Chapter 4: Just So

Corky dreamed he was falling.

Slowly he dropped through an endless dark tunnel, drifting helplessly downward. The air was close and humid; the walls, covered in elaborate floral wallpaper, seemed to pulsate about him as if alive. The tunnel seemed to have had previous inhabitants-occasionally he passed coatracks and bookshelves. Once he drifted by a framed needlepoint sampler with the legend "EAT ME".

As he fell, the walls of the shaft narrowed, closing in on him. His headlong tumbling became a slower feet-first descent. And then he heard a distant sound. The moment the muffled, rhythmic noise reached his ears, he knew with a wash of terror what it was. He tried to look down, but was unable to do so. He tried to brake his slow passage, but to no avail. And all the time the enormous teeth gnashed below him, awaiting his arrival.

He woke with a start to find that someone was knocking timidly on the door of his room.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. The quiet knock came again. "Come in, Beatrice," he croaked in a sleep-thickened voice.

Beatrice slowly opened the door, carrying a tray. Corky silently congratulated himself on his cleverness. No other Dalrymple woman would actually await permission before entering a room.

"Mother made you some breakfast," she said, still standing by the door.

"Thank you, Beatrice," he said, sitting up and yawning. "You can put it here."

She carefully placed the tray on the bed, then stepped back again shyly.

He poured himself some tea, sugared it, and took a sip. "Are you going to have some with me?"

"Oh, I already ate!" Beatrice said hastily.

"Well, wo'n't you come sit with me anyway," he suggested.

She stepped over to the bed, and sat, careful not to disturb the tray. There was silence for a moment as he buttered his toast.

"I'm beginning to get used to waking up in pajamas I didn't put on," he ventured at last.

Beatrice blushed and giggled. "I hope not-it was awfully heavy getting you up the stairs."

Corky darkened a bit himself at this image.

After a moment, Beatrice stood. "Well, I suppose I should be going."

"Must you?" Corky pleaded. "It's very good to talk with someone who's kind and gentle after the last couple days."

"Oh, you mustn't say that, Mr. Brandywine! Mother likes you an awful lot, I know she does! And Maggie is very fond of you, too!"

"Beatrice- I'm sure they do, but their manners are, are, are rather exhausting. I feel like I must be on my guard at all times when they're about. And even that doesn't always seem to do much good.

"But you," Corky pleaded, taking one of her hands in his own, "your fine, ladylike manners, your exquisite maidenly modesty!"

Beatrice blushed quite darkly at this, and lowered her eyes. "Mother can be rather forceful," she conceded.

"Rather forceful?" Corky laughed, "She's positively-" he checked himself before saying something potentially tactless. He thought of a replacement phrase and discarded that as well. A third proposal also proved unsuitable under scrutiny. "-she's extremely forceful, " he settled on at last, more from desperation than satisfaction.

"Oh, Mr. Brandywine-" began Beatrice, gazing beseechingly into Corky's eyes.

"William."

"William. I'm so glad that you've come to stay with us. I feel that you- That you and I might-" She stood suddenly.

"I should go."

"But Beatrice-"

"I'll see you this evening, William."

And she was gone.

The instructor gazed at Corky's drawing with narrowed eyes. In careful words, he complimented the subtlety of the shading, the vividness with which he had captured the bowl of fruit that was the day's assignment. Corky got the impression that Mr. MacKenzie was groping toward saying something else. Finally he put the picture down and gazed sharply at Corky's face. "There appears to be an unfortunate degree of continental influence on your current style. Do you catch my meaning, Mr. Brandywine?"

"No, sir. I'm afraid I do'n't."

"These apples," said his instructor, pointing with the mouthpiece of his pipe, "bear a distinct resemblance to the gluteus maximus of a female."

"Sir?"

"The posterior region."

"I, I, I understand, sir,"

"Not so startling in itself. The resemblance has been noted by numerous poets through history, many of them-such as King Solomon-fine, churchgoing men."

"Yes sir."

"But these grapes here, also manage to resemble a sort of cluster of glutei maximi, a homology not suggested in the literature. The oranges, on the other hand, display a resemblance to portions of the female bosom. Do you follow?

Corky was blushing furiously. "I believe I do, sir."

"Perhaps a transposition is occurring," his teacher suggested, stroking his grey beard. "I wonder if, when we move on to figure drawing, you will be submitting studies that resemble great mounds of produce."

"I shall endeavor not to, sir."

"Capital. Why do'n't you take the rest of the day off, Brandywine."

"Sir?"

"I think you may be overtaxing yourself. One's beginning at University is a draining experience. Try to get a little rest."

"Yes sir."

Corky made his way back to the Dalrymple residence, hands deep in his pockets, lost in thought. This was the ideal chance for escape! No-one would be expecting him there-he could slip in and out before his landlady had even noticed his arrival.

But what of Beatrice? Perhaps he could come and visit her afterwards, once he had found more suitable lodging... no, the thought was ridiculous. He would just have to forget about her, as difficult as that might be.

Corky entered the little alley behind the boarding house and tried the door of the back entrance. Fortuitously, it was unlocked. The sound of a piano came from within-apparently Beatrice was practicing again

Corky crept along the corridor, cautious of creaky boards, desperately trying to remember from his previous exploration which doors led where. As he passed the door to the parlor, he noticed that the piano music had stopped. He heard voices and paused to listen.

"What do you have there?" came Maggie's voice.

"Nothing that's any of your concern," Beatrice answered tartly.

"It's a book! What is it? Why wo'n't you show it to me?"

"I told you-it's none of your concern."

"It's a randy book, is'n't it? Who gave it to you? Show it to me, do!"

"Why should I let you see the blasted thing, anyway?" Beatrice demanded.

"So I do'n't tell Momma you said 'blasted, '" her sister retorted.

"Oh, you're incorrigible! Here, take the stupid book."

"'Tales of the Beginning, by Ruddy Kipper'" read Maggie aloud.

Corky heard the rustle of turning pages.

"How Gamahuching Was Discovered" Maggie read. "My, that is saucy. Where did you get it?"

"A schoolmate lent it to me," Beatrice admitted.

"Is it any good?"

"See for yourself, if you're so keen for it!"

"Oh, do'n't be cross, Beatrice. Give me a kiss."

"I do'n't want to give you a kiss."

Oh, don't you!"

Corky heard the sounds of a brief struggle, then a long liquid noise, culminating in a muffled groan from Beatrice.

"You're going to have to struggle more convincingly if you want to fool Mr. Brandywine," Maggie finally said, a little short of breath.

"Mr. Brandywine is a perfect gentleman."

Corky's heart swelled to hear her speaking well of him.

"Mr. Brandywine is-"

Beatrice interrupted. "Now read the story before you make me cross again."

"Very well."

{block} How Gamahuching Was Discovered

Once, long long ago, when the world was young, there dwelt a Man and a Woman, O Best Beloved [Maggie read]. They lived, not in a yurt, and not in a tipi, and not in an igloo or a quinzee, or a bungalow or a cottage, not even in a cave or a crevasse or a cavern, but in a teeny tiny deerhide tent just exactly in the center of the deep dark pine forest at the very beginning of the world

"This is a randy book?" Maggie asked.

"Keep reading." said Beatrice.

And each day, the Man would strike off to the North or the West, and he would hunt and gather and fish, and the Woman would head off to the East or South, and gather and hunt and dig, and at the end of the day they would meet again by their teeny tiny deerhide tent, by a little merry red fire, and share the good food they had found, and tell each other stories of their adventures, and make up tales of what the world was like before the world was made.

And when night fell, they would lie together in the teeny tiny deerhide tent, beneath their deerhide blankets, and the Man would feel the soft warm flesh of his Woman against his body, and know that the world was good.

And he would hold her soft heavy breasts in his big hard hands, and smell the smell of her long tangled black hair against his face. And as she pressed her round warm bottom against his hips, his manhood would thicken and lengthen and harden until it was throbbing with need as it slid between the soft and welcoming cheeks of the Woman's bottom.

And as he pressed his rigid manhood against her back, and nibbled at her soft neck with his sharp teeth, and breathed his hot breath into her ear, as he squeezed her soft breasts in his hard hand, and twined his limbs about hers, her womanhood would warm and swell and moisten until it was throbbing with need.

And when the Man ran his fingers through the thick and tangled hair between her legs to the hot and slippery folds of flesh, and ran his thumb across the hard little center of her desire, the sharp smell of her filled the little deerhide tent, and she raised her bottom from their bed of pine needles. He would kneel behind her, and slide inside, enjoying her heat and wetness, until his hips were against her bottom, until her hot little mouth was full.

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