The Beginning Place (19 page)
Read The Beginning Place Online
Authors: Ursula K. Le Guin
“Yeah, it’s my side, I guess I sprained something.”
“What about walking?” she asked sharply, alarmed.
“It’ll wear off when I warm up.” He was apologetic.
“I don’t know where we are,” she said..
They stood on the path, just beyond the hands-breadth slip and murmur of the stream crossing and dropping away into fern and moss among tree roots down the mountainside.
“The only way we could be sure of where we’re going would be to follow the whole trail back.” She gestured uphill towards the cave. “Past there, and all the way back to the High Step, and then back down to town and onto the south road.”
“No,” Hugh said.
“Well,” she said, much relieved but unable to admit it, “I don’t want to either. It was an awfully long way. But I don’t know where the gate is from here.”
“If we go down,” he said, “maybe we’ll pick up the sense of the axis, the direction, again.”
“O.K. If this is the south side of the mountain we’re on, this path leads east. If we can keep going pretty much east or southeast, we ought to cross Third River somewhere down at the foot. And follow Third River to the road; and then on to the gate. It shouldn’t be half as long as going clear back around.”
He nodded; and she set off down the path under the spindly, crowded firs. She was cheered by walking, cheered by the decision not to go back; she had been afraid he would want to go back. “Go without looking back … .”
The white figures stood silent on the dusk road, long ago now, and always, changelessly.
The path was narrow and rocky, a mild downhill grade. It was pleasant to walk, working the knots and sorenesses out of arms and legs, her breath coming easy. All that endless way from the High Step to the cave, all that day or days of being afraid and going on and on, she had not been able to breathe right: there had been a pressure on her lungs from below. Now she felt breathing a pleasure as deep as the pleasure of drinking cool water. I breathe, am breathed, am breath; I am so, am so. So walk, so go on earth, am earth, breath; and beneath all, joy.
They had come a long way when the path reached the bottom of the gorge. It was dark twilight here, a silent creek running under overhanging shrubs and ferns, a slippery dim crossing. Hugh came slowly across. She saw that he did not walk easily. She saw that on this side of the canyon the path turned back, going west.
If it was west.
All confidence slipped from her down in the dark slippery place. If they had come farther than she had counted on, and the cave of the dragon was on the western face of the mountain, then all her directions were off. They were in country she knew nothing about. Anirotembre, the land behind the mountain, the name was all they had ever said of it. If there were towns there they were not spoken of. What had Hugh once said about the west? Something about the sea. That was no good. She must decide what to do. This trail they were on might be a circle. It was the same trail they had been on since they left the High Step, it was the
dragon’s way. It might go zigzagging in and out of the ravines and up and down the slopes around the mountain and back at last to the High Step. Days walking, maybe, and Hugh already standing here, his head down a bit, glad to stop. It was no good going in circles. They had to get off the dragon’s path, and get out.
dragon’s way. It might go zigzagging in and out of the ravines and up and down the slopes around the mountain and back at last to the High Step. Days walking, maybe, and Hugh already standing here, his head down a bit, glad to stop. It was no good going in circles. They had to get off the dragon’s path, and get out.
“I think maybe we should leave the trail here,” she said, speaking low, for the deep place was awesome. “We’ve got to try to keep heading east.”
He looked up at the dark slopes overhanging. “It’ll be hard to keep any direction, off the trail.”
“This river’s running east. I think. We can keep following it.”
“O.K.”
“I’m just guessing it’s east,” she said shortly. “I don’t know.”
“There’s no way to know.” He absolved her without question. “I’d never get anywhere,” he said, looking at her across the dark air, “not by myself.”
“Out again Brautigan,” she said. “Maybe. If only this river is running the right way.”
“Not a river at all, it’s a creek,” he said amiably.
“I call them all rivers. You want to rest here a while?”
“No. Ground’s too wet. Let’s go on.”
It was unnerving to step off the path deliberately, to choose pathlessness, as if you knew your way. At least the going was not hard at first. The trees on this side of the gorge were mostly big old hemlocks, without much underbrush between
them, once they were up out of the streambed. The slopes were steep. Before long she wished her right leg could be taken up a couple of inches. But they were making good progress, and there was more light here.
them, once they were up out of the streambed. The slopes were steep. Before long she wished her right leg could be taken up a couple of inches. But they were making good progress, and there was more light here.
The stream began to descend more steeply. Irena did not try to follow close to the water, but struck up to the spine of the ridge, where the walking was easier and the direction still the same as the flow of water. She had had some hope of seeing the way ahead from the ridgetop, but as always the trees grew too close. Had they been fools to leave the path? Maybe, but she was not turning back. All they could do was take their chance. She was hungry. It seemed too soon to stop, until she thought back to the place below the cave where they had slept—hours ago, way back up the mountain. She turned and said, “I’d like a break,” to Hugh, plugging along behind her. He halted promptly. He looked around and pointed out a level bit of ground between the roots of two great, shaggy trees, and they headed for it. He wore the red cloak, which made him look rather like a grandmother from behind, but stately in front view. They found convenient roots to sit on, and Irena unstrapped and unwrapped the packet of food. “I thought maybe we’d go light this time, and next time we stop eat more. Are you very hungry yet?”
“Not hungry at all.”
“Eat something, though.”
She set out portions that looked shamefully meager to her, put up the rest, and fell to. She thought she was chewing
slowly and making it last, but it was gone at once, gone before he was half done. He did not even eat the bread. She looked at him uneasily. He was pale, but the haggard look was mostly unshaven beard. His expression was not strained. In fact he looked easy and contented, gazing off among the trees. Evidently feeling her gaze on him, he looked round at her. “You work, or go to school, or what?” he asked.
slowly and making it last, but it was gone at once, gone before he was half done. He did not even eat the bread. She looked at him uneasily. He was pale, but the haggard look was mostly unshaven beard. His expression was not strained. In fact he looked easy and contented, gazing off among the trees. Evidently feeling her gaze on him, he looked round at her. “You work, or go to school, or what?” he asked.
At first the question seemed crazy, senseless, she could not answer it, here lost on the dragon’s mountain. Then the impulse that had moved him asserted itself in her, and she saw nothing strange in what he asked. “I work. Mott and Zerming. I’m an errandperson.”
“A who?”
“An errandperson. They have all these affiliates and subsidiaries in town, and a whole lot of correspondence and memos and a lot of blueprints and stuff—they’re partly in engineering—and it pays them to use people to carry it around to the different offices instead of using the mail. It’s a pretty big outfit. But they’re still local and Mr. Zerming still pretty much runs it. He likes to use people who have their own car. But I get all my gas free.”
“That’s crazy,” he said approvingly. “So you drive around all the time?”
“Some of it’s easier to do on foot, the downtown offices. Or use the bus. Some days it’s all driving. It’s kind of weird. I like it because of being on my own and sort of doing it my own way. I hate doing things when somebody else says how to.”
“Trouble with most jobs.”
“The trouble with this one it’s really a kid’s job. Sort of unreal—you know. You never really
do
anything. Go and go and get nowhere.”
do
anything. Go and go and get nowhere.”
“What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t mind this one, you know, it’s all right. Just a job. But I guess what a person really does is different. Ought to be different. Like a farm. Or teaching. Or kids. But I’m not there. You have to have some real dirt and a tractor. Or get a teaching degree or a nursing degree or whatever.”
“You can go to night school at a community college,” he said meditatively. “And work daytime. Starting, anyhow. If …”
“That sounds like something you’ve thought about. Or would you have to go to a special college?”
“What for?”
“Library work, you said.”
He looked at her again, a slow look. “That’s right,” he said, and she knew beyond reason or question that she had recognised something that had been slighted, done something absolutely and permanently right. She did not know what it was, but the effect delighted her. “Crazy,” she said. “All those books. What would you do with them, anyhow?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Read them?”
His smile was purely good-natured. She laughed. Their eyes met, they both looked away. They were silent for a while.
“If I was just sure we were really going east, I would feel so good! … Are you feeling O.K. now?”
“I’m fine.”
He always spoke quietly, but she was aware of the resonance of his voice, muted; a beautiful singing voice, it might be.
“Sore as hell here,” he remarked with some surprise, exploring his left side with a gingerly touch.
“Let me see.”
“It’s all right.”
“Well, let’s see. I thought you moved kind of stiff on that side.”
He tried to pull up his shirt but could not raise his left arm. He unbuttoned the shirt. He was embarrassed, and she tried to act detached, doctorly. At the level of the elbow, on the edge of the ribcage, was a greenish-black spot the size of a coffee-can lid. “My God,” she said.
“What is it?” he asked, apprehensive; he could not see it clearly.
“A bruise, I guess.” She thought of the grip of the sword protruding from the belly of the white creature. Her own body tightened and shrank together at the thought. “From when the—when it fell on you.” All around the livid spot the skin was yellowish, and there were other bruises and discolored streaks running up towards the breastbone. “No wonder it feels sore,” she said. She felt the heat of the bruise on her fingertips before, very lightly, she touched it.
He caught her hand with his. She thought she had hurt him
and looked up into his face. They did not move, she kneeling by him as he sat with one knee drawn up.
and looked up into his face. They did not move, she kneeling by him as he sat with one knee drawn up.
“You told me never touch you,” he said, his voice husky.
“That was before.”
His mouth had softened and slackened, his face was intent, profoundly serious, as she had seen it once before. She had seen on other men’s faces that same mask, that made them all alike, and had hidden her own face. Now unafraid, awed but curious, she watched him, and touched his mouth and the hollow of the temple by the eye as gently as she had touched the black bruise, wanting to know this pain and this desire. He held her to him, but awkwardly and timidly, until she put up both her arms, feeling herself go as soft and quick as water. Then he held her and mounted on her, overcoming; yet her strength held and contained his strength.
As he entered her, as she was entered, they came to climax together, and then lay together, mixed and melded, breast against breast and their breath mingled, until he rose in her again and she closed on him, the long pulse of joy enacting them.
He lay there, eyes shut and head turned aside, three-quarters naked, his jeans pulled down. She touched the long splendid line from hip to throat, looked at the peculiarly innocent, fair silky hair in the pit of his arm. “You’re cold,” she said, and managed to get the red cloak pulled over them as they lay. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his hands trying to describe that beauty in caresses, but without urgency, tenderly, sleepily. He lay with his face against her shoulder.
Half asleep, she saw the unmoving leaves of the hemlocks against the quiet sky. The comfort they gave each other was very great, but it was all the comfort they had. The ground was rough. She felt shivering go through him as he slept. She drew away from him. He protested, saying her name, relapsing for a minute into sleep.
She pulled on her clothes, shivering a bit herself, and as he roused she got him to wear the leather coat, which had finally got fairly dry, and the cloak on top of that. “It’s shock that makes you feel cold,” she said.
“The shock of what?” he asked with a placid smile.
“Shut up. It does make you cold—shock from injury.”
“I think we figured out how to get warm.”
“Yes, all right, but we can’t get to the gateway by lying here and screwing, Hugh.”
“I don’t know if we can get there by standing up and walking,” he said. “At least we can enjoy the rest stops,” he added, and then looked at her to make sure he had not hurt her feelings or offended against modesty. His own modesty, his vulnerability, were entirely admirable to her. She was much cruder than he was, she thought, and if he judged her he must disapprove; but he did not judge her. He did not come to her with judgments, or with a place for her or a name or a use for her. He came with nothing at all but strength and need.
He was looking at her. He said, “Irena, you know, that was the best thing that ever happened to met.”
She nodded, unable to answer.
“I suppose we ought to go on,” he said. He felt his left side with a thoughtful and disgusted expression. “Wish that would wear off.”
Other books
Cold Shoulder by Lynda La Plante
The Leopard King by Ann Aguirre
The Escape by Teyla Branton
The Watchtower by Lee Carroll
Rest Thy Head by Elaine Cantrell
Blood Secret by Kathryn Lasky
12 Borrowing Trouble by Becky McGraw
Great Sex Secret by Kim Marshall
Once Upon a Highland Summer by Lecia Cornwall
The Party Girl's Invitation by Karen Elaine Campbell