They walked directly to Nature's treehouse, letting their feelings sort out and settle. The horror of what they had just experienced of war was that they knew it was no isolated case. All over the world similar things were happening. Families were being destroyed, and heroic or unheroic sacrifices were being made, for pointless causes. It seemed that men just had a drive to fight, on any pretext, and that the women were unable to stop them. Why was it so?
Gaea was home. She came out to meet them as they approached. She was an older woman, heavyset, with a rather unflattering brown dress and green hat. "The Purgatory News alerted me," she said. "You are the ghost my friend Jolie has been working with!"
I never told her your identity, Jolie thought. I would not have told you either, but Chronos made it known. Now you must tell her. She is your mother.
"Yes, it is true," Orlene said, nerving herself. "I am visiting each of the major Incarnations, to ask their help in recovering my baby. But—"
"But that is not lightly given," Gaea said. "Come in. I will listen to your plea, because I know Jolie would not be wasting her time. But I make no guarantee to help you."
They entered the house and sat in chairs of curving, living wood. The interior contours of the tree formed a central loop that had an odd quality: when she looked through it, she did not see the other side of the chamber, but clouds and sunlight.
That's her window to the world, Jolie thought. Through it she can see anything in the mortal realm. She can also step through it and be there, if she chooses.
Gee, that's great! Vita thought. Can I look and see Roque?
Orlene had other business, however. "I—I think I must tell you something else first," she said. "Because it doesn't seem to be possible to avoid it. I—I am your mortal daughter Orlene, and—"
Gaea was astonished. "I think you must be mistaken! Your body is no product of mine!" The fleecy clouds in the window were abruptly roiling.
"And I am dead," Orlene continued grimly. "This is a living host, not my own flesh."
The window went black.
Gaea appeared calm. "You understand, I can hardly take such a statement on faith! Where is Jolie?"
"She is here, with me. She has been all along—ever since I died. I—I acted without warning, so she did not know in time."
The window showed what might well be the worst and least forewarned storm of the century; the globe seemed to be covered by one big hurricane.
Then, abruptly, it cleared, and a somewhat eerie calm developed.
Gaea reached out and took her hand. "Yes, of course. I should have realized. I could have seen it directly, had I thought to. You are my daughter! But—dead?" She seemed stunned.
"I killed myself." Orlene had intended to explain the circumstances, but was caught by a surge of grief that choked off her voice.
"But Jolie was watching you!"
Orlene nodded.
"One moment." Gaea's outline fuzzed. Then she was a young woman, beautiful, very like Orlene herself in her living state, with honey-blond hair and a most appealing figure. "I can handle this better in my natural form," she said. "My magic is going instead to insulate my emotion. Now you may tell me the story, and I shall relate to it in an objective manner."
"Oh, you look so much like me—when I lived!" Orlene exclaimed, amazed.
"I retain my appearance at the time I assumed the Office," Gaea said. "In twenty years I have not aged—but normally I mask it, so as to appear older."
"Oh, yes, of course! I am glad for you."
"But why did you do it?"
"My baby died. I—I had lived my whole life, to be the best mother it was possible to be, and when—"
"The kind of mother I could not be," Gaea said.
"Oh, that was not your fault!" Orlene protested. "Chronos showed me—you were deprived of—you did what you had to do!"
"Perhaps. And because of my responsibility to my Office, I wrote you out of my life. But indeed I missed you, my darling child! I compensated by trying to be the best mother to the natural world that I could be: the Green Mother. But I never looked at you, lest that awareness distort my judgment. I felt that if I performed well in my Office, you would do well in your life. Now I see that I failed."
"You did not fail! I had a good life, an excellent life! I ended it myself. I—"
The window turned dark, with a preternatural glimmer. "I remember an unfortunate case involving a baby. Were you—did you marry a ghost?"
Jolie, knowing what was coming, let no thought escape. There was nothing she could do to alleviate it.
"Yes. Gawain. I was to bear a child for him, an heir—"
"And I changed that baby, at his behest!" Gaea cried. "And destroyed my daughter!"
Orlene gazed at her with renewed grief. "You did not know."
"The ghost wanted his son to have his heritage," Gaea said. "I was busy, and granted the favor without properly checking, and so bequeathed to that baby the fatal regressive family malady. I was horrified at my error of carelessness but now I am appalled. Look what I did to you!"
"No! I did it to myself! I was foolish and nearsighted and secretive, and brought grief to all those who had sustained me!" Orlene cried. "I could have let my baby go, and remained alive, and had another baby, and so fulfilled my commitments to both my ghost husband and myself, and not done the awful thing I did to my lover and my adoptive parents and to you! If I had it to do over again, with the perspective I have now, I would do what I know is right." Yet she paused, remembering Vita and the rest of it. "At least, I—I'm not sure. But then I did not know, and the blame is mine, and I curse myself for what I did in my ignorance. I know that it is right that I pay with my pain for—"
But Gaea was with her now, holding her. "No, no, my child, it cannot be! I gave you up by choice, knowing it was best, but you had no choice, your baby was dead by my hand, you could not adjust so suddenly! It happens to mortals all too frequently, because they lack the perspective, their lives are so brief and intense. I see it all over the world, all the time, and I cannot mitigate it despite all my power, for it is the human way."
The window had slowly brightened during this dialogue, and now the weather in the mortal realm seemed almost normal. Jolie was relieved; she knew the effect Gaea's emotions had on natural things. That was one of the reasons she had avoided telling Gaea of this matter directly. Gaea had surely suspected, but even so, the shock of confirmation had been formidable, and the climate of the world had been jolted. Now the worst was over.
"I thank you for your understanding, Mother," Orlene said after a bit, wiping her face. "But I did not come here to speak this way to you. I came for a favor—which now I cannot ask."
"You must ask it, daughter—but I may not be able to grant it."
"It—I saw Nox, who has Gaw-Two, and she told me I had to get something from each Incarnation if I hoped to rid him of his malady."
"That must be true," Gaea agreed. "What is done by an Incarnation cannot necessarily be undone by that Incarnation, for things interact. I did the bad deed, but once it involved Thanatos and Fate—"
"And Chronos," Orlene said. "He was my lover, as a mortal. My death caused him to seek the Office of Time."
Gaea gazed at her for an extended moment, disconcerted. "Then this seemingly isolated error has had enormous consequence!" she said. "Perhaps only an entity outside the ordinary framework can perceive the full extent of it—and Nox is that entity. She lacks power in our realm, but her influence can be significant. Never before, in my experience, has she involved herself directly in our affairs. I find this more disturbing than reassuring."
"Surely she does not mean mischief!"
"We cannot be sure. Nox keeps her purpose secret and she is the mistress of secrets." Gaea took a breath. "What is the thing you need from me, Orlene?"
"It is a tear."
Again Gaea gazed at her. The clouds swirled in the window. "That is not lightly granted."
"I know. If I had realized—if I had known what you have told me, I would not have come. It is not right to—"
"You must earn it," Gaea said abruptly. "As anyone else would. That will not be easy."
"None of this has been easy," Orlene murmured. "How may I earn it?"
"I have a problem whose solution may have bearing on the continued existence of the human species," she said seriously. "But that solution eludes me. I could use an opinion."
"But I know so little!" Orlene protested. "What could I possibly know about that you have not long since explored?"
Gaea smiled, not pleasantly. "It is a long shot, I agree. But Nox's involvement in your case suggests that you may have something. I will send you among the mortals on a research mission, and you will observe and form an opinion. For that opinion I will grant your favor."
Orlene was flustered. "But to provide a thing of such value, for an opinion of such little value—when I am your daughter! Who would believe—"
"I think you will have to weigh your opinion most seriously, to be assured that its value warrants its payment."
She's up to something, Jolie thought. I know her. Don't argue, just get on with it.
"What must I do?" Orlene asked.
"Leave your mortal host here. For this you must occupy another host, temporarily."
Don't leave me here! Vita protested. I came to Purgatory with you, I want to go form an opinion with you!
"Indeed, I want you with her, Vita," Gaea said, startling all three of them. They had for the moment forgotten how the Incarnations could perceive them individually. "You have experience that relates. Jolie does too. I am sending you to a teenage mortal girl who is very likely to get pregnant this day. Here is my concern: overpopulation is perhaps the greatest current problem in the mortal realm. The sheer increasing mass of human flesh is squeezing out all other creatures, rendering a record number of them extinct. It is depleting resources and destroying the environment for all. The competition for resources is generating pressure for war and bringing poverty to the majority of living folk. This is the thing I must deal with if the species is not to suffer grievously. But this problem is rooted in individual attitudes and acts. Responsible reproduction is essential for the perpetuation of the species, but irresponsible reproduction will destroy it. How can I cause all reproduction to be responsible, instead of the consequence of cultural or religious bias, or mere entertainment?"
The three of them were silent. Orlene was reminded of her lost baby. Vita thought of her brief career as a prostitute. Jolie thought of the children she had never had, because she had died too soon. All of them had indulged in sex with abandon. None of them had succeeded in having families. How could they judge?
"In many regions of the world," Gaea continued, perceiving their doubt, "multiple children are needed to secure the welfare of their parents as they age. No importuning will cause those parents to reduce the size of their families; they would suffer if they did. In other regions, poverty eliminates most forms of entertainment; procreation, it is truly said, becomes recreation. In others, there are religious barriers to contraception or other means of family planning. I need a simple, practical, universal mechanism to make procreation responsible. I believe that a single case may provide the answer—if there is an answer. You will seek an opinion about the existence of such an answer."
It really was a critical matter! Mars faced the problem of a world-destroying war—and here was one of the roots of that war. Fate struggled with an increasingly tangled skein, and the sheer numbers of mortal folk contributed to that. The problems of the Incarnations were indeed linked. But how could they come up with an answer if the Incarnation of Nature could not? "We'll try," Orlene said.
"Lie down," Gaea said, showing her to the chamber she had used before. "The body will be safe here, and your spirits will not be in danger there."
Orlene lay down. Then Jolie linked hands, mentally, with Orlene and Vita, and the three of them floated out of the body. They had only vague human semblances, and their spirits overlapped each other, so that they seemed to be a single confused entity. They followed Gaea back to the window, which now showed a young, rather pretty black girl walking toward a building at dusk. She was in what was evidently her best dress for dancing, white pseudo silk with ruffles. The décolletage was low, and she wore a sparkling rose quartz necklace which rested across the slope of her nascent breasts.
"Follow." Gaea stepped into the window and appeared beside the girl, who took no notice. They followed, and found themselves there too. "Enter her and observe. You may influence her, but that will change her situation and perhaps distort your observation. When you are satisfied, call me, and I will bring you back."
They floated as a tight group into the girl. Vita was still inexperienced, but Jolie was thoroughly experienced, so helped her get settled in. It was not the same as it had been with Fate on the saucer, or with Mars on the Babylon-Persia frontier; their technique was a magical pseudomergence of physical bodies, while this was actual possession of a mortal host by spirits. In the old days it had been thought to be possession by demons, but usually it had been spiritual, not demonic, habitation. When a demon did it, the demon normally took over completely, and usually destroyed the host before it was through. Spirits were far more gentle, and could not take over unless given leave by the host. They often, in fact, were benign—as in this case. But the popular prejudice against them remained.
That was the case while Jolie and Orlene were with Vita, and now it was the case with the three of them in the present host. They tuned in on the girl's mind, which was unguarded, and learned that her name was Ilka, and that she was fifteen years old, and that her name meant "hard worker." She did work hard, living up to it, and made pretty good grades, and did a lot around the house, too, but her mother still put her down as a child. She wasn't allowed to date, because she was too young, and anyway, all men were evil, her mother said, they just wanted to paw over a girl and put a baby in her and bug off. All her friends had boyfriends, and sure it was true about what those boys wanted, and two of her friends had abortions and a couple more were worried, but it sure proved one thing: they were women. She knew all about it: a girl could get a great good time from a man, if she got it before he managed to get into her pants, and if he liked her, he would be back next day for more, and if she got a baby, well, that was really proof she was a woman. She saw, she knew. She was tired of being dumped on by her mother; she wanted some romance, some independence, some respect. So tonight she had dressed up and sneaked out: she was going to get into the big dance and have herself a time, no matter what!
She has trouble with her mother? Vita thought. She doesn't know what trouble is!
But if she is typical, she'll get pregnant—and we need to know what would stop her and all those like her, Jolie reminded her. In my day we needed all the babies we could get, but today there are too many.
I wanted my baby, Orlene thought wistfully.
She's a fool to want a baby! Vita thought. I made sure to wear my charm, always! I mean, a baby would be fine, when I'm older and married and through with fun, but she's too young. She's my age!
So you may understand her best, Jolie reminded her.
Yeah, I see the track ahead of her, to be a black whore like me, hooked on H! If you folk hadn't come and put iron in my willpower, I never would have thrown that off!
Ilka approached the dance building. It was brightly lighted, and magic flares in the form of dancing figures floated above it. Couples were arriving and entering.
That looks great! Vita thought. I'd kill to get into a dance like that!
But you don't know anything about it! Orlene protested. And with no date—
She'll get picked up. Vita said. That's the idea. It's not as good as having a real date, but you do it any way you can.
Indeed, Ilka was looking around now, trying to spot a likely man without a date. This was the tricky part.
There were several young men near the entrance, dressed to dance. One was fat, one was ugly, and one was neither. All were white.
Ilka nerved herself. She knew that white preferred white, at least to be seen with in public; she risked a crude rebuff. But if she got lucky, one of these would take her.
Sure enough, the handsome one spied her and stepped forward. "Lose your date, girl?" he called.
"Not exactly," she responded. "You looking for one?"
"Maybe. You got money?"
"Not enough."
"You expect to be paid for?"
"Maybe." She knew it wasn't smart of her to come right out and say it.
"Well, I've got the price of the dance. But it's not cheap."
"Didn't figure it would be."
"You want to go in with me?"
"Why not?"
"And come home with me?"
"Why not?"
He eyed her, looking down her front. It was a good front, pushed in and up for best effect; she had worked hard on that aspect, because she didn't yet have all the fullness she hoped for. "I think you're just looking for a ticket in, then you'll lose me."
"That's a lie!" But she knew girls did that sometimes. The thought had crossed her mind. What did she know of this character?
"Then come to my car first."
Nuh-uh! Vita thought emphatically. He'll screw you twice: once in the car, again when he reneges on the deal!
Ilka picked it up, for Vita had directed it at her. "After the dance!" she said.
He scowled. "Listen, you black bitch—"
You should talk, you white pimp! Vita thought. You're trying to get some free ass!
Ilka heard that thought. She assumed it was her own, and was surprised at her insight. "Forget it, pimp!" she snapped. "I'll go with one of these others."
"Yeah?" The boy's face turned ugly. He raised his voice. "Hey, this hooker's soliciting me! Isn't that against the law?"
"You liar!" Ilka exclaimed, furious. "You were trying to get me into your car!"
"I'm going to turn you in!" he said.
Brother! Vita thought. They'll believe him too! Get out of here. Ilka!
Ilka, responding to what seemed to be her own thought, turned and strode away. But she heard one of the others speak to the one who had approached her. "You fool, Frank—she'd've put out, if you'd played it straight!"
That's for sure! Vita agreed. And gotten knocked up too. Crazy girl's got no amulet, no sense!
But I wanted to go dancing! Ilka protested inwardly, the reaction setting in as she walked back along the street. It was the only way!
You'd have paid ten times what it was worth! Vita thought fiercely. A hundred times! What would you want with a bastard baby?
There was a shock in the host. Jolie thought it was Ilka, but then realized that it was Orlene. Orlene had been born to an unwed mother, and borne a son who barely missed similar status.
Who cares? the girl argued. At least I'd love the baby—and it would love me. I'd be somebody!
And there we have it! Orlene thought. A baby would give her identity! A love relationship! As it did for me!
But you were prepared, Jolie reminded her. You were married, and had a good situation. Money was no problem. How would it have been on the street, with an illegitimate baby?
Disaster! Vita supplied. The girl's a fool! She'd get tired of that baby in weeks, and maybe leave it in a garbage dump.
And she'd be starving herself, Jolie agreed. But even if she kept it—even if her domineering mother let her keep it—she'd still be adding to the population. And it's because of her bad relationship with her own mother that she wants it. She wants to be a mother herself, to be the authority figure in her family. It's foolish, it's unworkable—but she'll still do it. And so will a million other girls!
I'd get by somehow! Ilka argued.
Either way, it's mischief, Orlene thought.
At least we stopped one baby, Vita thought.
Tonight, Jolie concluded. They all knew that it was a hollow victory. The girl would probably get pregnant on another occasion. What opinion could they offer Gaea that wasn't already obvious? It would be impossible to have a ghost inhibit every wayward girl!
She was walking by a dark building. Suddenly a man appeared. He loomed up so quickly that she couldn't even scream before his gloved hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled, but then felt the prick of a knife at her side. "Quiet, bitch, or I'll cut out your rotten heart!" the man hissed at her ear.
She had no choice; he was too strong, and the knife hurt. She walked where he shoved her: into the dark building.
Inside, he took her up a flight of steps and into a small room. He shut the door and turned on the light. Ilka blinked in the sudden brightness. This was evidently an interior room, without windows; no light would show outside. And what if it did? Surely the sound of her scream wouldn't carry, and if it did, neighbors probably wouldn't care.
He threw her away from him. Ilka stumbled, and tripped over a bed she hadn't seen in the brightness. She flopped on it, her fear increasing now that the immediacy of the prick of the knife was gone.
We've got to do something! Orlene thought. We got her into this, by turning her away from the dance.
We got rid of the creep, and brought on a horror! Vita agreed. I've heard about this kind. Even my pimp steered clear of them. They rape and kill! It's called the slut/madonna complex or something. They hate women.
It is a trifle more devious than that, Jolie said. There are a number of them in Hell, all of them surprised to be there. To them, there are only two kinds of woman: the perfect, pristine, untouchable one, who is to be worshipped; and the dirty, evil and sexual one, who is to be condemned. Unfortunately, such men do have sex drives, which they can satisfy only with the evil variety of woman. At its extreme, they become serial killers of prostitutes. Jack the Ripper is the most notorious example, though by no means the worst perpetrator.
I never felt easy about the purpose of Hell, Orlene thought. Now I see that there are those who do belong there! This man—he glows a twisted black!
"Strip, whore!" the man exclaimed.
Ilka rolled over on the bed. She opened her mouth to make a frightened denial—but Jolie put an overriding clamp on it. Don't talk back to him! she thought imperatively. He will take that only as confirmation!
So Ilka was mute, externally. But internally she was screaming. He's got a knife! He's going to kill me! He just grabbed me, and—
Stall! Jolie advised. Move slowly. Sit up, start to remove your clothing, but have trouble with the snaps. Keep it slow, but don't stop. We shall try to help you.
Now the girl realized that she wasn't talking to herself. "Who are you?"
Some visiting spirits, Jolie thought. We stopped you from going with that cheap man at the dance. Now we will help you get away from this killer, because it is our fault you fell into his hands. Listen to us, and we will tell you how to escape.
Ilka was doubtful. "I must be hallucinating!"
Listen to us anyway, Orlene thought. Vita, you have had more experience with this sort of thing. Keep her moving slowly, while maintaining his interest. I'm going to check his mind for clues to how to handle him.
Check, Vita thought. We'll kick him in the balls if we have to. She was not thinking figuratively.
Jolie drew herself out of the host and floated across to the man. She entered him. This was distasteful, because she had affinity neither with the male gender nor with the criminally insane mind, but she knew it was necessary. Only her long experience as a ghost, and with animation of mortal hosts, enabled her to do it.
She oriented on what she had expected: a twisted mélange of distortion and hate. The anonymous girl on the bed came into focus: her skin was dark, not because of her race, but because of the filth of her nature. She was a demoness, a succubus, a corruptor of man, evil incarnate: a creature to be used and destroyed. She evoked unclean lust in him, which proved both her power and her nature. By yielding to her lure, he corrupted himself—so he would expunge the guilt by killing her. Then he would be all right, for perhaps a month, until he encountered another corruptress.
Jolie was revolted by the narrowness and certainty of his perspective. He had not bothered to ascertain any part of the girl's true nature; he had simply assigned the evil to her. The evil of evoking lust in him. She could either admit that she was a despicable whore or try to deny it; in either case she proved it.
But Jolie had known this much about his view of women before. It was an exaggeration of the view of many ignorant men—and every man was ignorant to some degree. Even Roque, as just a man as she had encountered recently, had this fixation: he related best to the forbidden fruit, the underage girl. Young girls were by this distorted definition better, because they were cleaner. They had not had time to indulge their whorish nature, so were more likely to be disease free, and less likely to talk back. Thus Vita's youth and adoration overrode Roque's knowledge of her life as a literal whore, and he accepted her without condemning her. But that was rare.
She had to explore the specific roots of this man's bias. There were always variations, and each case was unique to itself in detail. There had to be something that would provide the key to defusing the syndrome. She had to find it before things got violent.
Through the windows of his eyes, she saw Ilka slowly stripping, having trouble with a broken fastening. Her dress zipped up the back, and the zipper was difficult to reach, and evidently a thread had got caught in it. Usually girls had assistance in getting in and out of fancy outfits; it had not been anticipated that Ilka would have to remove hers alone. Actually, Jolie knew, she had put it on alone, so could handle it—but the man was not in a position to know this. The man did not try to help her; it was part of his fixation that the evil woman was using her unclean nature to seduce him, so she had to do it herself.
She was struggling, indeed, trying to get both hands on the stuck zipper. In the process she leaned forward, so that her breasts showed to his gaze as her décolletage hung low. Jolie almost smiled to herself; that was Vita's art. There really was some vamp in her! She knew that the man would watch as long as he was seeing something interesting, condemning her all the while but not acting. It was an excellent stall.
Meanwhile, Jolie was searching the man's mind and memories. She had had experience with this sort of thing, working with Gaea, but never so urgently in such a difficult case. The man did not understand his own motives; he had fashioned a construct of passion and illusion to justify and hide the ugliness beneath, and would not let himself view it objectively. She had to slip beneath that construct and see what he refused to see, without alerting him. He could readily clamp down on those nether memories and feelings, if he realized, and then she would not be able to reach them. She was an intruder here, unable to open any doors herself: she had to sneak through, like a thief.
There was a surge of conscious passion. Jolie was swept along, and looked out his eyes again. Now Ilka, having navigated the zipper so that the top of the dress was falling open to reveal her half-bra and stomach, was ready to pull it off over her head. But first she bent to remove her slippers, lifting her leg and bending her knee so as to reach her foot. In the process she showed her left leg under the dress to the thigh, all the way up to the juncture with her body. She looked bare beneath, but it was actually panty hose, shaded to make her legs appear lighter than they were, making of her crotch a perfectly seamless and hairless region. This, again, was Vita's doing; she knew precisely how to proffer a view without seeming to, so that the man would not press her while she struggled overlong with the slipper.
The effect of this view on the man was electric. He felt a phenomenal thrill of desire—almost immediately suppressed. A surge of guilt washed through him, and he wrenched his gaze away.
Jolie followed the guilt to its source—and suddenly had what she wanted. Those legs were clean—and it was not right, by his reckoning, to experience lust for a clean body. Bad women were dirty and hairy in their secret places, fit only for further defilement. The one good woman—the madonna—was absolutely pure in every part. Her proportions were perfect, but without hair or apertures; the madonna had no unclean processes. Her breasts had no nipples, her legs met without genital or excretory complication. She wore conventional clothing only from deference to the norms of society; she had no guilty secrets of body or of mind. Madonna, naked, would remain sylphlike, innocent of the incitement of any lechery.
Who was his madonna? She was Laurel, his older sister.
Jolie picked up the essence in a flash: the father had been a brutal man, given to violence on small pretexts, and the mother similar. Any slightest infraction brought a sharp slap from her, and any backtalk brought a beating from him. He was Kane, the clumsy and stupid child, seldom getting anything right. He was punished every time his grades came, and ridiculed in between. He had no self-confidence or self-respect. It was no better at school; he was known as a dunce, and had no friends. Once in grade school a girl had teased him, asking him if he wanted to play "Doctor," pulling up her skirt invitingly. Deceived, not realizing that she wasn't being friendly, and curious about what she might have under there that was supposed to be so interesting, he had agreed. She had led him around the corner of an outbuilding where there was a modicum of privacy, and told him that first he would have to show her his. He had opened his shorts—and immediately half a dozen other girls had popped up from hiding and screamed with wicked delight at his exposure. A teacher had overheard, and investigated, and the girls had blamed Kane. That had brought a suspension from school and a solid beating at home. Only Laurel, lovely Laurel, had defended him, saying that the bitchy little girls had set him up out of sheer mischief. It had done no good, but Kane was overwhelmingly grateful to her. Later, hurting, banned to his room without supper, he had heard a quiet knock. It was Laurel, sneaking some rolls and butter to him, the best she could do. He loved her.
Kane had learned early and painfully: all adults were brutal, all children were taunting, and all girls were garbage. Except Laurel. She alone was pure. Without her, his life would not have been worth living.
When he was ten, and she fifteen, she had run away from home. The father had beaten him, sure that he knew where she had gone, but Kane had not spoken. Indeed, he had known her plan, for she had wanted to take him with her, but had realized that it would be impossible to manage. So she had decided to go alone and to return for him when she could, so that they could both be happy. She had to get established, she explained; she had to get some money, and a house, because the street was no place to live. It would take time, but she would do it.
So Kane had endured, sustained by his faith in her. Laurel would come for him! That alone gave him strength. His life was nothing, but then it would be everything.
She had never returned. Thirty years had passed, and he had escaped by joining the military, and later by deserting that, and running drugs and anything else that offered; there was always work for the unscrupulous. He could never bring himself to condemn Laurel, for she was the one perfect woman, but his disappointment remained as a leaden weight upon his soul. When he could, he caught and punished bad women, hiding their bodies and moving on so that he was never caught. The police, he had long since learned, didn't understand about the need to punish bad women.
Time had passed during Jolie's investigation. Now Ilka's shoes and dress were off, and she was about to roll down her panty hose. Jolie now knew that this must not happen; the visible nipples were bad enough, but the rest would be disaster. She wrenched herself from the man and sailed across to the girl.
Leave the hose! she thought as she entered. He must not see your flesh there! For she now had a notion how to balk the killer. It would take some doing, but it was possible. He sees the madonna as beautiful but sexless—no genitals. The whores have genitals. He won't kill you until he has sex with you, proving you are bad.
But he'll kill if we stop undressing! Vita responded. These freaks are touchy! Do one thing to balk them, and they explode. We won't balk him, we'll talk to him.
What about? Orlene asked nervously. I think all he has on his mind is sex and murder, in that order.
We'll tell him a story. I'll start it off.
"Get it off, bitch!" Kane snapped. He knew what panty hose was, of course; he had already forgotten, by involuntary suppression, the image of the madonna's clean juncture. It had been fleeting in any event; Jolie had been lucky to catch the thought. He knew this was a dirty woman, because they all were.
Give me the mouth! Jolie pleaded. I know what to say!
Ilka, still thoroughly frightened, retreated, letting Jolie assume control. She was very much afraid she was going to die; any promise of rescue, however farfetched, was welcome.
"You must let me say something," Jolie said.
Kane was startled, because this was the first time she had spoken to him. "That's right, bitch!" he agreed. "Talk dirty! Say the words! Prove what you are!" That was part of it, of course; the girl had to demonstrate her corruption, so that he felt truly justified in destroying her. She had to beg for sex in gutter language. It hardly mattered whether she cursed him or welcomed him, so long as she showed her nature clearly.
"In a moment," Jolie said. "I have to work up to it, you know." He hadn't known any such thing, of course, but since she was going along with his demand, only qualifying it slightly, and in the process extending the experience, he was able to accept it.
"Yes, work up to it!" he agreed. His right hand held the knife; his left hand went to his fly, opening it. He would not undress any more than he had to, so as not to be contaminated, but this much was necessary.
"There was once a girl," Jolie said. "She was different from all other girls, because she was nice. She was the only nice girl in all the world. Her name was—" She hesitated momentarily. Would it be too obvious to name his lost sister? Perhaps a close compromise. She had to hold his attention without invoking his critical faculty. "Her name was Lorelie. She lived in a bad family, with a cruel father and a mean mother. The only good thing about it was her little brother, who was the only person in the world who recognized her perfect nature. He worshipped her and did everything he could to help her, though their father beat him for it. She would have done anything for him, but they were both captive in the bad family, and it wasn't fun for either."
She looked at Kane. Was he buying this? It was pretty obvious, but his twisted emotion ran deep. He had built a philosophy on illusion, and she was tuning in on that illusion.
He was listening, his hands still. She had succeeded in getting his attention. He could identify with what she was saying.
"Sometimes the bad girls in the schoolyard teased her little brother," Jolie continued, elaborating now that her ploy seemed to be working. "Lorelie couldn't stop that, because she was in a different school. The bad girls made him show his thing, and then laughed at him. They didn't show theirs, but he knew theirs was bad, because they were bad girls." As she spoke, Jolie remembered her own childhood, in medieval France, when something similar had happened. The villain girls had at times been cruel in their games, in retaliation for the cruelty of the boys' games. Sex had been known, even in childhood; few made it virginally to maturity. Jolie had been one of the few, as much by chance as by design. She had been smarter than average, and so had had the wit to mask her dawning prettiness, and to stay clear of celebrations unless close to her mother. One of her friends had not been careful enough, and four boys had grabbed her and done it; she had pretended to like it, rather than get beaten, and then had kept her mouth shut, but the word had circulated anyway, and she had been blamed, not the boys. Jolie had escaped, but she well understood who was to blame for such things: the boys. It galled her to reverse the issue in this story, but it had to be done—and certainly some men were decent, and some girls were not. There had been Parry...
"So she brought him food, and comforted him, and tried to ease his welts," she continued. "There was little she could do, but she tried her best. She knew then that they could not stay in that family; they had to get away, to find someplace where there were no bad people. So she started making plans for them both to run away."
Kane was paying close attention, frozen where he stood. She was retelling his childhood, from the view of the madonna figure, offering a rationale that he had to accept. But would her story make him forget entirely what he had been about to do? The longer she stalled him, the more likely it was that someone else would come—but she had little confidence in rescue. She had to talk him out of it, and for that she needed a truly persuasive conclusion—and she didn't have one. She just had to keep talking, and hope that one of the four of them could come up with what was needed. A life was at stake!
"But there were so many things they needed. Money, to buy tickets on a rocket or saucer. Identification, so that the cruel father could not track them down. A place to stay. Food. Clothing. The list was endless. She wouldn't steal money, because she was pure and good, and without money she couldn't arrange the rest of it. Finally she realized that it could not be done; there was no way for the two of them to escape together. If they tried it, the police would catch them in no time and bring them back, and things would be worse than before. She realized that she would have to go alone, and somehow get some money and all the things they needed. Only then could she rescue her brother."
Kane's jaw was slack; he was mesmerized by the story, so true to his memory. But how was she to conclude it? The consort Scheherazade of Arabian Nights fame had told stories for a thousand nights, extending her life, but Jolie had no confidence that this would work here, even if her voice and imagination held out. Think of a conclusion! she thought to the others. Something that will make him let us go!
Meanwhile, she continued the story. "So she explained this to her brother, who was very understanding. 'I will wait for your return,' he said bravely. 'Don't tell them what I am doing,' she cautioned him, and he promised not to. Then she kissed the dear boy on the forehead and slipped out the window. She had only the clothes she wore, and a few dollars she had managed to save from baby-sitting, and a few scraps of food her brother had given her. She did not know how she would get them a good situation, she only knew that somehow she would do it."
She has no chance! Vita thought. She'll have to whore, just to survive—and then what will her brother think of her? And this garbage about him being a "dear boy"—obviously he had the hots for her even at that age, but didn't know it.
You are not being very positive, Orlene reminded her. She has to succeed! Don't you see—this is this man's madonna!
Who never returned, Jolie thought. He was terribly disappointed, but he can't quite give up hope, even thirty years later. It's the one decent aspect of his sordid personality. Then she had to resume speaking aloud.
"So she went quietly from that awful house, her eyes wet with tears for her brother, whom she knew would be treated even worse because of her absence, but she had faith he would endure, and give her a chance to elude the police search."
I'm going to throw up! Vita thought. Her brother grew up to be a rapist and murderer!
Try to help Jolie! Orlene thought. Or this host is done for!
And I'm the host! Ilka thought. Will you tell me who you are, now?
I'm Vita, a girl like you. The others are ghosts, helping me stay out of trouble. Now they're helping you.
"She walked a long way," Jolie continued, trying not to be distracted by the introductions going on in the background. She knew Vita was probably right about the fate of the girl, but she couldn't put that in the story! She had to show that Lorelie was still alive, still planning on returning. However ludicrous that might seem at this late date, it was necessary to the man's secret philosophy. "Her feet got tired, but she could not stop, because if she failed, it would be the end not only of her dream, but of her brother's. She could have endured her own humiliation, but the thought of doing that to her wonderful brother brought renewed tears to her eyes."
You know, I can see it. Ilka thought. My pa's long gone, but my mother's pretty mean. If she'd just let me go to a dance, even! The way I sneaked out tonight—it's like Lorelie.
That gave Jolie a notion. "Then a car stopped beside her. 'Can I pick you up?' the driver asked. She looked at him, and she wasn't sure, but she was very tired now and she still wasn't far enough away from the house, so she got in. The driver's name was Frank, and he was a handsome man. She didn't dare tell him that she was running away from home, so she said she was going to visit friends in the next state, but her carpet had gotten a glitch in its spell. Frank said he was going that way, so he zoomed along. But then he turned onto a desolate country road and drew to a stop in the forest."
"No!" Kane said, well knowing the sort of thing that was in store for her.
"But although Lorelie was a good girl, she wasn't foolish," Jolie continued quickly. "She opened her door and jumped out of the car and ran into the forest. Frank chased her, but couldn't see her in the darkness. Finally, disgruntled, he returned to his car and drove away."
Kane relaxed. He was really into the story. But where could it lead now? Jolie was running out of inspiration.
Snow White! Vita thought. She finds the seven dwarfs in the forest!
But less obvious. Orlene thought. Make it one old man—no, better an old woman, no lechery there—who takes her in.
But she is sick, Ilka added, getting into it herself. Maybe so sick she loses her memory!
That's it! Vita agreed. That's why she doesn't return!
What a relief! They had come up with a viable continuation. "Lorelie stumbled on through the dark forest, her tender flesh raked by the brambles. She had gotten some rest in the car, but not enough. She lost her slippers in the muck, and her pretty dress was torn, but she kept on, afraid that Frank would return with cruel friends and search for her. At one point she splashed through a stream. She didn't know it was polluted, and the pollution infected the scratches on her feet, starting a sickness in her. Finally she could go no more; she fell headlong, and hit her head on a rock on the ground, and was unconscious."
Kane remained frozen, avidly listening. He seemed to have forgotten the circumstances, or the supposed nature of the teller of this tale. He was lost in the vision of the perils of Lorelie.
"In the morning a kind old woman found her. The woman had been a sorceress of little note, and was now retired on a meager stipend. She knew immediately that this poor girl had been poisoned by the bad stream, and furthermore had hit her head when she fell. Fortunately the woman retained some ability with healing herbs and spells. She dragged the girl into her hut and ministered to her. 'She is like the granddaughter I never had and always wanted,' she said to herself as she undressed the girl and washed her clean. 'So lovely, so pure. Probably one of those mean young men was after her, and she got lost when she fled him.' She put herbs on the girl's bad scratches, and treated her as well as she could for the stream pollution. It was going to be a close thing, she knew, for the girl was very sick."
So sick she can't remember. Vita reminded her. But how's that going to get us out of this scrape? I mean, when the story ends—
We have to work on that, Orlene said. Before Jolie gets much further, we'll have to come up with an idea for the ending. Now let's get to work!
"The girl did survive," Jolie said, and Kane relaxed slightly. "But it was some time before she could sit up, and longer before she could speak. The old woman cared for her diligently, and slowly she mended. But when she was well enough to talk, another type of injury manifested. She had lost her memory. All she recalled was her name, Lorelie, and that there was something she had to do. So it was that she was unable to complete her promise, because she no longer knew of it. This bothered her terribly, because she knew what she had to do was important, terribly important, but it would take more magic than the old woman had to restore her memory."
"Laurie!" Kane said. "She couldn't come back!"
"Not then," Jolie agreed. "Not for a long time. So she stayed with the old woman, who fed her and clothed her and took care of her as she recovered. Years passed, and as Lorelie became stronger, the old woman became weaker, for she had been frail to begin with. Now it was the girl who took care of the woman. But though there might be a cure for what ailed the girl, there was none for what ailed the woman, because only very expensive magic can restore youth to a mortal person. Finally the old woman was ready to die, and she thanked Lorelie for making her declining years beautiful, for Lorelie was the nicest girl anyone could have for a granddaughter, and she urged her to sell the property, which the old woman had deeded to her name, and use the money to seek strong magic that would restore her memory. Because the old woman had no other relatives, and Lorelie knew she would not be able to abide living alone where the old woman had died, she agreed.
"The old woman did die, and Lorelie saw her soul float promptly up to Heaven, and arranged to have her body decently buried. Then she sold the property, and learned that it had increased greatly in value. The old woman had been poor, but this was one of the few deeply forested regions left in the state, and the state wanted it for a park. So Lorelie was now a reasonably wealthy woman. She could do what she had to do—if only she could remember what it was!"
I think I have it! Ilka thought. She identified readily with Lorelie, because they were the same age at the start of the story, and Vita felt a similar affinity. She remembers, and she comes back—and he kills her!
You dummy! Vita objected. It's your body he'll kill! We don't dare suggest that to him!
No, it may work, Orlene thought. If her brother thinks she's a slut, then learns she's his sister, he won't kill her!
Jolie had continued talking while this dialogue occurred. Would that work? Would Kane let Ilka go if he identified her with Lorelie—with his sister Laura? Maybe it would work!
"So she finally found a sorceress who specialized in memory-restorative magic," Jolie continued, having covered several prior contacts that hadn't worked out. "It had taken her an unconscionably long time to do it, and this was the most expensive one of all. It would take most of her remaining money. But she did go to the woman, and the woman worked her expensive spell, and at last Lorelie's memory was restored."
Kane was rapt. "How long—?"
"Suddenly she knew what it was she had to do," Jolie said. "But she was chagrined to discover that so much time had passed in the search that it now seemed pointless to do it. More than thirty years! She was now a woman of forty-five, pure and good as ever, but way too late to rescue her little brother. By this time their parents would be dead, and the little boy would be a grown man of forty. What a horrible mishap, that poisoning and fall that had taken away her memory. It was true that she had had a good life with the kind old woman, but if she had been able to remember earlier, she never would have waited. She would have returned immediately and brought her brother to the old woman's house, and they would have lived there happily, free of all the bad things of the world. Now it was too late!
"But was it? She thought about it, and realized that her good little brother might still be waiting for her return. Oh, he would be in a different house by now, perhaps even a different city, but she could still find him. Better late than never! What a joyful reunion they could have, even at this late date!"
But he doesn't recognize her, Vita thought. He mistakes her for a whore, and is about to kill her—
Before he recognizes her, Ilka concluded.
I like the way your mind works, Vita thought. Can we be friends?
Sure, if you like. If I live.
"She still had a little money left," Jolie continued. She was getting nervous now, because if this ploy misfired, they would have no other chance except a desperation fight for life. Fortunately Ilka had not been bound—but that might only be because the man was quite sure of his ability to overpower her. She didn't want it to come to that, though she had learned a thing or two about close combat in the course of her association with Satan, Gaea, and Mars. "She used it to have her brother located. Then she went to where he was, which was indeed in another city, for he had moved frequently, for what reason she didn't know."
Because it wasn't safe for him to stay close to where he had killed. Vita thought, having picked up most of the man's background from Jolie's thoughts. Lorelie won't much like that!
"At last she came to him, at night on a deserted street. 'O my brother, where are you?' she thought, her pure heart beating with anticipation and excitement." Now came the crucial part; she didn't know whether it would work, but it was all she had. "She walked along the street, looking, somehow aware that he was near—and a man jumped out and grabbed her."
Kane jumped. "No, I wouldn't do that!" he exclaimed.
"He hauled her into the building, his hand over her mouth so that she couldn't scream—but it also prevented her from identifying herself," Jolie said, nervousness putting a shake in her voice. This seemed so obvious, so stupid, now that she was in it; how could it possibly work? "He thought she was one of the bad girls—"
"It's a lie!" he cried. "It's just a dumb story to fool me! You aren't my sister! You're just a black teenage slut!" He lifted the knife threateningly.
Jolie realized that she should have engineered the story to account for the color and youth. The sister could have been gravely injured, so had to use magic to animate a younger body. But it was too late for that now. "Lorelie tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen—"
"You aren't her!" he screamed, throwing himself on her, the knife held up. "You have to be used and killed!"
Jolie, still in control of the body, tried to squirm aside, but he was too fast and strong for her. He held her down with his left arm across her throat, choking her, while his groin pressed against hers. But he could not make headway, because she still wore the panty hose.
He cursed and used his free hand—the one holding the knife—to reach down, to wrench the hose out of the way. He reversed the knife without letting go of it, so that it pointed up, while with two fingers he caught the waistband and yanked down. The material tore—and Jolie, in desperation, bucked her hips, trying to throw him off in this moment of his partial distraction. "Kane!" she cried. "No!"
Her left hip slammed into the butt end of the knife. She felt dull pain as it bruised her. But Kane cried out at the same time, in pain and horror, his body stiffening.
Then something liquid coursed down on her hip. Unable to think what it might be, she looked—and saw bright redness spreading out across her thigh and the bed below. He had stabbed himself! Or rather, her effort to buck him off had caused the point of the knife he held to ram upward into his body, right at the crotch. He had castrated himself.
Then he relaxed, his weight becoming heavy on her. He had passed out. She struggled to pull herself out from under, lubricated by the blood. It was messy, but possible, now that he was not trying to hold her. Soon she stood beside the bed, her left leg swathed in blood, staring down at him.
He's bleeding to death! Orlene thought, horrified.
He deserves it! Vita retorted. He's a rapist and murderer!
Jolie, more experienced and practical about this sort of horror, wasted no more time. She hurried to the apartment's little bathroom and hastily peeled off the panty hose. That left her leg almost clean, but she found a sponge and washed it anyway. Then she scrambled back into the dress, having no trouble with the fastenings. As she did this, she explained to the others: "He may be dying, or he may be less gravely wounded, and he could recover at any moment. We need to be out of here before he wakes. Then it will be in God's hands whether he lives or dies, not ours." She found the two slippers, and put one on. The second was blood-spattered, so she quickly rinsed it under the rushing tap and put it on wet. Details didn't matter!
She rinsed the soiled panty hose in the sink, then wrung it dry, wadded it up, and held it in a ball in her hand. She ran more water to clean the sink, so it would not be apparent that it had been used. She used the wadded hose to wipe her fingerprints off the handles.
The door wasn't locked. Had she realized, she might have distracted the man, led him a chase around the bed and made a break for the door and out! She went out now, running down the short hall and the stairs, and outside.
Then she slowed, deliberately, and walked on down the street in the direction she had been going. "I will return your body to you in a moment. Ilka," she murmured. "Are you able to proceed?"
No! the girl thought. He almost killed me!
"But you are alive," Jolie said. "When something similar happened to me, long ago, I died. This time I helped you avoid that—but I think in future you must stay closer to home, even though it may be dull."
Yes! Yes! I'll never go out alone again!
Jolie suspected that would be the case. The girl had had about as bad a fright as it was possible to survive. "I think you should say nothing about what happened. I have tried to eradicate the traces of your presence in his chamber. Go home, sneak back into your room, and pretend you were always there. Wash and dry your panty hose when you can. There will be a big splash of news when the man's body is discovered—or none, if he survives and flees the city. Stay out of it; there would be only mischief if they knew about you. Just make sure that you are never caught by such a man again. Are you ready to take over now?"
I think so.
Jolie returned control to her. Now we must leave, she thought. We have corrected our error, and we have other business.
"No!" Ilka cried. "I need you!"
No you don't. Vita thought. We got you into trouble, so we had to get you out of it, but now you can get along okay yourself. But I'll try to visit you, when I'm back in my own body. Remember my name: Vita. Don't forget and try to kill me!
Ilka began to laugh, hysterically, but managed to stifle it. "Then 'bye, for now," she said. "You sure did help me!"
They pulled out and floated beside her. Jolie shaped herself into visible ghost form. "Maybe you helped us too," she said, projecting her thought carefully so that the girl could receive it despite the separation.
Then they floated up into the night sky, fading from the girl's view. They saw her walking on toward her home, briskly, as if nothing had happened. It would take Ilka some time to recover equilibrium, but it seemed she would make it.
"Gaea!" Jolie called. She could have returned directly, herself, of course, but neither Orlene nor Vita knew how, so it was better to have Gaea do it.
The window opened immediately before them. They floated through and were back inside Gaea's Treehouse. They went to Vita's body and entered it, and Orlene animated it. It was her responsibility to report.
Orlene got up, paused for a moment to acclimatize, then walked out to the main chamber. Gaea was waiting for her.
"What is your conclusion?"
Orlene sat down. "The girl was confused and dissatisfied with her life, I think with reason. She would have gotten pregnant without meaning to, but the notion didn't really bother her, because she thought she wanted a baby. She thought it would improve her life. So the root of it was deeper than mere accident or carelessness; she wanted someone to love, who would love her."
"It is in my power to abolish love, with the aid of some of my supporting Incarnations, such as Eros," Gaea said.
"Should I do that?"
"Abolish love?" Orlene asked with horror. "Oh, no, that would be a horrible overreaction! It is love that makes life worthwhile when all else is ugly. There must be some other way!"
"What way do you suppose that would be?"
"Well, maybe—maybe if there was love, but not the ability to conceive unless all the considerations were in order. If a woman is healthy, and well-balanced, and economically secure, so that the baby would have a good home. If she couldn't have a baby until then, there would be far fewer babies, and perhaps no further overpopulation problem."
Gaea nodded. "I think your opinion is worthy of consideration. But such a course would require a judgment of female fitness that goes beyond the strictly natural. The social factor would have to be right. That sort of larger judgment is the prerequisite of another Incarnation, whose active cooperation I would need to make the policy effective."
"Who is that?" Orlene asked, excited by the prospect of such a significant step in the welfare of mankind.
"God."
Orlene stared at her a moment. She realized that this answer was obvious; she just hadn't been thinking in that context. "God must decide what is good, of course," she agreed. "But couldn't you approach Him about the matter?"
"I think not at this time," Gaea replied, with a strange expression.
"But in my quest to—I must approach Him!" Orlene said. "Would you mind if I mentioned this matter too?"
"Not at all, my daughter. I think that would be appropriate. If you gain the acquiescence of the final two Incarnations, I will grant you the tear you seek. You have, I think, more than earned it." Evidently Gaea knew about their siege with the murderer.
That made her think of something. They had caused the man's critical injury, or even death—but had it been only them? Or had a deeper part of Kane truly wanted to believe Jolie's story, despite his conscious denial of it, and caused that hand to turn in that critical way, placing the knife? What punishment would a man see as suitable for the one who attacked the one truly pristine woman in the world? The one who called him by his name at the very end, when he had never told it to his captive. Something very like the one he had received, perhaps.
"Quite possibly," Gaea said, reading her thought.
"But God—where was God when that awful man grabbed that innocent girl?" Orlene asked. "Why didn't He stop it? Why does He let this sort of thing go on all the time, all over the world?"
"You would handle things differently?" Gaea inquired, lifting a brow.
"Oh, I didn't mean to criticize God!" Orlene said quickly. "I just—there is so much I don't understand!"
"Perhaps you can ask Him that, too, when you see Him," Gaea said, unsmiling.