Mythology 101 (20 page)

***

Chapter 29

Jubilant, Keith set out the next morning with his head full of plans for legitimizing the Alfheim Scholarship. The Elf Master would surely like Diane, and then she wouldn’t have to leave the University next year. It was a perfect solution. He whistled a tune to the birds perched in the thorn bushes. What a perfect day. If it hadn’t been for his problems with the IRS, Carl, and the Historical Society, the world would have seemed perfect to Keith.

He crossed the campus, cutting behind the cafeteria annex of Power Hall, and headed for the entrance. Absently, Keith ducked a fast Frisbee game that was going on in the sunshine right under the windows of the Food Service office. His mind was deeply concerned with how to sell enough Hollow Tree merchandise to make up for the hole in the bank account that Diane’s tuition would leave. They needed another good idea for new product. Keith knew there was a goodly balance of cash building up, but a bad month could kill their advantage. Catra still complained that they weren’t making money fast enough. For a culture that never used money, they sure took to the concept in a hurry.

“Keith Doyle?” asked a man’s voice from behind him. “Keith Doyle of Hollow Tree Industries?”

“Yeah?” Keith answered, turning around.

He caught a brief glimpse of huge meaty arms just before his back was slammed painfully into a shadowed corner of the dorm wall.

Keith looked wildly at the two burly thugs holding him and at the mustachioed man in the neatly tailored spring suit behind them. Standing away at a respectful distance was a middle-aged policeman in uniform. “Who are you? What do you want?” Neither of his guards spoke. The tailored suit gave him a fierce white-toothed smile that made Keith very uneasy.

“I’m Victor Lewandowski. I’m the president of the Local #541. I’ve seen your goods. Nice stuff. But there’s something missing from your stock. No union label.”

“Union?” Keith asked. “I don’t have to put union labels on merchandise to sell it.”

“If it’s made in this state it does. This is a closed-shop state. That means your employees have to belong to a union. I want a list of your workers so we can make sure they’re getting fair representation.”

“No! I mean, I don’t have any employees. I make some of it and I sell stuff on consignment for friends.” Keith squirmed uncomfortably in the grip of the two men and watched hopefully over their shoulders for anyone he knew. Maybe he could telegraph S.O.S. with his eyebrows or something. The cop, who was standing with his thumbs hooked into his belt, looked sympathetic but stayed neutral.

“I don’t believe you. You got stuff in maybe twenty stores. You restock quickly. Nobody’s got that many friends.” He nodded to his henchmen, who dragged Keith a few inches away from the brickwork then dashed him back against it. Keith wheezed, the air knocked painfully out of him. Lewandowski waved the policeman over, who unbuttoned the upper right hand breast pocket on his uniform shirt and drew from it a paper which he unfolded and handed to Keith.

The man on Keith’s left let go of his arm enough for him to bend it toward the policeman and take the paper.

“This is a court notice signed by Judge Arendson, ordering you to release to me a list of the names and addresses of all persons working for you, doing business under the name Hollow Tree Industries,” Lewandowski said. “If you refuse you will be considered in contempt of court. You understand?”

Keith nodded weakly.

“Good.” The union boss raised an eyebrow and the two men let go of Keith. “I’ll expect to hear from you. My people will be keeping an eye on you. Just remember that. You look worried.” Lewandowski smiled his shark’s grin again. “You shouldn’t be. Just cooperate with us, and we’ll cooperate with you.”

They left him clutching the paper in the shadows.

O O O

Keith spent a good part of the day in the college computer center studying the Illinois Business Statutes on unions and coaxing the school’s mainframe computer through its graphics program. He wondered if he should tell anyone about the union men. The Little Folk were already worried about the proposed demolition and the mysterious magazine articles being published. The thought of anyone else snooping around would likely be too much for them.

“I’ve gotta tell Holl anyway,” Keith resolved, typing furiously. “And the Master. They’ll have some ideas on how to deal with it.”

After a few hours’ work, he was able to produce some realistic looking forms on a laser printer that bore a reasonable resemblance to the handful of scholarship applications he had picked up that morning at the Guidance Center. “ALFHEIM SCHOLARSHIP,” the letterhead announced proudly. Keith blew the computer a kiss and tucked two copies of each page into his briefcase.

Diane met him that afternoon in a classroom on the 10th level of the library and filled them out. She was excited about meeting the mysterious Mr. Alfheim. “It’s such a great scholarship. I wonder why I never heard of it before.”

“You’re not a mythology major,” Keith pointed out. While she was writing he read over her shoulder. “Londen, Diane G. What’s the G for?”

“Grace,” she explained, “and boy, were my parents wrong.”

“No,” Keith assured her. “They were right. You’re beautiful. And graceful.”

“But look at me,” she said with a nervous giggle. “I’m so nervous I’m trembling. Look at my hand.” She held it up for Keith’s inspection.

“You’ll be fine,” Keith assured her, sidling around the table and sitting down across from her. He kissed the hand, unsuccessfully avoiding the point of her pen. “Mr. Alfheim will like you, I’m positive. You have the recommendation?”

She giggled, and leaned over to wipe his face with a Kleenex. “You have a blue spot on your cheek. Yes, I’ve got it right here. Mr. Frazier didn’t know what I was talking about, but he gave it to me. You’re sure you have your facts right? Mr. Alfheim is coming here? Today?”

Keith nodded. “Absolutely.”

“But
why
is he here? I haven’t even applied yet.”

“Oh, he’s here to interview me,” Keith said, watching out the door for the Master. “I’m an applicant too. You’ll have to hurry. I don’t know when he’ll get here.”

Diane slapped her pen down. “
You’re
applying? Then I won’t. I’m sure you need the money as badly as I do.”

“
No
!” Keith whirled back to her. “If you don’t get it you won’t be back next fall. It’s okay; I’m really in better shape.” For several seconds they just stood there.

Diane blushed and reached out to touch his hand. “I didn’t know it meant that much to you.”

“Um … I guess it does.” He squeezed her fingers and leaned across the table to kiss her. She didn’t protest, but she did lean forward, eyes closing, until their lips touched, joined. Keith felt skyrockets going off in his head.

After a little while, Diane giggled. “Your mustache tickles.” She opened her eyes, fingers tracing his upper lip. “That’s funny. You don’t have one. Must have been your hair.…”

“Ahem!” said a voice from behind him. Surprised, Keith jumped to his feet. Diane did the same. The Elf Master stood in the doorway, looking as uncomfortable as Keith had ever seen him. The little teacher was wearing a grey pin-striped suit, white shirt, tie, shiny black shoes, and a fedora. His lips were pressed together. Keith stared, his own lips quivering with amusement.

“Mr. Alfheim, I presume?” he said with the utmost control, when he recovered his voice. If I laugh, he thought, he’ll kill me.

O O O

“Zo, Mees Londen, tell me about yourself.” The Master was making himself comfortable. With his air of confidence, it didn’t matter that his feet couldn’t quite touch the ground from the seat of the old padded armchair. Diane didn’t notice. Her eyes were fixed on his.

“Well, I’m from Michigan. I’m the eldest of four children, all girls. My father works for Ford. I’m majoring in the Health Sciences. I have a GPA of 3.47 on a four point scale.” At that point, her confidence broke down, and she appealed to the Master. “I don’t know what else you want to know.”

“What do you think?”

“Well … I was fascinated by the customs that evolve in primitive cultures which bring out their hopes of life after death, and how little a person changes even though he no longer has a corporeal body.”

“Yes, although it is said …” The Master began, but Diane never slowed down enough to let him speak.

“And in the Hawaiian myth of the tree with fragile branches, that only an old spirit can attain the journey’s end obviously shows that they didn’t believe any death brings wisdom to anyone but those who died of old age.”

“I do not believe so. In
The Masks of God
by …”

“Joseph Campbell. Yes, that’s where I read it. It’s really deep stuff. And I’ve read Bulfinch, and all the Avenel books, but my …” It was the little teacher’s turn to interrupt.

“How interesting that you have gone into so much depth,” he said gently, “but I am asking about you.”

Diane seemed flummoxed by his question, and Keith came to the rescue.

“I think, Mr. Alfheim, that she is demonstrating her knowledge of the subject. For the mythology scholarship. Isn’t that what you want to hear?” Keith prompted him.

“No.” The Elf Master coolly stared Keith down. “I vish to hear about her, personally. Mythology does not change over the centuries. It is only added to and interpreted. Your turn to speak will come next.” He turned back to Diane.

“Well, I’ve filled out the forms. And here’s the recommendation from my mythology professor.” She handed them over to the Elf Master who gave them a cursory glance, and laid them aside.

“What brings you to Midvestern?” he inquired.

“It is the best school in the country for my major. I love to cook, and I was good in Chemistry. It seemed logical to combine the two in my career.”

“Yes, that smacks of logic,” the Master nodded approvingly. “To combine vocation vith avocation. But how do you plan to extend your education through the study of mythology?”

Diane noticed Keith watching her, and was suddenly conscience-stricken. “Look, here, Mr. Alfheim, I feel bad. I’ve been talking about myself, and Keith is really the applicant. I just found out about the scholarship yesterday. It’s him you should concentrate on.”

“You are qvite right, Mees Londen. But soon. Meester Doyle, von’t you excuse us?”

Keith didn’t want to go, but the Elf Master peered at him over the rims of his gold glasses, and he remembered that this was supposed to be the first time they had met. Clearing his throat, Keith stood up. “I’ll be in the next room if you want me.”

Forty-five minutes later, the door opened.

“Meester Doyle, come in here, please?” The Elf Master gestured him in. “No, don’t leave, Mees Londen. You may find this interesting and instructive.”

“Yes, sir.” Obediently, she sat, hands folded nervously before her while the Elf Master enjoyed himself, grilling Keith on his fund of mythical knowledge.

O O O

Keith spent the next half-hour having his brain turned inside out on every facet of mythology that he had ever heard of, and a lot that he hadn’t. The Elf Master solemnly corrected him on minor points, shook his head sadly at mistakes on major ones, and penciled little notes on the back of Keith’s carefully forged forms. Keith was frustrated, because he wanted to be alone with the Elf Master long enough to tell him about the union organizers and ask his advice.

At last, after Keith had reached a state of unbearable discomfort, the impromptu oral exam came to an end.

“I haf heard enough!” the Elf Master announced, folding the papers and putting them in his pocket. “Meester Doyle, it was most enjoyable talking to you. Mees Londen,” he stood up and took her hand, “you are a charming young lady. I approve you.”

“Does that mean you’re giving me the scholarship?” Diane asked hopefully, standing up to shake hands, and found herself towering substantially above the head of her benefactor. He appeared not to observe the discrepancy in their heights. Keith stood up, too, towering over them both.

“Yes. That is precisely vhat I do mean.”

“Oh, thank you.… Oh, Keith, I’m so sorry!” Diane rushed over to console him, and turned back to the Master to explain. “I mean I’m grateful, but I’m sorry for him, too.”

Keith made a show of looking disappointed. “Uh, yeah, that’s too bad,” as Diane expended sympathy on him, but inwardly he was cheering. The Elf Master hmmmphed to himself as he went out the door. “Caught in your own net,” he said over his shoulder to the room at large. Diane threw her arms around Keith and the door closed on them.

***

Chapter 30

When at last he was able to seek the Master out to ask his advice, the red-haired teacher nodded solemnly at Keith’s caution.

“You vere correct not to announce this generally. Very vise. Mit care, it should not become necessary to alarm the others.”

“But vhat … I mean, what do I do?” Keith pleaded.

“My suggestion is that you obtain legal advice. There is nothing you can do to discourage them by yourself. Call a counselor. Yours is not an isolated case. There must be legal recourse.”

O O O

The ad in the Yellow Pages pinpointed attorney Clint Orczas as a labor relations specialist. Keith had no trouble getting an appointment to discuss his problem.

“No fee for consultation,” Orczas said cheerfully, showing Keith into a handsome walnut paneled room lined with thick books. He had smooth dark hair slicked back over his forehead, and smooth, swarthy skin. “I don’t start charging until after we decide if you need me.” He gestured to a deep leather chair and sat down at a shiny black onyx-topped desk, tenting his fingers.

“Thanks,” Keith said. “Because I don’t have a whole lot of money.”

Orczas spread his hands. “Who does? Please, tell me your story.”

Keith described his encounter with the union organizers and handed him the court order. Orczas examined the signature closely and put the paper down with a sigh.

“That’s Arendson, all right. I’ve seen a lot of these in my day. What they’re doing is considered legally questionable, but it takes a long time and a lot of courtroom gymnastics to fight.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“I know,” the lawyer said solemnly. “But there’s a loophole that keeps allowing such abuses to go on. Ideally, you know, these unions defend the rights of their members.”

“Can you help me?” Keith asked.

“Well, probably not. Some of these cases take up to three years to resolve. By then, a lot of the businesses go under. I would have to ask you for a $5,000 retainer just to get going. It could cost as much as ten to twenty thousand dollars more.”

Keith blanched. “I can’t afford that, not in a million years. So what can I do?”

“Free advice,” Orczas said, handing back the court order. “You have two choices: beat ’em or join ’em. I’m sorry.”

O O O

“It’s not my day,” Keith complained to Rick as they sat in the first Inter-Hall Council meeting of the new year. “Well, it started out being my day, but it isn’t now.”

“Probably someone else’s day. Try the lost and found,” Rick said off-handedly while taking a huge handful of potato chips out of a bag they were sharing. “No, it’s Groundhog Day. That’s your trouble.” He stuffed the chips into his mouth and reached for more.

The Council was engaged in a huge fight over the parking lot distribution. Keith and Rick weren’t interested, and were watching the bloodshed with glee. To Keith’s relief, Rick had forgiven him for turning his coat at the fall meeting, and now offered to back him up on reversing the vote. “You understand it’s because I don’t really care, don’t you? ’Cause if I cared a damn about the library or the gym, I’d probably have broken your nose for screwing around like that.” Keith took a handful of chips and crunched them one by one.

Carl, as usual, was in the thick of the argument. Keith hadn’t seen much of him since Marcy had started going out with Enoch, which suited him fine. Nothing new was being proposed during the debate by either side. It seemed to go nowhere. To Keith it confirmed all the worst and most humorous theories about committees. Instead, he sat back in his desk and thought about Diane. He called up before him her face and figure, and the sound of her voice, her laugh as he bashed himself against the door.

“Thank you, delegates,” Lloyd Patterson said, finally getting the contenders back to their sides of the room. “We’ll take a vote on that. Now, all in favor…?”

More arguing. Keith wondered what he should do about the list the union man wanted. The last thing he wanted was to have attention drawn to the elves in any way. They were paranoid, and with reason. He was very proud of the trust they had in him. He liked them all, even the ones that didn’t like him. They had so much character, if that was the word he meant. They seemed more real than the other people with whom he interacted every day. He wished that the first thing he had ever done that they’d heard about wasn’t a speech advocating tearing down their house.

“Okay,” the chairman said, standing up. “The vote is about evenly split. No clear majority. We’ll have to get votes from the members in absentia. You know who they are. Tell ’em to get in touch with me. Any other old business?”

Keith was on his feet, arm in the air. “Doyle, Power Hall.”

“Chair recognizes Doyle.”

“Regarding the new library project?”

Patterson raised an eyebrow at him. “Something new, I hope, Doyle?”

“I would like to move that the previous ballot be set aside and the vote taken again on the measure.”

“On what grounds?”

“Well,” Keith urged, as if it was obvious. “In light of the interest shown in Gillington Library by the Historical Society, I think we have to hold off on any action for when they come through. Nobody’s interested in preserving the old gym building, so we could approve that one right away.”

“I see. Has the Society sent any guarantee of its protected status yet? We don’t want the old dud standing in place of progress if there isn’t a guarantee that they want to declare it a monument.”

“No,” Keith admitted. “I’ve been phoning, but they haven’t returned my calls.” The last time he had tried, he been handed the runaround by a secretary who tried to convince him the Director was in a meeting, when Keith was sure the guy must only be out to lunch. The delegates weren’t impressed. A few of them heckled Keith, calling for him to sit down. He tried again to make them see sense. “Look, wouldn’t you feel really stupid if we tore down Gillington just as they declared protected status for it?”

Lloyd asked him in a bored voice, “Do you move for a second vote?”

“Yes.”

“Seconded,” said Carl Mueller, standing up. Keith was gratified until he saw the look in Carl’s eye. The big student wasn’t doing it for him. He wondered who Carl was doing it for, and why.

“Fine. Vernita, call the roll.”

O O O

In a few moments, it was all over, again. The Inter-Hall council, with the exception of Rick, now loudly in favor of the new gym along with Keith, voted precisely the same way it had the last time. Keith felt cast down. Lloyd Patterson acknowledged the count, and ordered it noted for the minutes.

“You might also be interested to know that the other voting bodies in the University are split on the subject,” he said. “I’m proud to say that we will cast the tie-breaking vote when our delegation joins the Administrative council this spring. Movement to adjourn?”

Keith left feeling lower than before. He went out the rest of that week to canvass the rest of his customers for February orders and the January receipts. Diane was working, so it seemed the most useful thing he could do with his time.

O O O

Among the Little Folk, the real estate frenzy was on. Over the weekend Keith took out three tours of little people, and all of them insisted he pass by the same piece of property he and the other two elves had found: the forested plot with the house on the hill and the stream flowing through. The place just cried out “privacy,” surrounded as it was by fields with pale blonde rows of winter wheat showing on them and a nature preserve on one side, and the river on another, and more forests and hilly fields all around. There was a tinkling little cascade from the tributary as it fell into the icy waterway, sort of a miniature waterfall, and everyone stopped for a longing stare. Keith had to admit that it would be a perfect place for the elves to live. They never saw anyone in the house or on the road, so no one remarked on Keith’s repeated presence.

A few of the older ones, openly enjoying their trip, mellowed by the wintry sunshine, forgave Keith for his recklessness, understanding now that he had been acting from ignorance, and that he was trying to amend his mistake. The collie was back during his third run, panting at them in red-tongued good humor, his breath clouding in the cold air. Keith waved out the window at it, and it barked playfully at him.

Curran, Keva and a few of the others sat huddled in the back seat for the last trip on Sunday. They had issued bitter complaints to Keith about having to hide under the tarpaulin on the trip out of town. Wisely, he put their ire down to nervousness at riding in an automobile and ignored it. Other than gripes, they were stonily silent all the way out to the rural roads, until he began to drive past the farms. Some of the old ones, who remembered having their own animals and fields, chatted among themselves in wistful undertones, too low for Keith to overhear. They never spoke directly to him.

At odd moments, he called out a sort of running travelogue, telling his passengers where they were, how many people lived in this or that town, and inquired whether or not anyone needed him to stop. There were no replies to his pleasantries. He felt as though he was talking to himself. He resented that he was no more than a taxi driver until he looked in the rearview mirror at the back seat. All of the oldsters were quiet, and one of the old ladies was weeping into a corner of her apron. Keith was touched and a little embarrassed for his now-evaporated ire. Turning back toward home, he found that he was feeling sorry for the people who had lived for forty years in a concrete cellar.

O O O

Holl was waiting just outside the wall when Keith rolled up. The old ones debarked, and Holl rode with Keith to the parking lot. “You look as though some conversation would be welcome,” he told Keith.

“Hello!” Keith said, rubbing his ears. “Is that a voice? I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going deaf. I haven’t heard so much silent disapproval since I was in fifth grade math class.”

With a nod, Holl studied the snow-covered street, pawed the puddled slush with his toe. “Those others can be trying. Come back with me. We’ll have a drink. There’s something I wish you to see.”

“Oh, no,” Keith said, remembering the little old lady and her quiet tears. He didn’t feel equipped to deal with more emotions. “Thanks anyway.”

“I insist,” Holl stated. “You need one.”

O O O

In a short while, they were seated around one of the long tables in the dining chamber with cups of spiced cider. Keith was pleased to accept one that held about eight ounces, and had evidently been made particularly with him in mind, being about half again larger than the one Holl held. He fingered the carving, which showed Holl’s favorite ivy pattern.

“It’s a gift to you,” Holl asserted. “It will wait in a place of honor until each time you come to drink with us. You’re popular. They talk about nothing else than their outings, leaving us younger ones to work on woodcrafts. I thought this last group would be the hardest, but there’s those of us who don’t want you to go away with a sour taste.”

“Not after this stuff.” Keith turned the cup around approvingly. “It’s very smooth. Not too strong, is it?”

“It’s between weak and strong,” Holl admitted. “Home pressed. You’ve been past that place again?” Keith knew which one he meant.

“Three times today.”

“We’ve kept up with the real estate news. The very size of the numbers in each advertisement have us all scared.”

“I know.” Keith sipped his cider. “Me, too. I haven’t got a hope to get a mortgage for you while I’m still in college. I don’t know what else to do.”

“That’s for later. For now, we have an order to make of power tools,” Holl said. “How shall we get them?”

“Where are you ordering them from?” Keith asked.

“Martin Tools. The address is Little Falls.”

“That’s just down the street,” Keith told him. “It’s a suburb of this town. Why don’t I just pick them up?”

“That will do nicely,” Holl nodded, refilling their cups. “You are very good to us. The Master has told me about the nosy men from the union. If we can do anything to help you avoid them, let us know.”

“I will,” Keith said fervently, remembering the rough hands of the president’s henchmen.

“I have a theoretical case to put you,” Holl continued. “What would you do if you liked something that was plainly out of your financial reach?” Holl peered at him. “Speaking theoretically, that is.”

“Oh, I don’t know. If it was that far away, I’d kiss it goodbye.”

“But if you truly wanted to have it, come what may?” Holl pressed him. “A very attractive purchase, one that many people would want to possess as well. If it meant everything to you.”

“I’d see if the owner would take a down payment,” Keith said promptly, joining in the spirit of Holl’s question, and trying to imagine a
thing
of his dreams, something that would tempt even the thrifty Holl. “Before anyone else could sweep it out from under me. I could secure it that way, and then I’d figure out some way to take out a loan. Sell the family jewels. Steal candy from babies.”

“Ah.” Holl said meditatively. “The elders think down payments are too modern. In their day, as they are so fond of telling me, you bought only what you could pay for on the spot with cash, truck or hard work.”

“Things were cheaper in their day,” Keith moaned. “Now trying to pay up all at once takes a miracle.”

O O O

The phone rang and rang at the Historical Society office. Keith counted sixteen burrs before the secretary picked it up. “Hello, Historical Society.”

“Hello? My name’s Keith Doyle and I just want to know.…”

“Just a moment please,” she said pleasantly, and put her hand over the phone. Her mouth twisted sourly. “Chuck, it’s that kid again.”

Charles Eddy, director of the Midwestern Illinois Historical Society, barely looked up from the Chicago Tribune crossword puzzle he was doing. “He must think this office is full of self-righteous little old ladies running around inspecting houses. We haven’t made the decision yet. I don’t know when we’re making the inspection on which the decision will be based. Other matters take priority.” What Eddy meant was when the inspector came back from vacation, and when the departmental Buick was back from the shop, but the secretary couldn’t say that, and she knew it.