Time Enough For Love Part 53

"We did not meet at church, Father. What with herding my zoo I barely have time to speak to Reverend and Mrs. Draper. But now that I think about it, I'm sure I saw Mr. Bronson there last Sunday. One does notice a new face among old familiar ones."

"Daughter, as may be, that wasn't what I meant. Whom does Ted look like? No, never mind-doesn't he look like your Uncle Ned?"

His mother again looked at Lazarus. "Yes, I see a resemblance. But he looks even more like you, Father."

"No, Ted's from Springfield. All my sins were farther north."

"Father."

"Daughter, quit worrying about me rattling the family skeleton. It's possible that-Ted, may I tell it?"

"Certainly, Mr. Johnson. As you said, it's nothing to be ashamed of-and I'm not."

"Ted is an orphan, Maureen, a foundling. If Ned weren't warming his toes in h.e.l.l, I'd ask him some searching questions. The time and place is right, and Ted certainly looks like our kin."

"Father, I think you are embarra.s.sing our guest."

"I don't. And don't you be so hoity-toity, young lady. You're a grown woman, with children; you can stand plain talk."

"Mrs. Smith, I am not embarra.s.sed. Whoever my parents were, I am proud of them. They gave me a strong, healthy body and a brain that serves my needs-"

Well spoken, young man!"

-and while I would be proud to claim your father as my uncle-and you as my cousin-if it were so-it seems more likely that my parents were taken by a typhoid epidemic down that way; the dates match well enough."

Mr. Johnson frowned. "How old are you, Ted?"

Lazarus though fast and decided to be his mother's age. "I'm thirty-five."

"Why, that just my my age!" age!"

"Really, Mrs. Smith? If you hadn't made clear that you have a daughter old enough to go to the picture show with a young man, I I would have thought you were about eighteen." would have thought you were about eighteen."

"Oh, go along with you! I have eight children."

"Impossible!"

"Maureen doesn't look her age," agreed her father. "Hasn't changed since she was a bride. Runs in the family; her mother doesn't have a gray hair today." (Where is Grandma?-oh, yes, so don't ask.) "But, Ted, you don't look thirty-five either. I would have guessed middle twenties."

Well, I don't know exactly how old I am. But I can't can't be younger than that. I might be a bit older." (Quite a bit, Gramp!) "But it's close enough that when I'm asked I just put down the Fourth of July, 1882." be younger than that. I might be a bit older." (Quite a bit, Gramp!) "But it's close enough that when I'm asked I just put down the Fourth of July, 1882."

"Why that's my my birthday!" birthday!"

(Yes, Mama, I know.) "Really, Mrs. Smith? I didn't mean to steal your birthday. I'll move over a few days-say the first of July. Since I'm not certain anyhow."

Oh, don't do that! Father-you must bring Mr. Bronson home for dinner on our joint birthday."

"Do you think Brian would like that?"

Certainly he would! I'll write to him about it. He'll be home long before then in any case. You know Brian always says, 'The more, the merrier!' We'll be expecting you, Mr. Bronson."

"Mrs. Smith, that's most kind of you, but I expect to leave on a long business trip on the first of July."

I think you have let Father scare you off. Or is it the prospect of eating dinner with eight noisy children? Never mind: my husband will invite you himself-and then we will see what you say."

In the meantime, Maureen, stop crowding him; you've got him fl.u.s.tered. Let me see something. You two stand up, side by side. Go ahead, Ted; she won't bite you."

"Mrs. Smith?"

She shrugged and dimpled, then accepted his hand to get up out of her rocking chair. "Father always wants to 'see something.' "

Lazarus stood by her, facing his grandfather, and tried to ignore her fragrance-a touch of toilet water, but mostly the light, warm, delicious scent of sweet and healthy woman. Lazarus was afraid to think about it, was careful not to let it show in his face. But it hit him like a heavy blow.

"Mrrrph. Both of you step up to the mantel and look at yourselves in the gla.s.s. Ted, there was no typhoid epidemic down that way in'eighty-two. Nor 'eighty-three."

"Really, sir? Of course I can't remember." (And I shouldn't have tossed in that flouris.h.!.+ Sorry, Gramp. Would you believe the truth? You might . . out of all the men I've ever known. Don't risk it, Bub, forget it!) "Nope. Just the usual number of dumb fools too lazy to build their privies a proper distance from their wells. Which I feel certain could not describe your parents. Can't guess about your mother, but I think your father died with his hand on the throttle, still trying to gain control. Maureen?"

Mrs. Smith stared at her reflection and that of their guest. She said slowly, "Father . . Mr. Bronson and I look enough alike to be brother and sister."

"No. First cousins. Although with Ned gone there's no way to prove it. I think-"

Mr. Johnson was interrupted by a yell from the front staircase landing: "Mama! Gramp! Gramp! I want to be b.u.t.toned up!" I want to be b.u.t.toned up!"

Ira Johnson answered, "Woodie, you rapscallion, get back upstairs!"

Instead the child came down-small, male, freckled, and ginger-haired, dressed in Dr. Denton's with the seat flapping behind him. He stared at Lazarus with beady, suspicious eyes. Lazarus felt a s.h.i.+ver run down his spine and tried not to look at the child.

"Who's that? that?"

Mrs. Smith said quickly, "Forgive me, Mr. Bronson." Then she added quietly, "Come here, Woodrow."

Her father said, "Don't bother, Maureen. I'll take him up and blister his bottom-then I'll b.u.t.ton him." I'll b.u.t.ton him."

"You and what six others?" the boy child demanded.

"Me, myself, and a baseball bat."

Mrs. Smith quietly and quickly attended to the child's needs, then hurried him out of the room and headed him up the stairs. She returned and sat down. Her father said, "Maureen, that was just an excuse. Woodie can b.u.t.ton himself. And he's too old for that baby outfit. Put him in a nights.h.i.+rt."

"Father, shall we discuss it another time?"

Mr. Johnson shrugged. "I've overstepped again. Ted, that one's the chessplayer. He's a stem-winder. Named for President Wilson, but he's not 'too proud to fight.' Mean little devil."

"Father."

"All right, all right-but it's true. That's what I like about Woodie. He'll go far."

Mrs. Smith said, "Please excuse us, Mr. Bronson. My father and I sometimes differ a little about how to bring up a boy. But we should not burden you with it."

"Maureen, I simply won't let you make a 'Little Lord Fauntleroy' out of Woodie."

"There's no danger of that that, Father; he takes after you. My father was in the War of 'Ninety-eight, Mr. Bronson, and the Insurrection-"

"And the Boxer Rebellion."

-and he can't forget it-"

"Of course not. I keep my old Army thirty-eight under my pillow, my son-in-law being away."

"Nor would I wish him to forget; I am proud of my father, Mr. Bronson, and hope that all my sons will grow up with his same spirit. But I want them to learn to speak politely, too."

"Maureen, I would rather have Woodie sa.s.s me than be timid with me. He'll learn to speak politely soon enough; older boys will take care of that. A lesson in manners punctuated with a black eye sticks. I know from experience."

The discussion was interrupted by the jingle of the doorbell. "That should be Nancy," Mr. Johnson said and got up to answer. Lazarus heard Nancy say good-night to someone, then stood up himself to be introduced, and was not startled only because he had already picked out his eldest sister at church and knew that she looked like a young edition of Laz and Lor. She spoke to him politely but rushed upstairs as soon as she was excused.

"Do sit down, Mr. Bronson."

Thank you, Mrs. Smith, but you were staying up until your daughter returned. She has, so I will leave."

Oh, there's no hurry; Father and I are night owls."

Thank you very much. I enjoyed the coffee and the cake, and most especially the company. But it is time for me to say good-night. You have been most kind."

"If you must, sir. Will we see you at church on Sunday?"

"I expect to be there, ma'am."

Lazarus drove home in a daze, body alert but thoughts elsewhere. He reached his apartment, bolted himself in, checked windows and blinds automatically, stripped off his clothes, and started a tub. Then he looked grimly at himself in the bathroom mirror. "You stupid arsfardel," he said with slow intensity. "You whirling son of a b.i.t.c.h. Can't you do anything anything right?" right?"

No, apparently not, not even something as simple as getting reacquainted with his mother. Gramp had been no problem ; the old goat had given him no surprises-other than being shorter and smaller than Lazarus remembered. He was just as grumpy, suspicious, cynical, formally polite, belligerent -and delightful-as Lazarus had remembered.

There had been worrisome moments when he had "thrown himself on the mercy of the court." But that gambit had paid off better than Lazarus had had any reason to hope-through an unsuspected family resemblance. Lazarus not only had never seen Gramp's elder brother (dead before Woodie Smith was born), but he had forgotten that there ever was an Edward Johnson.

Was "Uncle Ned" listed with the Families? Ask Justin. Never mind, not important. Mother had put her finger on the correct answer: Lazarus resembled his grandfather. And his mother, as Gramp had pointed out. But that had resulted only in conjectures concerning dear old Uncle Ned and his trifling ways," ones that Mother did not mind listening to, once she was certain that her guest was not embarra.s.sed.

Embarra.s.sed? It had changed his status from stranger to "cousin." Lazarus wanted to kiss Uncle Ned and thank him for those "trifling ways" that made kins.h.i.+p plausible. Gramp believed the theory-of course; it was his own-and his daughter seemed willing to treat it as a possible hypothesis. Lazarus, it's just the inside track you need-if you weren't such a blithering idiot!

He tested the bath water-cold. He shut it off and pulled the plug. A promise of hot water all day long had been one inducement when Lazarus had rented this musty cave. But the janitor turned off the water heater before he went to bed, and anyone looking for hot water later than nine was foolish. Well, he qualified as foolish, and perhaps cold water would do more for his unstable condition than hot-but he had wanted a long, hot soak to soothe his nerves and help him think.

He had fallen in love with his mother.

Face it, Lazarus. This is impossible, and you don't know how to handle it. In more than two thousand years of one silly misadventure after the other this is the most preposterous predicament you ever got into.

Oh, sure, a son loves his mother. As "Woodie Smith," Lazarus had never doubted that. He had always kissed his mother good-night (usually), hugged her when he saw her (if he wasn't in a hurry), remembered her birthday (almost always), thanked her for cookies or cake she left out for him whenever he was out late (except when he forgot), and sometimes had told her he loved her.

She had been a good mother. She had never screamed at him (or at any of them) and, when necessary, had used a switch at once and the matter was over with-never that Wait-till-your-father-gets-home routine. Lazarus could still feel that peach switch on his calves; it had caused him to levitate, better than Thurston the Great, at a very early age.

He recalled, too, that as he grew older, he found that he was proud of the way she looked-always neat and standing straight and invariably gracious to his friends-not like some of the mothers of other boys.

Oh, sure, a boy loves his mother-and Woodie had been blessed with one of the best.

But this was not not what Lazarus felt toward Maureen Johnson Smith, lovely young matron, just his "own" age. That visit this night had been delicious agony-for he had never in all his lives been so unbearably attracted, so s.e.xually obsessed, by any woman any where or when. During that short visit Lazarus had been forced to be most careful not to let his pa.s.sion show-and especially cautious not to appear too gallant, not be more than impersonally polite, not by expression or tone of voice or anything else risk arousing Gramp's always-alert suspicions, not let Gramp suspect the storm of l.u.s.t that had raged up in him as soon as he touched her hand. what Lazarus felt toward Maureen Johnson Smith, lovely young matron, just his "own" age. That visit this night had been delicious agony-for he had never in all his lives been so unbearably attracted, so s.e.xually obsessed, by any woman any where or when. During that short visit Lazarus had been forced to be most careful not to let his pa.s.sion show-and especially cautious not to appear too gallant, not be more than impersonally polite, not by expression or tone of voice or anything else risk arousing Gramp's always-alert suspicions, not let Gramp suspect the storm of l.u.s.t that had raged up in him as soon as he touched her hand.

Lazarus looked down at proof of his pa.s.sion, hard and tall, and slapped it. "What are you you standing up for? There's nothing doing for standing up for? There's nothing doing for you you. This is the Bible Belt."

It was indeed! Gramp did not believe in the Bible or live by Bible-Belt standards, yet Lazarus felt sure that, were he to provoke it by breaching those standards, Gramp would shoot him quite dispa.s.sionately, on behalf of his son-in-law. Possibly the old man would let the first shot go wide and give him a chance to run. But Lazarus was not willing to bet his life on it. Gramp acting for his son-in-law might feel duty bound to shoot straight-and Lazarus knew how straight the old man could shoot.

Forget it, forget it, he was not going to give either Gramp or his father any reason to shoot, or even to be angry-and you you forget it, too, you blind snake! Lazarus wondered when his father would be home, and tried to remember how he looked-found his memory blurred. Lazarus had always been closer to his Grandfather Johnson than to his father; not only had his father often been away on business, but also Gramp had been home in the daytime and willing to spend time with Woodie. forget it, too, you blind snake! Lazarus wondered when his father would be home, and tried to remember how he looked-found his memory blurred. Lazarus had always been closer to his Grandfather Johnson than to his father; not only had his father often been away on business, but also Gramp had been home in the daytime and willing to spend time with Woodie.

His other grandparents? Somewhere in Ohio-Cincinnati? No matter, his memory of them was so faint that it did not seem worthwhile to try to see them.

He had completed all that he had intended to do in Kansas City-and if he had the sense G.o.d promised a doork.n.o.b, the time to leave is now now. Skip church on Sunday, stay away from the pool hall, go down Monday and sell his remaining holdings-and leave leave! Climb into the Ford-no, sell it and take a train to San Francisco; there catch the first s.h.i.+p south. Send Gramp and Maureen polite notes, mailed from Denver or San Francisco, saying that he was sorry but that business trip, etc. -but Get Out of Town! Get Out of Town!

Because Lazarus knew that the attraction had not been one-sided- He thought that he had kept Gramp from guessing his emotional storm . . but Maureen had been aware of it-and had not resented it. No, she had been flattered and pleased. They had been on the same frequency at once, and without a word or any meaningful glance or touch, her transponder had answered him, silently . . then, as opportunity made it possible, she had answered overtly, once with a dinner invitation-which Gramp had tromped on-and she had promptly tromped back in a fas.h.i.+on that made it acceptable by the mores. Then a second time, just as he was leaving, with the also fully acceptable suggestion that she would expect to see him in church.

Well, why should a young matron, even in 1917, not not be pleased-and flattered, and unresentful-to know that a man wanted most urgently to take her to bed and treat her with gentle roughness? If his nails were clean . . if his breath was sweet . . if his manners were polite and respectful-why not? A woman with eight children is no nervous virgin; she is used to a man in her bed, in her arms, in her body-and Lazarus would have bet his last cent that Maureen enjoyed it. be pleased-and flattered, and unresentful-to know that a man wanted most urgently to take her to bed and treat her with gentle roughness? If his nails were clean . . if his breath was sweet . . if his manners were polite and respectful-why not? A woman with eight children is no nervous virgin; she is used to a man in her bed, in her arms, in her body-and Lazarus would have bet his last cent that Maureen enjoyed it.

Lazarus had no reason then, or in his earlier life, to suspect that Maureen Smith had ever been anything but "faithful" by the most exacting Bible-Belt standards. He had no reason to think that she was even flirting with him. Her manner had not suggested it; he doubted if it ever would. But he held a deep certainty that she was as strongly attracted as he was, that she knew exactly where it could lead-and he suspected that she realized that nothing but chaperonage would stop them.

(But a father in residence and eight children, plus the contemporary mores concerning what can and can't be done, const.i.tuted a lot of chaperonage! Llita's chast.i.ty belt could hardly be more efficient.) Let's haul it out into the middle of the floor and let the cat sniff it. "Sin?" "Sin" like "love" was a word hard to define. It came in two bitter but vastly different flavors. The first lay in violating the taboos of your tribe. This pa.s.sion he felt was certainly sinful by the taboos of the tribe he had been born into-incestuous in the first degree.

But it could not possibly be incest to Maureen.

To himself? He knew that "incest" was a religious concept, not a scientific one, and the last twenty years had washed away in his mind almost the last trace of his tribal taboo. What was left was no more than that breath of garlic in a good salad; it made Maureen more enticingly forbidden (if such were possible!); it did not scare him off. Maureen did not seem seem to be his mother-because she did not fit his recollection of her either as a young woman or as an old woman. to be his mother-because she did not fit his recollection of her either as a young woman or as an old woman.

The other meaning of "sin" was easier to define because it was not clouded by the murky concepts of religion and taboo: Sin is behavior that ignores the welfare of others.

Suppose he stuck around and managed somehow (stipulate safe opportunity) to bed Maureen with her full cooperation? Would she regret it later? Adultery? The word meant something here.

But she was a Howard, one of the early ones when marriage between Howards was a cash contract, eyes wide open, payment from the Foundation for each child born of such union-and Maureen had carried out the contract, eight paid-for children already and would stay in production for, uh, about fifteen more years. Perhaps to her "adultery" meant "violation of contract" rather than "sin"-he did not know.

But that is not the point, Bub; the real question is the only one that has ever stopped you when temptation coincided with opportunity-and this this time he could consult neither Ishtar nor any geneticist. The chance of a bad outcome was slight when there were so many hurdles in the way of time he could consult neither Ishtar nor any geneticist. The chance of a bad outcome was slight when there were so many hurdles in the way of any any outcome. But it was the exact risk that he had always refused to take: the chance of placing a congenital handicap on a child. outcome. But it was the exact risk that he had always refused to take: the chance of placing a congenital handicap on a child.

Hey, wait a minute! No such outcome could could result because no such result because no such had had resulted. He knew every one of his siblings, alive now or still to be born, and there had not been a defective in the lot. Not one. resulted. He knew every one of his siblings, alive now or still to be born, and there had not been a defective in the lot. Not one.

Therefore no hazard.

But-That was grounded on the a.s.sumption that his "no-paradoxes" theory was a law of nature. But you've long been aware that the "no-paradoxes" theory itself involves a paradox-one that you've kept quiet about so as not to alarm Laz and Lor and the rest of your "present" (that present, not this one) family; to wit, the idea that free will and predestination are two aspects of the same mathematical truth, and the difference is merely linguistic, not semantic: the notion that his own free will could not change events here-&now because his freewill actions here-&-now were already a part of what present, not this one) family; to wit, the idea that free will and predestination are two aspects of the same mathematical truth, and the difference is merely linguistic, not semantic: the notion that his own free will could not change events here-&now because his freewill actions here-&-now were already a part of what had had happened in any later "here-&-now." happened in any later "here-&-now."

Which in turn depended on a solipsistic notion he had held as far back as he could remember-Cobwebs, all of it!

Lazarus, you don't know know what trouble you might cause. what trouble you might cause.

So don't! don't! Get out of town Get out of town now now and don't come back to Kansas City and don't come back to Kansas City at all! at all! Because, if you do, you're certain to try to get Maureen's bloomers off . . and she's going to breathe hard and help. From there on only Allah knows-but it could be tragic for her and tragic for others, and as for you, you stupid stud, all b.a.l.l.s and no brain, it could get your a.s.s shot off . . just as the twins predicted. Because, if you do, you're certain to try to get Maureen's bloomers off . . and she's going to breathe hard and help. From there on only Allah knows-but it could be tragic for her and tragic for others, and as for you, you stupid stud, all b.a.l.l.s and no brain, it could get your a.s.s shot off . . just as the twins predicted.