My Son, the Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  “No, of course not! It was a fine neighborhood to bring up a boy,” Mama said staunchly.

  Well, it had been that. The older couples had been friendly and kind, and the young families’ children hadn’t been all that rough. But that had started changing when Matt hit junior high. “How are the Archers?”

  “They moved, I don’t know, to the Poconos, I think. You sit. I will make coffee.” Mama bustled out to the kitchen, moving quickly to escape the memory of the Archers, the swaggering divorcee, her taunting, insulting children, and the “friend” she had invited in to live with them, another divorcee with three boys—eight people in a house built to hold five at the most. The mothers had gone out to dinner together and left the kids home to fend for themselves, or spent the evening sitting on a neighbor’s porch drinking beer and leaving the kids to do as they pleased. After all, if they got bored, they could always torment Matt. The boys had made his life even more miserable than the girls had. Papa had started taking the bus to work at the college, so Mama could drive Matt to school and pick him up.

  That left only Liam, Choy, Luco, and the would-be thugs who had gathered around them. They’d been no threat to the grownups even when Matt had gone off to college, but he hadn’t looked forward to his trips home. Matt had hoped his parents would move when he went away to grad school and had been sure they would when Papa was laid off at the college, though they didn’t call it that with professors—just that he’d failed to get tenure again. But a man purporting to be from a government bureau had talked Papa into going into business for himself, using all his savings and taking out a government loan to buy the old corner grocery store. Admittedly, Papa hadn’t needed much persuading—at forty-eight, he’d become rather fed up with insolent students and overbearing college administrators. Besides, running a corner store looked as if it would pay better—and it had, for a while.

  Still, it was all Matt had needed to make him bound and determined to put research first, and worry about the students later.

  Mama brought the coffee in a demitasse, steaming and strong. “You still drink it black, no?”

  “Coffee!” Matt hadn’t had a drop in four years. He sipped it and let the drops roll back over his tongue, closing his eyes in ecstasy.

  Mama stared. “You don’t have coffee at the university?”

  “Not like yours, Mama.” Matt took another sip, closed his eyes again to savor it, then opened them to say, “I’ve, uh, been trying to quit.” Well, he hadn’t been trying, but he had quit.

  Mama nodded, looking wise. “Two months is just long enough to make you crave it, Mateo. Let this be the only cup for today then, eh?”

  Two months? Matt was amazed. He’d been well into the semester before he’d been translated to Merovence, which meant that only a few days had passed here. But five years had passed in the world of Merovence! Apparently Saul was right about time flowing at different rates in the two universes—or at the intersection points, anyway.

  The door opened, and Papa came in. Matt looked quickly enough to see the haggardness before Papa saw him. His face lit up, and he crossed the room in two strides to catch Matt to him just as he was standing up. “Matt! What a great surprise!” He held his son away and looked him up and down, grinning. “You’ve never looked better.”

  “You, too, Papa.” Matt couldn’t help admiring his father. At fifty, he was still lean, still moved with the grace of a man of thirty. The black hair was touched with silver at the temples now, but the mustache was still black. He looked very distinguished, and still very handsome. Matt began to realize why he had always thought of himself as homely. He was glad Alisande hadn’t.

  “So to what do we owe this good fortune?” Papa’s brow creased with sudden anxiety. “Not trouble, I hope.”

  “No, Papa—good luck. But I’ve had to make a very big decision, and I wanted to tell you about it in person.”

  “Tell later,” Mama said firmly. “Dinner now.”

  The men bowed to her will, and her menu. Dinner was chicken and rice, every bit as good as Matt remembered it, and better because he’d been so long away from it. The talk was light and gossipy, for them—but it ranged from the gaffes of the neighbors to the blunders of the government, then off into the greater blunders of the Merovingian kings, and what would have happened if the Moors had never conquered Spain. For a scholar’s home, it was light but pleasant talk.

  When the dinner was done, Papa sat back with coffee and said quietly, “Okay, son. Tell.”

  Suddenly Matt wondered if it had been such a good idea to come home, after all. His stomach tightened with the apprehension of having to tell his parents something they weren’t going to like; a child’s fear enveloped him...

  And he realized how silly it was. He was a man, not a child, and a very successful one, too! Not that he could give his parents the details...

  So he put it into the terms of their world. “You know I’ve been stalled on my dissertation, right?”

  “Over a scrap of parchment you couldn’t translate.” Papa shook his head, the professor coming to the fore in him. “A few lines are not enough to build a vocabulary, my son. I know I should not tell you again, but one verse does not a dissertation make.”

  “Well... I did manage to translate it,” Matt said, trying to ease into it.

  Mama exclaimed with surprise, and Papa’s eyebrows rose. “So? Then you’re moving on your dissertation again?”

  “Not exactly. The parchment turned out to be a plant.”

  “A plant?” Papa frowned.

  “Someone planted it for you to find?” Mama exclaimed angrily. “And made you go off on a useless tangent for months? How cruel!”

  “Not useless,” Matt said. “It was kind of a... test.”

  “A test?” Papa’s frown deepened. “You mean it told you a direction?”

  “Sort of,” Matt said, trying to be his ambiguous best. “It led me to... well, I suppose you would call it a government bureau.”

  “Government?” Mama leaned forward in sudden fear. “Are you in trouble after all, Mateo?”

  She had been a teenager when Castro took over. No wonder “government” meant trouble.

  “No, Mama.” Matt smiled. “It seems I... well, I’ve qualified for a... government job.” He supposed that was a fair description of being Her Majesty’s Wizard.

  “What kind of government job?” Papa was very tense.

  “Research,” Matt ad-libbed. It was true, in its way—he’d had to figure out magic every step of the way, in his new universe.

  “Research?” Papa sat forward with hope. “Then you will finish your Ph.D.?”

  “I suppose I could,” Matt said slowly, “but I don’t think the research can be made public for a long time.”

  Mama made a little mourning sound, and Papa frowned again. “You only have seven years to finish, Mateo. Surely you will not give up when you have come so close!”

  Inspiration struck. If it mattered to them, why not finish it? If five years in Merovence only equaled five days in New Jersey, surely Matt could find time to finish his research by visiting from time to time!

  Then he remembered that a day here would take up a year there. Even if he did everything else by correspondence, he’d still have to take a year away from Merovence, just to defend his thesis in oral examination. Still, he might found a university there...

  “You take so long in answering!” Mama protested. “I am proud that you try to spare my feelings, my son—but do not lie to me! You will not finish the degree, will you?”

  “Probably not,” Matt admitted. “It’s not completely impossible, mind you, but there really isn’t going to be a lot of time.”

  Time! A full year, if he stayed here twenty-four hours! Suddenly he was very anxious to get back to Alisande and the baby.

  “You will work long hours at this job, then?” Papa asked, frowning. “What kind of work is it, Mateo?”

  “Using the magic of words, Papa, ” Matt said carefully. />
  “Propaganda?” Papa frowned. “What is it? The Voice of America? The USIA?”

  “It has to be secret,” Matt said lamely. “I can tell you it involves a lot of translation, though.” He did have to translate a great deal of verse from his own universe, to work his spells in Merovence.

  “Translation! So! This parchment was an artificial language, then? No, no, I know you can’t tell me!” Papa waved a flat palm, as if wiping a blackboard. “Something international, like Esperanto, but more Germanic probably. Well, I know you would not willingly work for an evil cause, my son. But be careful—the USIA may not be the CIA, but corrupted men can use good things for evil causes.”

  Matt remembered that Papa had grown up in the shadow of World War II, and had the sense not to argue. “I’m working for a worthy cause, Papa, and for good people. I’m sure of it.”

  “Test everything, son. I agree with Plato with this much, at least—that the unexamined life is not worth living.” Papa scowled. “In this day of ideologies, that is more true than ever.”

  “I hope it pays well,” Mama said faintly.

  “Oh, very well, Mama.” Matt turned to her. “Better even than a full professor’s pay—in the sciences.”

  “Well.” Papa seemed a little comforted. “It is worth doing for some years, then. You can always come back to scholarship when you have saved enough. But what of job security?”

  “It’s as secure as the government,” Matt assured him, “and I’ll have the best doctors in the country.” He didn’t mention that he wouldn’t trust one of Alisande’s physicians within a mile of the castle.

  “What about retirement?” Mama asked anxiously. “I know you are young to be thinking of such things, Mateo, but it will be important sooner than you think!”

  “Retirement benefits are spectacular.” After all, Matt expected to die before Alisande, and as long as she was queen, he certainly wouldn’t have to worry about room and board. He braced himself for the worst. “There’s one real drawback, though.”

  “Which is?” Papa braced himself, too, and Mama’s knuckles whitened.

  “I can’t visit home very much. Maybe once a year, for half a day.”

  Mama keened.

  “That is hard indeed.” Papa scowled again. “Perhaps we could come visit you.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Matt said slowly. “It’s in a, um, secret location.” At least, in this universe, Alisande’s castle wasn’t very well known.

  “That will be... unpleasant,” Mama said. “But if it is so fine a job in every other way...”

  “It is, Mama,” Matt said, with feeling.

  “Well, if it is what you wish, you must do it,” Papa said briskly.

  Mama nodded, tears in her eyes, and took Matt’s hand. “Yes, you must. But write far more often than you have, Mateo.”

  “I will, Mama.” It was a safe promise, considering that Matt had averaged maybe one letter a month. He ought to be able to figure out some way to transport a letter to their house. He reminded himself to take a souvenir home—maybe a spell of contagion would work. He wondered if he could manage a telephone call.

  “But if this place is so secret we cannot even visit, how shall we write you?” Papa asked.

  “I’ll send you an address that will get your letters to me.” Inspiration struck, and Matt suddenly knew how he was going to manage it.

  “He must go his own way, after all,” Mama reminded Papa.

  “He must,” Papa agreed heavily. “May it bring you success, son.” He smiled with irony. “After all, the academic life hasn’t done all that well for me.”

  “If you say so,” Matt said slowly, “but that was because you were more interested in teaching your students than in doing research.”

  “Yes, or playing academic politics,” Papa said wryly. “If your chosen field doesn’t require those, my son, I cannot complain against it. Well, I know you cannot tell me any details about your work, but surely you can tell me what you have learned about the nature of language.”

  With that, talk shifted to safe topics—poetry and mythology. Poetry was really Papa’s field, mythology was Mama’s, and both were fascinated by the tales Matt brought them with the verse forms of Merovence, or as closely as he could manage in translation. All too soon, the clock on the mantel chimed three times.

  “Three o’clock!” Matt leaped out of his chair. “My gosh! I’m late!”

  “I didn’t know you had a time limit.” Papa rose with him.

  “I’ve got to, um, make my travel connections.” Matt had arrived about noon. He’d already been gone from Merovence for a month and a half. “Sorry. The time just slipped away.”

  “Well, I’m glad you still enjoy our company,” Papa said.

  “Of course!” Matt embraced his father. “Too much—I can’t keep track of time around you.” He turned to give his mother a hug. “Uh—Mama... could I have a lock of your hair?”

  “To remember me?” Mama took the scissors from her sewing box and clipped off a few dark inches with a tearful smile. She pressed it into Matt’s hand. “Take it and keep us in your prayers, my son.”

  “He doesn’t ask for a lock of my hair?” Papa said, pretending to be huffy.

  “You’re not as pretty as she is,” Matt said with a grin.

  “He most certainly is!” Mama said, with asperity.

  “As long as you think so, all is well with me.” Papa gathered her into his arm with a broad smile.

  Matt hesitated on the threshold. “You sure about that?”

  “That all is well with us? Yes, of course!” Papa said heartily. “That does not excuse us from working, of course. But don’t worry about us. Go with God, my son, and conquer your new world!”

  As he closed the door behind him, Matt reflected that his father had, as usual, said more than he realized.

  At the corner, he turned back to wave. Mama and Papa waved, too, arm in arm on the stoop, watching after him. Matt turned away, turned the corner...

  “Took ya long enough, Matty boy,” Liam said, and swung a roundhouse punch.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Matt ducked and came up with his fists trip-hammering. Three punches in the belly, one in the chin, and Liam fell back. Luco caught him, and Matt saw the other three toughs Liam and Luco had called in for backup. Matt only recognized Herm; he guessed the rest of the old neighborhood gang had grown up and moved away. These six were obviously still trying to be juvenile delinquents.

  Then one of the strangers shot a flat-knuckled punch fast, too fast for Matt to duck. He tried to lean aside, but it caught him on the side of the head, a glancing blow, and he staggered backward, seeing stars, shaking his head to try to clear it, because he heard the roar of the mini-mob as they piled in. Matt felt something hard and rough behind his back—a tree trunk!—set himself against it, and called,

  “Let the ground shake

  Under these boys!

  Let them all fall stumbling down!

  Let branches fall

  Onto their heads,

  ’Cause the wizard is

  Back in town!”

  Choy and one of the strangers shouted as they tripped over something invisible. Matt heard something boom not far away, like a truck backfiring, and the tree branches suddenly dipped above him. He felt a slight vibration in his legs, and a dead branch came clattering out of the tree, but that was all. Well, he was surprised the verse had worked at all, here. Liam, Luco, and the other two strangers came at him, shouting.

  Matt knew what to do when there were too many to fight. He turned and ran.

  The boys yelled and came pelting after.

  The sidewalk tilted crazily where tree roots had bulged it, but Matt knew every crack in the concrete—he ran as surely footed as a mountain goat. He glanced back and realized he was in better shape than the gang—they were far behind, though Liam was five yards out in front, yelling, red in the face. Matt swerved right down the Gussenhovens’ driveway and ducked between their garage an
d their house. There he flattened himself against the wall, breathing deeply. He heard Liam yelling, pelting closer and closer...

  Matt stuck out a foot. Liam tripped and went sprawling. He scrambled to his feet and turned on Matt, saying, “Bad idea, stu...”

  Matt ducked as he swung, grunted as a fist struck his chest. He gripped and turned, then let go. Liam flew ten feet and landed hard, howling with the pain.

  Baby. He’d landed on dirt, not concrete. But the gang was catching up, yelling and puffing. Matt took off again, past the garage and up old Mrs. Matelot’s driveway. He glanced back, saw Choy out in front, and took a chance. He whirled back just as Choy came up, ducked a high kick—Choy had been watching too many ninja movies and listening to too few senseis—caught the leg, and twisted. Choy yelped in pain and surprise as he spun to the ground.

  Matt took off running again with the pack behind him, still yelling, still furious. He swung around the corner and sprinted. The others howled, angrier than ever as they realized Matt had only led them back to his father’s store.

  He kept going until he was past the plate-glass windows and on the all-brick side of the store, then skidded to a halt, back to the tree again. The four remaining punks came huffing up and charged him, throwing punches. Matt ducked and shoved, caught a fist in the ribs and held his breath, kicked someone else’s feet out from under him, then turned to face the last two.

  But Luco and Herm pulled switchblades, flicked them open, and stepped in, grinning.

  Suddenly it wasn’t just bullying anymore. Matt stepped away from the tree and out into the street. His ears told him there were no cars to worry about, but he heard the bus coming. Hope quickened.

  Luco thrust, cat-quick, but Matt was quicker. He caught the wrist and twisted as he turned, throwing Luco against the wall of the store. Luco shouted with pain, but Herm lunged even as Matt turned back. The knife ripped his shirt, but he stepped aside and kicked the kid’s feet out from under him, then saw the dead branch that had fallen with his minor earth tremor and snatched it up. He whirled it moulinet style, glaring at Choy and Liam as they came panting up. They drew back, hesitating as they saw the two switchblades on the ground. Matt could see them wondering what he could do with that stick...