Rufo listened. Presently he stood up and paced, looking troubled. Once he tut-tutted over the men Star had brought home. "She shouldn't have called her maids in. But do forget it, lad. She never remembers that men are shy, whereas females merely have customs. Allow Her this."
Later he said, "No need to be jealous of Jocko, son. He drives a tack with a sledgehammer."
"I'm not jealous."
"That's what Menelaus said. But leave room for give and take. Every marriage needs it."
Finally I ran down, having told him Star's prediction that I would leave. "I'm not blaming her for anything and talking about it has straightened me out. I can sweat it out now, behave myself, and be a good husband. She does make terrible sacrifices to do her job—and the least I can do is make it easier. She's so sweet and gentle and good."
Rufo stopped, some distance away with his back to his desk. "You think so?"
"I know so."
"She's an old bag!"
I was out of my chair and at him at once. I didn't draw. Didn't think of it, wouldn't have anyhow. I wanted to get my hands on him and punish him for talking that way about my beloved.
He bounced over the desk like a ball and by the time I covered the length of the room, Rufo was behind it, one hand in a drawer.
"Naughty, naughty," he said. "Oscar, I don't want to shave you."
"Come out and fight like a man!"
"Never, old friend. One step closer and you're dog meat. All your fine promises, your pleadings. ‘Pull no punches' you said. ‘Lay it on the line' you said. ‘Speak frankly' you said. Sit down in that chair."
" ‘Speaking frankly' doesn't mean being insulting!"
"Who's to judge? Can I submit my remains for approval before I make them? Don't compound your broken promises with childish illogic. And would you force me to buy a new rug? I never keep one I've killed a friend on; the stains make me gloomy. Sit down in that chair."
I sat down.
"Now," said Rufo, staying where he was, "you will listen while I talk. Or perhaps you will get up and walk out. In which case I might be so pleased to see the last of your ugly face that that might be that. Or I might be so annoyed at being interrupted that you would drop dead in the doorway, for I've much pent up and ready to spill over. Suit yourself.
"I said," he went on, "that my grandmother is an old bag. I said it brutally, to discharge your tension—and now you're not likely to take too much offense at many offensive things I still must say. She's old, you know that, though no doubt you find it easy to forget, mostly. I forget it myself, mostly, even though She was old when I was a babe making messes on the floor and crowing at the dear sight of Her. Bag, She is, and you know it. I could have said ‘experienced woman' but I had to rap your teeth with it; you've been dodging it even while you've been telling me how well you know it—and how you don't care. Granny is an old bag, we start from there.
"And why should She be anything else? Tell yourself the answer. You're not a fool, you're merely young. Ordinarily She has but two possible pleasures and the other She can't indulge."
"What's the other one?"
"Handing down bad decisions through sadistic spite, that's the one She dare not indulge. So let us be thankful that Her body has built into it this harmless safety valve, else we would all suffer grievously before somebody managed to kill Her. Lad, dear lad, can you dream how mortal tired She must be of most things? Your own zest soured in only months. Think what it must be to hear the same old weary mistakes year after year with nothing to hope for but a clever assassin. Then be thankful that She still pleasures in one innocent pleasure. So She's an old bag and I mean no disrespect; I salute a beneficent balance between two things She must be to do her job.
"Nor did She stop being what She is by reciting a silly rhyme with you one bright day on a hilltop. You think She has taken a vacation from it since, sticking to you only. Possibly She has, if you have quoted Her exactly and I read the words rightly; She always tells the truth.
"But never all the truth—who can? -- and She is the most skillful liar by telling the truth you'll ever meet. I misdoubt your memory missed some innocent-sounding word that gave an escape yet saved your feelings.
"If so, why should She do more than save your feelings? She's fond of you, that's dear—but must She be fanatic about it? All Her training, Her special bent, is to avoid fanaticism always, find practical answers. Even though She may not have mixed up the shoes, as yet, if you stay on a week or a year or twenty and time comes when She wants to. She can find ways, not lie to you in words—and hurt Her conscience not at all because She hasn't any. Just Wisdom, utterly pragmatic."
Rufo cleared his throat. "Now refutation and counterpoint and contrariwise. I like my grandmother and love Her as much as my meager nature permits and respect Her right down to Her sneaky soul—and I'll kill you or anyone who gets in Her way or causes Her unhappiness—and only part of this is that She has handed on to me a shadow of Her own self so that I understand Her. If She is spared assassins knife or blast or poison long enough, She'll go down in history as ‘The Great.' But you spoke of Her ‘terrible sacrifices.' Ridiculous! She likes being ‘Her Wisdom,' the Hub around which all worlds turn. Nor do I believe that She would give it up for you or fifty better. Again, She didn't lie, as you've told it—She said ‘if'...knowing that much can happen in thirty year's, or twenty-five, among which is the near certainty that you wouldn't stay that long. A swindle.
"But that's the least of swindles She's put over on you. She conned you from the moment you first saw Her and long before. She cheated both ways from the ace, forced you to pick the shell with the pea, sent you like any mark anxious for the best of it, cooled you off when you started to suspect, herded you back into line and to your planned fate—and made you like it. She's never fussy about method and would con the Virgin Mary and make a pact with the Old One all in one breath, did it suit Her purpose. Oh, you got paid, yes, and good measure to boot; there's nothing small about Her. But its time you knew you were conned. Mind you, I'm not criticizing Her, I'm applauding—and I helped...save for one queasy moment when I felt sorry for the victim. But you were so conned you wouldn't listen, thank any saints who did. I lost my nerve for a bit, thinking that you were going to a sticky death with your innocent eyes wide. But She was smarter than I am. She always has been.
"Now! I like Her. I respect Her. I admire Her. I even love Her a bit. All of Her, not just Her pretty aspects but also all the impurities that make Her steel as hard as it must be. How about you, sir? What's your feeling about Her now...knowing She conned you, knowing what She is?"
I was still sitting. My drink was by me, untouched all this long harangue.
I took it and stood up. "Here's to the grandest old bag in twenty universes!"
Rufo bounced over the desk again, grabbed his glass. "Say that loud and often! And to Her, She'd love it! May She be blessed by God, Whoever He is, and kept safe. We'll never see another like Her, mores the pity! -- for we need them by the gross!"
We tossed it down and smashed our grasses. Rufo fetched fresh ones, poured, settled in his chair, and said, "Now for serious drinking. Did I ever tell you about the time my—"
"You did. Rufo, I want to know about this swindle."
"Such as?"
"Well, I can see much of it. Take that first time we flew—"
He shuddered. "Lets not."
"I never wondered then. But, since Star can do this, we could have skipped Igli, the Horned Ghosts, the marsh, the time wasted with Jocko—"
"Wasted?"
"For her purpose. And the rats and hogs and possibly the dragons. Flown directly from that first Gate to the second. Right?"