Goddess (6 page)

Her intended target appeared. I couldn’t see Dr. Stewart’s reaction when he spotted her, but the skip in Elena’s step as she bound forward to intercept him told me why she had been waiting there.

I took a step back, hoping that the library’s shadow would conceal me. Elena seemed to be doing most of the talking while he occasionally nodded or said a few words. At one point, she leaned forward and touched his elbow. It was clearly meant to be an intimate gesture. Then they turned away from me, and professor and student disappeared down the path in the direction of the archeology building.

He wants her, not me,
I told myself.

Why do you give a damn?
a deeper voice questioned.

I returned to my alcove and opened Álvaro Ferreira’s journal again. I tried to push Dr. Stewart out of my mind by focusing on my surroundings. I had grown fond of my little cubby. It felt safe and comforting. I had always loved libraries. My first night at college, while my dorm-mates blasted Journey and swilled beer in our hallway, I snuck over to the main library across the street, wandering through the deserted stacks. I would run my hand across the spines, pulling out a random volume, reading a few sentences, then returning it to the shelf. Books seemed so much more interesting than the drunken debauchery going on across the street. Not that I didn’t participate myself occasionally, but I always returned to the library when I felt sad or lonely.

I tried to shake away my melancholy. I stared at the flowing script before me, but I couldn’t focus. My eyes had become as blurred as my soul.

On Thursday, I decided to give a report on my progress in person. I ran into Elena coming out of Nina’s office with an annoyed look on her face.

“Is she in?” I asked.

“You’ll find her on her high horse,” Elena complained. She turned and marched down the hall.

I found Nina sitting at her desk, going through a stack of papers. “How’s it going?” she asked, her smile unaffected by any unpleasantness with Elena.

“Brother Ferreira is still in Japan. He doesn’t out-and-out say it, but I think he resents working in Father Xavier’s shadow. He wants to win a few souls for Christ himself.”

“It sounds like Archeology Department politics. Some things never change.”

I knew it wasn’t my business, but I was curious. “Is that what’s going on with Elena.”

“She definitely likes to be in the spotlight.” Nina sighed and pushed her papers aside. “Elena could be the best student in the department but she gets distracted easily.”

“You mean by Dr. Stewart?” I immediately regretted bringing him up. The last thing I wanted to know about was a sordid departmental affair.

Nina smiled. “She’s not too subtle about it, is she?”

“Does she stand a chance?”

Nina looked at me a moment, as if considering how much to share. “I don’t know.”

The man made me want to throw up. “It doesn’t seem very ethical, getting involved with one of your students.”

“Dr. Stewart never has a relationship with a student he advises.”

“But anyone else is fair game?”

“I think you’re judging him too harshly. He never makes promises or shows favoritism.”

I was surprised by Nina’s naiveté. “Does he pass out his ground rules with the syllabus?” I said. “’Here’s what you can expect when you sleep with me.’”

She offered me an odd little smile, as if I was the naïve one. “He’s always very honest about his feelings, though I’m sure some women still fall in love with him.”

“You know a lot about how he operates.”

“That’s because he and I were lovers when we were in North Korea.”

I stared at her in shock. I had stereotyped her as a conservative Asian woman. She certainly acted and dressed the part.

“My mother would probably have a similar expression if she knew,” Nina said, “and my family would stone me or at least run me out of the country. My father was a diplomat, so we lived all over the world. I was exposed to many other cultures and ideas. I lost my virginity when I was fifteen. I always knew I couldn’t be satisfied with just one man so when I met my husband and we fell in love, I asked for an open marriage.”

“Wow,” was the only response I could muster.

“His reaction was a little more pronounced, but he finally agreed. We’ve only been married for five years, but so far the arrangement has worked well.”

“Why did you and Dr. Stewart break up?” I managed to ask.

“Working on the Magoa excavation was very intense. I would describe it as a spiritual experience, though Dr. Stewart might argue with me. But I did see that it affected him. When we left North Korea, he ended our relationship. I knew he wasn’t the same man I first met in Seoul, but I’m still not sure what kind of man he’s become.”

~*~

I was barely aware of my surroundings on my twenty-minute walk home. I had a difficult time focusing on anything but Nina’s story. I couldn’t imagine Matt and me reaching the same agreement as Nina and her husband.

Would I want to?
The question jarred me. I had always been what I described as a serial monogamist. In 17 years of marriage, I had been tempted occasionally, but nothing had gone beyond a little semi-innocent flirtation.

Would I choose Ashland Stewart?
my inner voice asked again.

I didn’t answer. Even if I did find him attractive, I would never want to be involved with a womanizer like him.

~*~

For most of the next week I buried myself in Brother Ferreira’s journal. The Japanese were welcoming and friendly but uninterested in the God he and Father Xavier were trying to sell them. The monk, in a fit of honesty he likely assumed his superior would never see, wrote that he was confused about why he had been called here by God. He began to feel his faith flagging and found it difficult to maintain the enthusiasm he believed he needed to inspire the heathen.

I could identify with the Brother Ferreira’s frustration. I wanted to enjoy my work but had difficulty focusing. When the translation became bogged down in some arcane word that escaped all my research efforts, I found myself slipping away to a place I didn’t want to visit. My mind was churning butter, as my grandmother used to say. I couldn’t stop turning over the mystery that was Dr. Ashland Stewart. Why did it bother me so much that he was clearly avoiding me? I could chalk that one up to pride. The more vexing question was why the thought of this man’s rugged hands and piercing eyes send a chill through me that I hadn’t experienced in a long time?

Like the monk, my own world felt too constricted. I needed to escape, if only for a short time.

~*~

The day was crisp but the chilly breeze coming off the lake was tempered by the bright sun overhead. I headed down a steep hill past the student union where a scattering of undergraduates braved the cold to eat lunch outdoors. I had planned to be gone only fifteen or twenty minutes but the feeling of forward momentum, putting one foot in front of the other, hearing the soft crunch of gravel under my tennis shoes, was like therapy.

I followed the well-maintained path as it wound its way towards the lakefront. I loved this part of campus even though it had the artificial feel of a golf course. It was seldom crowded, except at the peak of summer, and far away from the constant rumble of the city. The only aural intrusion came from the shouts of a lacrosse game in a distant field. The girls in white and purple scampering back and forth across the turf reminded me of a flock of geese herded by small children.

The lake today was a soothing shade of lavender. Two boats bobbed in the distance, specks on the vast expanse of water. The path straightened, paralleling the lake. Enormous uneven blocks of white stone were piled up against the shore as if tossed there by a petulant giant. The water lay below them; gentle waves pushed against their cold rigidity. I knew that in a severe storm those blocks would be helpless in holding back the churning surf.

A few stones bore graffiti, though it was surprisingly scarce. Either the school’s grounds crew was diligent about keeping them unmarked or the students had outgrown their need to memorialize their presence here. The two tags I spotted strained for cleverness: “John sort of likes Mary” and “Evrthing is Wrong.”

I almost passed the solitary figure without a second glance. His back was to me and his face was hidden under a wide-brimmed black hat that reminded me of a jungle explorer. He had made his way to a spot far down on the rocks, a reclusive shadow against the immense lake.

I wondered later whether it was coincidence or fate that caused him to reach out a hand as I passed and gather up a small pebble, tossing it absentmindedly into the surf. As he turned his head I immediately recognized his profile—the firm, confident jaw, and the nose that seemed almost like an afterthought below those commanding eyes.

I was certain he hadn’t seen me. I could have easily turned away or hurried on undiscovered. Instead, like a blind person turned towards inexplicable warmth, my feet remained rooted on the gravel, drawn in by a new mystery—why was he here? Why did he look so vulnerable and pensive? I didn’t want to intrude on his private thoughts, which likely concerned some vexing problem in his work, but at the same time, I wanted to be inside his head, if only for a moment.

But it was annoyance that finally pushed me to step forward, hoisting myself onto the first large block. At least that’s what I told myself. I was tired of his indifference. I had been working under his supposed supervision for almost a month. The least he could do is acknowledge me occasionally.

Climbing down the rocks took some effort. I had to jump over the gaps while keeping my balance. One wrong step would have resulted in a twisted ankle at best, a split skull at worst. Dr. Stewart was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was oblivious to my approach. I halted two boulders away from him. I wasn’t going to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention. I debated how to announce my presence.
Why are you avoiding me?
made me sound like a snappish teenager.
Why are you such an arrogant asshole?
He’d think I was an angry bitch.
It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?
Too passive and ingratiating.

“So this is where you’ve been keeping yourself,” I finally said.

It was satisfying to see him whirl around in surprise. He stared at me without speaking, as if I were some kind of strange lake creature that had climbed from the frigid water. I immediately regretted disturbing his solitude and found myself apologizing to a man who didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” I blurted out.

But he had already regained his control. “It’s quite all right, Mrs. Nelson. What brings you out here?”

“Being cloistered in the library with a pious monk can feel claustrophobic after awhile.”

“I understand completely,” he said, displaying a warmth I hadn’t experience before. “I’ve always preferred being outdoors. When I was young, I used to sleep on the roof in the summer.”

He touched the fingertips of one hand to the rock he was resting on, gently brushing the dust from it. The gesture was surprisingly vulnerable. “That explains why you became an archeologist,” I said.

“I’ve been lucky. Most archeologists don’t spend as much time in the field as I do.”

“Isn’t it lonely?” I immediately regretted my words when an image of him with Nina on a remote mountain flashed across my mind.

“I’m sure it is compared to your life. You must not have much time to yourself with a husband and three children.”

The mention of my family sent a surge of guilt through me. “So you’ve been investigating my personal life as well as my professional background,” I said too harshly.

He rose from his perch. Because I was standing on the rock above, I was taller than him. He had to shade his eyes to look up at me. It felt good to be in this position. “Nina was the one who told me about your family, but yes, I did find your resume on-line after we met.”

“Before you even knew about the journal?”

An emotion that was hard to read rose like a bubble, appearing briefly on his face before dissipating in the atmosphere. “You intrigued me that night,” he admitted.

All of a sudden, I felt unsteady on my perch. “Why? I’m just your typical suburban mom.”

“And the symbol on your ankle is just a tattoo.”

I felt the world spinning out of control. I needed to right it. “You and I both agreed it was a coincidence.”

“Yes, and before I discovered Magoa, I could have also dismissed the discovery of a journal that you just happen to be able to translate as pure chance. But instead, here I am, sitting on a rock instead of focusing on my research.” He lowered his hand and the sun washed the color from his eyes. “There’s something about you, Mrs. Nelson. I can’t put my finger on it, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, or you.”

All of a sudden, the rock I stood on felt precarious. I willed my voice to stay calm and steady. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He looked vaguely surprised, as if I’d revealed something he hadn’t even admitted to himself. He shifted on the rock from one foot to the other. “It’s absurd, isn’t it?” he said. “We’re both intelligent people. We wouldn’t believe in Ley Lines in ancient Britain, or that the Nazca in Peru were drawing enormous animals for the benefit of ancient astronauts. Yet, somehow you’ve gotten tied up with Magoa in my mind, and it’s turned me into an ill-mannered old professor.”