"Funny," Ed said.
"Why?" Forrester said. "I didn't see her. I don't think she attended the
service this morning, that's all."
He wanted very badly to hit Symes. Just once. But he knew he couldn't.
First of all, there was Gerda. And then, as an acolyte, he was
proscribed by law from brawling. No one would hit an acolyte; and if the
acolyte were built like Forrester, striking another man might be the
equivalent of murder. One good blow from Forrester's fist might break
the average man's jaw.
That was, he discovered, a surprisingly pleasant thought. But he made
himself keep still as the fat fool went on.
"Funny she didn't attend," Symes said. "But maybe she's gotten wise to
herself. There was a celebration up at the Temple of Pan in Central
Park, starting at midnight, and going on through the morning. Spring
Rites. Maybe she went there."
"I doubt it," Forrester said instantly. "That's hardly her type of
worship."
"Isn't it?" Symes said.
"It doesn't fit her. That kind of--"
"I know. Gerda's like you. A little stuffy."
"It's not being stuffy," Forrester started to explain. "It's--"
"Sure," Symes said. "Only she's not as much of a prude as you are. I
couldn't stand her if she were."
"On the other hand, she's not a--"
"Not an Owl-boy of Owl-boys like you."
"Not a drunken blockhead," Forrester finished triumphantly. "At least
she's got a decent respect for wisdom and learning."
Symes stepped back, a movement for which Forrester felt grateful. No
matter how far away Ed Symes was, he was still too close.
"Who you calling a blockhead, buster?" Symes said. His eyes narrowed to
piggish little slits.
Forrester took a deep breath and reminded himself not to hit the other
man. "You," he said, almost mildly. "If brains were radium, you couldn't
make a flicker on a scintillation counter."
It was just a little doubtful that Symes understood the insult. But he
obviously knew it had been one. His face changed color to a kind of
grayish purple, and his hands clenched slowly at his sides. Forrester
stood watching him quietly.
Symes made a sound like _Rrr_ and took a breath. "If you weren't an
acolyte, I'd take a poke at you just to see you bounce."
"Sure you would," Forrester agreed politely.
Symes went _Rrr_ again and there was a longer silence. Then he said:
"Not that I'd hit you anyhow, buster. It'd go against my grain. Not the
acolyte business--if you didn't look so much like Bacchus, I'd take the
chance."
Forrester's jaw ached. In a second he realized why; he was clenching his
teeth tightly. Perhaps it was true that he did look a little like
Bacchus, but not enough for Ed Symes to kid about it.
Symes grinned at him. Symes undoubtedly thought the grin gave him a
pleasant and carefree expression. It didn't. "Suppose I go have a look
for Gerda myself," he said casually, heading up the stairs toward the
temple entrance. "After all, you're so busy looking at books, you might
have missed her."
And what, Forrester asked himself, was the answer to that--except a
punch in the mouth?
It really didn't matter, anyhow. Symes was on his way into the temple,
and Forrester could just ignore him.
But, damn it, why did he let the young idiot get his goat that way?
Didn't he have enough self-control just to ignore Symes and his oafish
insults?
Forrester supposed sadly that he didn't. Oh, well, it just made another
quality he had to pray to Athena for.
Then he glanced at his wristwatch and stopped thinking about Symes
entirely.
It was twelve-forty-five. He had to be at work at thirteen hundred.
Still angry, underneath the sudden need for speed, he turned and
sprinted toward the subway.
* * * * *
"And thus," Forrester said tiredly, "having attempted to make himself
the equal of the Gods, Man was given a punishment befitting such
arrogance." He paused and took a breath, surveying the twenty-odd
students in the classroom (and some, he told himself wryly, _very_ odd)
with a sort of benign boredom.
History I, Introductory Survey of World History, was a simple enough
course to teach, but its very simplicity was its undoing, Forrester
thought. The deadly dullness of the day-after-day routine was enough to
wear out the strongest soul.
Freshmen, too, seemed to get stupider every year. Certainly, when _he'd_
been seventeen, he'd been different altogether. Studious, earnest,
questioning ...
Then he stopped himself and grinned. He'd probably seemed even worse to
his own instructors.
Where had he been? Slowly, he picked up the thread. There was a young
blonde girl watching him eagerly from a front seat. What was her name?
Forrester tried to recall it and couldn't. Well, this was only the first
day of term. He'd get to know them all soon enough--well enough,
anyhow, to dislike most of them.
But the eager expression on the girl's face unnerved him a little. The
rest of the class wasn't paying anything like such strict attention. As
a matter of fact, Forrester suspected two young boys in the back of
being in a trance.
Well, he could stop that. But ...
She was really quite attractive, Forrester told himself. Of course, she
was nothing but a fresh, pretty, eager seventeen-year-old, with a figure
that ...
She was, Forrester reminded himself sternly, a student.
And he was supposed to be an instructor.
He cleared his throat. "Man went hog-wild with his new-found freedom
from divine guidance," he said. "Woman did, too, as a matter of fact."
Now what unholy devil had made him say that? It wasn't a part of the
normal lecture for first day of the new term. It was--well, it was
just a little risque for students. Some of their parents might complain,
and ...
But the girl in the front row was smiling appreciatively. _I wonder what
she's doing in an Introductory course_, Forrester thought, leaping with
no evidence at all to the conclusion that the girl's mind was much too
fine and educated to be subjected to the general run of classes.
_Private tutoring_ ... he began, and then cut himself off sharply, found
his place in the lecture again and went on:
"When the Gods decided to sit back and observe for a few thousand years,
they allowed Man to go his merry way, just to teach him a lesson."
The boys in the back of the room were definitely in a trance.
Forrester sighed. "And the inevitable happened," he said. "From the
eighth century B.C., Old Style, until the year 1971 A.D., Old Style,
Man's lot went from bad to worse. Without the Gods to guide him he bred
bigger and bigger wars and greater and greater empires--beginning with
the conquests of the mad Alexander of Macedonia and culminating in the
opposing Soviet and American Spheres of Influence during the last
century."
Spheres of Influence....
Forrester's gaze fell on the blonde girl again. She certainly had a
well-developed figure. And she did seem so eager and attentive. He
smiled at her tentatively. She smiled back.
"Urg ..." he said aloud.
The class didn't seem to notice. That, Forrester told himself sourly,
was probably because they weren't listening.
He swallowed, wrenched his gaze from the girl, and said: "The
Soviet-American standoff--for that is what it was--would most probably
have resulted in the destruction of the human race." It had no effect on
the class. The destruction of the human race interested nobody.
"However," Forrester said gamely, "this form of insanity was too much
for the Gods to allow. They therefore--"
The bell rang, signifying the end of the period. Forrester didn't know
whether to feel relieved or annoyed.
"All right," he said. "That's all for today. Your first assignment will
be to read and carefully study Chapters One and Two of the textbook."
Silence gave way to a clatter of noise as the students began to file
out. Forrester saw the front-row blonde rise slowly and gracefully. Any
doubts he might have entertained (that is, he told himself wryly, any
_entertaining_ doubts) about her figure were resolved magnificently. He
felt a little sweat on the palm of his hands, told himself that he was
being silly, and then answered himself that the hell he was.
The blonde gave him a slow, sweet smile. The smile promised a good deal
more than Forrester thought likely of fulfillment.
He smiled back.
It would have been impolite, he assured himself, not to have done so.
The girl left the room, and a remaining crowd of students hurried out
after her. The crowd included two blinking boys, awakened by the bell
from what had certainly been a trance. Forrester made a mental note to
inquire after their records and to speak with the boys himself when he
got the chance.
No sense in disturbing a whole class to discipline them.
He stacked his papers carefully, taking a good long time about it in
order to relax himself and let his palms dry. His mind drifted back to
the blonde, and he reined it in with an effort and let it go exploring
again on safer ground. The class itself ... actually, he thought, he
rather liked teaching. In spite of the petty irritations that came from
driving necessary knowledge into the heads of stubbornly unwilling
students, it was a satisfying and important job. And, of course, it was
an honor to hold the position he did. Ever since it had been revealed
that the goddess Columbia was another manifestation of Pallas Athena
herself, the University had grown tremendously in stature.
And after all ...
Whistling faintly behind his teeth, Forrester zipped up his filled
briefcase and went out into the hall. He ignored the masses of students
swirling back and forth in the corridors, and, finding a stairway, went
up to his second-floor office.
He fumbled for his key, found it, and opened the ground-glass door.
Then, stepping in, he came to a full stop.
The girl had been waiting for him--Maya Wilson.
* * * * *
And now here she was, talking about the Goddess of Love. Forrester
gulped.
"Anyhow," he said at random, "I'm an Athenan." He remembered that he had
already said that. Did it matter? "But what does all this have to do
with your passing, or not passing, the course?" he went on.
"Oh," Maya said. "Well, I prayed to Aphrodite for help in passing the
course. And the Temple Priestess told me I'd have to make a sacrifice to
the Goddess. In a way."
"A sacrifice?" Forrester gulped. "You mean--"
"Not the First Sacrifice," she laughed. "That was done with solemn
ceremonies when I was seventeen."
"Now, wait a minute--"
"Please," Maya said. "Won't you listen to me?"
Forrester looked at her limpid blue eyes and her lovely face. "Sure.
Sorry."
"Well, then, it's like this. If a person loves a subject, it's that much
easier to understand it. And the Goddess has promised me that if I love
the instructor, I'll love the subject. It's like sympathetic
magic--see?"
Her explanation was so brisk and simple that Forrester recoiled. "Hold
on," he said. "Just hold your horses. Do you mean you're in love with
me?"
Maya smiled. "I think so," she said, and very suddenly she was on
Forrester's side of the desk, pressing up against him. Her hand caressed
the back of his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair. "Kiss me and
let's find out."