaults with a booming, driving rhythm. She stirred, her eyes snapped open and she extended her own wings to their full extent. The mists of her sleeping visions still lingered but were already receding, some nonsense about being little and helpless at the bottom of a strange grey canyon, hardly worth a thought. For today was Mating Day! The excitement was boiling in her blood, in the pleasurable ache of her wing muscles wanting to take to the air.
She saw before her the remains of the kill she had carried back to the nest yesterday so that she could eat in peace without having to fight off those miserable Gurakk, and across from her were the two Ktah cowering in their tiny shelter, afraid to approach too near. She was amused by them and anxious to be off, so in a magnanimous gesture she indicated the remains of the antlered male and told them they were welcome to it if they cleaned up afterward. She had no idea how much of her people’s speech they understood, but they seemed to be able to respond to simple commands if she spoke slowly.
Then from where she was perched she leaped into the air, saw the two Ktah driven back by the force of her wingbeats, half blinded in the cloud of dust and debris, and then she was soaring, circling, and launching herself into a reckless dive to the cave entrance where she braked, suspended motionless for the length of two heart beats in midair before dropping to the ground and stalking crest high through the arched entrance.
Because she was the oldest of the breeding females this year, all gave way before her, and she was accorded the choicest seat on the edge of the battle ground. She settled her feathers carefully, aware of the eyes upon her, then with one regal nod signalled the contests to begin.
With a final flourish the percussive wingbeats ceased and the first pair entered the battle ground. Both were young and in their first season as contestants, thus the brilliant hue of their plumage was undamaged and their faces free of scarring. There was a fluttering and soft moaning cries from the younger females as the two paraded their finery past the rows of perches, circling chests out with their wings half unfurled the better to show the perfection of their markings. Then at the signal, the drumming wingbeats recommenced and the battle began.
From the first it was clear that one of the males had the advantage, for instead of the ritualistic feints and rushes most began with, he leaped high with one leg outstretched and the spur extended. It was a bold move which if countered might have lost him the match, for committed as he was to the leap he would have been open to a thrust from below. But he must have sensed his adversary lacked the nerve, for the other male scrambled backward in a flurry of feathers, his rhythm broken and although he escaped being impaled the match was lost beyond recall from that instant, and after a few half-hearted exchanges he was driven from the ground.
Several undistinguished matches followed, and then on to the hard packed sand, dyed to a permanent dark hue by countless generations of battles fought in this enclosed space, stalked old One Eye. Against the brilliant colours of the other males his markings appeared dull with ragged feather ends, marred here and there by the pale stripes of healed wounds from former combats. His single eye glared forth no less proudly, however, the other being buried in a mound of the scar tissue that had given rise to his name. Across from him paraded his adversary, a male in his second season whose height and girth were nearly as great as if he had been female. This one held his head high and made a great show of looking disdainfully down at his smaller opponent as they circled each other. One Eye made no attempt to match his stature but rather carried his head to one side and lowered as if in homage. The wing beats of the drummers increased in pace and volume suddenly, rising to a crescendo as One Eye without warning darted in and struck hard at the offered breast under the half furled wing. The next instant it was over as the younger male lay bleeding in a disordered heap of multi-hued feathers.
When the arena was cleared an echoing call signalled the Parade of the Victors and after the traditional three circuits of the ring the moment came for the Choosing. She viewed the assembled males impassively, letting the tension build, until at last she nodded her beak in the direction of old One Eye, who thrust out his ragged breast in pride and hopped forward, then stopped in confusion as she nodded again, this time at the young male who had won the first match.
There was an audible shifting and low notes of mingled comment and hoots of consternation until one of the elder Females cleared her throat and with a barely visible glint of amusement in her eyes asked her which one she had in fact chosen.
‘Why, the one who wins,’ she said simply, and then into the ensuing uproar as the two males began their fatal circling and the booming of the drummers filled the cavern she screamed, ‘And I await him—aloft!’ spreading her wings and arrowing out of the cavern and into the upper air, higher and higher the sun hot on her back ’til she glided suspended, held by the thermals rising from the baked rocks far below, watching and waiting until finally she saw a speck that became a winged form that beca
me the young male bleeding red drops into the void but flying strongly for all that, rising to meet her as she circled and he uttered a harsh cry of triumph that matched her own as she presented herself to him, waited as he circled to land on her broad back for the one magical instant of contact and she shuddered as she felt the life enter her, new life for the next generation of her people, and in triumph she turned over and locked talons with her mate and they plummeted downward uncaring of the danger as earth and sky spun crazily together until . . .
Meryl struggled free of the enveloping bedclothes in a panic as her body jerked in response to the feeling of falling, falling, hearing HobNob’s protesting miaow as he leaped to escape from her flailing limbs. Feeling herself slide over the edge of the bed she ended up half on the floor, her legs trapped in sheets which were wound Laocoon-like around her, her nightstand knocked askew and the alarm clock on the floor next to her shoulder. She twisted her head to view the lighted dial. ‘Three AM! She groaned aloud and lay motionless for a moment, still held in the aftermath of the dream, the nightmare which had been longer and even more vivid than the previous ones thanks no doubt to that damned Valerian tea. Wait ’til she saw that clerk in the health food store again she’d . . .
At last she managed to drag herself free to stand unsteadily and gaze helplessly around the darkened bedroom before picking up the bedside lamp from where it had fallen and snapping it on. The air felt chill on her exposed lower half and she seized the bunched nightdress in both hands and jerked it down with a cry of revulsion as her legs trembled uncontrollably and no wonder such pitiful pale and weak things as they were without any proper talons even . . . Moaning, Meryl stumbled into the bathroom and snapped on the overhead, ran the cold tap and scrubbed and scrubbed at her face as she prayed incoherently for sanity, finally standing staring into the mirror clutching the basin, the water dripping off her chin and her hair hanging in lank strands around her face, her own ordinary face but looking like grim death, the eyes wide and staring, her mouth half open still breathing in gasps. She grabbed a bath towel and buried her face in the familiar softness, breathing in the clean scent of laundry detergent as the chaotic images finally began to fade and her breathing returned to normal.
A sudden bright flash through the window made her jerk in renewed panic until a rumble of thunder announced a summer storm, and she heard the familiar rattle of rain striking the glass. Meryl pulled her nightdress closer around her and went into the small kitchen, put water on to heat and slumped into a chair. HobNob jumped into her lap and settled himself, purring loudly in counterpoint to the storm outside. She stroked him absently, her mind clearing from the dream-engendered panic as she began to reason about the flow of images. That was it, she told herself, don’t think about the dream itself, think about what it might mean. She had read Freud and Jung in University, and was familiar with some of the symbolism associated with dreams. The giant female bird represented herself, of course, but a strong and confident self to whom the ape-like beings she remembered being in the nest (degenerate humans?) were diminutive and beneath notice. Then there was the conflict with specifically male animals, the stag or whatever it had been that she had killed and eaten (she grimaced with distaste—but then, wasn’t that just another symbol of being dominant over a physically imposing male—her ex, for example who had always made such a point of being larger and stronger than she was?).
Then there was that peculiar mating ritual, the Battles: she didn’t know much about the way birds went about it but she was pretty sure it didn’t involve fighting like bulls, and the winner getting the female. Females also seemed to be the dominant sex in the world of her dream, a sort of anthropomorphism perhaps stemming from her luncheon with Gail and her cohorts. She sat up straighter as the kettle began to hiss. Yes! It all fit, and even that strange drumming could have been merely the thunderstorm registering on her sleeping mind.
She’d been so intent on her analysis that the shrill whistle of the water boiling produced only a little start of surprise, Meryl got up and moved the kettle from the hob and picked the lid from the teapot, registering that there seemed to be about a quarter pot of the Valerian tea left. In any case it would help her get back to sleep. Smiling, she poured the no longer boiling water carefully, pleased with the way she had banished the blind panic of the last few days. Why, if she really had a crest of feathers on her head she might well erect them in a prideful display of self congratulation! With the thought came such a lightening of her mood that she nearly laughed aloud, causing the little Siamese to look up suddenly with his enigmatic sapphire gaze.
The next morning she arrived at work early, energetic and clear-headed, intending to alert her team that a meeting with the Client was scheduled for 11.00. Gail was waiting by reception, however, her face a study in concern. As Meryl approached she seemed to make an instant analysis of her demeanour followed by a brightening of relief.
‘Good morning, aren’t you the early bird?’ Meryl felt an internal wince at the expression but made herself smile in answer.
‘Good morning, Gail,’ she answered, ‘Have any of the team arrived as yet?’
Her assistant moved closer and lowered her voice. ‘That’s the first thing I have to tell you—yesterday Morgan in Admin called a team meeting for 10 AM today of all the advertising groups,’ she held up a hand to forestall Meryl’s instant reaction. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve already notified him you were seeing a client this morning, and in any case they should be through by then.’ Gail sucked air in through her teeth softly. ‘The Very Important Client is waiting to see you in your office.’ she said, then rapidly in an undertone, ‘I tried to tell him you were extremely busy, but he said he had one or two things to discuss with you “personally”.’ Meryl raised an eyebrow in silent query. Gail shrugged as if to say, ‘Your guess is as good as mine, dear.’
Meryl grimaced and squared her shoulders, nodded for Gail to open the door, and strode into her office.
The Client stood by her window looking out proprietorialy. At her entrance he turned and held out one large hand, enveloping hers and holding it just an instant too long before smiling in greeting. ‘Ah, Ms Gordon,’ he rumbled, the politically correct address as phony as his smile. ‘So kind of you to . . . make time. There were one or two points that . . . my colleagues have raised regarding your approach . . . that I thought I might discuss . . . with you personally.’
Meryl smiled sweetly even as her defences went on high alert. ‘May I offer you something to drink?’ she said, turning to the small cooler that sat on the credenza near her desk, ‘Some mineral water perhaps? I have Evian.’
‘You are most kind,’ he said, then turning to Gail. ‘Do you suppose . . . we might have some coffee?’
Her assistant’s face was a study in icy disdain. ‘I shall order some,’ she said shortly and exited the office, not without a warning glance to Meryl as she passed behind the Client’s broad back.
Hardly had the door closed before the man had moved improperly close, backing her up against the front of her desk as she shrank from contact with the protruding bulge of his abdomen. ‘In view of the fact that you and I will be working extremely closely . . . on this campaign,’ he said in a low insinuating voice, ‘and in view of how important its success will be to your employers, not to mention a young person such as yourself . . .’ He put one of his enormous hands on her arm in a gesture he no doubt meant to appear avuncular, but the all too audible increase in the rate of his breathing gave him away.
Meryl felt herself nearly suffocated by his overwhelming bulk, by the smell of his body odour imperfectly masked by some spicy cologne. Where was Gail? She looked up at his heavy features and saw him smile, the little pig eyes glinting in triumph. It was the smile that did it. From somewhere deep inside came an overwhelming rage. This miserable Ktah dared! Dared to put his unclean paws on her? On Her? On pure impulse she struck out at him, stiff armed from the shoulder, two blows to the face that sent him reeling back stumbling, then
lifted one leg and drove the four inch heel of her elegant shoe directly into whatever lay beneath that vast belly.
The Client emitted a shrill whistling scream and went to his knees with an audible thump, clutching his injured nose with one hand while the other was tucked firmly between his legs. Simultaneously the door opened to admit Gail and one of the secretaries carrying a tray with two steaming cups, which immediately crashed to the floor as the two women took in the scene before them.
She was still sitting in her office an hour later, trembling with reaction, when Gail came in. Meryl noted absently the lack of a knock and raised her head to see a face from which all vestige of friendliness had disappeared. ‘Well you really dumped us in it this time, Gordon,’ Gail said tersely, ‘The Client’s threatening to sue unless you’re dismissed immediately, and I wouldn’t blame them if they did just that. You broke his nose, you know, to say nothing of nearly causing a hernia with that kick.’
Weakly Meryl tried to protest, ‘But he tried . . . he was going to . . .’
‘You knew I would be right back and so did he,’ Gail continued inexorably, ‘We could have filed for sexual harassment if you’d kept your head instead of getting all bolshie about it. As it is. . . .’ she compressed her lips angrily and sighed. ‘I still can’t believe I was so wrong about you, but it hardly matters now. I’m sent to tell you that you’re to report to Mr Forbes in Admin at twelve, and if I were you I’d spend the time before then clearing out your desk.’ Not waiting for an answer she turned and exited the office, the sound of her steps suddenly cut off by the closing door.
Meryl slumped back in her chair and put her hands over her face, feeling the hot sting as tears began to trickle from her closed eyelids. Was this how it ended? She felt like the victim of a serious car wreck, everything in her life gone smash in a moment. Gail had been right, she told herself bleakly, why on earth had she reacted with such . . . fury? What if the slimy so and so had put a hand on her arm? In her office, for god’s sake, what could he possibly have accomplished with someone just a step outside the door? But a feeling deeper than logic told her that what he had done was to stake a claim, that if she had allowed it to pass unchallenged he would have felt emboldened to carry it further the next time, and the next . . . ’til there was no escape.
The Girl with the Peacock Harp Page 13