Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

Whale Mike shared out a second helping of meat. They ate in silence, while Jon Arabin thought hard. Then he said to Drake:'You know this lady, do you?'

'Aye,' said Drake, in a dull voice. 'She won't agree to it, but I've . . . man, I've been in love with her these many years. It was for her I named that bay on Island Tor.'

'What?' said Jon Arabin. 'That was Zanya Bay, wasn't it? Then this must be Zanya herself.''Zanya Kliedervaust,' she said, coldly.They had not previously introduced themselves.

'Ah,' said Jon Arabin. 'Lucky woman, to be so loved. A bay of beauty named for her. Aye. Pale sands and water beautiful as her eyes.''Nice eyes,' agreed Drake.

'It was for her you named that flower, too, wasn't it?' said Arabin. Drake took the hint.

'Two flowers, actually,' he said. 'One was Zanya's Beauty. That was the great red trumpet-shaped flower which hung in clusters from those trees with pink leaves. The other flower was Zanya's Delight. That was fragile, aye, a splendorous thing growing in waterfalls from the headland rocks, smooth as gold and as yellow, fragrant as peaches by sunset.'His voice was dreamy.'Aye,' said Arabin, 'I remember now.'

'You named flowers after me?' said Zanya, wondering at this.

'I told you,' said Drake. 'I've been in love with you for years.'

'Aye,' said Jon Arabin. 'He'd talk of you in his sleep, and charm the silence with poems of your tender beauty. Which I thought strange at the time. But now I see you, I think it strange no longer. You're worthy of all his devotion.'

'I… I don't know what to say,' said Zanya. 'You are beautiful,' said Drake. 'And I do . . . I do love you.'

'But why did you – why did you jump on top of me like that? Was it really because of witchcraft?'

'Sometimes,' said Drake, 'sometimes it's hard for a man to control himself. Men . . . men need women.'

'Yes,' said Whale Mike cheerfully. 'Good for man to have woman. Woman nice. This one nice, eh? She got soft arse. She make good screw, eh? Good meat.'And he smacked his lips and laughed.

Whereupon Zanya's temper flared instantly. With the energy of fire and meat inside her, she raged at them:'You filthy dirty animals! I am not meat!'Drake, desperately trying to salvage the situation, said:'My dearest darling-''Don't you dearest darling me!''But I love you! Zanya, I love you!'

'You like. You want. You need. Perhaps. But not me. Oh no, not me. Just meat, heat, lips, breast, thigh, crotch, nipple, arse. What is this?'

And she cupped one of her convexities, which was visible beneath sheepskin jacket and purple robe.

'It's a breast,' said Drake. 'And, I venture, a very pretty one. The prettiness of your curves, darling-''It's meat, that's what it is! Meat, not me!''But are your breasts not part of you?' said Drake.

'They're not me! Not the – the person inside this – oh grief – you! – it's meat, isn't it? That's what I am to you! Meat! Offal! Wet liver! You're all the same, you men. Just one thing, that's all it is.'And anger gave way to grief.

The whole sorry history of her terrible time as a priestess of the Orgy God came rushing back to her. Year upon year of nightmare. Sweat, heat, weight, panting flesh. Bruising laughter. Disease, misery, exhaustion, contempt. And-It was too much.She broke down in tears.

'Well, bugger you then!' said Drake. 'I'm buggered if I know what I did wrong!' And he got to his feet and stalked away into the forest. 'Where are you going?' called Jon Arabin. 'Hunting!' shouted Drake. 'You come back here!' 'Go nalsh yourself!' yelled Drake. And was soon lost from sight in the forest. 'You not cry,' said Whale Mike to Zanya. 'You not

make self pretty when cry. You nice. Want marry me? I like woman with soft arse.'

Zanya screamed, and hit him with all her strength. Which made very little impression on him.

'Mike,' said Jon Arabin, 'I've decided we're going to camp here. We'll wait. See if any of the others come downstream. So we'll need a shelter. Start getting branches together so we can build something.'

'That good thinking,'- said Whale Mike. 'You smart man, Jon. I do that.'And he got to work.

Then Jon Arabin took his time. He let the fire die down then cooked a small bit of meat on the red embers. Carefully.

'You don't have to eat this,' he said to Zanya. 'But you might feel better if you did.'As she ate, he built up the fire again.

'Now,' he said. 'You don't have to talk to me. You don't have to tell me anything. But if you want to, I'm here to listen.''Who are you?' she said.

For when Whale Mike and Jon Arabin had found her by the riverside, they had not explained themselves. Mike had just ordered her to ride, and she, faced with such threatening bulk, had hardly been in a position to resist.

'I am Jon Arabin,' said Jon Arabin. T was born on Ashmolea. Aye. That's east of Argan.'T know that,' said she.

'Of course you would, you being from Ebrell. Anyway. My mother was a calligrapher, my father a paper-maker. I was raised to be a scholar.''And now?''Now I'm an adventurer.''A pirate, perhaps,' said Zanya.

'That's a hard word,' said Jon Arabin. 'Often I've made an honest living. Aye, trading pearls and timber. Young Drake has helped me with that.''Drake?'

'Has he told you another name, perhaps? It's our angry young hunter I'm talking about.'

'Oh, him,' said Zanya. 'He told me he was Arabin lol Arabin.'

'Well,' said Arabin, proceeding cautiously because he was not sure what was afoot. 'He gives that name because he acknowledges me as a father. I'm Arabin, and, well, Arabin lol Arabin, that means I'm his father. Do you understand? I ask because you sound a stranger to the Galish.'

'I still have my problems with the Trading Tongue,' admitted Zanya. 'But you've explained the name all right. But how can – how can you be his father? I mean, the skins . . . '

'His mother was a gold-skinned woman from Ling,' said Arabin solemnly, 'and the mixing of black and gold gives bis cockroach colour.'

'Oh,' said Zanya. 'Now . . . tell me of these other names he calls himself. How many does he have?'

'Many,' said Arabin, sliding away from the unknown danger which he sensed within the question. 'Why, he's such a wild one I scarcely know myself what name he'll be playing from one day to the next. Wild, aye. No doubting it. Why, once he cooked me a meal of rats and cockroaches. To this day, he doesn't think I realize. But I know a rat from a rabbit, even if the Walrus doesn't!'

And he told Zanya the story of Drake's shipboard cookery, or as much as he knew of it. She had to laugh.

'But,' she said. 'Why did he play such an ugly trick on you?'

'Because he's wild, as I said,' declared Jon Arabin. 'Part of it comes with being less tall than he'd want to be. Short men must set themselves on stilts of some sort. That's the way of it. So I make allowances.''But why did you . . . why did you eat that meal?'

'Well, rat's okay, and cockroach isn't too bad. If it's cooked right, and if you can get your mind off what you're eating. Anyway, it was either eat it or betray him to the wrath of the Walrus. Would I betray my own son?'

'The thought of discipline must at least have tempted you,' said Zanya.'But I love him,' said Jon Arabin.

'You love?' said Zanya, shocked. 'Your own son? You love him?'

'Woman!' said Arabin. 'What a mind you've got! A man can love his son without lusting for his arsehole. And this boy of mine . . . well, he saved my ship once.''In truth?' said Zanya.'In truth,' said Arabin.

And told of Drake's part in a shipboard battle against a Neversh.

'Well . . .' said Zanya, T can see . . . yes, why a man would like a – a son like that. But for a woman . . .'

T know,' said Arabin, with sympathy which was not entirely pretended. 'He's rough. But there's a reason.''What reason?'