Mystical Tales of Romance Page 9

women. They show some success, so it attracts a growing audience.”

  Becky decided she needed to zero in on this aspect of Rod’s blog posts. She might as well know what to expect if she was committed to finding out if Rod had, or was in any way likely to have, any real interest in her. So after lunch, it was the first thing she attacked in the Internet search engines.

  That’s when she discovered Rod was a widower.

  Of course, any man worth having was probably married at some time or other. Any man worth keeping usually stayed married, but this explained why Rod seemed single. His personnel folder said “single,” but everyone knew that meant whatever the subject told some human resource bureaucrat. All it meant was not claiming any benefits from being married, none of which applied to Rod’s contract in the first place. Becky noticed he had worn a ring once on his left hand, with that unmistakable imprint in the flesh.

  But there, in all its glory, was an epitaph he wrote for his wife. How could Becky describe something so short, yet so full of meaning; something so deep and emotional, yet so full of life and quiet, dry-eyed resolve? How do people write such things? There were no pictures and Becky wasn’t sure they would mean anything to her if there were.

  And unless she was more hopelessly lost than ever, she finally understood. Unless Rod was the ultimate deceiver, he loved and cared for his first wife like no one else on this earth. But he always thought of her as a loan from God, the most valuable tangible element in this world useful to him. She was his best friend and partner in searching for truth, but whatever it was that took her life placed her far closer to that truth than he could ever hope to see in this life. He missed her, but she was better off where she was. He longed to see her again, but had to finish his mission.

  Then, at the very end, he seemed to say he would keep his promise to her and not try to finish the mission alone, but someday find a successor for her.

  Rod was an alien, though it had nothing to do with silly science fiction stories. Whatever he was, Becky wanted to be that. She decided didn’t much care about this world either, wasn’t too awfully thrilled about her experience with it so far. She knew instinctively there had to be something better, but all the answers thrown at her so far were manifestly false, in one way or another. Rod didn’t pretend to have any answers, just a plan to pass on through to some other place, some other kind of place. Madness or not, it made better sense than anything she had seen. It wasn’t religion, but so obviously, self-consciously spiritual, she had to know more.

  9

  Absently, she checked her email. Rod had replied from wherever it was he had gone that day.

  Becky, Thanks for the affirmation. I’ll be glad to meet with you whenever and wherever you feel comfortable, if you can catch me.

  There wasn’t that much housing close to the installation, so most people assigned here took one of the rooms that Facilities Management had converted to living space. In the typical fashion of government planning and multiple changing missions, none of which were actually any different, just an excuse for someone to make a name by shuffling things around, all of the buildings remained in use. You could guess how some offices had been turned into residential space and vice versa. Some buildings probably were both and neither, maybe some sort of equipment maintenance or class space. Right now, it was all office and housing with a cafeteria, gym and motor pool.

  Becky had accepted one of the rooms in the women’s dorm, next door to the gym. Rod’s room was at the top of the tallest building on one end of the odd-shaped fence line surrounding the installation. The two floors below were offices. The other rooms on his floor were used for storage and some infamous liaisons. Eventually there was a game room and TV room, thanks in part to her. Some half-dozen rooms on the far end from Rod’s were used as guest accommodations.

  From almost any place on the installation, once darkness fell, she could turn a look at the building and see if his lights were on. While the frantic spinning in her mind had now turned into a manageable resolve to make whatever changes were already written in the sand of time ahead of her, it didn’t calm her sense of urgency to see him ASAP. So she kept visually checking while she went about her routine.

  The lights did come on in that end room at some point. She waited as long as she could, hoping he could catch his breath or whatever. With her hair still damp from the evening aerobics session in the gym, and flowing in the evening breeze, she walked to the stairway entrance under his quarters. The few people who crossed her path on the way recognized her, of course. That was her job. A few greeted her, but most were absorbed in their own affairs, just like her.

  It was cool this time of year, but this place as seldom cold. Yet, it was almost always dampish. Her long dark hair cooled, but kept the air off her neck. They were moderately thick tresses. During the day, she usually had it rolled up behind her head, and quite often the same after hours. With it down, flowing free, she got a compliment from the old security guard she passed. He had told her long ago, and repeatedly, that she should let it fall more often because it made the most of her natural looks. Suddenly, she believed it, didn’t dismiss it as mere flirtation of one kind or another. For the first time in ages, it mattered.

  Without hesitation, she opened the door and began climbing the stairs. The pleasant thrum of her leg muscles from the workout actually became a bit sore by the third floor.

  She looked down the hall. Light was flickering from the TV room, but it wasn’t too loud. The game room was dark. Two other rooms were lit farther down. She turned and knocked on the door of Rod’s room. Holding her hands behind her back, she tilted her head to one side and slouched ever so slightly. There was the sound of a chair sliding, light footsteps and the door opened.

  She smiled. Some part of her hoped it was her best look, because there was no turning back now.

  “Becky. What a nice surprise. Please, come in.”

  He left the door standing open, pulled up a chair for her on one side of the opening, and then grabbed his own and slid it over to face her, but backward. He then straddled it, facing her over the back of the chair. There was more than enough symbolism in talking to her in front of an open door. She decided not to worry over any possible meaning in his posture as he rested his hands on the back of the chair and offered a half smile. “What’s up?”

  10

  She smiled because she could afford it. This time, she had been able to consider the shape of her questions and didn’t lose them in her own discomfort, so she skipped the introductory chatter. “I read parts of your old blog. You made reference to the ‘manosphere.’ On the one hand, you seem to agree with the basic ideas. At the same time, you seemed to renounce most of it as too selfish. I know you hold some underlying logic, but I can’t follow it.”

  He actually grinned this time, showing her something she had not yet seen. Shifting his weight, he held out his hands. “The facts of human nature are visible to anyone who is willing to set aside cultural mythology. What you do with that is a separate question. Most of those writers are still stuck in their own Western biases, so they use the facts of human nature in a Western fashion. They are trading one package of mythology for a different one which is only slightly better. They still want what shallow and materialistic men have always wanted, but now they are simply better at getting it.”

  She gazed at her hands for a moment, folded together in her lap. She looked up. “A half-truth is still a lie. So these guys are standing taller while still stuck in the mud.”

  He almost laughed. “Very well put!”

  She interrupted with, “I stole that from a friend who is very literate.”

  “Sounds like he can afford to throw a lot of such treasures around. How fortunate for you; I’d like to meet this friend some day.”

  “He works in Finance. I’ll introduce you sometime. Right now, I still want to catch the vision you were trying to promote. I don’t feature myself a feminist, but some of your blog posts almost sounded offensive.”


  His smile hardly faded. “It’s only insulting if you cling to the myths. Frankly, I’d be surprised if you could escape them easily, they’re so ubiquitous and overwhelming. Much as we might wish to wipe away the curse of the Fall, modern feminist assumptions can’t change what we are and what makes us tick. It serves no purpose to demand rights and fairness that God says are not possible. There is joy and wonder aplenty left over once we get used to reality.”

  She crossed her arms. “I remember that. On the one hand we are wired in ways our world refuses to understand, but then you seem to suggest there are ways to fight the curse.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “The curse is not our human fallibility, but our blindness to it. Talking about the facts of our broken nature is not meant to discourage us, to have us wallowing in our sin, but to recognize the real options for escaping the worst effects. Fighting all the huge social disasters that arise from sexual ignorance is not about better sex, though it will surely bring that. It’s about putting sex in its proper place. It’s not a goal in itself, but a celebration of something much more important between two people. The manosphere virtually ignores the meaning of a lifetime partnership in mission, and chatters endlessly about how to have a hot sex life. Despite lip service to