A Company of Heroes Book Five: The Space Cadet (11 page)

She didn’t want to do that, but neither did she want to lose her tentative advantage with Rhys; she didn’t want to leave his side for even a moment. So, dashing back into the building, she tucked the books onto the highest shelf she could reach in the coatroom. She ran outside, leaping down the steps, half afraid he would have disappeared in that brief interval. He was still there.

Together they walked the two miles to the outskirts of the Transmoltus.

It was at one and the same time the most pleasant and most frustrating half hour she had ever spent. She was as intensely aware of the physical presence of Rhys as she was of the pressing heat of the lowering sun, the ponderous humidity, the dusty, gritty, airless atmosphere, the rutted, potholed road. Was Rhys equally aware of her? He only talked of school, the subjects of term papers, the outcome of this game or that and, of course, the upcoming examination.

Whenever possible, she took advantage of irregularities in the path and allowed her body to briefly brush his, her hand to momentarily touch his own. Each time she would receive a shock as though she had discharged a Leyden jar although Rhys seemed oblivious. How could he not have felt the same thing?

The heat was becoming oppressive. The atmosphere contained more iron filings than it did oxygen. Trickles of perspiration stung her eyes and she could feel her shirt clinging wetly beneath her armpits, to the small of her back and beneath her breasts. Dark stains were spreading across Rhys’ shirt as well and she could smell his musky odor.

Like a dropped platter, the Transmoltus disintegrated into increasingly smaller bits as they passed first through condemned factories and abandoned warehouses then half-razed ruins, collapsed rubble, débris-filled blocks and empty lots.

When they arrived at the quarry, Judikha was surprised and distressed to see, rather than a homogeneous representation of students, only that coterie of ruffians who orbited around the massy center of Monkfish Glom. Food and drink were already being enthusiastically consumed, especially the latter since more than half the students were drunk. Others were splashing and shouting in the pool. What was Rhys doing with
this
gang? Had they finally accepted him into their circle? Had Rhys ever
wanted
to be accepted within their circle? She very much hated to think that would be so.

“I didn’t know you hung around with this group.”

“I don’t,” he replied to her infinite relief. “This whole affair is Pomfret’s idea.”

“That explains the company then.”

“Well, there’s no reason why we still can’t have some fun. The quarry’s big enough for everyone.”

There were implications and innuendos to that statement that were not lost upon a crackerjack mind such as Judikha’s. Rhys was deliberately suggesting they consider themselves as something apart from the rest of the group. A separate unit unto themselves.
Oh my!
Now what should I do?
She had no answer; her Rhysocentric fantasies had never dared go so far as this.

“I hate it when it’s this hot this late in the day,” he said. “I’m covered with dust. It’s all over the inside of my mouth. Feels like ground glass. Let’s go for a swim and wash off before we eat, otherwise everything’ll taste like mud.”

“All right,” she agreed shakily, barely able to speak. “Practically everyone’s left the pool anyway. We can have it almost to ourselves.”

They had circled the pit to a point diametrically opposite the others, about five hundred feet distant, where there was a sort of little cove, a cup of dark green water. Rhys immediately began to shed his clothing and Judikha, with much more self-consciousness than she had ever thought she possessed, did the same. For some reason she found unaccountable, she tried to resist the temptation to look at the rapidly denuding boy although a few minutes earlier she would have said it was one of her fondest wishes. Fortunately, good sense won out against such unfamiliar modesty and she was almost dizzied by the lean, pale figure.
Where in the world did someone like him ever get muscles like that? and how has he been managing to hide them? It must come from living on a farm, wrestling cows and heaving bales of hay or whatever it is they do there. Those hard, flat muscles look like slate shingles. Great Musrum almighty, I hope he doesn’t look at me!

To her disappointment she got her wish as Rhys plunged into the pool without as much as a backward glance, which was a little disconcerting. Didn’t he
want
to look? Judikha didn’t hesitate another second before following. Even though the metallic water stung her eyes, she opened them, looking around for Rhys. There he was, not ten feet ahead, shooting for the surface like a silvery torpedo. They broke into the air together.

“Ptuh!” he spat. “This water tastes like medicine!”

“I’m told it’s great for getting rid of lice and such.”

“Thanks.”

“Not that I was suggesting for a moment that...”

He dived under before her apology had reached its full clumsiness. She felt one of her ankles grasped and before she could react was jerked under. She kicked, broke free and grappled for her sleek attacker. Instead, she found herself enfolded from behind by long, hard arms that pressed against her breasts, was conscious of a warm body that touched her from shoulders to buttocks. She spun in his grasp, wriggling like an eel, felt her breasts flattening against his chest, his hands filling the convex arch of her back.
Something
brushed against her pubes, and somewhere within her loins there was a sudden rush of warmth, a pressure, a kind of convulsion like a fist clenching. She broke from Rhys’ grasp with a violence that took both of them by surprise.

For half an hour more they played like otters, but with their touches now discrete, brief, tentative, self-conscious.

They clambered from the water and, backs silently turned to one another with that illogical modesty encouraged by familiarity, dressed. Judikha was conscious that this new discretion indicated that something between them had changed. But what was it? And was it for good or for ill?

The sky had grown purple since they had begun their swim and the Ring was a ghostly rainbow while the lambent, swirling glow of the furnaces reflected from the low clouds.

“Let’s sit over here,” Rhys suggested, gesturing toward a flat rock that overlooked the pool. While she squatted there hugging her knees, he knelt beside her and fumbled open the paper bag he’d brought. First he took out a square of newspaper which he spread neatly on the rock, smoothing it flat with his hands. In the center of this he placed a half-loaf of bread that did not appear to have gone entirely stale, a chunk of hard, orange cheese and a bottle of wine. Judikha picked this up with some admiration.

“Where did you get wine?”

“Oh, well—” He was actually
blushing
, Judikha noticed, considerably charmed. “Well—I’ve been saving up for something special. It was nothing, really.”

In reply Judikha reached inside her folded jacket and, with a magician’s gesture, brought forth a sausage as big as both her fists together.

“Where did
you
get
that
?” Rhys asked in amazement.

“I picked it up on the way here.”

“On the
way
? I was with you the whole time. You never stopped anywhere or picked anything up.”

“Well—” Damn it, now she felt
herself
blushing. “It’s just something I’m good at, that’s all.”

Rhys was silent for a moment, apparently chewing on a thought as though it were a bit of mental gristle. “You mean you
stole
it?”

Judikha bristled. “Did I ask
you
so many questions?”

“I’m sorry. Never mind. Here, you open the bottle while I get a knife for the cheese and, uh, sausage.”

They ate and drank in silence. The sun was well behind the fuming barricade of the Transmoltus; the quarry was filling with indigo shadows. She noticed that some of the boys and girls were slipping into the spreading pools of darkness, not that it did them any good—she could see perfectly well what they were doing. She hoped—perversely—that Rhys did not notice what was going on around them, or, rather, that
she
was noticing.

“Have you seen Pomfret?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“I haven’t seen Pomfret around yet. Have you?”

“I haven’t made any particular effort to notice anyone, least of all him.”

“Well, this was his idea, after all.”

Well, thank you very much
.

“Though I’m awfully glad he suggested it,” he continued, and she was glad that she’d kept her thought to herself.

“I’m glad, too,” she ventured.

“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. That was awfully personal.”

“No, no. That’s all right.”

“It’s really none of my business.”

“I didn’t mind at all.”

“If you’re sure...?”

“It’s all right. No, I don’t have a boyfriend. It’s certainly no secret. In fact, I’ll tell you something that I’ve never told anyone else.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind. I’d like to.”

“Well, it’s entirely up to you.”

“It’s just that...well, being here with you and all.”

“You can tell me anything you want.”

“That’s just what I mean. I trust you.”

“Thank you very much. That’s a fine compliment.”

He had no idea how much of a compliment it was; indeed, it was a two-fold compliment: she had never told anyone such a thing in all her life—she never told anyone anything for that matter— nor had she ever before placed her trust in another human being. She herself couldn’t believe what she had just said.

“I’ve never had any boyfriends—before now,” she added boldly, glancing sideways quickly to see if that subtlety had missed him. Apparently it had.

“I’m really surprised,” he said.

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re not at all bad-looking.”

“There’s a laugh!”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, just look!”

“I am looking.”

“Oh come on! I’m a string bean! I’m as flat-chested as an ironing board and I have a big nose!”

“I always thought you looked kind of lithe and aristocratic.”

“Oh, right!”

“Well, I’d say that my opinion counts for more than yours because I have to look at you more often than you do. Therefore, if
I
like what I see, your opinion isn’t really relevant. Besides, do you really want to look like those pudgy, cow-faced girls? They make my skin crawl. I’m really surprised you don’t think you’re good-looking. You’re, well, you’re very
unusual-
looking.”

“I know that much.”

“No. I mean—how can I say this? Most things that are really beautiful have something unusual about them, something different. There was something some old philosopher said...I can’t remember...oh, yes! ‘There is no great beauty that hath not some strangeness in its proportion.’”

“Yeah, I’m strange all right.”

“You have beautiful eyes. I’ve never seen eyes so large. And they’re so dark I can see my reflection in them—they’re like drops of black oil. And you have those black, hooked eyebrows that look exactly like a pair of circumflex accent. They make you look like you’re questioning or doubting everything. And you’ve got cheekbones that look like those slate ledges over there.”

“So what about my nose, then?”

“It’s like the gnomon on a sundial.”

“My lips are too thin.”

“But you have a charming smile. And your teeth—”

“Are too small.”

“—are like two strands of pearls, all exactly alike.”

“I’m awfully tall and scrawny.”

“You’re as supple and graceful as a boa constrictor.”

“You’re turning me into a poem!” she laughed.

“I wish you laughed more often. You’re definitely very pretty when you laugh.”

“You’re very sweet, Rhys, to say all of this. But I know what I am.”

“Well, I think you’re wrong and eventually you’ll stop being so stubborn and admit that I’m right.”

“Perhaps you’ll have to convince me.”

“I thought that’s what I was just now trying to do.” He suddenly grew serious, almost solemn. He looked at his hands, which were wringing themselves in his lap, with some surprise, as though he hadn’t expected to find them there. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Judikha.”

Holy Musrum! Is this going to be it?
She felt a wave of dizziness.
Stop it! for heaven’s sake—you’re going to embarrass yourself!

“Wha—what’s that?”

“Well, this might seem awfully personal—I mean, we’ve barely gotten to know one another...”

“But we’re fixing that now, aren’t we?”

“True. I have to admit I respect your levelheadedness and practical outlook more than ever. Look here, Judikha, I can be big enough to confess that I’ve been a snob—I looked down on you. There. I’ve said it. I thought less of you just because, because of, well, just because of who you were, where you came from. Oh, this is coming out all wrong!”

“Never mind. Go ahead. Please.” It was becoming hard to breath. What was happening? Was she having some sort of asthmatic fit? Had the water of the pool finally poisoned her?

“Well—it’s not right to think less of someone just because they’ve lived differently than you or have different standards or whatever. I finally got off my high horse and realized that in spite of appearances you really were a very decent person. Not at all like
those
,” he said, gesturing into the surrounding, grunting, giggling shadows.

“Thanks.”

“Well—there’s no one else I’d rather turn to for advice.”

“Advice?”

“Yes. Well—I might as well blurt it out and get it over with. Everyone in the school probably knows anyway—what do you think of Bettina?”

“Bettina?”

“Yes. Bettina Henlopen. I think she’s just wonderful. I know the two of you are pretty close; you’re probably her best friend. What do you think my chances would be if I asked to see her? Be as honest as you can. Say! Where are you going? Judikha? Where are you going?”

That night, Judikha brought a cobblestone to her room and ground into powder every mirror she owned.