Mythology 101 (7 page)

“Me, too,” said the first young man. “Before Math it was Greek.”

“Where does that other passage lead?” Keith asked, thinking of the low door.

“We don’t know.”

“
What
are they?”

“We don’t know.”

“Elves?” the girl volunteered uncertainly. No one scoffed at her.

“Where do they come from? Why are they here?”

“We don’t know.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Oh, sure,” said the second young man. “But they don’t answer any personal questions. They’re good at ignoring ’em. After a while, you stop hitting your head against the wall and just do your assignments.”

“Not me,” said Keith. “I have a very hard head. By the way, I’m Keith Doyle.”

The elevator’s light reappeared in the ceiling and crept downward. He could see silhouettes now, as the two other young men stuck out their hands. “Lee Eisley,” said the first, his cap of curly, black hair glinting in the light. “Barry Goodman,” said the second. “Teri Knox.” Keith shook hands with them all.

The elevator door opened, and disgorged a librarian with a cart. She stuck a key into a wall panel. Fluorescent lights flickered on over the aisles. Keith’s eyes stung from the sudden brightness. The woman shrieked when she saw them waiting there, but recovered her composure quickly.

“What are you all doing down here?” she snapped suspiciously, in a voice like her cart’s. “This is a restricted level.”

“We, uh, came down the stairs. They were unlocked,” Keith lied, waving vaguely behind him, thanking the unseen that it wasn’t Mrs. Hansen. “We got lost.” He gave her what he hoped was a melting smile.

She was unimpressed. “That is impossible. No one is allowed down here without a pass.” Elbows out, she pushed the cart into their midst with typical librarian arrogance that they had better get out of the way or be run over. Its wheels squealed an earsplitting protest. Keith, with assiduous politeness, bowed her past him. Teri giggled.

The woman gave them a sour glance over her shoulder. “Stay off this level unless you get authorization from the Head of Library Services,” she said firmly, and stalked off behind the squeaking cart.

“Yes, ma’am,” Keith said, buoyed on his joy. “Uh, you need to oil your axles. That way you won’t squeak so much.”

Her back stiffened, and she turned to make a suitably quelling retort, but the elevator door slid closed on their grinning faces.

“By the way,” Teri said, just before the elevator stopped on the ground level. “It’s very important that you don’t tell anyone about … the class. No one else knows it’s there.”

“How can the librarians miss that door?”

“Believe me, they just don’t see it. Nothing’s visible when the light is on,” Lee said adamantly, his long curly hair bobbing as he talked. “I’ve tried, and you have to know what to look for.”

“The Master doesn’t want to be bothered by just anyone,” Barry said belligerently. “You’re in on something special. Don’t ruin it for the rest of us.”

“Of course not,” Keith assured him with all his heart. “I know how special it is. I’ll keep it very quiet.”

“Please,” Teri begged. “He’s already threatened once to exclude … big folk. I really value the class, and I don’t want to stop going. It’s like, well, touching a fairy tale. That sounds dumb, I know. But it’s really helping me in my regular classes, too.”

“I understand. Believe me. I promise,” said Keith. It seemed to him the other three heaved a sigh of relief. He smiled placidly at nothing. Touching a fairy tale … He might have phrased it that way himself. Keith decided he was going to enjoy this class.

O O O

Keith was still determined to get the most pleasure that he could, but it was much harder work to enjoy it, now that he was a functioning member of the secret class. His paper had been dissected during the second session by the Master, and Keith was made to endure a grilling session on his facts and opinions that left him sweating. To his surprise, no one laughed at him, even though he was fumbling over words. In fact, he noticed real sympathy on more than one face, both from Big People and Little People.

None of the Big People, now all friends of Keith’s except for Carl, voiced what they thought was the origin of their fellow classmates. None of them dared to make a guess. Keith called them elves, for their empirical resemblance (awaiting more data, he would say), and the handle stuck, almost as if the students were thankful that someone had suggested one.

He wanted to ask Marcy what she thought, but she was still avoiding him. He felt a little guilty, realizing that he was avoiding her too, but consoled himself that he had a lot of new information to assimilate, and she would understand. If she ever spoke to him again. He promised himself that he would apologize to her at the next earliest opportunity.

Keith watched his new classmates with fascination, a little taken aback by how natural and ordinary the Little Folk were. They seemed to be just short people with funny ears, though he felt there was more to them. He was also exasperated by the distance the two groups put between one another. He was held back from making his own overtures by the worry his own fellows exhibited that somehow he would spoil their special haven. More than ever, he was determined to make himself goodwill ambassador from the Humans to the Elves. After that, it should be easy for the others to follow his lead.

O O O

Marcy, after listening blank-faced to an impassioned, melodramatic apology on bended knees from Keith in the middle of the parking lot blacktop, unexpectedly broke up into hysterical laughter. “It’s okay,” she told him, clapping her palms over his mouth to halt the torrent of apologies. Keith regarded her over her folded hands with big, sad hazel eyes. “I forgive you. The Master was going to let you come in anyway. You just didn’t know. I wish I could have told you, but you would probably have thought I was out of my mind. If I had trusted you, you might have understood, but sometimes you seem so crazy. So I guess I owe you an apology, too.”

“Thanks,” Keith said, and then paused. “I understand. I’m having a little trouble believing in it, too. But I’m working on it! Say, I didn’t know you were going out with Carl.”

“What business is it of yours?” she snapped suddenly, circling around him and walking away.

“None at all,” Keith admitted cheerfully, getting up and following at her elbow. “I’m a business major. Professional curiosity, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Marcy said, her anger dying away as swiftly as it rose. “It’s just that we’re fighting. Mostly about you, I’ll have you know.”

“Good,” said Keith. “I’ve decided that what I want to do in life is be Carl Mueller’s Nemesis. It would make my life complete if I could drive him bananas. To think he knew where I could get …
research material
, and was keeping it to himself. I mean, what was he saving it for? I had to believe in magic on sheer faith.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, too, if you really like him.”

Marcy was silent for a long time, staring at the ground before her feet as she walked. “I’m not sure any more. He’s nice enough to me, but he’s so—he’s so
ambitious
, I think. It isn’t healthy.”

“The man without a cause,” intoned Keith, sounding like a television movie announcer.

“Yeah, exactly.” Marcy’s thoughts seemed to be carrying her far away to a place she didn’t seem to care much for.

“But he’s an A student. What’s he doing in the Elf Master’s class?” They walked up the stoop in front of Marcy’s apartment building, and he held her books while she searched for her keys. “It’s for dopes like me, who need tutoring.”

“You’re not a dope, Keith. Teri brought him in,” Marcy looked up from her purse at him. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“Nope. Probably ashamed of herself.”

“Oh, come on. He’s not that bad.”

“Maybe not,” Keith admitted, changing the subject with admirable tact. He still felt he owed Carl a grudge. “Remember the paper I told you I was researching for my Mythology course? I got an A on it. Without using any … material from class.”

“Congratulations,” said Marcy, spilling her purse and books onto the kitchen table. “It sounded pretty good to me.”

“Thanks. I’ve been wondering if I ought to check my theories out with some of our classmates.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Marcy insisted, with a trace of her former reluctance.

“Why, just because they dodge ‘personal questions’? Well, maybe I could take one of ’em out to dinner. I bet it’s all peer pressure. If I can isolate one, maybe I can get him to talk. Or her,” Keith said, thinking of the little blond girl. Then he noticed the look on Marcy’s face. “Oh, no. You’re not going to tell me no one’s ever tried to socialize, are you? You are,” he accused, before she could open her mouth. “I could see it in your face. And everybody else’s, too. Why not? My god, Big People on this campus have been associating with them for how long now?”

“Five years,” Marcy said in a cautious undertone, listening for her roommates.

“Five years, and they’re still strangers. Some neighbor you are.”

“Well, what about you? You’re just curious,” Marcy pointed out defensively.

“Downright weird, my roommate says,” Keith added, unabashed. “But sure! Here you are with an incredible opportunity to talk to legends, and you hold them at arm’s length.”

“It’s not like that at all,” Marcy said, getting excited. “They wouldn’t like being called legends. And, it’s more like, well, I’m too shy.…”

“But not everyone is,” Keith said gently. “I’m not. Wait and see. I’ll get to know them better, and then I’ll introduce you.”

Marcy giggled. “But I know them already.”

“No, you don’t. But that’s okay. You’ve already got a nodding acquaintance going. That’s a good start.”

***

Chapter 9

At the next class meeting, Keith decided to begin making friends. He sat down deliberately between the blond kid and an older, bearded elf that he hadn’t seen before. The boy winked at him again before going back to his customary whittling. Keith watched for a while with close interest, and then noticed the other fellow was watching, too. When the Elf Master was called away to attend to something at the other end of the mysterious tunnel, Keith struck up a conversation.

“Good, isn’t he?” he asked the bearded one, who seemed surprised to be addressed by a Big Person. He grunted.

“Needs practice. He’s too showy. That pipestem’d break the first time it got a look at a set of teeth.”

The boy lifted his head from his work. “Now, Marm, you know that’s not so,” he said, patiently, laying down the blade.

“It is so. You want strength in a bitty piece of work like that; you need a harder sort of wood, or work across the grain.”

“Here,” said the boy, thrusting the tiny thing past Keith, and into the other’s hands. “Look for yourself. It’s not wood. It’s bone. I suppose your eyes are getting too old to tell the difference.”

“Well,” said Keith, “for bone, that looks pretty good. I think. His wood carvings are really fine, aren’t they?” he added hopefully. The older elf grunted his approval.

Marm turned the little stick over in his hand. Keith could see that its length was covered with a pattern of interlocking broad-leaved vines. It was astonishing that anything that small should be so perfect. He couldn’t tell what Marm was complaining about. Probably just jealous. “Yah, you’re right. Must be a goat’s bone, now that I see it closely. Yah, a goat’s bone. Fine work, Maven.”

“What did he call you?” Keith demanded of the young elf, astonished.

“Maven. The Maven. That’s what everyone calls me. It’s a Yiddish word; means ‘expert.’ My name is Holl. And by the by, thanks for the compliment.”

“Sure. I meant it. Where on earth did you get a Yiddish nickname?” Keith asked, not to be diverted. Jewish elves? Holl started to answer, but stopped, and held up both hands to shush him. “Why …”

“Quiet, you widdy, can’t you hear him?” He puffed out his ruddy cheeks and blew bone fragments off his desk, then sat up straight.

“No …” But in a moment, the clicking of a pair of heels on the tunnel’s concrete floor floated up over the rest of the noise. The Elf Master was returning. In a moment, all the voices ceased, and everyone sat at polite attention.

“Quiet,” the Master said wearily, though there was no noise. “Ve vill continue. Tay,” he gestured at the second bearded elf, a pale blond with sharply tilted eyebrows, “has briefly outlined the development of modern agrarian society. Vhat, Mr. Eisley, vould you say were the primary social changes brought about by the Industrial Revolution in the agrarian countries of the vorld?”

O O O

Keith hung back when class ended, and tapped Holl on the shoulder when he got up to leave. He kept his voice low as the other students passed by him. “Listen, I think your work is really good. Do you think I could come over some time, and see other things you’ve carved?” Keith tossed his head toward the low doorway. “I couldn’t do that stuff. I’d cut my fingers off.”

Holl cocked an eyebrow and peered at him a good long time before answering, knowing full well what Keith was asking, and giving it honest consideration. “You’re a different one, Keith. I’ll see. Maybe you can come for an evening meal. The older ones won’t gripe so much about a visitor while they’re eating. And I don’t mind an audience for my work.”

“Terrific!” said Keith. “In exchange, I hereby invite you to be my guest in the dining hall. Only you probably won’t think it’s much of a favor when you’ve tasted the food.”

“A good guest never counts the dishes served, nor spits out the mouthful he’s chewing.”

“Right. Always eat every meal as though it was your last.”

“Wait here. I’ll ask now.” Holl vanished down the echoing hallway. After a while, he returned. “You can come. Wait by the big sycamore outside the back of the library building in an hour and a half. I’ll find you there. You’ll need to be on your best behavior, boy.”

“Yes, sir!” Keith saluted. His voice rang in the classroom, picked up tones from the concrete floor.

“Shush,” said Holl, turning back into the tunnel. “You’ll make them change their minds.”

Keith held his jubilation until he reached the ground level of the library. When the elevator door slid open, he could contain himself no more. He danced out and let go with a wild, “Yahoo!”

“Shhh!” a librarian hissed sternly.

O O O

Following instructions, he waited, concealed behind the library building. About two hours had passed since the end of class, and Keith felt if he had to stuff in one more particle of excitement, he would explode in a shower of sparks. The Maven—boy, what a name—told him to keep out of sight of the path and sit tight. They would have to wait for the right moment to let him inside. Keith had no objections. If they had managed to keep themselves hidden for this long, he wasn’t going to be the one to blow their cover. What would Marcy say if she knew where he was going? He did a little dance, which he quickly converted into jiggling around for warmth in the chilly evening air as a couple of students passed him. He smiled at them, and craned his head after them as they walked away.

He heard a grating noise from behind him, and spun around to see where it was coming from. A whole section of the stone wall four feet high, beginning an inch or two above the grass, had sunk back, leaving a deep, black opening. A hand extended through and beckoned to him. With a quick glance around, Keith dove for the hole and skittered to the side as the stone facade grated ominously back into place. He found himself standing in a passageway so narrow he had to press his shoulders together to turn around. He put out a hand to feel for the mechanism, but found nothing but the back of the stone wall. On his other side was rough brick.

“Keith Doyle,” said a voice in the dark, sounding ominous. He jumped.

“Y-yup?” he affirmed.

“Welcome, then. You’re just in time.” A lantern flamed alight, and Holl was there looking up at him. “Follow me.”

O O O

A short while later, Keith found himself sitting on a low bench, surrounded by a host of miniature humans, adults and children both. He kept his elbows very close to his sides, which meant he had to dip his head every time he wanted to take a bite from his miniature fork. Now I know how Gulliver felt, he thought, ignoring an itch along his ribs for fear of knocking over the tiny old lady on his left. Gingerly, he extended a hand to pick up the jug of milk, and poured some into his wooden cup.

Holl sat across the long table from him, occasionally studying him with a humorous twinkle in his eyes. He was aware how ridiculous the big youth felt, but it was a lesson in humility to watch how well Keith handled himself in adverse conditions. He could also see that old Keva was wearing her pincushion on her belt, and it was undoubtedly sticking into Keith’s side. To his credit, the big fellow wasn’t complaining. She had probably left it there on purpose, spiteful old hen. Good for him. He was a fair guest.

The others of Holl’s people were not demonstrating themselves to be hosts worthy of such a guest. More than once, Holl had heard an unfavorable comment, fortunately inaudible to Keith’s less sensitive ears. “What’s he want to come in here for? To gawk, I’ll bet.” “Dey neffer let us alone vonce dey know. How do ve know he has any discretion?” And from the oldsters, “His kind’ve been faithless before, for sure, darlin’. What difference will only a few generations make?”

“Uh, you know,” said Keith, “this pitcher looks just like the kind we used to have at my summer camp. They’re really indestructible. I oughta know. I used to shoot off bottle rockets from one.”

Keva stopped chewing with a shocked intake of breath. She stared at the human balefully.

“Oh,” Keith continued, misinterpreting her ire. “No one was hurt. I did it out next to the lake.”

“Are you after suggesting that we took this pitcher from your summer camp?” Keva demanded.

“Now, Keva,” Holl chided her, but the old lady ignored him. The other diners fell silent, listening.

Keith regarded her with puzzlement, his narrative dying away to silence. “No, not at all. That’s up near Chicago. They’re mass produced. There must be thousands of them around the state. It just reminded me of camp. Sort of homey. I’m sorry if you thought I meant anything by it.”

Keva nodded warily. “Well, all right then.”

“If camp was something you enjoyed,” Holl interjected, shushing Keva. “Otherwise, perhaps we should apologize to you for reminding you.”

“I didn’t mind camp,” Keith acknowledged cheerfully. “I think my parents only lived for the day when they could send all five of us to camp at once.”

There was another susurrus of whispers around the room again. From Keith, there was no sign that he could understand or even hear any of it, but Holl’s attenuated hearing translated them clearly. “Does he accuse us of stealing?” Hmmph, you old frauds, thought Holl, grinning to himself. And where did you think our things come from these long years? Do hens lay plates? Or curtains?

O O O

Keith looked around at the tables of elves, most of whom were glancing at him openly or covertly while they ate. He guessed there must be eighty or ninety of them. The little old lady had gone back to her own meal, pointedly turning her back to him as best she could in the limited space available. Keith made a mental note to apologize to her later. He sent a questioning glance to Holl, and received an amused gesture to go on eating and ignore the old lady. He figured that she must be the local equivalent of his great-aunt Martha, a woman who enjoyed bullying her relatives into believing that they had really offended her so she could demand apologies for the imaginary insults. He took another sip of milk and turned his attention to his surroundings.

The planked wooden tables were dark brown and polished smooth on top, but carved prettily around the sides. A few of the chairs at the ends were made to match, as were the benches, but a number of chairs were obvious refugees from a kindergarten. Keith had noticed one, occupied by an extremely dignified elf with black hair and silver temples, that had the alphabet and a teddy bear painted on the chair back. The dishes were mostly ceramic, hand thrown with a great deal of skill. Blue, green and yellow were their favorite colors; the elves made their clothes in the same hues they painted their dishes.

At each long table sat a few elderly elves, others that he would term “middle-aged,” and an assortment of younger ones that he guessed were up to twenty years old in Big People terms. By the common resemblances, each group represented one extended family. It was touching to see that little silvering-blond grandmother feed the tiny infant on her left to give the tired brunette on the child’s other side a rest and a chance to feed herself. There weren’t too many babies in the room. Each table had two or three, rarely more. The one behind Holl had four toddlers, all of which looked exactly alike, and each of whose little bottoms could comfortably fit on the palm of Keith’s hand. His classmates were scattered among the clans, as he called them to himself, so they probably weren’t all sisters and brothers.

The Elf Master occupied the head of a table to Keith’s left. Next to him sat Enoch, the young elf with black hair. Enoch had met Keith’s glance on his way in, and apart from that one glance, ignored him. Keith decided not to think about him, and just smiled at anyone else whose eyes he met. On Enoch’s other side was the pretty, auburn haired elf girl whose name was Maura. She smiled sweetly back when he grinned at her, and looked down again at her plate.

The food was good, what there was of it. The servers, elves of both sexes, trundled over with big (to them) steaming crocks of stew, baskets of bread and bowls of vegetables, and then sat down to serve themselves and their families. Keith prayed his stomach wouldn’t grumble as he filled his doll’s-dish with stew from the crock and took a piece of bread. He promised it the pound cake he kept sealed in a tin under his dorm bed for emergency midnight snacks. He even promised it extra breakfast if it would keep quiet for now. In his excitement over the coming meeting of the study group that afternoon, he had forgotten to eat any lunch, and he was embarrassingly hungry now. He tried to eat slowly, but in a few small bites, the plate was empty.

The crock thumped to a halt in front of him. “There’s plenty,” Laniora, his pretty brown-haired classmate coaxed him, from two seats down to Holl’s left. With a grateful smile, Keith dished himself another helping.

The bread was something special. It was soft and fresh-baked, with a crisp, thin brown crust. The aroma made him sigh and lift his eyes heavenward, which drew laughter from his tablemates.

“Dinna worship it,” snapped Keva. “Eat it!”

Obediently, he ate it. It was delicious, and he said so. A moment later, an extra portion of bread plumped down next to his plate, and the sharp pain withdrew from his side. He had forgotten all about it until it disappeared. Holl grinned at him suddenly and Keith grinned back.

At the meal’s end, Keva gave him a frosty little nod and smile, and then walked away. Keith rose and bowed to her, scratching his side. Then he bowed to the elders clustered at the end of the table. The old man at the end inclined his head and went back to his own conversation. Since Holl showed no inclination to hurry away, Keith sat down again.

“You’ve flattered Keva,” Holl told him. “It was her bread. She’s the baker. It was her pin cushion in your ribs, too.”

“Oh,” said Keith. “She your aunt?”

“She’s my sister. I’m the middle one of three. Right now three, that is,” Holl said blithely. “That was my baby sister down there at the end of the table. Three is considered a big family with us. My folks are a progressive pair.”

“Sister? Hmm, hah, uh, how old is she?” Keith asked, amazed. “Never mind that; how old are you?”

“Old enough, my lad. In terms of this world, forty years have passed since my birth.”