Two to the Fifth Read online

  And of course she couldn’t talk in this position. They were very nice legs; had they had pan ties he might even have freaked out. But they were silent.

  “I hope you can hear me, Melete,” he said. “Please, bring your head back. Seeing only your lower half like this makes me uncomfortable”

  The shifting reversed. Her feet disappeared into the block while her hips reappeared, followed by her belly and arms. For a moment or two or three she was a central torso, with bottom, belly, and breasts. Then the head came down, and she was back as a bust. “Now you know. You can have any part of me, but never the whole of me, except in your dreams.”

  “I see that,” he said, impressed and somewhat disquieted. “Maybe it’s just as well that no one else can see you.”

  “I am yours alone,” she agreed.

  “If you’re quite through talking to your block,” Don said sourly, “maybe it’s time to get back to the troupe before that curse fiend absconds with it.”

  “Curse friend. They’re not actually fiends.”

  “All in the viewpoint”

  He mounted Don, and they headed off to rejoin the troupe. He held the bust carefully before him.

  “Tuck me in your pocket,” Melete said. “I must never leave you, because I am your creative spirit.”

  “But the block is too big for my pocket.”

  “Nonsense. Do it”

  “If you insist.” He lifted the block to his shirt pocket—and it fit. That had to be magic. Well, Melete was magic, so maybe it made sense.

  “It does,” she said from his pocket.

  “You can read my thoughts?”

  “I am your thoughts. I know everything that’s in your mind.”

  “Everything?” he asked, alarmed.

  “Everything I focus on. I can’t help you meditate properly if I don’t know your distractions. You have a problem with that?”

  “Uh, no, I suppose. It’s just that you’re a—”

  “I’m a what?”

  “Nothing,” he said hastily.

  “I’m a woman?”

  “Uh, yes. And women are—different.”

  “What’s wrong with being female?”

  “Nothing. It’s only that—nothing.”

  “What don’t you want me to pick up on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That means there’s something. You’d better tell me, because if I have to ferret it out for myself by delving into your subconscious there’s no telling what else I’ll discover in those murky regions. Folk have all kinds of secret shames hidden in the nether realms. Make it easier on us both. Formulate your problem specifically”

  He seemed to be stuck for it. “Men—women—they think about them. It can be embarrassing”

  She delved on that. “Oh, those actresses. Why the naughty minxes! They’re teasing you in bed.”

  “Yes,” he confessed, feeling himself blushing.

  “Well, we’ll just have to put a stop to that. I’m the only one who can tease you now. We can’t allow them to distract you from your creative writing.”

  “But I can’t stop them. Women govern men”

  “This is a special case,” she said seriously. “Women govern men in secret. The moment it becomes open, it loses effect. They have been more than open; they have become blatant. That nullifies their advantage.”

  “It doesn’t seem nullified to me. They—get me all excited, and I can’t do anything about it.”

  “Precisely. You have to assert yourself.”

  “I wish I could!”

  “You can. Here’s how: call them together the moment we reach the troupe, and announce that you have found your Writer’s Block and will now concentrate on writing the first play. Especially at night, because your dreams are essential. Say that any woman you find in your bed you will promptly nail to the mattress.”

  “I couldn’t do that! I don’t even have a hammer”

  She laughed. “You do now. Trust me. Don’t mistake subtlety for stupidity, or certainty for judgment. They’ll get the message. Just make the statement, and they won’t call your bluff.”

  “But—but suppose they do—call my bluff?”

  “Oh, you’re fun.” She shook her head with some private amusement. “Then I will teach you how to nail a woman, as it were. One demonstration will make the point. But that should not be necessary. Henceforth women won’t manage you, you will manage women.”

  “But you’re a woman! Why should you betray your own kind?”

  “Because I have a higher calling. I have to make a playwright of you. To accomplish that, first I have to make a man of you. It’s a tall order, but I think I can accomplish it, by night if not by day.”

  “That’s good,” he said dubiously.

  “I wish I knew what you think that block is saying,” Don said. “Women, hammers, bluffs—I am not making sense of this”

  “You’re an ass,” Melete snapped. But of course the donkey didn’t hear her.

  “It’s a private dialogue,” Cyrus said.

  “If you do it in public, folk will think you are crazy.”

  “He’s got a point,” Melete said. “You had better not talk to me when in company.”

  “But then how can we have a dialogue?”

  “Merely concentrate your thoughts as if you are talking. I will pick them up readily enough, and answer you”

  I’ll try, he thought.

  “That’s the way,” she agreed. “You know, you should clean out your pocket sometime. You have cookie crumbs and a vial of lethe here”

  A nymph gave me that. She said it’s just what I’ll need, sometime.

  “Well, we’ll see, sometime”

  They rode along in silence for half a while. Then Cyrus thought of something else. “You said I should assert myself. Is that only with women?”

  “No, it’s with everyone. You will become a playwright of note, a man of importance. You must act like it.”

  “What about Curtis Curse Friend? He stepped right in, telling me what to do. In fact he directed me to you.”

  “I know him. I know all the curse friends. I have worked with their playwrights many times. Curtis is a good man, with a liability that doesn’t affect the troupe. Just tell him that Melete is with you now. He will know exactly what that means.”

  “What exactly does it mean?”

  “It means that if he opposes you, he will have to deal with me. I’m a minor Goddess to the curse friends. He will give you no trouble”

  Cyrus’s doubt remained. “But if he does give me trouble, what then?”

  “Cyrus, there are three things never to antagonize, in ascending order: a woman, a Sorceress, and a Goddess. You can get away with the first, sometimes, if you’re careful. The second is real trouble, and the third is disaster.”

  “Disaster?”

  “Where would the curse friends be if they abruptly lost their creativity?”

  “They wouldn’t be able to make new plays.”

  “Or present the old ones effectively. They would lose their rationale for existence”

  Which would be a terrible curse. “You can really do that?”

  “Oh, yes. Simply by departing”

  He believed it. “Suppose I, somehow, antagonize you?”

  “Then you might as well go farm itch ants, because you’ll never write another play.”

  “Oh, Melete, I couldn’t stand that! How can I make sure never to annoy you?”

  “It is easy. Never oppose my will.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s enough.”

  “Your will is law,” he agreed.

  “That’s an excellent start.”

  “Troupe ahead,” Don said. “So shut up with your block”

  He had forgotten to keep it silent. “Right”

  The troupe had made a camp. Women were working industriously at various tasks, such as setting up tents and digging a trench to the side.

  Curtis approached as Cyrus dismounted. �
�This will be our station while we recruit actors and rehearse them for the first play. When we are ready, we’ll tour, making presentations to the villages on our itinerary. I have it all organized.”

  “Melete is with me”

  The man took stock. “Organized by your leave, of course”

  “Of course,” Cyrus agreed. He had clearly risen from Nobody to Somebody. Melete did know what she was doing.

  “Naturally I do,” she agreed.

  “Do you have any directives, Playwright?”

  “Summon the women; I have an announcement to make”

  Curtis clapped his hands, attracting their attention. “All actresses assemble here. The Playwright will address you now”

  The women obeyed with alacrity. In a moment and a half the four of them stood before him.

  “I have found my Writer’s Block,” Cyprus said. “Hereafter I will be concentrating on my writing. By day and night. I want no distractions. Any woman I discover in my bed I will promptly nail to the mattress. Any questions?”

  “Bleep,” the Witch muttered. “He’s calling our bluff.”

  “What’s that?” he asked sharply.

  “We hear and obey, Playwright,” she said immediately.

  “Very good. Return to your chores”

  They returned to their chores. So did Curtis.

  “Dominance has been established,” Melete said with satisfaction. “Now go to your tent and start writing.”

  “But I should help with the chores,” he protested.

  Don gave him a hard nudge with his nose.

  “Right. Thanks,” he said, to both Muse and donkey.

  His tent was in the center of the camp, already set up with a bed, writing table, and chair. On the table was parchment, a quill, and a bottle bearing the label blue bottle, INC filled with dark blue ink. Everything he needed.

  “Apart from me,” Melete agreed.

  He sat down and lifted the quill. He dipped it in ink. And his mind went blank, exactly as before. “Nothing’s changed!”

  “Yes it has,” Melete said. “You just need to organize your thoughts as well as Curtis has organized the site. Put down the quill and go lie on the bed”

  “But that’s not writing!”

  “Are you opposing my will?”

  “No!” He put down the quill and went to the bed. “Now what?”

  “Close your eyes and meditate”

  He lay on his back and closed his eyes. “How do I meditate? I’ve never done it before.”

  “Just think about life, the universe, and the play. What would move an audience?”

  “Well, a romance, maybe.”

  “Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy regains girl?”

  “Yes, I guess. But it doesn’t turn me on.”

  “Because it’s unoriginal formula. What would you rather write?”

  “A really dramatic story of thwarted love that turns out well by surprise.”

  “That’s not formula?”

  He pondered. “I guess I want to write my formula.”

  “Very well. Now think of some completely different idea.”

  “Well, once I thought how nice it would be if I could see emotions. But that doesn’t relate to this.”

  “Yes it does. Or it will as you craft it. How can you make it relate?”

  “Maybe if he’s looking for his perfect woman, by her emotion. He finds pretty women, but their feelings are not pretty, so he knows better than to mess with them. So he orients on the aura of feeling instead. And finds the best one. He can see this lovely cloud around her, and knows she’s his ideal. But then he sees her body, and she’s a monster.”

  “A monster?”

  “She has the head of a frog. Something like that.”

  “So what does he do?”

  “He’s got a problem.”

  “What would you do?”

  He laughed. “I’d probably take the pretty one with the bad feeling. I’m a typical male fool.”

  “Yes. Your protagonist should be typical. But then he must emerge as smart and decent, so that the average male viewer will identify with him, and be satisfied with his progress. The greater challenge will be the woman.”

  “The monster?”

  “How can you make her someone the average woman would identify with and like?”

  He pondered. “Maybe if she was beautiful, but was transformed by some evil magician or something. Or a really bad curse. So inside she’s as beautiful as ever, but outside she’s a horror.”

  “Exactly. Now go out and find your actress.”

  “A woman with a frog’s head?”

  “Or equivalent. A woman no man would want, yet who is utterly deserving and rather pretty. Make her the star of your play, ‘The Curse.’”

  “She’s cursed, all right.”

  “But make him the one who is cursed.”

  “He has a frog’s head?”

  “No. He can see the auras.”

  “But that’s a blessing, not a curse.”

  “And if it makes the woman of his dreams unsuitable, because he can see by her visible feeling that she is deceiving him and will destroy him if he marries her?”

  “Oho! The blessing is really a curse.”

  “Until he converts it to a blessing by using it to locate his true ideal woman. Women will appreciate that, and men will also, if she has a good body.”

  “That’s cynical.”

  “A writer must cynically craft a story that will evoke the maximum response in naïve viewers. Deserving romance for the woman, a sexy body for the men”

  He nodded. “This is more practical than I expected”

  “Cyrus, you are in the business of crafting dreams, not believing them. This is the down and dirty of sublime imagination. Now find your actress, and the play will write itself.”

  “I’ll try.” He got up. “Won’t the troupe members think I’m goofing off, if I just walk out now?”

  “You are the Playwright. A law unto yourself. They don’t expect to comprehend your creative nature”

  He left the tent. Don was there. “Have you written the play, you faker?”

  “I’m working on it. At the moment we’re going in search of an actress.”

  “As if we didn’t have four too many already.”

  “A special one.”

  “So you say.” The donkey was mechanically cynical.

  He mounted and rode out of the camp. No one challenged him.

  “Stay off the enchanted path,” Melete said. “The woman we want won’t be using it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’ll be ashamed of her condition. She’ll be lurking in some hidden cranny, avoiding exposure. We’ll find her there. The most wonderful things are found in the least likely places.”

  “If you say so.” He was feeling as cynical as the donkey. He guided Don onto a disreputable trail that led into the thick of a thinnet, and on to a half- hearted village of shacks. It was about as unpromising as a mud puddle.

  There were large, stout weeds growing along the sides. These had bugs clustered on their stems, sucking the juice from them. They looked like giant aphids.

  Then something flew in from the side. It was a huge bug. No, it was a Lady Bug. She landed beside the stems, stood straight, folded her gauzy wings, and covered them with glossy wing covers. Now she looked just like a girl in a red cloak.

  “Hello,” Cyrus said behind her.

  She jumped, her wing covers spreading to unleash her wings. She hovered, looking wildly around, somewhat in dishabille as her gown flung out to expose her legs. “Oh,” she said, spying him. “You startled me.”

  “I apologize. You have pretty—”

  “Nuh uh,” Melete warned.

  “Wings,” he finished. Actually her whole body was pretty, especially from the underside.

  “Thank you.” She settled back to the ground, and her gown closed about her front as her wing covers did around her back. “I am Lady Bug. I’m just t
ending my aphid garden.”

  “Aphids?”

  “They make sweet syrup.” She stroked the back of a bug and offered him her hand. “Taste it”

  Cyrus sucked off her fingers. The syrup was marvelously sweet. “Delicious.”

  “We collect it and trade it for other goods,” she explained. “To others, aphids are a pest, but to us they are valuable.”

  “Yes.” Cyrus couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he introduced Don. “This is Don, my robot donkey. We are looking for actresses”

  Lady Bug straighted. “Actresses?”

  “I am a playwright assembling a troupe. But I need a special actress for the lead role”

  She touched up her hair. “Special in what way?”

  “She has to be a monster.”

  “You mean like a winged monster? I am one.”

  “You’re no monster!”

  “Technically all winged creatures are winged monsters. It’s a classification, not an insult.”

  “Like a woman with the head of a frog. Do you know of any?”

  “Oh. No, I’m afraid I don’t.” She looked disappointed. “I always wanted to be an actress. Do you have any other roles?”

  “I may. I haven’t written the play yet. But the lead has to be a monster.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she said sadly.

  “But check by the camp when you have time,” Don said. “Once he has his play written.”

  “Oh! You talk!”

  “And you fly,” the donkey retorted. “You’re just lucky your pan ties didn’t show when you hovered over us.”

  “Don!” Cyrus snapped.

  But she laughed. “That’s not luck. I know exactly what I’m showing. If I wanted to show pan ties, I’d do this.” She pulled aside a portion of her gown.

  Cyrus freaked out. When he recovered, he was riding the donkey farther along the trail.

  “I warned you about annoying women,” Melete reminded him.

  “But Don did it!”

  “She knew that. So maybe she was just trying to impress you.”

  “She succeeded. I think”

  They continued along the trail. The sky darkened. “It looks like rain,” Don remarked.

  “We can handle it,” Cyrus said. “But can she?”

  For a woman was approaching them. She was brownish in color, and had an interesting walk.