Jitterbug Perfume (23 page)

"Yes? Go on," urged Alobar.

"What, Pan? Remember what?" asked Kudra.

It was no use. Pan had finished speaking and would say no more. Nor would he sniff at himself again, for, incredibly, his native odor had peeled away the perfume that masked it; had slowly burned through the potent excess of patchouli like a sunray blazing its way through a purple fog, and now, after less than an hour of suppression, the goat gas—that chloride compound of barnyard and bedroom—was boiling again, filling the grotto with a sleazy vapor, a steam to press a rooster's pants.

With the return of Pan's stink, there came renewed mischief in his eyes. When he scampered to the cave to fetch his pipes, Kudra and Alobar began hastily to dress. "We have a long journey ahead of us," they explained, and with a curious mixture of relief and regret, they bade their divine host a fast farewell.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the pasture, where they stopped to catch their breath after the rigorous descent. There, sitting against the base of the cliff, sequins of sweat sewn to their brows, they regarded one another as pilgrims—or survivors—do. Kudra folded her hands over her uterus, where some very strange little swimmers had recently drowned. Alobar issued a sigh that was shaped like a funnel: a full quart of beet juice could have been poured through it.

"We shan't forget him for a, time," said Alobar.

"We shan't forget him, ever."

"Then you weren't disappointed?"

"You mean disappointed that he wasn't more like Krishna? Not in the end, I wasn't." If Kudra was aware of her pun, she failed to betray it. "The only disappointment I feel is in his reticence to advise us."

"He is Pan. He doth not give advice." At that, Kudra jumped, and so did Alobar, for it was a third party that had said it. The voice, which came from the bushes just above them, was soft and nonthreatening, and in a moment the branches parted, revealing a woman, as bare-assed as butter. Alobar recognized her as the elder—perhaps the leader—of the nymphs; the one who had addressed him on serious matters the last time he was in that neck of the woods.

"Pardon me, my lady, my gentleman, for following thee."

"Pardon granted," said Alobar, "although you did give us a start. Kudra, may I present ..."

"Lalo," she said, "sister of Echo whose voice, alas, thou nearest repeating thee in all hollow places. Lalo. I only wanted to thank thee for thy visit to Pan. It brought him cheer at a time when his cheer is in short supply."

"Really?" asked Kudra. "From the way he greeted us at the beginning and dismissed us at parting, he did not strike me as overjoyed by our presence."

"He is Pan," said Lalo rather sharply. "Didst thou expect him to bow and kiss thy hand?"

Kudra blushed. Alobar extended his arm to assist Lalo down onto flat ground. The nymph was not quite as nimble as she once had been. "How grave is Pan's condition?" asked Alobar. "Surely he shan't succumb. Pan is in this land, in its "crags, in its cataracts, its winds, its meadows, its hidden places, he can never go from the land, he will be here always, as long as the land is."

"Two things I wouldst say to thee on that account," responded Lalo. "First, the conclusion that a wise homer— forgive the expression, sir—wouldst draw from Pan's admission that he lives only so long as men believe in him, is that men control the destiny of their gods. Thou mightst even say that men create their gods, as much as gods create men, for as I, untutored oread that I be, understand it, it is a mutual thing. Gods and men create one another, destroy one another, though by different means."

A whistle escaped Kudra's lips. "Could such a thing be? Yes, if lack of man's belief is what is ailing Pan, it must be true."

"A warning!" snapped Lalo, who at that moment sounded more like a Fury than a nymph. "Thou must never wax smug or arrogant about thy influence upon the divine. If thou didst create gods, it was because thou
needest
them. The need must have been very great indeed, to inspire such a complex, difficult, and magnificent undertaking. Now, many art the men who think they no longer needeth Pan. They have created new gods, this Jesus Christ and his alleged papa, and they think that their new creations will suffice, but let me assurest thee that Christ and his father, as important as they may be, are no substitutes for Pan. The need for Pan is still great in humanity, and thou ignoreth it at thy peril.

"That bringeth me to the second thing," Lalo continued. Her deep-set eyes were burning, her wine-red nipples were as erect as toy soldiers. "Thou art correct, Pan doth be in the land, he and the wildwoods art a part of one another, but thou art mistaken when thou implieth that the land doth last eternal. There be a time coming when the land itself be threatened with destruction; the groves, the streams, the very sky, not merely here in Arkadia but wildwoods the world over ..."

"Inconceivable," muttered Alobar.

"If Pan be alloweth to die, if belief in him totally decomposes, then the land, too, wilt die. It wilt be murdered by disrespect, just as Pan is murdered."

Alobar looked around him. In every direction as far as he could see, fierce outcroppings of gray stone, green curves of pasture, uncompromising slopes, spiny shrubs and delicate poppies (unlikely partners in a fling ordered by a reckless breeze), mountains teeming with invisible springs, clouds lying like oatcakes upon the blue tablecloth of sky, all of this seemed so inviolable that he could not entertain the notion of its vulnerability, and he said as much to Lalo.

"Just the same," the nymph answered, "shouldst thee continue to be successful in thy pursuit of long life, thou wilt see it transpire before thine eyes. Thus, I urge thee to protect Pan's dominions and reputations wherever thou mightst go. It be especially thy duty, not merely as a subject of Pan, but because thou, Alobar, art a prime practitioner of individualism, and it wilt be this new idea of individuality that leadeth many future men astray, causing them to feel superior to Pan, and thus to the land, which they wilt set upon to rape and spoil."

A ripple of annoyance like the shock wave from a splat of buzzard guano, zigzagged along Alobar's forehead. "Nymph," he said, puffing himself up like a pigeon, "I do not know if I enjoy you telling me what my duty is."

"Alobar ..." Kudra's tone was meant to be conciliatory.

"Nor would I describe myself as a
subject
of Pan's. As for your attack on individualism ..."

"Good sir, I do not attack thy philosophy. I only warn that it be a dangerous instrument in the unfeeling hands of the foolish and corrupt."

"Please inform me, then," said Alobar sarcastically, holding his stuffy pose, "by what authority a cunt-of-the-woods issues warnings concerning the future. Among your more obvious talents—"

"Alobar!" This time, Kudra's voice was prickly with disapproval.

"—-do you harbor the gift of prophecy?"

"Alas, I cannot make that claim for myself, sir, but ere I romped in Arkadia, I lived for years at Delphi, where I was intimate with the priests and priestesses who served the Oracle, and where I wast privy to much oracular prognosis. Now I can sense that the boldness of my speech hast ruffled thy feathers, nevertheless thou must hear yet another prophetic plea. Certainly thou dost recollect Pan's words to the effect that mankind hast been too puny in his mind and heart and soul to deserve immortality. Yea? And certainly, also, to have conquered age to the extent that thou hast, thou must have done good strengthening work in thine own mind and heart and soul. Someday, however, a thousand years from today, there wilt be men who seek to defeat death by intelligence alone. They wilt combat age and death with potions and the like, medical weapons that their minds have invented, and age and death will shrink back from them and their medicines. Alas, because they fight with reason only, making no advance in the area of soul and heart, true immortality wiltst be denied them. However, they must not be allowed to attain even the false immortality that their mental facility doth gain for them, for huge evil will be conducted if they shouldst. Thus, thou must vow upon this day that shouldst thou be living still when these events transpire, that thou willst battle them and refuseth prosperity to any immortalist thrust that doth not rise from man's soul and heart as well as his mind. Do promise me now."

"I am sorry," said Alobar, "but I cannot do that. Your intentions are good, so therefore 1 shall consider your request, but I do not make promises to just anyone about just anything."

The nymph whirled, intent upon returning to the thickets, but Kudra detained her. "Lalo," she called. "My husband claims, with some justification, to be king over himself, yet this morning he has momentarily lost sovereignty over his masculine pride. While he struggles to regain government over that portion of his kingdom, I wish to offer you my own promise, for what it is worth. It is presumptuous to imagine myself alive a thousand years hence, but should that miracle occur, I will do what I can to satisfy your plea. I promise."

"Thank thee, my lady, I thank thee well. If Pan were aware of these matters, I am sure he wouldst express his gratitude at great length." She winked at Kudra. Kudra winked back. For a second, the two women, the one statuesque and umber, the other petite and rosy, smiled at one another knowingly. Then, as quick as a rabbit (a rabbit with a touch of arthritis), Lalo shot into the bushes and was gone.

Alobar made to speak, but Kudra hushed him. "Look up there," she whispered. High above them, barely visible upon the very pinnacle of the mountain, illuminated in the most resplendent manner by noonday sun, heel and horn almost silver, almost holy; stance jaunty yet solemn, regal yet a bit ridiculous; bearded head held at an angle suggestive both of an affection for the variety of life 'round about it and a suffering as primeval and sharp as the peak itself, stood Pan, reeds to lips, and though they scarcely could hear his tune, they felt it in the greasy stirring of the poppies and the mute breath of the snake that sunned itself on a nearby ledge. They watched him in silence for a while, inexplicable tears in their eyes; then Alobar, assisted, it seems, by sister Echo, yelled up the slope, "Lalo! Lalo! I promise, also! I promise! You have my word word ord ord."

Kudra gave him a sloppy kiss. She took his hand. She clasped the teapot. Off they went, over the pastures, breathing in the circular Bandaloop way, locked in a silence finally broken by Kudra's laughter when Alobar lit up her other shoe.

If wild animals could talk, would they talk like cartoons? Would the dismal swamp resound with shrill, befuddled, childlike voices; a cute choir of cuddly Kermits delivering gentle froggy inanities?

Or would beasts converse in the style of Hemingway, in sentences short, brave, and clear; each word a smooth pebble damp with blood; aboriginal speech, he-man speech, an economy of language borrowed by Gary Cooper from frontiersmen who borrowed it from Apache and Ute?

We ask, "Did you see two people pass this way, a man and a woman, walking north?"

The stag shakes its antlers. "Nope," he says.

"The woman was dark with a ripe body, the man had white in his hair. Sure you didn't spot them?"

"
Yep.
"

"Well, how about you?" we ask a fox. "Have you seen a couple in Byzantine garb heading in the direction of Bohemia?"

The fox is slow to speak. "Tonight I dined on loon at the pond," he says. "It was a good meal. Food has an excellent place in my values. Quiet has an excellent place in my values. The forest has been quiet tonight. It is a good thing being a fox when the forest is quiet."

"We apologize for disturbing your peace, but we're searching for a husband and wife, racially mixed, who may be in sort of a daze because they recently had an audience with Pan—you know what that means—and are either wandering aimlessly through the woodlands trying to figure out what to do next, or else are making their way by the stars to Bohemia, where the man at one time—longer ago than you might imagine—had an important job and a large family. They may have passed this way." We pause hopefully.

"The hunt was good," says the fox. "The moon was right. There was a fresh breeze. A man and a woman would have spooked the loon. What a good thing the forest is when it is left to the fox and the loon."

Is that the way animals would talk?

As it turned out, Alobar and Kudra did pass through that forest, before or after the fox's dinner; did hike, guided by constellations, northward across Serbia, Croatia, and the Kingdom of Hungary, arriving in the summer of 1032 (or thereabouts) in that area where the feudal state of Bohemia bordered the Slavic territories. There was no trace of Alobar's former citadel. It had burned, like much of the ancient world, in the medieval furnace, its ashes swept under the rolling carpet of civilization. Compared to Western Europe, Bohemia and the Slavic territories were still wild and thinly populated, offering many a fox a place to linger over a bit of loon, like some remote animal ancestor of Ernest Hemingway, but even there in the Eastern backwash, the gold-dust twins, Christianity and Commerce, had set up their crooked wheel of fortune.