"Exactly. As a street brawler, for instance, you do exceptionally well."
"As a--"
"How does your face feel?" she asked.
"My what?" Forrester said. "Oh. Face. Fine. Street brawls, you said?"
"I did," Venus said. "My goodness, the way you bashed that one bruiser
with your drink--that was really excellent. As a matter of fact, I feel
it incumbent on me to tell you that I haven't enjoyed a fight so much in
years."
Wondering whether he should be complimented or just a little ashamed of
himself, Forrester said nothing at all. The idea that he had been under
the personal supervision of Aphrodite herself bothered him more than he
could say. The brawl was the first thing that came to mind. It didn't
seem like the sort of thing a Goddess of Love ought to have been
watching.
And then he thought of the High Priestess.
He felt a blush creeping up around his collar, and was thankful only
that it was not visible under the tan of his skin. He remembered who had
ordered the sacrificial rites, and thought bitterly and guiltily about
spectator sports.
But his face remained perfectly calm.
"So far," Venus said, "I must say that you have come through with flying
colors. You should be proud of yourself."
Forrester didn't feel exactly proud. He wanted to crawl into a hole and
die there.
"Well," he said, "I--"
"But there is more," Aphrodite said.
"More?"
The idea didn't sound attractive. In spite of what one of the tests had
involved, the notion of any more tests was just a little fatiguing.
Besides, Forrester was not at all sure that he would be at his best,
when he knew that dispassionate observers were chronicling his technique
and his every movement.
How much more, he wondered, could he take?
And, he reflected, how much more of _what_?
"We must be certain," Aphrodite said, "that you can prove yourself
worthy of the dignity of a Godling."
"Ah," Forrester said cleverly. "So there are going to be more tests?"
"There are," Venus said. "After all, you will be expected to act as the
_alter persona_ of Dionysus. That involves responsibilities almost
beyond the ken of a mortal."
Wine, Forrester thought wildly, women and song.
He wondered if he were going to be asked to sing something. He couldn't
remember anything except the _Star Spangled Banner_ and an exceptionally
silly rhyme from his childhood. Neither of them seemed just right for
the occasion.
"You must learn to behave as a true God," Venus said. "And we must know
whether you are fitted for the part."
Forrester nodded. The one thing keeping him sane, he reflected, was the
hope of insanity. But the room was still there, and Venus was standing
near him, talking quietly away.
"Thus," she said, "there must be further tests, so that we may be sure
of your capacities."
Capacities? Just what was _that_ supposed to mean? "I see," he lied.
"And suppose I fail?"
"Fail?"
"Suppose I don't live up to expectations," Forrester said.
"Well, then," Venus declared, "I'm afraid the Gods might be angry with
you."
Forrester had no doubt whatever as to the meaning of the words. Either
he lived up to expectations or he didn't live at all. The Gods' anger
was not a small affair, and it seldom satisfied itself with small
results. When a God got angry with you, you simply hoped the result
would be quick. You didn't really dare hope it would also be temporary.
Forrester passed a hand over his forehead. If he had been doing his own
picking, he thought a little sadly, the job of tryout stand-in for
Dionysus was not the job he would have chosen. But then, the choice
wasn't his, and it never had been. It was the Gods who had picked him.
Unfortunately, if he failed, the mistake wouldn't be laid at the door of
the Gods. It would be laid at the door of William Forrester, together
with a nice, big, black funeral wreath.
But it didn't sound too bad at that, he told himself hopefully. After
all, it wasn't every day that a man was offered the job of stand-in for
a God, not every day that a man was offered the chance of passing a lot
of strenuous and embarrassing tests, and dying if he failed.
He told himself sternly to look on the positive side, but all he could
think of was the succession of tests still to come. What would they be
like? How could he ever pass them all? What would be thought necessary
to establish a man as a first-rate double for Dionysus?
Looks, he thought, were obviously the first thing, and he certainly had
those. For a second he almost wished he could see Ed Symes and apologize
for getting mad when Ed had told him he looked like Bacchus.
But then, he reflected, he didn't want to go too far. The idea of
apologizing to Ed Symes, no matter who his sister was, made Forrester's
gorge rise about five and a half feet.
"However," Aphrodite went on, as if she had just thought of something
too unimportant to bother mentioning, "don't worry about it. My father's
thunderbolt needn't concern you. I have every confidence that you will
prove yourself."
She smiled radiantly at him.
The idea occurred to Forrester that she just didn't think that a
mortal's mortality was important. But the idea didn't stay long. Being
reassured by a Goddess, he told himself confusedly, was very reassuring.
Venus was looking him up and down speculatively, and Forrester suddenly
thought a new test was coming. A little gentle sweat began to break out
on his forehead again, but his face stayed calm. He took a deep breath
and tried to concentrate on gathering strength. The High Priestess had
been something special but, Forrester thought, she had not really called
out his _all_. Venus was clearly another matter.
But Venus said only: "Those clothes," in a considering sort of tone.
"Clothes?" Forrester said, trying to readjust in a hurry.
"You certainly can't go in those clothes. Hera would object quite
violently, I'm afraid. She's awfully stuffy about such things."