The Best Science Fiction And Fantasy Of The Year Part 24

"I don't know what he expects," said Rudolf, although his father had made it relatively clear.

"As far as I can tell, Rudi, your entire university education has been a waste of money," his father had said. Rudolf hated to be called Rudi. His father was sitting behind a large mahogany desk and he was standing in front of it, which put him, he felt, in a particularly disadvantageous position. "You have shown absolutely no intellectual apt.i.tude, and no preference for any profession other than that of drunkard. You have made no valuable connections. And now I hear that you have formed a liaison with a young woman who works in a hat shop. You will argue that you are only acting like the men with whom you a.s.sociate," although Rudolf had been about to do nothing of the sort. "Well, they can afford to waste their time drinking and forming inappropriate alliances. Karl Reiner has already been promised a position at the Ministry of Justice, and Gustav Malev will return home to work in his family's business. But we are not rich, although our family is as old as Sylvania, and on your mother's side descended from King Radomir IV himself." Rudolf thought of all the things he would rather do than listen once again to the history of his family, including being branded with a hot iron and drowned in a horse pond. "I have paid for what has proven to be a very expensive university education, in part because of the dissolute life you have led with your friends. You sicken me-you and your generation. You don't understand the sacrifices we made. When I was in the trenches, all I could think of was Malo, how I was fighting for her and for Sylvania. However, now that you have completed your studies, I expect you to take your place in society. Your future, and the future of Malo, depends on the position you obtain, and on whom you marry. You will immediately give up any relations.h.i.+p you have with this young woman." And then his father had told him about The Pearl.

"I will pay for her apartment and expenses. It will be a heavy burden on my purse, but you must be taken in hand. You must be made to attend to your responsibilities. I would do it myself, but I cannot leave Malo until I know how the wheat is performing. If you paid any attention, you would know how precarious a position we are in, how important it is that you begin to consider more than yourself. You would know how precarious a position we are in, how important it is that you begin to consider more than yourself. She will introduce you to the men you need to know to advance your career, and keep you from forming any unfortunate ties."

The Pearl. She had been one of what a Sylvanian writer of the previous generation had referred to as the grandes coquettes grandes coquettes, mistresses of great men who had moved through society almost as easily as respectable women because of their beauty and wit. She had been called The Pearl because she had shone so brightly, first in the theater and then in the social world of Karelstad, when Rudolf was still learning to toddle on his nurse's strings. She had been famous for her luminescent beauty, adored by the leading n.o.blemen and government officials of her day and tolerated by their wives. Until, one day, she had disappeared.

Rudolf's relations.h.i.+p with Kati, who did indeed work in a hat shop, was less serious than his father suspected. She had allowed him to go so far and no further, in the hope that someday she would be offered a more legitimate role, and become a baroness. He would have been eager, if somewhat apprehensive, at the thought of having an official, paid mistress. But not one who must be at least twice his age, and certainly not one chosen by his father.

"How in the world did your father find her?" asked Gustav, but Rudolf had no idea.

They had been walking for at least an hour, farther and farther away from what Rudolf called civilization, meaning Dobromir, the town closest to Malo, the estate that had been in his father's family for generations. When the roads had ended, they had walked on paths marked by cartwheels, and finally over fields where there were no paths. Now they had stopped at the edge of a wood. Rudolf looked down with distaste at the mud on his boots.

"There," said his father.

Rudolf looked up and saw a cottage built of stone, like the cottages of farm laborers but without their neat orderliness or the geraniums that always seemed to grow in pots on their windowsills. This cottage seemed almost deserted, with moss growing on the stones and over the thatched roof. It was surrounded by what was probably supposed to be a garden, but was overrun by weeds, and although it was late summer, the apples on the two ancient apple trees by the fence were small and hard. In the garden, a woman was working with a spade. As they approached, she stood up and looked at them. She had a straw hat on her head.

"Wait here," said his father. He opened a gate that was leaning on its hinges and walked into the garden. When he reached the woman, he bowed. Rudolf was astonished. Who, in this G.o.dforsaken place, would his father bow to?

Rudolf heard them speaking in low voices. To pa.s.s the time, he tried to wipe the mud off his boots on the gra.s.s.

His father and the woman both turned and looked at him. Then, his father walked back to where Rudolf stood waiting. "Come," he said, "and keep your mouth shut. I don't want her to think that my son is a fool."

She looked thin, almost malnourished, in a dress that was too large for her and had faded from too many was.h.i.+ngs. When she lifted her head to look at him and Rudolf could see under the brim of her hat, he saw that her skin was freckled by the sun, with lines at the corners of the eyes and mouth. Her eyes were a strange, light green, almost gray, and they stared at him until he felt compelled to look down. Despite the sunlight in the clearing, he s.h.i.+vered.

"This is your son," she said. "He looks like you, twenty years ago."

"It would, as I have said, be a great favor to me, and I would of course make certain that you had only the finest..."

"I have no wish to return to Karelstad, Morek. If I do as you ask, it will not be because I want to live in a fine apartment or wear costly jewels. It will be because once, long ago, when I needed kindness, you were kind. Kinder than you knew."

"And the boy is acceptable?"

"He could be lame and a hunchback, and it would make no difference."

Rudolf felt his face grow hot. He opened his mouth.

"Excellent," said his father. "The keys to the apartment will be waiting for you. Send for him when you're ready."

The woman nodded, then turned back to her weeding.

Rudolf trudged over the fields and along the country roads behind his father, wondering what had just happened.

The summons came two weeks later. Meet me at 2:00 p.m. at Agneta's, Meet me at 2:00 p.m. at Agneta's, said the note. It was written on thick paper, soft, heavy, the color of cream, scented with something not even Karl, who considered himself a connoisseur of women's perfumes, could identify. "It's not jasmine," he said. "Sort of like jasmine mixed with lily, but with something else..." said the note. It was written on thick paper, soft, heavy, the color of cream, scented with something not even Karl, who considered himself a connoisseur of women's perfumes, could identify. "It's not jasmine," he said. "Sort of like jasmine mixed with lily, but with something else..."

"What do you think she wants?" asked Gustav.

"She's his mistress," said Karl. "What do you you think she wants?" think she wants?"

"I don't know," said Rudolf. What would he say to her? He imagined her in a straw hat and a faded dress in the middle of Agneta's, with its small tables at which students, artists, and women in the latest fas.h.i.+ons from Paris sipped from cups of Turkish coffee or ate Hungarian pastries. Suddenly, he felt sorry for her. Karelstad had changed so much since she had last seen it. It had been impoverished but not damaged during the war, and since the divisions of Trianon it had become one of the most fas.h.i.+onable capitals in Europe. She would look, would be, so out of place. He would be kind to her, would not mind his own embarra.s.sment. Perhaps they could come to some sort of agreement. She could live in her apartment and do, well, whatever she wanted, and he would be free of any obligations to her.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked rather fine, if he did say so himself. He practiced an expression of sympathy and solicitousness.

By the time he was sitting at one of the small tables, he was feeling less sympathetic. How like his father, to embarra.s.s him in front of all these people. He did not know most of them, of course, but sitting next to the door-surely that was General Schrader, whom he had seen once in a parade commemorating Sylvanian liberation from the Turks, and he was almost certain that the woman with the ridiculously long feathers in her hat was the wife of someone important. Hadn't he seen her sitting on the platform at his graduation?

General Schrader had risen. There was a woman joining him, a woman so striking that Rudolf could not help staring at her. She was wearing a green dress, a dress of almost poisonous green. A green cowl of the same material framed her face, a pale face with a bright red mouth, so vivid that Rudolf thought, I've never seen anything so alive. I've never seen anything so alive.

But she did not stop at the general's table. Instead, she walked across the room in his direction. At every second or third table she stopped. Men rose and bowed, women either turned their heads, refusing to look at her, or kissed her on both cheeks. In her wake, she left whispers, until the cafe sounded like a forest of falling leaves.

"So nice to see you again, Countess," Rudolf heard her say, and the woman with the feathered hat responded, "Good G.o.d! Can it really be you, come back from the dead to steal our husbands? Where did I leave mine? Oh my, I'm going to have a heart attack any minute. My dear, where have you been?"

A long, lean man sitting in a corner rose, kissed her hands, and said, "You'll sit to me again, won't you?"

"That's Friedrich, the painter," said Karl. "I've never seen him talk to anyone since I started coming here four years ago. I'll bet you four kroners that she's a film actress from Germany."

"I don't think so," said Gustav. "I think-"

And then she was at their table.

"You must be Rudolf's friends," she said. "It was so nice to meet you. Must you be leaving so soon?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so,"said Gustav, hastily rising."Come on, Karl. I'm sure Rudolf wants some privacy."

And then he was alone with her, or as alone as one can be in Agneta's, with a roomful of people trying, surrept.i.tious, to see whom she was speaking with.

"h.e.l.lo, Rudolf," she said. "Thank you for being prompt. Could you order me some coffee? And light me a cigarette. I haven't had a cigarette in-it must be twenty years now. I've made a list of the people you'll need to meet. You can tell me which ones you've met already." She waited, looking at him from beneath long black lashes. Her eyes were still green, but somehow they had acquired depth, like a forest pool. "My coffee?"

"Yes, of course," said Rudolf. He gestured for the waiter and suddenly realized that his palms were damp.

The party had lasted long past midnight. The Crown Prince himself had been there. The guest list had also included the Prime Minister; General Schrader; the countess of the feathered hat, this time in a tiara; the painter Friedrich; the French amba.s.sador, Anita Dak, the princ.i.p.al dancer from the Ballet Russes,which was staging Copelia Copelia in Karelstad; a professor of mathematics in a shabby coat, invited because he had just been inducted into the National Academy; young men in the government who talked about the situation in Germany between dances; young men in finance who talked about whether the kroner was going up or down, seeming not to care which as long as they were buying or selling at the right times; mothers dragging girls who danced with the young men, awkwardly aware of their newly upswept hair and bare shoulders, then went back to giggling in corners of the ballroom. At first Rudolf had felt out of place, intimidated, although as the future Baron Arnheim he certainly had a right to be there, should probably have been there all along rather than smoking in cafes with Karl and Gustav. But it did not matter. He was escorting The Pearl. in Karelstad; a professor of mathematics in a shabby coat, invited because he had just been inducted into the National Academy; young men in the government who talked about the situation in Germany between dances; young men in finance who talked about whether the kroner was going up or down, seeming not to care which as long as they were buying or selling at the right times; mothers dragging girls who danced with the young men, awkwardly aware of their newly upswept hair and bare shoulders, then went back to giggling in corners of the ballroom. At first Rudolf had felt out of place, intimidated, although as the future Baron Arnheim he certainly had a right to be there, should probably have been there all along rather than smoking in cafes with Karl and Gustav. But it did not matter. He was escorting The Pearl.

She walked beside him down the darkened street,her white furs clasped around her. She had not wanted to take a cab. "It's not far," she had said. "I want to see the night, and the moon." It shone above the housetops, swimming among the clouds.

"Here it is," she said. It had been three weeks since he had met her at Agneta's, and he had never yet seen where she lived, the apartment that his father was paying for. He had wanted to, but had not, somehow, wanted to ask. He still did not know, exactly, how to talk to her.

"Could I-could I come up?" he asked.

For a moment, she did not answer. Then, "All right," she said.

Her apartment was larger than the one he shared with Karl and Gustav, and luxuriously furnished. He recognized a table, a sofa, even some paintings from Malo, and suddenly realized that his mother must have sent them. His father might have paid for an apartment, but he could never have furnished one.

She turned on a lamp, but the corners of the room remained in shadow. She shone in the darkness like a pale moon.

"You made me dance with every girl at the party, but you wouldn't dance with me," he said.

"That wasn't the point," she said. "How did you like the French amba.s.sador's daughter? Charlotte De Gra.s.se-she's nineteen, charming, and an heiress."

"I want to dance with you," he said.

She looked at him for a moment. He could not tell what she was thinking. Then she went to the gramophone and put on a record: a waltz.

Nervously, he took her in his arms. She was wearing something gray, like cobwebs, and her eyes had become gray as well. A scent enveloped him, the perfume that Karl had been unable to place.

"You're exquisite," he said, then realized how stupid that had sounded.

"Don't fall for me," she said. And then, almost as though he did not know what he was doing, he started to dance with her in his arms, around and around and around.

She sat on the edge of the bed. In the morning light coming through the windows, her robe was the color of milk. She had washed her face. Once again she looked like the woman that Rudolf had seen near Malo: thin, but now paler and more tired, with blue shadows under her eyes. Older than she had looked last night. It was just after dawn; the birds in the park had been singing for an hour.

"This is who I am, Rudolf," she said. "Beneath the evening gowns and cosmetics. Do you understand?"

He pulled her to him by the lapel of her robe, then slipped it off her shoulder. He kissed her skin there, then on her collarbone and her neck. The scent still clung around her, as though it were not a perfume but an exhalation of her flesh. "I don't care," he said.

"No," she said, sounding sad. "I didn't think you would."

Last night, he had touched her carefully, hungrily. At times he had thought, She is delicate, I must be very gentle. She is delicate, I must be very gentle. At times he had thought, At times he had thought, I would like to devour her. I would like to devour her. Her fingers had traveled over him, and he had thought they were like feathers, so soft. At times he had shuddered, thinking, Her fingers had traveled over him, and he had thought they were like feathers, so soft. At times he had shuddered, thinking, They are like spiders. She is the one who will devour me. They are like spiders. She is the one who will devour me. He had looked down into her eyes and wondered if he would drown, and wanted to drown, and had at times felt, with terror and ecstasy, as though he were drowning and could no longer breathe. Finally, when he lay spent and she kissed him on the mouth, he had thought, He had looked down into her eyes and wondered if he would drown, and wanted to drown, and had at times felt, with terror and ecstasy, as though he were drowning and could no longer breathe. Finally, when he lay spent and she kissed him on the mouth, he had thought, It is like being kissed by a flower. It is like being kissed by a flower.

He pulled her down beside him and kissed her, insistently.

"Rudolf," she said. "The French amba.s.sador's daughter-"

"Can go to h.e.l.l," he said. And a part of him noticed, gratified, that this time she touched him as hungrily as he had touched her. Afterward, he lay with his head just beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, moving as she breathed, his fingers stroking the skin of her stomach.

"I can't stay," she said. "Soon, I'll have to return to Dobromir. Once you have a position and are engaged, you won't need me anymore, and then I'll go."

He raised himself upon his elbow. "Don't be ridiculous. Why would you want to go back to there, to that hovel? And why should I marry anyone? I want to be with you."

"I told you not to fall for me." She sighed. "The first time I came to Karelstad, all I wanted was to dress in silk, wear high heels, smoke cigarettes. Motorcars! Champagne! The lights of the city at night, so much more exciting than the moon and stars. The theater, playing a part. It allowed me to be something other than myself. And then the men bringing me flowers, white fox furs, diamonds to wear around my neck, like drops of water turned to stone. Many, many men, Rudolf."

Frowning, he turned his head. "I don't want to hear about them."

She stroked his hair. "But I became sick. Very, very sick. I had to go back, live among the trees, drink water from the stream. If I stay here much longer, I'll become sick again."

"How can you know that?" he said.

He turned to look at her, and saw a tear slide from the corner of her eye. He pulled himself up until he lay beside her and kissed it away. "All right then, I'll come to Malo. I'll live in that hovel of yours, or if you don't want me to, I'll visit every day. At least we can see each other."

She smiled, although her eyes still had the brightness of unshed tears. "Now you're being ridiculous. Don't you realize what Malo is? It's been there, the forest and the fields, for a thousand years. The barons of Malo have cared for that land, and you must care for it, as your son must care for it after you. If I thought you would abandon Malo, I would leave today, knowing that my time here in Karelstad, with you, had served no purpose. Tell me now, Rudolf. Will you abandon Malo?"

Her smile frightened him. She seemed, suddenly, kind and sad and implacable. "If I don't, how long do we have?"

"I promised your father that I would stay until your wedding day. But you must not delay it, you must not put off taking the position I've found for you. You must not try for more than I can give."

"d.a.m.n my father," he said. "All right, then. I'll do as I'm told, like a good boy. And if I'm good, what do I get, now? Today?"

She wrapped her arms around him, and suddenly he felt a constriction in his chest, a sudden stopping of the heart he had felt only when seeing a serpent in his path or listening to Brahms. He could not breathe again. He wondered why anyone had thought breathing was important.

"You know," said Karl, "I would probably kill you if it would make her look at me."

They were sitting in the park. Karl and Rudolf were smoking cigarettes. Gustav was smoking a pipe.

"How you can stand that foul stench..." said Rudolf.

"It's no worse than Karl's French cigarettes," said Gustav. "Good Turkish tobacco, that's what this is."

Rudolf knocked ash off the tip of his cigarette. "Well, it smells like you're smoking manure."

"He doesn't want to stink for The Pearl," said Karl. "Rudolf, I hope you enjoyed my announcement of your probable demise."

"If she would look at you, but she won't," said Rudolf. He had spent the night with her. He spent every night with her now, knowing and yet refusing to believe that his time with her was coming to an end. Several months ago, he had shared with Karl and Gustav every detail of his frustratingly slow and not at all certain conquest of Kati. But he had told them nothing about the nights he had spent with The Pearl. Karl had hinted several times that he would like to know more. Gustav had stayed silent. she would look at you, but she won't," said Rudolf. He had spent the night with her. He spent every night with her now, knowing and yet refusing to believe that his time with her was coming to an end. Several months ago, he had shared with Karl and Gustav every detail of his frustratingly slow and not at all certain conquest of Kati. But he had told them nothing about the nights he had spent with The Pearl. Karl had hinted several times that he would like to know more. Gustav had stayed silent.

"Why is that, do you think?" asked Karl. "While your face is pleasant enough, you're not exactly the Crown Prince, and my uncle is a minister. h.e.l.l, I may even be a minister myself someday."

"Because she's a Fair Lady," said Gustav.

"A what?" asked Karl.

"My grandmother told me about them, once when I had the measles and had to stay home from school. You really don't know about the Fair Ladies?"

Karl blew cigarette smoke through his nose in a contemptuous sort of way. "Why should I?"

"Because they're dangerous," said Gustav. "They live in the forest, inside trees or at the bottoms of pools, and when they see a woodsman or a hunter, maybe, they beckon to him, and he goes to dance with them. He dances with the Fair Ladies until he's skin and bone, or maybe a hundred years have pa.s.sed and all his friends and relatives are dead, or he promises to give the Fair Ladies anything they want, even the heart out of his chest or his first male child. I tell you, Fair Ladies are dangerous."

"And imaginary," said Karl.