Setting Free the Bears Page 6

  'Oh, he's burning!' the girl said.

  'Is it Graff?' said Siggy. 'God, I thought it was my brakes!'

  But there was no stopping quick in the gravel-mush at a downhill pitch; of course he had to ride the bank out. Siggy wedged us upright in an orchard ditch, and he lifted me off - over the rucksack - though I was glued to the pipes and needed yanking.

  'Oh, we'll have to soak your pants off,' he said.

  'Ai!' I said. 'Oh ai, ai!'

  'Shut your mouth, Graff,' he said, 'or you'll lose all dignity.'

  So I clamped on the hoots that were pelting up and down my throat - I wouldn't let them out - and they sank down to my poor calves: my sticky, gravel-spattered calves, looking more melted than burnt.

  'Oh, don't touch them!' said the girl. 'Oh, look at you!'

  But I looked at her, with her cock-eyed helmet, and I thought: How I'd like to bash you up good and hang you by your frotting hair!

  'Oh, you,' she said. 'When you grabbed, I didn't know you were falling!'

  'God,' said Siggy, 'doesn't he stink?'

  'Oh, frot you!' I said.

  'We'll need a bath to soak him in,' said Siggy.

  'There's my aunt's,' the girl said. 'Oh, her Gasthof has baths and baths.'

  'That you could stand, Graff - baths and baths.'

  'So get him back on,' said the girl. 'I'll show you the way.'

  And, oh, did the wind sting me - ice on my scorches. I hugged the girl; she reached back one arm and wrapped me around her. But the terrible hoots were rising within me - I was going to be gagged, so I closed my mouth on her neck, for the sake of my silence and bliss.

  'What's your name, you?' she said through the chin strap, and her neck blushed hot against my lips.

  'Don't make him talk!' said Siggy. 'He's Graff.'

  'I'm Gallen,' the girl whispered. 'My name's Gallen.'

  Gallen von St Leonhard? I said to myself and her neck.

  So three-up and wounded, we rode the beast through town, blatting short echo-shots under the close arches, booming over the high-walled bridge.

  'It's your falls, Graff,' said Siggy. 'It's the Ybbs Falls.'

  But I was moving to a new spot of neck to kiss. We dodged from sun to shade, with the stinging air first hot and then cool - bellows to my flaming feet - and an orchestra of hoots wanted out of me.

  'I'm sorry it hurts,' Gallen said. 'I'll take care of you.'

  But I couldn't squeeze her hard enough to stop the stinging; I let my eyes be brushed by the falling goblet-shape of her hair.

  'Oh now,' she said. 'Now, all right.'

  The cobblestones were blurry; we seemed miles in the air and rising. There were bears running below me, blowing on the coals that some fiend had left on my calves.

  'It's a castle!' said Siggy. 'Why, the Gasthof's a castle!'

  But I couldn't be so surprised. With Gallen von St Leonhard taking care of me, I could expect a castle.

  'Well,' Gallen said. 'It was a castle once.'

  'It's still a castle!' said Siggy, his voice miles away and overrun by trampling bears. And from forty motorcycle seats distant, he said, 'A castle is always a castle.'

  And the last things I saw were the little boomerangs of forsythia petals that littered our way and were flung confetti-like behind us, hurled in the terrible draft of the cycle's exhaust.

  I shut my eyes and went giddy in my Gallen's lovely hair.

  Cared For

  'WELL NOW,' SIGGY was saying, 'it's a piece of luck our Graff blinked out tike that, or he'd have caused some stir, having his pants pulled off.'

  'You were gentle, though, weren't you?' said Gallen.

  'Of course, girl,' he was saying. 'I put him in the bath with his pants on and did everything underwater.' He was saying, 'Then I drained the bath out from under him and let him lie.'

  But I still felt underwater, and I couldn't see anything. There were high, hard walls around me, and my legs were wrapped up in slime.

  'Oh, help,' I whispered, but not a pinprick of light broke my blackness.

  And Siggy was saying, 'Then I greased some towels with that gunk your auntie gave me, and I swaddled him up like Jesus.'

  'But where is he now?' Gallen said.

  'Oh, where am I now?' I bellowed.

  'In the bathtub!' said Siggy, and a harsh doorway of light swung over me; I looked down at myself, at the towels wrapped from shins to belly.

  'He's had a fine nap,' said Siggy.

  'You didn't have to wrap up so much of him,' Gallen said.

  'Well, I thought you'd want a peek,' said Siggy, 'and the towels were easier than dressing him.'

  Their heads looked over the bathtub, but everything was all awhack - as if they were kneeling on the floor, because their chins barely made it to the tub rim.

  'Standup!' I shouted. 'Why are you down there?'

  'Oh, dear,' said Gallen.

  'Out of his head,' Siggy told her.

  It's a monster of a bathtub, I thought. But I said, 'Let me down easy, up there!'

  'God, Graff,' said Siggy, and to Gallen he said, 'He's a ninny. He needs more sleep.'

  Then I watched their shadows bent over double and hinged at the ceiling and at the top of the wall; they were moving diagonally to the doorway, and their shadows grew jagged and huge.

  'God!' I cried.

  'Praise Him!' said Siggy, and they left me to my dark.

  It wasn't a bad bit of dark, though; I had the tub walls, cool and smooth, to touch with my tongue, and I could latch hold of the tub rim with both hands, steering myself wherever I felt I must be going - whenever I shut my eyes.

  In mad little swirls I was sledding about the bathroom when the doorway-shaped light came at me again, and a shadow unhinged itself, wall to ceiling - grew smaller, fled free-spirited down the other wall, just before the doorway of light closed.

  'I saw you,' I said to whatever hadn't gotten out. 'I know very well you're in here, you frotter!'

  'Be quiet, Graff,' said Gallen.

  'All right,' I said, and I listened for her to come nearer; she sounded like she was under the bathtub. Then I felt the silky little shiver of her blouse across my hand on the tub rim.

  'Hello, Gallen,' I said.

  'Are you all right, Graff?'

  'I can't see you,' I said.

  'Well, that's good,' said Gallen. 'Because I've come to change your bandages and make them right.'

  'Oh, but Siggy can do that.'

  'He's got you wrapped too much.'

  'I feel fine,' I said.

  'You don't either. I'm just going to take off these old towels and put on a real bandage.'

  'It's nice that you work here,' I said, and her braid end brushed my chest.

  'Hush,' she said.

  'Why are you so far below me, Gallen?'

  'I'm above you, silly,' she said.

  'Well, it must be a very deep tub.'

  'It's on a platform and seems so,' she said.

  Then I felt her hands find my chest and skitter down my hips.

  'Arch your back, Graff.'

  One towel unwound, so lightly her hands never touched me.

  'Again,' she said, and I arched for another; I felt myself tub-cool and naked to the knees. When she leaned to catch my big toes for handles, her braid plopped in my lap.

  'Your hair tickles,' I said.

  'Where?'

  'Tickles,' I said, and caught the braid with both my hands. I swished it over me, and she tugged it back.

  'You stop, Graff.'

  'I want to see the back of your neck,' I said.

  She was unwinding from my ankles up, and when she got to the hot, sticky places on my calves, she unwound very slowly; they were the most congealed towels.

  'Where have you hidden your braid?'

  'Never mind,' she said. All the towels were off now.

  'Can you see in the dark, Gallen?'

  'I can't!'

  'If you could,' I said, 'you'd see me--'

  'I would,
all right.'

  '--all pink and scattered-hairy, like a baby ape.'

  'That's nice,' she said. 'Now stop.'

  But I was able to reach out and find her head, and slide my hand under her chin, and run the backs of my knuckles across and down her throat to the first knot of her braid, tucked into her blouse.

  'I want to see the back of your neck,' I said.

  She was putting on the new bandages now; the gauze wound lightly and fast. She bound only my calves, and she didn't hobble my legs together; that was Siggy's sort of work.

  'I've a clean towel to cover you,' she said.

  'Is it a monstrous towel?'

  'Arch,' she said, and she whisked it around me so fast I was fanned by the draught.

  'Now give us some light,' I said.

  'I'm not supposed to be here, Graff. My aunt thinks I'm turning down beds.'

  'I'll just have a look at your neck, Gallen,' I said.

  'And you won't grab me, will you?'

  'No.'

  'Or pull off your towel?'

  'Of course not!'

  'Once a man did - in the hall, my aunt said. He just pulled it off in front of her.'

  Then she danced the doorway's bright light across us, and she leaned over me. I turned her face against my shoulder, and lifted her rich braid; I folded her ear down, and looked.

  Why yes, in the down of her neck was the soft welt I'd given her.

  'You're not unmarked yourself,' I said, and I pecked her on the spot.

  'You're not grabbing,' she said, 'are you?' And I let my hands lie on the tub floor; I pecked her twice more on the ear. And she touched my chest with her hand, just with the points of her fingers; she wouldn't let her palm lie flush. She kept her face turned against my shoulder; she touched me as stilly as she could. Her weight wasn't on me. She was like a long, lightly stunned fish - made to lie coolly atwitch, but airy in the hand.

  'I'm going now,' she said.

  'Why do I have to stay in the bathtub?'

  'I guess you don't.'

  'Where's Siggy?' I said.

  'Getting you flowers.'

  'Getting me flowers?'

  'Yes,' said Gallen. 'He's got a bowl of water, and he's going to fill it full of forsythia petals.'

  Then a wood-creak shuddered the walls and crept under the tub, and my Gallen flicked as noiselessly across the room as her shadow; the rectangle of bright doorway drew round its sides on itself, and my light disappeared like a water drop in a sponge.

  Out of the Bathtub, Life Goes On

  Notorious Graff,

  Lord of the Tub

  Where nymphets come to water.

  Grabby Graff,

  Sly in the Tub,

  Leads virgins to their slaughter.

  Bottomless Graff,

  Fiend of the Tub,

  Wooer of beasts and nymphets.

  Appalling Graff,

  Stealthy in Tub,

  Makes virgins into strumpets.

  Oh, Graff!

  Rotten Graff!

  For your ass a briar staff, To teach you to be kinder.

  SO WRITES SIEGFRIED JAVOTNIK, poet of the humdrum and shellshocked ear - bearer of forsythia petals afloat in a borrowed bowl.

  No one ever gave me a poem before, so I said, 'I think you cheat on your rhymes.'

  'You shouldn't have gotten out of the bathtub,' said Siggy. 'You might have swooned and cracked your oafish head.'

  'The flowers are great, Sig. I want to thank you for them.'

  'Well, they're certainly not for you,' he said. 'They're for our room in general.'

  'It's a nice room,' I said.

  We had a large, iron-grate window with a deep ledge; the window swung out and let in the sound of the falls. The old castle had a courtyard that our window opened to; we could see the motorcycle parked by the fullest forsythia bush - a lovely, weaponlike hulk of such purposeful machinery, misplaced in the yellows of the garden.

  There were two beds, separated by a carved magazine stand. One bed was turned down. The sheet lay back crisply unwrinkled; the pillow was punched up high and light.

  'Did you fix my bed, Sig?'

  'No, Graff, I did not. I'm sure it was your nymphet, or perhaps her kindly aunt.'

  'Her aunt is kindly, is she?'

  'A dear old babe, Graff - a loving old soul. Why, she lent me this bowl for the flowers!'

  'Well,' I said.

  'For a small price,' said Siggy. 'A pittance.'

  'Which was?' I said.

  'My tolerance of her questions,' said Siggy. 'Where we came from and how we came. And why we came. And what is it we do for work?'

  'Work?'

  'Work, Graff. That's how we live.'

  'That's a question, isn't it?' I said.

  'But not her best one, Graff. She wished to know which one of us had the eyes for Gallen.'

  'Well,' I said, 'a kindly aunt, she is.'

  'So I eased her mind on that score,' said Siggy. 'I told her we were both raving queers and she needn't worry.'

  'Frot you!' I said. 'And what did she do then?'

  'She lent me her bowl,' said Siggy, 'so I could pick flowers for you.'

  Off the Scent

  'I'M FRAU TRATT,' SAID Gallon's aunt. 'We haven't met, as you were carried in.'

  'A disgrace to me, Frau Tratt,' I said.

  'How are your legs?' she asked.

  'They've had the right sort of care,' I told her.

  'I take good care of my Graff,' said Siggy.

  'Oh yes, I can see,' said Auntie Tratt, and she left us one menu to share.

  The dining-room of the Gasthof Schloss Wasserfall overlooked the dam, which added a woozy, bilious sensation to eating and drinking. The great falls spewed a froth on the windows, which made running, delta patterns down the glass. My stomach rolled over and gave me back an old taste.

  'I've not seen that Gallon in a while,' I said.

  'She's probably in our bathtub, Graff. Waiting for you.'

  And the street lamps came on in the town, although the dark was another rusty evening-hour away. The lamplight flecked the water shot over the falls, filtered through it just at the arc where it bent to fall; the river held a million tiny shapes of dress-up colors reflected from the town.

  Siggy was saying, 'Unless, of course, she's heard from her auntie that you've no interest in girls.'

  'And thanks must go to you for that,' I said. 'I'll have to straighten it out.'

  'Ah, Graff. You'll find it's quite a mess, straightening out that sort of thing.'

  'She won't believe it anyway,' I said.

  And some of the shops blinked their lights across the river; the towers bobbed downstream and toppled over the falls.

  'Not hungry?' asked Auntie Tratt.

  'I got very full, just sitting here,' I said.

  'Ah, Frau Tratt,' said Siggy. 'When you're in love, the other appetites suffer.'

  'Well, well,' said Auntie Tratt, and she took our menu away.

  'I don't think you need to carry this much farther, Sig.'

  'But, Graff! It's sure to put the old madam off your scent.'

  'And put us out of her Gasthof too.'

  'We can't afford it anyway,' he said. 'And your baby Gallen can't afford it either.'

  The Foot of Your Bed

  MY GALLEN WAS not in the bathtub, so Siggy thought he'd have a bath.

  'If you wouldn't mind,' he said.

  'I'd be happy for you,' I told him. I sat on the window ledge while he splashed about and hummed in the tub; he was spanking the water with the flat of his hand, making sharp, beaverlike slaps.

  Outside, the courtyard was full of soft yellows and greens; the evenings were taking longer and longer to come on. The falls brought a mist round the castle; I felt the wet of the air on my face.

  'Come down here, Graff,' said Gallen.

  'Where are you?' I asked into the garden.

  'On your motorcycle,' Gallen said, but I could see the motorcycle looking gruff and shaggy l
ike an old bull under the forsythia - lurking surly in the fairytale light of evening - and my Gallen was nowhere around it.

  'No you're not,' I said. 'I can see.'

  'All right, I'm under your window. I can see your chin.'

  'Step out, then,' I said.

  'I'm naked all over,' said Gallen. 'I haven't a thing on.'

  'You have so,' I said.

  'You come down here, Graff.'

  'I won't wear anything either,' I said.

  'Oh, you better,' said Gallen, and she stepped out where I could see her, blousy in her long-sleeved ruffles and her apron full of frills. I thought: God, she can't be more than fourteen.

  'Is your auntie with you?' I asked.

  'Of course not,' she said. 'You come down.'

  So I danced down the prickly carpeted hall. The chandeliers swung overhead, giving me weary winks, as if they were tired of seeing such stealthy evening schemes go padding by underneath them. And the local soccer teams rebuked me from their framed, fixed poses on the lobby wall; year by year, their faces never changed. There was one year when they all shaved off their mustaches. There were the war years, when there'd been a girls' team - but righteous athletic faces nonetheless. There were faces that had seen you before, had seen countless adventurers and lovers creeping through that lobby, and they'd rebuked them all. Impatient toes stirred their ready, soccer feet. They'd have left their photographs and kicked me, for sure, if only they hadn't seen so many secrets like mine.

  The castle let me safely out, and Gallen said, 'Who's there?'

  'Bright pink Graff,' I told her, 'as shiny and nude as the Christ Child.'

  'You step out,' she said.

  I saw her in the vines along the castle wall; she ducked under the window ledges and waved me after her.

  'Come around,' she said. 'Around here, Graff.'

  We turned the castle's cornerstone; the heavy spray from the falls met us. The rush of water silenced the crickets, and the gun slits of Waidhofen's towers, lit along the riverbank, were cutting light-slices in the creamy swirls of foam below the dam.

  'It's been so long since I've seen you, Graff,' said Gallen.

  I sat down with her, our backs against the castle; her shoulder overlapped mine just a little. Her braid was coiled on top of her head, and she gave it a pat before she looked at me.

  'How did I fix your legs?' she said.

  'Oh, I'm fine now, Gallen. May I see your neck again?'

  'Why can't you just talk?' she said.

  'Words fail me,' I told her.

  'Well, you must try,' said Gallen.

  'I wish we had adjoining rooms,' I tried.

  'I'll never tell you where my room is,' she said.

  'Then I'll look in every one.'

  'Auntie has a dog sleep at the foot of her bed.'