Free Nest of Worlds by Marek S. Huberath Page A

disappearing.
    “My smelly little pigsty. I’ll let out the water and fill the tub again, all right?” he said with a smile, pulling the stopper. “As ripe as a zoo animal in its cage. A little furry zoo creature sitting in a hole of a dead tree and looking out at me, while I can hardly breathe the air. That’s you now. And you have the look, too, of a frightened animal.”
    “They kept me there like an animal, so I stink like one. They figured you wouldn’t want such a pigsty.”
    “Not want my little pigsty? You must be joking. But two tubs of water may not be enough for her.”
    The water made an energetic whirlpool as it drained.
    “I droop, don’t I?” she said, looking at him with suspicion. “Like spaniel ears. They were always too small.”
    “Those?” He looked at her breasts. “No, they look as they did a month ago.”
    “You bastard.” She laughed, for the first time, and splashed water at him.
    “Four years is not such a long time,” he protested, wiping his face. His eyes burned.
    “But I’m a skeleton. They didn’t feed us.”
    “You lost weight,” he admitted. “The main thing is not to stoop. Then you’ll be all right. You didn’t stoop before. Fortunately one shoulder is higher. I’ll tie a broomstick to your shoulders if you don’t obey.”
    “The stoop is because of my scoliosis.”
    “The compensation was an idea of genius. We’ll be together now, forever.”
    “We’ll see.”
    The water began to fill the tub.
    “And have I changed?” he asked.
    “A little. You’ve become strange, Gavein. You look too young. I forgot what you were like. But I’ll get accustomed to you again.”
    “And that’s good, isn’t it? You should be happy.”
    “And you? Your wife got old. Now you’ll start running after young women . . .”
    “Me? That’s absurd.”
    “Oh, Gavein, Gavein, how I regretted my decision. You have no conception of how hard those years were.”
    She stopped, and in Gavein’s mind arose the hated image of the pilot of the seaplane stretching in the warm rays of the setting sun. As the ocean’s lazy waves lapped at the ship, the pilot looked seductively down on Ra Mahleiné, whose resistance was weakening, weakening. Gavein’s imaginary rival was about to give a horrible cry of triumph over chastity undone, when Ra Mahleiné said:
    “I need to sleep.”
    She was extremely weak. She lay motionless. He had to towel her, massage her. Many of the scabs came off. That was good; it meant her cuts were not infected. He cleaned away the pus.
    “As long as I didn’t get an infection on my bottom. That would have been the worst. I had to lie in it. I wet my pants but couldn’t do the other.”
    He nodded. “In a week, you’ll be able to move your bowels.”
    The second round of bathwater was enough. It didn’t look like muddy slop with suds.
    Suddenly Ra Mahleiné dropped her head, closed her eyes. Frightened, he put an ear to her chest: her heart was beating. She had fainted. He let the water out of the tub and spread a shower curtain on the mattress where he slept. He wrapped her hair in a small towel and lifted her from the tub. An unconscious body is heavier. It slips in your arms, is difficult to hold.
    He brought her around, rubbing and drying her with the towel. When she opened her eyes, he gave her some drops for her heart. That medicine was Ra Mahleiné’s first meal in freedom. He dried her hair thoroughly.
    “After this I won’t comb myself, for the rest of my life,” she said. “I’ll shave my head to the skull. The bastards did that to me once. Gavein, cover me up, please. It shames me to lie like this in front of you.”
    “I love looking at you like this,” he said. “Surely you can remember that.” He added, with a twinkle, “But really, you’ve become such a witch. Maybe you always were.” Which was a complete lie. An angel can’t be a witch.
    He removed the plastic and tucked her gently in, under the blanket and counterpane. He